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Our gaming group has started playing the Curse of the Crimson Throne Adventure Path. Our GM has decided to modify the adventure path and so, I am assured, it will not run exactly as the modules are written.
The group consists of:
Agon Deparle - A half-elf of Varisian descent who is a cadet with the City Guard of Korvosa. Agon is patroned by a minor noble family, House Cambion, and has strong links with the lesser nobility of the city. He has a twin brother named Felix.
Ariadnae Sabine Lucana Merivanchi - A priestess of Pharasma who a sacred conduit of her goddess, Ariadnae is a scion of House Merivanchi. She has come to the attention of the Queen and her retinue. With the death of Gaedren Lamm, Ariadnae avenged the death of her cousin, Talia.
Felix Deparle - A half-elf of Varisian descent who is involved with many criminal elements in the city and is a smuggler of minor influence. Felix is patronised by a minor noble family, House Cambion, and has strong links with the lesser nobility of the city. He has a twin brother named Agon.
Marcus Luciano Merivanchi - A human noble of great charisma, Marcus is a scion of House Merivanchi. He is determined to extend his personal influence and that of his family, though he caught between the machinations of his uncle, Lord Magnus, and his older cousin Pellius. Marcus is married to an ambitious wife, Cristiana, who also plots to increase her own prestige. With the death of Gaedren Lamm, Marcus avenged the death of his sister, Talia.
Marianna Luciana Merivanchi - A human noble who is well-known for her charm and popularity, Marianna has secretly studied the arcane arts without the knowledge of her family. This recent discovery has created tension between her and her brother, Marcus. Marianna is betrothed to a young nobleman, Orlando Ornelos, though this is a marriage of convenience arranged by her uncle, Lord Magnus. With the death of Gaedren Lamm, Marianna avenged the death of her sister, Talia.
Osric Geldheim - A scoundrel who has strong links to many criminal elements in the city, Osric is a client of House Merivanchi. The dwarf has demonstrated his resourcefulness and his ability to get things done.
Tain Locus - A human paladin of Abadar, Tain lost his beloved wife, Talia, at the hands of Gaedren Lamm. Now that he has avenged her murder, Tain remains a dedicated force for good and is determined to fight the chaos plaguing Korvosa.
The main link between the characters is House Merivanchi. Ariadnae, Marcus, Marianna and Tain are related to each through blood and marriage. Osric is a client of the house.
Agon and Felix are twins who are clients of House Cambion (an ally of House Merivanchi). Agon is also a friend of Marcus and both are students of the Orisini Academy. Both men are regarded by Varisians as some kind of 'gypsy royalty'.
The group has already defeated Gaedren Lamm and his allies.
[Note: The use of the name Merivanchi is left over from our Savage Tides campaign. House Merivanchi became a thorn in our side, especially for our captain, Mitch Deparle. When the name Deparle was given to Agon and Felix by their players, some other players decided to take Merivanchi as their last name as a bit of an in-house joke].
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Marianna's Journal: 21-22 Abadius 4708
One day we may look back on the events of the 23rd Abadius and criticise our mistakes. Wonder if we could have made better choices. How we should have foreseen the chaos that erupted across the city and help to prevent the destruction that followed the death of the king.
Everything has changed... We were consumed by vengeance, so keen and so immediate, as we raced to confront Talia's murderer. We ignored the signs presented to us, the uncertainty of the king's health and the disdain in which the populace held the queen. I muse over this page now and can only see the darkness deepening.
Its a feeling, irrational... I felt true evil, more than that of Gaedren Lamm and his henchmen. This was an intelligence of an age and an intensity I never knew existed until last night. It was alien and ancient, and yet it sang to my blood and stirred whatever legacy I have inherited from my ancestors.
I feel numb. It is not the numbness of stasis I have felt creeping into my life recently, my day to day existence dominated by Magnus's schemes or Marcus's duty. It is the numbness of fear, that I was witness to something that was far greater than the death of an evil old man or even a king. This something is connected to me and I do not know how?!
For now Lamm is dead, Talia avenged and the city suffers as civil unrest makes civil hands unclean. The worst, it appears, possess all intensity and the best lack all conviction!
I remember those past nights when Talia was alive, sitting in Seri's room, and Mother holding a single candle against the darkness. She would tell us grand tales of princes, war and true love. The ancient heroes would come to life and we would be spirited away to ancient Cheliax. How did they deal with such chaos? How did they see a way beyond such confronting change?
Something rises in Korvosa and I feel we will not escape its attention any longer!
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Marianna's Journal: 23-24 Abadius 4708
The streets were in chaos following the news of King Eodred's death. Our beloved city burned as the citizens, now freed from law and reason, turned upon each other as they embraced old prejudices. The night was filled with the roar of riot and screams of terror.
Our swift actions may have saved part of the city from civil disorder and a possible mobocracy. There is no denying the Queen is unpopular and the people embrace little love for her. Her accession to the Crimson Throne may threaten the tense peace that dwells in Korvosa.
Evil lurks below the surface, I have felt it and I do not doubt that it is aware of me as well. We have seen the beginning of events that mask the true machinations of an ancient power. The death of Eodred, the rise of the Queen and a once powerful crimelord are somehow linked. If we uncover the truth, the seemingly disconnected pieces of proof and rumour may reveal to us the exact nature of our city's enemy.
Looking over the pieces, the puzzle appears fragmented and illogical. Feeling and intuition are nothing in a situation that demands logic and evidence. The Queen is linked to Gaedren Lamm and yet we have nothing to support this accusation other than a piece of jewellery. However, they are linked, directly or indirectly, by action or mere coincidence, this is the mystery we must uncover.
The Queen, the enigmatic Lady Elizabeth and the other players in this game will lead us to the truth. How the Queen conducts herself and manages her rise to power may reveal alliances and plots that are concealed to us for the moment. My concern is for Lord Magnus and, of course, Marcus. Our uncle cannot resist an opportunity and I hope any advantage he seizes in this time of shadows will not herald the doom of our house.
House Merivanchi has already paid a blood price for the amusement of Lamm and may be for the powers that lurk beyond him. The loss of Talia is still keenly felt as we silently mourn her death. Poor Marcus, I fear the loss will drive him to take actions that may cost us dearly once again. More so, I fear that Tain will also be led into danger by his love and his code. Reason will fall victim to aberrant decisions.
However, I am not without allies in my struggle to keep my brothers safe. Agon, impulsive and unsettled, is a jack of some means. He has proven useful in these precarious times and may yet prove invaluable by the end. The Colonel is an astute man and he may have seen qualities in this 'peacock' that have not been so far revealed.
My main problem at the moment is one of gender rather than status. Well, status has gone so far to torment me as well, if the Old Harpy has her way and I become indentured to her house. Marcus needs to see my quality and allow me the freedom to help him. Without me, he would not have met with Lady Elizabeth or the Queen! (I am now indebted to the Old Harpy for this favour. I will make Marcus pay tenfold if it involves the devil's trap!). My magic saved him in the fight with Lamm and aided him in turning the momentum of the mob.
I cannot count on Marcus alone and will need to forge my own alliances. Agon is not troubled by gender or status, he also has connections that by my very membership in a noble house will cast a dark pall over my reputation. However, I need not rely on him alone, as Osric adds to my potential to cast a wider net over these events.
All I need to do is convince Ari, Marcus and Tain of my worth so I do not have to sneak around behind their backs every time there is trouble. Still, keeping up appearances and the mask of indifference, maintaining the illusion of compliance and obedience has protected me so far. So too, I must now play in the shadows and keep my conspiracy.
The Ancient, or so I shall name this lurking presence, must surely be aware of our efforts and our plans. I will assume that it sees all and we are not hidden from it. Our hand, to use one of those catchphrases so beloved by Marcus, is being played on the table. We are exposed!
Agon has been able to utilise the guard in assisting with our investigations. This is a boon that will become invaluable in the future. With the bizarre events surrounding Lamm and Zellara, the guard is a piece that we may place on the board.
Zellara and her son. A ghost and a tale of vengeance. Dark arts were weaved to bring her spirit back and harness its undying hatred to manipulate us into attacking Lamm. Is this the truth? We are missing vital pieces to this puzzle. The Ancient was drawn to our investigation and the awakening of this spirit's ire, yet was it responsible for Zellara's murder and her dark return?
The books and that damnable encryption! I need to speak to speak to my master about a weave that can decipher the meaning of those writings. Yes, he once spoke of a simple weave that could unlock the mysteries of even dead languages. Buried somewhere in those texts are more pieces to this increasingly dangerous puzzle.
Now, following our audience with Lady Elizabeth and the Queen, I need to speak with Agon. Marcus may have embroiled himself too deeply in the Queen's plots, especially if Cristiana sees an opportunity to advance herself. Yes, Agon may be an impartial ally in this game of houses. Still, I need to avoid the Old Harpy and other filial entanglements to maintain my focus on all that is unfolding.
By the All-Seeing Eye, if Cristiana may well drag me into the Harpy's Nest with her. I doubt the Old Harpy will resist the urge to show me off in her devil's trap for the amusement of her vicious sycophants! Why did we bring Cristiana along to meet the Queen?! I am dubious about my ability to resist any of the Old Harpy's ambitions to make me suitable for her Dear One and a fine slave for her house!
May be Osric knows someone?
Now our attention has been drawn to Trinia Sabor and the players of House Bannyer. I will need to help Marcus with this strange invitation to meet with the scions of this house. May be another disguise? I think I could do a passable Dante? No, his voice is too deep. Agon might be a useful ally in this matter, once again! I doubt I could trust Felix to resist the urge to steal the silverware or rifle through someone's pockets!
Trinia Sabor. Looks like an excuse to go out and enjoy the fine social life of Korvosa's elite! Oriel has been bugging me to come to Sunsail Hall with her. I will use the opportunity to ask a few questions about Lady Sabor while I do my civic duty and entertain the scion of House Ornelos.
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Marianna's Journal: 24 Abadius 4708
Damn Marcus and his stiff-necked traditionalism!
Stuck in my suite again eating supper, politely ignoring Raethe and her annoying wisdom, while trying to read the Critique of Hlanta Melshimber's Critique of Targon Spellguard's Fundamental Principles of the Art and Magical Instruction. I am sure Marcus is quite happy with himself for quelling a riot and defeating the mob!
By the infinite compassion of the Eternal Rose, why he must be happy with himself. Ordering me about! He even makes me write in exclamations I am so angry with him! As if I do not receive enough in the way of demands and orders from Uncle Magnus, Father or that Old Harpy nesting in her devil's trap!
Who would have been eaten by a crocodile or beaten to death by angry mob, if not for a couple of simple weaves?
Well, he can just stew in his own stiff-necked, short-sighted conservatism! I will show him and I am not going to go running off to Mother either. For one, I cannot. I am kind of stuck now proving myself to Marcus and keeping my new classes a secret from the world. That fool Agon better keep his mouth shut or I will turn him into something smelly! Now, I just need to unravel the complexity of that polymorph weave...
Still, it was exciting sneaking out, disguised as an Old Varisian woman. I never had so much fun, lurking about and casting spells in battle! I am relieved we help free those children and end Lamm's evil operation. However, even my feelings of guilt and worry were overwhelmed by the excitement of adventure!
Well, if Ari can go off and beat bad guys senseless, so can I!
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Agon's Diary, Entry 1
Marcus Merivanchi, an aristocrat. Once upon a time Marcus was a wild lad, constantly dueling and seeking the pleasures of youth. Marcus settled down after his sister was killed and, with a firm hold over his family estates and businesses, Marcus seeks to enter political life. Marcus is a young man of fair appearance with pale skin and strong, sharp features. Sharp cheekbones and thin, arched eyebrows frame darkest brown, almost black, eyes. A number of fine white scars mark his right hand, a legacy of the fencing blade. Marcus and I know each other through our family ties – the Merivanchis and the Cambions are amici, or ‘friends and allies’ – but he and I have made a habit of getting together at the fencing academy once a week to practise our swordsmanship, and to have a drink or two afterwards. He’s a good swordsman, but a better fencer than a fighter.
Tain Locus, a paladin of Abadar. Tain was once a member of the Khorvosan Guard and married to the love of his life, Talia Merivanchi. She was killed by a gangster Gordon Lamm. The Guard did little to investigate the matter. Tain lost his faith in the Guard, but found faith in Abadar, and is now one of their champions. Tain has is powerfully build, and is a dark imposing presence for any evil-doer. Before all of this I only knew a little of Tain, mainly through the linked families. I’ve never had much time for religion, or for those who follow it blindly, but it’s a path in life that makes sense for this serious-minded warrior.
Marianna “Mari” Merivanchi, a young aristocratic scholar. Mari, as she is almost universally known, is a pretty young thing who generally breathes fresh air into any room. People just end up liking her, even if they don’t plan to. Heck, if I had a choice I’m sure I’d try not to like her. But she’s fun and bright and easy to talk to. She’s a scholar at the university, and in many ways I envy her the time she can spend in quiet research. Marianna is a young woman of Chelaxian descent with a healthy, if frail, build and an elfin grace that is rarely seen in humans. Her blond hair is worn long and is usually braided into an elaborate design. Her eyes are blue and reveal her mischievous nature. Mari’s has a smooth, olive complexion, the only visible legacy of her family’s bloodline.
Ariadnae “Ari” Marivanchi, a priestess of Pharasma, the Death Goddess. Ari is the “odd one” of the family. With one white pupil and one grey pupil she was always viewed slightly strangely when she was growing up. I never got to know her well before the Troubles started. From what I had seen of her I knew her to be a determined young woman, some would say stubborn. She was pretty, but seemed to think she had something to prove to the family and herself. She’d once lectured me on duty and life-and-death after we aided in suppressing one the undead outbreaks that burst from the graveyards from time to time. For me, death was a part of life in the mercenary camps, but Ari had a fascination for death that concerned me.
Osric Geldheim, “colourful” dwarf fixer. Osric, to be polite to him, was a self-serving backstabbing gutter dealing, evil-minded sneak-thief. But friends can’t be perfect. My brother did quite a bit of work for Osric, and I met the Dwarf on a number of occasions. Personally, I found him trustworthy enough. Never show a weakness, never give him a reason to do you in, and everyone would get on just fine. Osric was no friend, but he was also no enemy. As a close business associate of my twin brother, I felt he was someone I could go to if I had need for his … special services. Osric owned a warehouse in the central docks area. He traded in everything, but most of all in information.
Agon Deparle, the humble author; a swordsman and a soldier. I was born and raised in the mercenary companies of the north. My mother was a Varisian queen; my father an Elven prince. I’m serious. I always thought they were just stories my mother told my brother and I when we were young, but it turns out she was telling the truth. As I grew, I took to soldiering, just as my twin brother Felix took to smuggling. We made a good pair, friends as well as brothers. All of that changed when Captain Meyers, my mentor, was injured. He sent me off to Khorvosa to get an education in a real military. Felix came with me. An old friend of Captain Meyers, a retired colonel and aristocrat named Cambion, took us into his home and his Household. He sent us to the university, to the fencing academy and enlisted me as a junior officer in the Khorvosan Guard, albeit part-time until I finish my studies. That was two years ago. I’ve come to love the city. I’ve served a season or two out in the field with the Guard, and made friends, lovers and rivals here in the city itself. The habits of my youth are still strong. To some I’m just a half-cast mercenary; to others I’m a warrior prince. It really depends on who you ask. What do I think? Well read on…
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Agon's Journal, Entry 2: 21st of Abadius, 4708
Rumours flew over the city that winter, the discontented whispers of a people looking to their leaders for answers and not liking what they found. The king of Khorvosa was ill. He was old, sick and had no heir. The unofficial curse of the city’s crimson throne was that no reigning king would have a legitimate heir. The queen – young and beautiful – had not yet furnished the king with issue. For many this was just one reason why she was disliked by the people. She was foreign, having been born and raised in the motherland of Chelax, and looked down on the ‘provincials’. Rumours also persisted that she did not share the king’s bed, but preferred the company of her female bodyguard – such sordid rumours were the price of fame and position.
The elite of the city – Chelaxian aristocracy and the filthy rich with whom they did business – speculated on matters of politics, on what would happen if the king died, on how matters of state influenced market prices, and who would maintain or lose contracts and position if a new monarch was needed. To me these rumours were not much more than items for idle discussion with fellow members of the Guard. Oh, I had more royal blood flowing in my veins than most – my mother is a Varisian queen and my father an Elven prince – but to your average Chelaxian aristocrat I was just a bastard half-elf, the son of a Varisian camp follower; a mercenary from the northern borders. Khorvosa was not a city where merit alone determined one’s worth.
It had been two years since my twin brother, Felix, and I had moved to Khorvosa. I had come at the behest of my mentor and friend Captain Meyers to pursue a military career. Felix had come to follow his trade – the trade of goods and services of questionable nature or legality. Given that the Khorvosan Guard was responsible for civil enforcement as well as military duties, some people may have thought there would be tension between the two of us seeing as we were on opposite sides of the ‘thin red line’. There was no tension in my mind or Felix’s. We were brothers, and that bond meant more to me than anything else.
When Felix and I arrived in the city we came armed with a letter of reference to one Colonel Cambion, a retired war-hero-turned-doctor. A friend of my mentor Captain Meyers – the former commander of the mercenary company to which I had belonged – Colonel Cambion took Felix and I into his Household, gave us a home, and placed the two of us into the University of Khorvosa. I believe the colonel’s plan was that we should have an education as something more than retainers of an aristocratic house. It was a plan I for one was grateful for. While I was never a fan of the classroom, I appreciated the chance to learn. My time was split between studies and military duties and even though I was a far better soldier than I was a scholar, I was determined to learn as much as I could whenever I could.
But the best laid plans of mice and men seldom come to pass. As a junior officer in the Khorvosan Guard I was required to spend a good portion of my time performing my military duties. In the winter of 4708 I was four months into a stint on city protection duties. Some bright spark had made the policy that junior officers were to rotate through the different Guard units. The theory was that by doing so the junior officers would be exposed to different techniques for soldiering and law enforcement. In practise this simply mean that no-one ever stayed in one place long enough to learn anything of note before being required to move on. I was raised in the mercenary companies of the north. I was a soldier and given the choice I would have preferred duties in the field, but I had yet to earn my full commission and had little choice as to where I was posted.
With the new year I had been posted to the northern docks. The majority of my duties was the same as it would have been for any junior officer in any military posting – paperwork. I had an education and no real authority – the perfect stooge for the unwanted bureaucracy that comes with every army unit in the world. I had noticed an increase in violent crime in the docks area over that winter. Had I the time and the influence, I might have investigated this. But as I had neither I merely clocked the occurrence and got on with the filing – the life of a junior officer. In truth I longed for the days of my youth. Life in the north was more dangerous, and even as Captain Meyers’ batman I seldom had to fill in “lost and damage claim forms”.
So that’s how things sat for me that winter – I cooled my heels shuffling paperwork; my brother smuggled goods in and around the city; rich people with good blood spoke of kings and politics; and poor people tried to keep warm. In the middle of all of this I received a surprise.
In amongst some “incident report forms” I found a Harrow card, the Peacock. On its back was a note addressed to me.
“We have a common enemy, Gordon Lamm. If you wish revenge for what he has done to you and your brother, come to 17 Harbourview Boulevard South Lane tonight at the 2nd hour.”
The note was unsigned and written in a Varisian hand, most likely a feminine one.
Gordon Lamm – I knew the name. Little more than a month ago my brother and I were involved in a vicious street fight with this “colourful business character” and his associates. People had been killed on both sides and both Felix and his friend Arthur had been severely beaten. Arthur was still convalescing. You name the dirty crime and Lamm was involved in it – slave-trading including sex slavery and child slavery, drug running, extortion, price fixing, and so on. The fight had occurred as a result of Felix’s business dealings with a fixer by the name of Osric, but legitimate or not, family was family – besides, I’d given far better than I had received. I was a soldier after all, and far better in a fight than any street-rat. Still, there was a reckoning owed to Lamm. If the opportunity to do so presented itself, I’d be more than happy to collect payment on that debt and I knew the Guard would turn a blind eye to any street justice paid out to him.
I called an early lunch and set off to find Felix for I knew he would be interested in this. Felix wasn’t at home at the Cambion manor. Hmm. I left him a note. If you don’t know what to do next, do what you can. If my brother was unavailable, I’d do what I could by myself.
I knew little about the Harrow deck other than it was something I should have known more about. Harrow decks were the heart and soul of Varisian prophecy and folk-magic. My mother would have known and had she been in the city I would have asked her. In her place I would have to find another wise woman to ask. I replaced my Guard uniform with something a little more discreet, covered my shield and stowed my spear. To any who saw me walking in black cloak, carrying a covered shield, mace, and unstrung bow it would be obvious I was off-duty Guard. Those who noticed the basket-hilted longsword, a finer quality weapon than would be possessed by a ranker soldier, would see that I was an officer. I figured this fairly obvious proclamation of “I am an off-duty officer of the Guard” would help keep me from too much trouble on the streets from officialdom. As for more unofficial trouble, I had more than enough confidence in my ability to bluff, threaten, think or fight my way out of any mess.
I found a Harrow reader in the more bohemian area of the city. Anca was her name, she was Varisian, of course, and her easy professional charm was quickly replaced by genuine concern and friendliness when she saw who I was; like I said, my mother is a queen among the Varisian people. I refused to accept her services for free. Tradition states that silver must cross the palm of any Harrow reader. My knowledge and enforcement of this tradition earned me further respect than just that given to me for the sake of my mother.
Anca told me the Peacock was one of the Harrow decks ‘Arcana’, a powerful card that spoke of nobility and pride. It was likely, my sage told me, that the one who sent this card hoped to appeal to my vanity with her invitation, but that she sensed no malice associated with the invitation. I asked her for a reading. If Lady Fortune sought to embroil in adventure using this medium, I would play my part to the hilt. Discarding her usual patter and performance, Anca laid out the cards and spoke as plainly as she could. What she saw troubled her.
“I see a darkness coming around you. A darkness you cannot avoid; a wave of evil as unstoppable as the dawn.”
I made a point of interrupting her.
“Nothing is unstoppable, Anca.”
“Nevertheless, you must steel yourself. A dark cloud of evil comes soon to you and to your world. All you know will be darkness.”
“Hardly comforting.”
“I speak only what the cards show me.”
“I know. And I thank you for your honesty and your insight.” I stood. “I will go. It seems Fate is calling me. Tread well, mother.”
She smiled at my words and accepted the silver coin I gave her with a gracious nod of her head.
I had no desire to turn up to this invitation alone. I needed to find my brother. He could have been anywhere, but my search had to start somewhere. I headed down to the central dock where Osric the fixer owned a warehouse. Felix worked for him on occasion and the dwarf might know where I could find him.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 3
The afternoon sun did little to take the chill out of the air as I walked through the streets towards the docks. People seemed nervous somehow, in the way animals skitter just before an earthquake or a storm. Something was in the air. If I’d had the time, I would have tried to find out what. But I was caught up in my own world, and disturbed at Anca’s prophetic words. Was the darkness she spoke of something that would overwhelm me personally, or something of a more general nature? I had come to love my adopted home here in Khorvosa, but loved my own self far more. My two years in the Guard had not driven my mercenary roots from me completely.
Lost in my own thoughts I absent-mindedly banged on the door to Osric’s warehouse. When the door-slot slid open a loaded crossbow stared me in the face.
“Felix? Is that you?”
The voice was gruff and a little high-strung.
“No, Osric. It’s Agon.”
“The brother.” The crossbow did not lower. “What do you want?”
“To find my brother. To come in out of the cold. And for you to stop pointing that thing at my face!”
The door-slot slid shut and the door opened. Osric, wrapped in warm clothes and slightly sweaty, was climbing down off a stool he kept by the door.
“I can give you two out of three, lad. Your brother isn’t here. I’ve been looking for him myself. Well, I’ve had people looking for him. A fellow like me has people to do his dog-work for him you see.”
I had dealt with Osric enough to know his routine. If you believed half of what he said, he was one of the most well-connected powerful “colourful” identities of the city. While he was well-connected, he was far from powerful. He knew where the bodies were and knew enough not to get in the way of more powerful “colourful” identities who wouldn’t hesitate to squash him like a bug. Information was his trade, as much as half-priced feel-off-the-back-of-a-wagon goods. I nodded at him and made myself comfortable by the fire-pit.
“So why are you looking for your brother, lad?”
Osric had lowered, but not let go of his crossbow.
“Family business. I needed another swordarm. Any of your boys looking for some extra work tonight?”
“I’ve got them working on something. I had a break-in earlier. I take security breaches seriously.”
“And rightly so. What happened?”
“Well I was sitting here going through my Ledger when …”
Osric looked up suspiciously. I was helping myself to some of his brandy.
“You’re Varisian, aren’t you boy?”
“Half. But yes. Why?”
“I found this Harrow deck card in my Ledger. Do you know what it means?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“It means something is going on, Osric.” The dwarf looked at me questioningly. “Let me guess, on the back of the card was an invite to come to an address tonight and put a beat-down on Gordon Lamm?”
“By Gorum’s great sword. Do you have the Sight?”
“Not exactly.” I held up the Harrow card I had received earlier. “This was in amongst my day’s paperwork.” Osric took the card and read the invitation on the back. “It seems someone is recruiting.”
“So it would seem.” Osric looked up, his face set. “I’ve got some of the lads looking into this address. They should be back soon. I take it you’re planning on going?”
“Yes, but not alone. This seems like a situation where some swords might be handy. I know a fellow whose pretty good with a blade and can be trusted – Marcus Merivanchi. He’s an aristocrat, but we’ve trained together at the Orsini Fencing Academy and sunk enough booze afterwards to strike up a friendship; besides, his family are amici – traditional friends and allies – with the Cambions. I can trust him.”
Osric nodded.
“I know this man. I have done a few … jobs for his family. But why would a nobleman bloody his sword for you?”
I smiled like a conjurer revealing the rabbit in his hat.
“Because Lamm killed his sister.”
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Agon's Journal, Entry 4
The sun was almost down by the time we had crossed the city to the townhouse of Marcus Merivanchi. Osric was well and truly wrapped up against the cold, but I knew that under that cloak he worn protective leather armour and carried both sword and bow. I had slowed my pace a little so the dwarf could keep up. We spoke only a little was we walked. Both of us noticed the hum of expectation in the air. Few people looked at us closely as we walked. Off-duty Guards tend to be ignored – no-one likes to draw attention from soldiers if they can help it.
The Merivanchi townhouse was an impressive affair, a three-storey edifice built on a high hill in the Heights district. High walls on the attached garden kept the riff-raff away but the decorations on their tops, and what could be seen of the house from the street spoke clearly enough of the Old Money this family possessed. I had been to the estate on a number of occasions – family affairs – and knew that inside was less impressive for the townhouse was not as well furnished as other dwellings in this part of the city. Marcus Merivanchi lived beyond his means. Still, a poor aristocrat was still fairly well off. He had servants and property and a damn sight more than more ordinary folk. I had never been made truly welcome, seen merely as a guest of an allied house, not as a man and a servant of the crown doing a job more important to the continuance of the city-state than hopping in and out of carriages.
(I shall move on and curb my distaste for useless aristocracy. For now at least. I am sure I will return to this subject before too long.)
A footman by the name of Garic answered my knocks at the gate. I’d met Garic a few times – a pleasant man, if a little weak of spirit. He was happy enough in his lot. How someone could be happy as a footman bewildered me, but I suppose it takes all sorts.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Hi Garic. It’s me, Agon Deparle of the Cambion Household.”
“Yes sir. Can I help you?”
Servants!
“I’d like to speak with Marcus.”
“Master Merivanchi is not available.”
“It’s to do with the Academy. We study at the Orsini together.”
An easy lie might help pry some information from this fellow.
“Master Merivanchi is not available. He is not in the residence this evening.”
Damn.
“Could you tell me where I could find him?”
“I’m not a liberty to give out that information, sir.”
“It’s important, Garic.”
I fixed him with my most sincere ‘please stop dicking me around’ look.
“I’m sorry, Master Deparle. I do not know where the young master went.”
Garic did look genuinely sorry he could not help me. Osric spoke up from behind me.
“Was anyone with him? Who did he speak to before he left?”
Garic was prepared to help me, but still looked down on the Dwarf (pun not intended).
“Those with whom Master Merivanchi spoke left with him. Good day to you, sirs.”
With that, Garic stepped inside and closed the gates. Osric looked up at me.
“Well that was pointless. What now, boy?”
The sun was setting and time, inexorable in its advance, was running away from us. We turned from the Merivanchi estate and began the trudge across the city to the docks area for the evening’s meeting. We walked in silence, each wrapped in our thoughts. The walk kept us warm against the chill of the coming night. With each step I felt I was coming closer to the cloud of darkness and evil I had heard earlier in prophecy. With my heritage I should know better than to listen to fortune-tellers.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 5
Even at night Harbourview Boulevard was a busy stretch of the city. Last minute business, street-side bars and food stalls kept people out on the streets for several hours into the night. The area was well-lit to facilitate trade and increase safety. Osric and I sat upstairs at a tavern enjoying a warm meal and mulled wine to ward off the cold. We’d arrived earlier than the hour specified by the invitation and I was damned if I was waiting out on the street.
I sat with my back to the street trusting that Osric’s eyes were sharper than mine and that the Dwarf was twitchy enough to call my attention to anything unusual. Halfway through my second cup of wine and deep in the bottom of my bowl of braised beef and vegetables, I noticed Osric staring out into the street.
“Isn’t that Marcus Merivanchi?” he asked.
I looked where he was pointing. At the crossroads some sixty yards away stood Marcus, his sister Mari, their cousin Ariadnae, called Ari, and their brother-in-law Tain. An interesting little group. Tain was a former member of the Guard. I couldn’t quite remember why he’d left, even though I was sure I’d been told. He served the Church of Abadar now, but he was a tough fellow and a good fighter.
The four stood out. Marcus, Tain and Ari were all armed, wearing hooded cloaks (or a long coat with a hat pulled down low over his face in Marcus’ case) and were clearly up to no good. Ari was a priestess of the Death god, a tough girl and seen as something of an oddball by the family. She had a flail at her hip and carried a shield. Had I been on duty and not known them I would have walked over and asked what they were up to – the Guard gets a little nervous when it sees armed people in the street. It amazed me they hadn’t been pulled up already. I fished a rock from my pouch of sling stones and hurled it in their direction. Tain leapt like a cat on a hot roof when the rock hit the back of his leg. They all turned to see the cause. Sixty yards away – it had been a good throw – wine goblet in hand, I waved like a loon and called them over.
“Hey Marcus! Come on up!”
I saw the nobleman shake his head. I suspect he may have been trying to a low profile. I figured I’d bait him a little.
“Marcus Merivanchi! Hey, Marcus!”
I grinned as I waved. He could see I had no shame and was unlikely to stop so he herded his family over. His nervousness showed that he was no regular in this part of town. In this street of lively commerce, people would continue with their business and ignore everything short of a full-scale riot. Marcus and the others approached the street beneath us. Osric waved cheerily, enjoying their discomfort as much as I was.
“Come on up. I’ll order more wine!”
Wearily they came inside and climbed the stairs to the balcony. I signaled for another jug of mulled wine and some more goblets. Marcus was in the lead and nodded his greeting.
“Agon. Osric.”
“You look lost, Master Merivanchi. It’s a long way from the Heights.”
“Yes, well we have business here tonight.”
I ignored him briefly to welcome the ladies.
“Mari, lovely to see you. You look wonderful. Wine?”
Mari struggled between her family’s icy disregard for anyone of non-Chelaxian birth and her own friendliness. She readily accepted the goblet of wine, much to her elder brother’s chagrin. I suspect she may have enjoyed teasing him as much as I did.
“Not bad,” Mari said, tasting the wine before sitting.
“Ari. Good to see you. Wine.”
Ari, a serious minded girl, took the wine and placed it on the table.
“Tain.” I nodded a simply greeting and extended my hand, taking his arm in a warrior’s grip of greeting – wrist to wrist. He mumbled a reply, deferring to Marcus’s growing state of exasperation.
“We can’t stay long, Agon. We have a meeting.” Marcus did not sit.
“A shame, sword-brother, for I was hoping to enlist your help this evening. Tain, you would be handy too. It seems Osric and I have a lead on Lamm.”
The temperature instantly dropped, such was the chilly distaste for that man from these young nobles. Marcus made an effort to keep his voice level.
“And what was the nature of this lead?”
There was something in his voice that made me realise what was going on, and why this group were down her on the docks at this time. I fished my Harrow card out from one of my belt-pouches.
“Let me guess, Marcus. You also got one of these.” I saw the recognition followed by questioning in his eyes and the eyes of those with him. “You all did?”
One by one they nodded and drew out their cards.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 6
As the six of us sat and talked about the mysterious invitations, the nervousness of the four young nobles disappeared. More accustomed to politics and deciphering motivations than sneaking around on the streets, Marcus, Mari, Ari and Tain soon forgot their surroundings as we discussed what all of this meant.
Tain and Ari were on edge and expecting trouble, as was Marcus. Mari, a more easy-going soul, and having had three goblets of wine while her older brother was distracted, seemed more relaxed. Osric was happy to follow along with the others. And me? I was enjoying teasing Marcus and sharing the occasional giggle with Mari.
Marcus was a natural leader and now his equilibrium was restored – the mulled wine might have helped – this character trait soon asserted itself. He was impatient to get to the meeting and drew a close to our discussion – discussion which at least on my part was done to draw out the mulled wine into another jug. But playtime was over. I paid the bill and we filed outside and down the street to the lane.
17 Harbourview Boulevard South Lane was a quiet little shop. Warm light seeped out from the edges of the door-frame and through the shuttered windows. The residence looked safe and inviting. Naturally this made the more suspicious members of our entente even more nervous.
Marcus’ knock was answered by a ruddy cheeked Varisian boy.
“We have come at the behest of one who sent the Hallow cards,” Marcus announced.
The boy just looked confused. I lent past Marcus and crouched down, fished out the Hallow card invitation, and stressed the Varisian accent from my heritage.
“Hi there, young master. We’ve got invitations.” I held up the Hallow card. “Can we come in, O Guardian of the Gate?”
The little boy laughed and opened the door. I stepped past Marcus and went inside, muttering under my breath.
“Aristocrats! No idea how to talk to real people.”
Inside we were treated to a warm parlor set with Varisian silks, candles and a scattering of cushions. Low tables were set with bread and water. Aromatic spices filled the air and a gentle fire-filled brazier warded off the winter cold. The boy skipped nimbly past us on his way to a curtained doorway opposite the entrance.
“Mistress Zellara will be with you shortly. Please sit and eat. You are welcome here.”
He then vanished through the curtain. I turned to the others, placed my weapons & shield against the wall, and began to remove my shoes.
“Weapons down and relax people. You’re safe here.”
The others mumbled a loose consent and began to place their weapons aside and sit on the cushions.
“Why are you removing your shoes, Agon?” Mari asked.
“It is custom in Varisian houses to remove your shoes to eat. It shows respect to the house.”
Reluctantly, the others began to remove their shoes. Mari stood, her hands near her cloak. I looked at her, a question on my face. She cleared her throat and shook her cloak gently.
“Will someone remove my cloak for me?”
Marcus had already taken a seat, so I took Mari’s cloak. Hoping to get a rise out of Marcus, I then placed it over my shield. An old Guards’ tradition holds that this implied some sort of nocturnal activity between Mari and I was now imminent. Tain, a former Guardsman, raised an eyebrow but kept silent. Marcus, with more knowledge of Guard tradition than I had given him credit for, immediately raised a hand and pointed.
“Hey! Leave my sister alone, you letch.”
I laughed off his concerns, sat and helped myself to some bread, leaning in close to Mari who wondered what had fired up her big brother. Marcus made to stand up and remonstrate with me on a more forceful level but was held down by Tain.
“He’s teasing you, Marcus.” Tain kept his hand on Marcus’ shoulder as he looked at me. “Aren’t you, Agon?”
“Of course.”
Any further banter was cut off by the arrival of our host.
Mistress Zellara was a mature but still beautiful Varisian woman, with long hair and dressed in soft flowing robes of muted colours. Her dark eyes held a sadness, but she smiled for us in greeting.
“Thank you all for coming. I apologise for being so mysterious in my invitations. I will explain as we eat. Henric,” she spoke to the boy, “please bring in the meal.”
Over a simple meal of bread and broth we heard Zellara’s sad tale. A family heirloom, a Harrow deck used in her family for generations, had been stolen by Gordon Lamm. Zellara’s eldest son, Erin, had stolen the deck back for his mother. Lamm did not take kindly to this. He had Erin kidnapped, beaten, and then killed. Lamm then sent the boy’s hands and head back to his mother in a box with a warning that she was next. Zellara, in fear for her life, sought out those who had also been wronged by the gangster Lamm. She was a woman of instinct who heard and heeded the calls of the Hidden World. Her divinations led her to send the mysterious invitations to us. She believed that we could and would bring her justice and safety for herself and her remaining son.
For my sins I am a mercenary man by nature, and I admit my first thought was to ask “what’s in it for me”. I am glad that Tain spoke before I could.
“My lady, we will find this villain and kill him.”
His voice trembled with passion and hate. I was surprised and ask him why.
“Tain, you seem to have a special hatred for this man. Why? I know why Marcus wishes revenge for the death of his sister, as does Mari and Ari. But your connection to the Merivanchi family is only by marriage, right?”
The silence from the Merivanchis was deafening. They all held their breath and looked between Tain and I. What had I done? Tain swallowed and answered slowly, deliberately.
“Talia, Marcus and Mari’s sister, Ari’s cousin, was my wife. Lamm killed her.”
“Ahh.”
Oops.
Zellara told us she had learned Lamm was in the central docks area. Lamm was an itinerant, making a habit of setting up shop in abandoned buildings and then moving on before his operations could be closed down. We knew we could not find Lamm tonight so we discussed our plans for finding him as we ate. After the meal we slipped away into the cold night, huddling into our cloaks against the sleet. After leaving the docks area we went our separate was and resolved to meet tomorrow evening at Osric’s warehouse after a day of research
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Agon's Journal, Entry 7
Marcus was a businessman. His family held numerous holdings across the city and throughout the nearby region. He spent the morning arranging a luncheon with his clients, and spent the afternoon speaking to them to see if he could learn of any criminal activity in the central docks area that might point the way to Lamm. He got nowhere.
Mari tried to sneak out to help me at the Guards’ watch-house but her eagle-eyed brother put a halt to her endeavours. She had reading to do for university and Marcus would not see her relinquish her studies or become involved in hunting criminals. He forbade her involvement and sent her to her room.
Ari, as a part of her duties with the Church of the Dead, had connections to the morgue. She went there to ask after any bodies from the central docks area. She was shown a leg, bitten off from the body by a large many-toothed water beast. She was also shown several children’s corpses that had been found in the area. She made notes, but felt no closer to learning the location of Lamm.
Tain walked his usual beat for the Church of Adabar, questioning the locals for information on Lamm. He got nowhere, but had a revelation as he walked. Tain knew that when a citizen dies without a proper will any property they held is entrusted to the state in holding until it can be assigned. Sometimes this takes years during which time the property is unlisted, and unused – in other words, abandoned. Tain checked in the Hall of Records and found the files on two buildings in the area that fit the bill. He had found a significant lead.
Osric concerned himself with security for the day. He looked over the security procedures of his warehouse and made sure his people were properly schooled and chastised. Those he sent out to look for Lamm came back with nothing other than a few rumours that he “was into kids these days”. Osric’s people could learn no more.
And me? Well I arranged for a transfer from the northern docks to the central docks. I figured this would give me access to the relevant records, and would place me in a position to help us in any cover-up should we end up killing a whole bunch of people associated with Lamm and burning down a part of the city in the fight. To explain my transfer I convinced the Guard captain I would be writing a research paper on “the benefits of street-orientated paperwork as an aid to proper law enforcement”, or some such twaddle. I had no intention of ever writing it and figured the captain would forget about long before I was ever meant to produce it.
The Guards watch-house files proved to be very helpful. Lamm had been a known felon for a long time. He had been involved in almost every form of reprehensible criminal behaviour – smuggling, theft, arson, extortion, assault, murder, slavery, child slavery, sex slavery, drug trafficking, rape and pedophilia. He was vilest of criminals. His file gave no known address and no convictions – only conjecture, but so much smoke must come from fire. Only one known associate stuck out, one Targin Balko, an alchemist known to Lamm for many years and also involved in child slavery and pedophilia.
I went back over the notes about child slavery. Such things require a complex system of corruption and cover-up in order to exist. I pulled the files on missing children. There had been an increase in child disappearances over the last three months within a five block area of what Zellara had specified. One name kept coming up on the reports, a Guards officer called Lieutenant Stevens. Stevens transferred into the central docks watch-house three months ago, just prior to the increase in missing children. I made a note and put everything back the way it was.
Why didn’t I confront Stevens? For several reasons. In part, I had no real evidence, just a suspicion. But mainly because Lt. Stevens would be nothing more than just a facilitator. Institutionalised child-slavery comes from the super-rich and influential – those wealthy enough to be truly degenerate. In Khorvosa this meant the aristocracy. As I said, I’m a mercenary kind of fellow, but some things cannot be allowed to stand. I would find out who was responsible for this evil and see them stopped. But to stalk this prey I had to be patient. Lt. Stevens was likely nothing more than a spur of a greater evil. I would speak to Marcus and find out who was the sponsor of this young officer. And in the meantime I would leave this Lt. Stevens to run and lead me back to his master.
(I realise I could be wrong about this man. But I doubt it.)
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Agon's Journal, Entry 8
Marcus, Ari, Tain, Osric and I met at his warehouse that evening. Mari had stayed at home as ordered. We compared notes, putting together the pieces of the puzzle. Surprisingly, they fit together.
Tain’s abandoned house theory sounded good. This gave us two locations – a warehouse at the water’s edge, and a large house several streets back from the docks. The child-smuggling angle Osric and I uncovered made us inclined to look at the warehouse. I gave my logic to Tain: that to move the “goods”, the children, around without drawing attention the harbour would provide an easier access than the street. Finally Tain Ari had learned that Lamm had himself a pet crocodile – the large many-toothed water creature whose handiwork he had seen earlier in the day.
So the warehouse by the water it was. I told the others of what I had found in the files – that Lamm was the vilest of men. Cold determination stole into the eyes of the others in the group. I felt certain they were ready to kill to end the threat this man posed to the innocent. Even Osric, a cold hearted fellow at the best of times, seemed ready to kill Lamm and his crew.
As we were going into battle, I checked everyone’s equipment. The “shake and shine” test was done. Whatever rattled was tied down. Whatever shined was covered. A shield was found for Marcus. He preferred not to use one, and was trained to fence not fight, but I knew he’d likely see its value before the night was through. Everyone was prepared with armour, weapons for distance and for up close. We knew the basic signals for danger, to attack and to retreat. They knew to fight in teams with Tain and I leading and the others following. They were determined. They were ready.
The others were concerned about my preparedness to burn down Lamm’s hideout, potentially sacrificing captive slaves and children and destroying a great section of the city. While these were not my first or preferred options, it is true that if it came down to a choice between me and them, I’d burn the whole district to the ground. My attitude was clear enough and I felt both Tain and Ari become awkward with that realization.
Osric’s spies came back with a map of the warehouse and we planned our assault. Children milled about in a soup-kitchen on the building’s northern side. The southern door, off the street, was guarded by two armed men. Armed guards meant something important to guard. We could move into fire positions close by and it was there we would make our move. Osric would move up close to one of the two guards by the southern door. The rest of us, at the appointed time, would shoot the guard closer to the street while Osric took out the other one.
To get our timing right I took Osric through the one-cabbanat-two-cabbanat-three-cabbanat-four-cabbanat counting system. It kept time well in circumstances like this and would allow us to coordinate our effects. My manners may not be as smooth as some, but I was a very good combat leader.
We readied ourselves across the laneway as Osric headed off and disappeared into the darkness. All of us wore masks and we had dampened them in case of fire. On the count of one-hundred-and-eighty-cabbanat, Ari breathed a prayer to the Death Goddess asking for Her blessing. On one-hundred-and-ninety-cabbanat, as Osric moved up behind his victim, Ari’s eyes flew open in warning…
“We’re being watched!”
I held her in check with my harsh whisper.
“Wait. Wait. Wait.”
A cloud of colourful butterflies burst into the vision of the guard furthest from the street. Both guards looked dazed, wondering what had just happened. They weren’t the only ones.
I counted the final moments out loud.
“One-hundred-and-ninety-nine-cabbanat. Two-hundred. FIRE!”
As one we fired – my Guards-issued composite shortbow, crossbows from Marcus and Tain, and Ari’s sling. The armed guard by the door fell silently, not even having had time to scream. Osric moved without warning from the shadows behind the other guard, crumbling the guard’s leg with a kick. As the guard fell Osric moved one hand to cover his mouth and stabbed deep and hard with the knife held in his other hand, seeking for the guard’s kidneys. In a blink of an eye Osric reversed the knife and ran it across the guard’s throat. Briefly I felt a small concern at just how good Osric was at that, but now was not the time for such thoughts. Instead I gave the orders.
“Move. Down to the door. Quickly and silently as we can.”
Marcus, Ari, Tain and I moved swiftly down to the doors. Osric was still, listening for sounds that others were aware of what had just happened. No new noises stirred. Our deed remained unknown. Briefly I wondered if we were right, if these men we had just murdered were involved in the vile crimes we thought they were. Perhaps there had been an alternative to killing them. I could see these questions in Marcus’ eyes. I would wonder about it tomorrow. Tonight was for blood and action.
I signaled for Osric to climb up on the roof. From there he could find a way in through a sky-light, spy and report back. In total silence the dwarf climbed a drainpipe like a monkey. The rest of us busied ourselves propping up the dead guards, making them look like they were sleeping rather than corpses. We then waited in the shadows for Osric to report back.
A child’s scream broke through the sounds of the night. The child was in great pain and needed help. Tain stepped forward, his great flail held tight in his hand.
“Wait, Tain. Wait.” I held a hand to his shoulder.
“The innocent need help.”
“And you’ll help them more if you wait and strike with knowledge. Wait for Osric. Then we’ll move.”
He held in place, my words reaching him behind his anger.
Ari, however, was another prospect. At the sound of the child’s scream she stood, hefted her flail, and moved towards the side door, giving it a mighty kick. It didn’t budge. Tain moved to help her.
Marcus stood, looking over at me as he did.
“So much for stealth, Agon.”
The door splintered under the assault of Tain’s shoulder. He and the priestess charged in.
“New plan, Marcus. They go first, we cover them.”
Marcus laughed wryly as we moved.
“Good plan. Take you long to come up with that one?”
I grinned and followed.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 9
Ari was possessed by a righteous rage. She moved through the room inside the door to get to the child in pain, and to punish the one who had hurt them. To his left as he came through the door, Tain saw two workers staring at the armed figures coming into the room. Tain fixed them with a stare and hefted his flail as he moved across the room.
“Get out.”
One gave a frightened nod. The other shouted an alarm. The champion of Adabar then dismissed them as non-combatants and moved to back up the priestess charging through to the central room.
“Marcus, cover right, I’ll take the left.”
Marcus came in and covered the sliding door to the right of where we came in. He slid the door shut and jammed a crate against it. To the right I saw the two workers. I pointed a drawn arrow at them.
“Down on the ground and you live.”
One did as he was told. The other was trying to get past us. Marcus gestured with his crossbow that he should join his friend on the floor. With quick movements I bound their hands – a member of the Guard on city watch duties always carries some twine with which to bind people placed under arrest.
Above the central room, suspended near the sky-light, Osric saw the cruelty beneath him. Children toiled around vats of fish slurry and acid. The assembly line process was cruel and demeaning, but Osric could not help but admire its effectiveness. One of the overseers ordered a child to reach into a vat of acid to retrieve a dropped tool. With his will broken and under the threat of more violence, the child complied, quickly reaching into to retrieve the tool. The boy screamed, dropping the tool again into the acid. In reprisal the guard backhanded the boy in the head, sending him crashing still to the ground, blood seeping from the child’s ears.
Osric held his breath and his position. There were two overseers, scores of children. His job was to observe and report. The child was as good as dead already and hasty action would not bring him back to life.
The door burst open as Ari charged into the room. She saw the child lying bleeding and still on the ground. Both overseers turned to the priestess. Ari’s anger was directed at the torturers, but her heart was centered on the child. Ari prayed to her god, asked for the Death Goddess to still Her hand and give life to those nearby whose time had not yet come. Healing light flooded the room, and life was restored to the dying. Ari’s eyes shone with the power of her goddess.
The overseer who had struck the child advanced on Ari, drawing a sword as he did so. The witch would die! From behind Ari stormed Tain, his great flail swinging with fury and purpose. Children scattered out of the way as Abadar’s champion exacted vengeance for too many wrongs. The overseer’s skull proved poor resistance to the flail’s path and the overseer fell like a sack of bloody potatoes.
The second overseer moved towards Ari hoping to end whatever threat this witch posed. He had not taken two steps when a crossbow lodged in his shoulder. Above him, Osric reloaded as quickly as his precarious position allowed him.
Undeterred, the remaining overseer lurched towards the priestess. The flails of the priestess and the champion thudded into him and still he lurched on, reaching over and wrenching Ari’s shield from her arm. For the presumption of laying a hand on a priestess of the Death Goddess the overseer received the priestess’ flail in his face and finally he fell.
A moment’s pause descended before the children began to scream and run from the room.
Outside on the southern docks near the warehouse an elder Varisian woman surveyed the scene. Children streamed from the building. On the ship docked by the warehouse fishermen unloading great nets of fish watched the children run, wondering what it was they were really seeing. Two of Lamm’s goons watching them work saw the children and moved to gather them up.
The Varisian woman gestured towards the goons, rose petals slipping between her fingers, her movements small, murmuring words of power under her breath. As the goons reached the children, gathering them up and administering savage kicks and punches, they and the children around fell to the ground, unconscious from the magic of the Varisian woman.
She nodded and, satisfied the children were safe enough for now, headed inside the warehouse.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 10
With the two workers bound, Marcus and I joined the others in the central room. Children ran past us, escaping into the night. Had we the time I would have liked to speak to them, to find out how many more of Lamm’s remained and where Lamm was. But that question was answered for me.
Through the northern doors, in stepped Lamm.
He was a vile looking man, the sickness of his soul had washed over his body and face, making him look as evil on he outside as was to his core.
“Hello duckies. So lovely to see you.”
We all paused, held fast by the terror we saw, each of us overwhelmed by memories. Tain saw his wife’s face, dying. Marcus and Ari saw the man who killed their sister/cousin and remembered the helplessness they felt by her graveside. I saw my brother, bloodied and beaten from the work of Lamm and his men. And while the pain of our memories halted our anger, Lamm’s hands and words worked a curious magic, poisoning our minds further.
“Ahh, Deparle. The last time I saw you, you lay dying by my hand. Good to see you back on your feet.”
“Your eyes were playing tricks on you, Lamm. That was my brother.”
“An easy mistake to make,” Lamm replied. “It won’t happen again.” Lamm then turned to Tain. “Ahh, Mr. Tain. I seem to recall that I killed your wife. Were there any children that I missed? I quite like children. And Marcus, such a pity that your sister cannot join us…”
And that was the end to Lamm’s bitter words. Marcus yelled, drew his rapier and charged. I released an arrow at his heart, presuming the cur had one. The arrow missed his heart, but pierced his shoulder, wounding him deeply. I smiled to see his pain and shock that his magical wards had not kept my arrow from his hide.
As Marcus closed the distance, an enormous crocodile burst into the room to defend its master. Marcus halted in his tracks, horrified at the monster in front of him. His mind raced – not too many of the fencing moves he had learned over torturous hours at the Orsini Fencing Academy involved fighting fifteen foot crocodiles.
From the roof Osric fired his crossbow as quickly as he could at the crocodile. His bolts did little to pierce its hide, but did serve to distract it. Marcus backpedaled, striking out with his rapier as he did so. His efforts scored the hide of the great beast and kept him safe from its jaws. A desperate lunge from the crocodile crunched Marcus’ shield but allowed Marcus to stab the beast behind its head. It drew off for another charge.
As Lamm stumbled back away from Tain and Ari’s charge, a near naked old man stepped in behind Lamm – it was Yargin Balko the alchemist. He held two flasks of viscous liquid in his hand, threatening the approaching champions. Tain and Ari were not deterred and charged into the flesh-peddler, their flails drawing blood and knocking Lamm backwards. An incantation of dark power half-murmured on his lips, Lamm fell to a powerful blow from Tain’s flail, his chest smashed to a bloody pulp.
Balko screamed in rage and threw the flasks at Tain and Ari. Tain dodged away. Ari was not so quick. The flask broke on her armour, the noxious fumes filling her lungs and inducing violent illness. His flasks thrown, now unarmed, Balko held his hands above his head in surrender, near naked and with a disgusting leer on his face. Tain advanced on him, but by his code could not strike someone who had surrendered.
I yelled to Marcus.
“Withdraw.”
“I’m trying to!”
“Lure it under the fishing net on the roof. Osric, cut the damn net … now!”
The net fell smoothly onto the crocodile. It would not hold it for long. The Varisian woman had followed us into the central room. She gestured towards the crocodile, her gestures subtle and sonorous words lost to my ears, and the beast was stilled, held as if entranced by a pattern none could see. Marcus wasted no time in escaping from out of the crocodile’s now stilled maw, and then swiftly finishing the beast
I turned towards Balko. I didn’t like his leer.
“I’ve surrendered.”
“Pardon? You’ll need to speak up.”
I shot him in the stomach. Balko folded in two, not dead, but badly hurt. I think even Tain smiled. I know I did.
Tain bound the villain before I could reload.
The battle was over. The children were safe. The day was won. Vengeance had been delivered.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 11
The danger over, I turned to this Varisian woman. She told us that she was a friend of Zellara, and had come to help. Now that Lamm had been dealt with, she would leave again. There was something in the way she spoke, in how she held herself, that seemed familiar – a lightness about her, an attraction that seemed familiar. It was her companion that gave me the clue. Trotting near her ankles was a small dog; a dog that, before being called away, had been eating some of the fish on the floor. I knew this Varisian woman by a different name and a different face. I looked forward to seeing her again, and promised myself that – at least for now – I wouldn’t speak a word of this to her brother.
The next score of minutes was a blur. As the rush of battle wore off, we searched Lamm’s lair. We found all of the children and freed them from their bonds. The children were herded together – we’d escort them back to the Guards watch-house, their homes, or an orphanage as needed; Tain said the Church of Abadar could help.
What cronies of Lamm were left behind were herded together – I wanted to question them later to find out what they knew of the organisation. It was likely they knew little, but I wanted to be thorough, knowing that any clue could help me unravel what would no doubt be a deep rabbit-hole of corruption and depravity. I asked Marcus to help me in my investigation. He did not relish the prospect that his own kind might be involved, but saw the sense of it. His ethics of noblesse oblige would ensure he did his best to root out the evil from the ranks of the city’s aristocracy.
And of course we looted the place, right down to the harvesting the crocodile for its meat and insides. That was Osric’s idea; the Dwarf didn’t miss an opportunity to pocket coin.
An interesting find among Lamm’s loot was an expensive broach from the House of the Queen. None of us knew what to make of this. Was it an object of theft? A token of loyalty between Lamm and the Queen? A piece of blackmail?
I can’t recall who held on to the broach that night. Had I kept my wits about me I would have known, but what we found awaiting us when we left the warehouse took from me all immediate sense of what had gone before.
The city was ablaze. Great fires swept through the centre of the city, and before the flames fled thousands of people in panic. We stood and stared, and then heard the cries on the streets that changed everything.
“The King is dead. The King is dead! The King is dead!”
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Agon's Journal, Entry 12
Marcus Merivanchi, an aristocrat. The events surrounding the hunt of and revenge upon Gordon Lamm left their mark on the young aristocrat. The world of bloodletting and swordplay intruded itself upon his previously quiet life. He had been brought up to place a high importance upon Blood and Honour, and was just now coming to realise that these things demanded a steep price for the benefits they imparted.
Tain Locus, a paladin of Abadar. Tain had now revenged himself upon his wife’s killer. Some of the spark left Tain immediately after Lamm died; it was almost as if he had spent his spirit on revenge. But the champion of Abadar had a certain steel to him, and the duties of his Faith kept his soul alive.
Marianna “Mari” Merivanchi, a young aristocratic scholar. Family duty would see Mari living a quieter life than she would have chosen for herself. She was fortunate indeed that Fate had picked no quiet life for this ‘enchanting’ young woman.
Ariadnae “Ari” Merivanchi, a priestess of Pharasma, the Death goddess. The skill and fire with which Ari fought the agents of Gordon Lamm made her seem more warrior than priestess, but it was her profession more than her fire that would feature strongly in the events that followed the death of the king.
Osric Geldheim, “colourful” dwarf fixer. With the death of Lamm and the destruction of his operation, Osric threw himself into his most favourite past-time – making money – and took full advantage of Lamm’s passing to acquire as much of the felon’s operation as he could.
Felix Deparle, my twin brother – a thief, a liar and a scoundrel. We are as different as the sun and the moon, yet work together so very well – the habits of a lifetime. I could strangle him for his irreverence yet would choose to work with no other for his mind ever remains as quick as his tongue.
Agon Deparle, the humble author; a swordsman and a soldier. There is a tide that sweeps through the affairs of men, and if taken at the flood that tide can sweep a man onto new shores of opportunity. For all of the chaos that came to surround in the days featured in this diary I remain glad that I was able to play a part and take a hand in shaping not only my own destiny, but the destiny of us all.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 13: 22nd of Abadius, 4708
“The King is dead. The king is dead!”
The words that changed everything overshadowed all that had gone before. We had just killed the gangster Gordon Lamm, a vile and vicious man responsible for so much death, pain and destruction. We had just fought for our lives, and won, and in truth were still giddy from our victory.
Mari, the beautiful young girl of the Merivanchi Family, had revealed the truth of her identity behind the magic that had disguised her as a Varisian woman. That revelation had shocked her brother greatly. Mari explained that she had a sage she knew use magic to disguise her. She swore she had not crafted the magic that had disguised her. Her eyes and sweet voice proclaimed innocence, but I do not know if her elder brother believed her. He promised they would speak on the matter privately when they returned home. Personally, I doubted that Mari was as innocent as she claimed but I know almost nothing of magic other than it is a power I can neither wield nor understand. Besides, all pretty women wield magic over the hearts of men.
We had found Lamm’s ledgers, his business papers and personal letters; documents that could condemn his fellows to the block if they could be interpreted and produced in a court of law. But how could we keep quiet the fact of their removal from Lamm? With the gangster’s cohorts so close to justice I would not wish them to become alert and so slip away. If what had happened here could be kept secret somehow…
And hidden away in Lamm’s possessions was a most curious object – the broach of the queen. Why would Lamm hold such an item? Had it been stolen or was this a sinister sign of some dealings between the queen and this gangster?
In tow we brought with us out of Lamm’s house of depravity and slavery not only children in dire need of shelter and assistance, but his second-in-command the drug-maker, deviant and alchemist Yargin Balko. He could be linked to so many crimes, the cause of so much pain and death in the city. I had wounded him during the battle, but failed to end his existence. I only hoped he would not avoid justice now as he had done so often in the past.
It was wrapped in a haze of such thoughts that we all heard the words of the king’s death. We did not believe what he heard at first. Was it just a dream? Perhaps some kind of phantasm that tricked our ears and clouded our eyes with the chaos of a city gone mad?
Soon enough we realised the stark reality and terror of what awaited us, as towards us, set in the backdrop of a city ablaze, fled half a dozen Varisians chased by an angry mob howling for their blood.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 14
The numbers of the mob could not easily be counted. They seemed possessed of a spiritual version of the fire that swept through the city. Murder was in their eyes and violence in their hearts. Shop front were smashed and buildings set ablaze as they poured, an angry wave of hate, down the streets towards the fleeing Varisian-born citizens.
In truth, had the option been available I would have stood aside to let them pass. If left to their own devices, they would tire themselves out. The city might burn a touch, but they were unlikely to catch any of those who fled before them, and sometimes a little anarchy must exist to help keep order.
But I had a feeling that Tain would not bend so easily. I saw the champion set his jaw and step in front of the advancing mob. Marcus and I exchanged a look, an acknowledgement that things were likely to get bloody and that neither of us we going to back down and abandon Tain. Ari, her blood still afire with the fervour of her goddess, hefted shield and flail and stepped beside Tain. Mari, sensible girl, stayed back.
Between our ranks slipped the Varisians. I grabbed one as they ran past, demanding to know what had happened. In his terror he did not recognize me, but I realised I still wore a mask covering my face.
“They’re trying to kill us! Just because we’re Varisian born. Please let me flee while I still can!”
I let him run and turned to face the mob. Tain set his jaw and hefted his flail. He seemed determined to meet violence with violence. Searching for another solution, I turned to Marcus.
“Now might be the right time for some of those fancy words you love so much, Marcus.”
He nodded, cleared his throat, lowered his mask and began to speak.
“Citizens of Khorvosa, do not turn yourselves into unruly animals and abandon all standards. In this time of distress the city herself needs all of its citizens to …”
Marcus’ rhetoric was cut off as he ducked a thrown wooden plank. This mob was in no mood for fancy speeches and appeal to civic virtue. I tried a different approach, pulling down my mask and revealing the Guards’ emblem on my shield.
“By order of the Khorvosan Guard, you are all to cease and desist or by the gods I’ll have you arrested and hanged!”
That pulled them up short in their tracks, but my challenge was answered by a familiar voice from within the mob’s ranks.
“There he goes again, spoiling all of our fun. Can’t you see, Officer that we’re just out for a bit of looting and chaos. No real harm in that is there?”
I knew the voice. I had been hearing it almost all of my life. It was my twin brother, Felix.
“Felix! What in the hells are you doing with this lot? Where are you?”
Felix, dressed in a bright red Varisian silk shirt over which he wore his favourite black studded leather jerkin, stepped out from the centre of the mob. He was cradling an ornate silver candelabrum.
“Hey there brother. Why do you always have to spoil my fun?”
“Because you’re breaking the law and running down the street with a mob hell-bent on murder.”
“Oh they’re not serious. Besides, it’s great cover for some looting and theft. Look at this candelabrum, isn’t it a beauty? I pulled it out of a house about three blocks back.”
“That is quite nice, Felix. But I’m in uniform. I can’t really be seen to be turning a blind eye to all of this you know.”
“You’re always doing this, Agon. I’m just out having some fun and YOU have go and play the authority figure.” Felix turned towards one of the larger members of the mob, currently looking somewhat confused at this strange display of brotherly banter between Guardsman and looter. “You there, Tiny, all this talk of ‘kill the Varisians’; it is just talk, right? You’re not really out to kill these people just because they’re not Chelaxian are you?”
The lout responded in flawless cretin.
“These Varisian scum have been dirtying up the city for too long. Now’s our chance to cleanse the city of these rats.” The lout paused and looked at Felix. “Hey, you look kind of Varisian to me, and so does this Guardsman!”
“Hush up Tiny, adults are talking.” I turned back to Felix, wondering how long we could keep this up and stall the mob. “Felix, you’re in a crowd of racial supremacists out for Varisian blood. Doesn’t that strike you as a little dangerous?”
“Well now that you point it out to me it does seem a little hypocritical of me to be a part of a mob chanting for the blood of our people. Still, friends can’t be perfect.”
“That’s true,” I replied. “I remember Captain Mercer always used to say that. Still, he betrayed his own company for a thousand coin.”
“True, brother, an excellent example of how greed can turn the heart away from…”
Our gentle reminiscing was interrupted by Marcus clearing his throat from behind me.
“Ahh, Agon? Felix? Perhaps you two could do this at another time?”
I turned to face Marcus, knowing Felix would guard my back from any attack. I was pleased to see that the Varisians had run off down the street and were now all out of sight. Some of the mob had ignored our banter and tried to force their way past our line. Tain and Ari treated them with the brutal beat down and street-justice their actions deserved. Behind Marcus I could see Mari muttering under her breath and making small deliberate gestures with her hands, her eyes fixed firmly on the mob before her. Marcus addressed the crown again.
“Shame on you. Shame on all of you! Your city burns! You king lies not yet cold in his grave. And you turn your back on those who have sheltered and cared for you. You turn your backs on the city itself! Madness runs through the city this night, and it is a madness I see before me. For what else could it be that fills your hearts with hate when your loved ones lie shaking in their beds for fear of being burned, robbed or raped? If it is action that you crave then be a hero in this strife and fight the fire that threatens your very homes. Those you sought have fled, and if you keep chasing them through the burning streets you will find your own homes in ashes. So tend to your families and your own homes, for both need you this night.”
I must admit, even I was moved by the nobleman’s words. The mob, now just a crowd, turned their thoughts inward at what they had heard, and questioned why it was they were there. Some turned and went to fight the fires. Most turned and went home. One stepped forward to challenge me.
“I’m not taking orders from some Varisian scum, Guardsman or no.”
I smiled. I know a fight when I see one. I hefted my mace and stepped into the lout’s face.
“Turn around or I’ll put you down, little man. If you cross me, you’ll be pissing blood before dawn.”
The lout looked over my shoulder. I suspect it was the steel he saw in Tain’s eyes, as well as the champion’s gore-splattered great flail, more than my own words that convinced him to back down. The lout took a step back, making to move away. I moved before he could see me, smashing my mace into his knee. He dropped with a scream.
“Threatening a Guardsman is an arrest able offence, dick-wad.” The man held his shattered knee and screamed in agony. I kicked him in the face, and bludgeoned him in the head with my shield. He lay back on the ground unconscious. I eye-balled the crowd.
“The next one of you that chooses to f*** with me I won’t treat as nicely.”
What was left of the crowd dispersed into the night. Tain barely suppressed a smile at my crowd-control tactics; no doubt having fond memories of his days in the Guard.
Upon reflection I do not think it was threats and gilded words alone that dispersed the mob that night. The ringleaders responded as if they were in a trance, obeying Marcus without question. Their eyes were glazed and their movements dull. In the time since I have learned enough to put a name to what had happened – they were ensorcelled! With hindsight too, I can now name the source. At the time I merely shrugged, glad for the reprieve and thankful that I did not have to fight the mob.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 15
Marcus took his sister home straight away. He was, rightfully, concerned at her safety on the streets that night. He was upset that Ari did not accompany him, insisting that she needed to return to her church and assist however she could. She took a good number of the orphans we had rescued with her. Perhaps in the church they would find the shelter they had found absent in the ‘care’ of Gordon Lamm. Tain took Balko with him to the Church of Abadar. We had agreed that given the likely corruption in the local Guardhouse, the church of Abadar was the best place to store the felon for now. We would find a proper home for him within the justice system tomorrow.
As the other headed off I was left with the arrested/unconscious mob members and my brother. The flames that inflicted the city had given me an idea. Away from the earshot of the arrestees I whispered my plan to my brother. I told him of Lamm’s network and the likely corruption within the Guard. He knew the wisdom of covering up what had happened at Lamm’s hideout, of keeping hidden the knowledge that we had made off with his ledger. Felix knew what to do. He slunk off into the night.
Alone with my captives, I did the best thing for them – I let them go. The Guards would have much work to do tonight, and the cells would be overflowing by morning unless judgement was exercised. I was an officer – well I was soon to be one – and I felt justified with the decision. Within minutes I was back at the Guardhouse, and it was there I saw the true situation.
Riots and looting was happening all across the city, as were the fires. One little Guardhouse could not help the whole city, but we could do enough to maintain order and safety in our own little area.
Not all of the Guards had turned out for duty, and the lieutenant on duty was surprised to see me. He was the only officer in that night, and I felt I had been given an opportunity to show what I could do during a tough time. I pitched in as best I could throughout the night, happy to be able to get out from behind a desk and exercise my skills.
Throughout the night I coordinated patrols and helped keep back the darkness of chaos. It wasn’t my sword-arm that won me attention and praise that night, but my skill at management and leadership through the crisis. All the lessons of my youth, the long hours of drill, and the tricks-of-the-trade taught to me on the borders by some of the best mercenary soldiers in the business – these were the weapons I wielded. As the first light of dawn stole into the city over smoke-filled streets, I felt I had taken a real step towards earning a reputation as a reliable and skilled officer.
Two incidents from the night stick out in my memory.
I had my first real experience with the power of magic that evening. The fires proved beyond the capability of the Guards to douse. Bucket-chains alone could not hold them back. Like a flash of lightning, without warning and eclipsing simple mortals, came wizards from the Academae. They flew – flew! – across the city and with but a wave of their hands, extinguished the flames. Entire blocks turned from infernos to simple smoking buildings through the magic that these wizards, these gods, wielded. I could not help but wonder how such power could be used in battle; if properly used, such magic could turn the tide of any conflict!
The second incident that stands out in my memory was my visit to Zellara’s house. I felt obliged to tell the Varisian woman of our success. Her son’s spirit was now avenged, and herself safe from Lamm. I had little trouble moving through the streets. I was escorted by two members of the Guard, my bully-boys for the evening.
Zellara’s house was very different from the night before. No warm lights welcomed me. No strangely familiar scents of Varisian incense greeted me at the door. The house was abandoned, and had been for some time. Pot plants, withered and dead, lined a dusty central room; by torchlight I could make out little details. There was no sense of life in this house. It had long since been abandoned. Yet it was only last night that I and my friends had sat and eaten here, vowing to Zellara to find her son’s killer. I did not know what I was seeing, and felt this was a puzzle beyond my ken that evening. Perhaps with sleep and by the light of day more answers would reveal themselves. I locked the door behind me and returned to my duties.
In the morning I learned that Lamm’s hideout had been burned to the ground, an accident of the fires that raged in the city. The common story was that Lamm’s death and the fire was the result of conflict between the criminal gangs, just one of those fates that plagues criminals everywhere. The incident was logged in the files and no-one thought much more about it. I should know; I did the paperwork myself and made sure the incident was buried amidst the bureaucratic minutia of government.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 16
I slept long the next day. I had earned my rest and did not emerge until just before lunchtime. A note from my brother told me he had returned home safe from his activities the previous night and that the two of us had been invited to Marcus’ house for lunch. I took the time to bathe, albeit in cold water, before setting across town to join my brother and our aristocratic friends. Given the current troubles in the city, it is perhaps of little surprise that I took my shield and weapons with me.
I found Felix and Marcus absorbed in deciphering Lamm’s ledger. They had made some progress, but the ledger showed them only hints at Lamm’s business for it was written in a cipher neither understood.
I admit to being a trifle bored as I picked over lunch. While I enjoy my studies, the pursuits of business interest me not. With Mari exiling herself to her room, and the focus on business accounts, I found myself with little to do.
There was a tension about Marcus when I asked after his sister. I learned he had not had the chance to speak with her about what had happened last night. I myself wondered at her magical disguise. Was Mari a witch, or an enchantress? Could she wield the power I had seen displayed by those Academae wizards? Or was she simply a gifted young scholar? Certainly she had disobeyed her brother’s order that she stay behind. There was tension between the siblings and Marcus was perhaps realizing his little sister was not so easily controlled as he had once thought.
After an eternity of discussion of profits centres and negative losses, Felix & Marcus finally told me what they had learned from the ledger. Apparently Lamm had boosted his revenue some tenfold over the previous three months. The conclusion Marcus drew was that Lamm had been receiving sponsorship or support of some kind.
A theory began to form itself in my mind. The House Arkona, long known to be the true power behind much of the vice trade in the city, had recently changed their practices. They practiced generosity, dispensing largesse to the poorer classes as a way of gaining support amongst the communities in which their businesses operated. Gordon Lamm was practicing the same techniques before we closed down his operations and his life. Perhaps Lamm was adopting the practices of his new sponsors? The theory was, at this stage, nothing more than idle speculation, but it would be something to keep in mind.
There was another possibility. All three of us looked worrying at the queen’s broach. Had this something to do with Lamm’s support? None of us wanted to even think of the crown being involved in the depravity that Lamm had practiced, but we could not ignore the possibility.
Marcus had sent a messenger to the queen, via the required layers of chicanery and aristocratic intrigue necessary for someone of his relatively minor standing to speak with Chelaxian royalty, and informed the queen’s people that Marcus was in possession of an item of some importance to her majesty. Marcus was not sure what reception he would get with this message, but was stunned when Lady Elizabeth – the queen’s most revered lady-in-waiting – came calling that afternoon.
Lady Elizabeth was received with all due ceremony, taking the roughly dressed presence of Felix and myself in Marcus’ house in her stride. I believe Marcus had intended to drag out returning the broach to the queen, hoping to learn more of why it was in Lamm’s possession, but in the presence of Lady Elizabeth he immediately returned the broach.
Lady Elizabeth was quite pleased to have received the broach and to have Marcus so gallantly return it. The lady had quite an effect on Marcus and he completely forgot his wife in the lady’s presence, much to her chagrin and Mari, Felix & my amusement. Lady Elizabeth sailed majestically over the awkward situation with the skill of someone to-the-manor-born, but I could see storm cloud gathering in the eyes of Marcus’ wife. He would pay for his oversight later.
Lady Elizabeth did not stay long. She spoke of how pleased the queen would be at the return of her lost broach, and implied favour would come Marcus’ way. When she left it was as if a spell had been lifted, and the dream-world that being in her presence vanished leaving only stark unbeautiful reality.
As we all moved back into reality, I mentioned the oddness of returning to Zellara’s house the previous evening. After some discussion, I asked everyone to come with me and see the house for themselves. Perhaps their eyes would cover something I missed. I particularly asked Mari to accompany us.
“But why me, Agon, I have no particular skill or knowledge that would be helpful.”
“Well Mari, I just figured that with your knowledge as a scholar you could be of assistance.”
Mari continued being coy and evasive.
“I’ve never studied anything like that. I don’t know what you are suggesting.”
I sighed and emphasized my words.
“You know a great deal about a great many things. You have talents – scholarly talents – that could be of assistance.”
“I just study history. I don’t know what you are talking about!”
I whispered harshly at her.
“How long do you wish to keep up this pretence, Mari? I know you know about these sorts of things!”
I didn’t know, but I was fairly certain. Mari whispered back at me.
“Yes, but I don’t want Marcus to find out, so stop drawing attention to me!”
“So just come because you’re curious and you’re a better scholar than I am. Please!”
“Very well”, she replied. “I’ll get my cloak.”
The four of us set off to investigate Zellara’s house, each of us unsure as to what we would find.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 17
Zellara’s house was still locked up when we arrived. The afternoon sun did little to remove the chill in the air we all felt near this house, so warm the just two nights ago and now as quiet and cold as the grave.
A deck of Hallow cards stood untouched amidst the dust and cobwebs of the sitting room. With a wink at the gods, I drew a card from the deck – the Peacock. Felix & Mari, intrigued at this chicanery, pulled cards for themselves, again finding their respective cards in the deck with only one pull. I am a superstitious man, as befits my heritage and upbringing, but I sometimes laugh at the sense of whimsy the gods show us mortals. Whatever we were doing here, the Eye of the Fates was upon us. Perhaps strangely, I found that comforting rather than disturbing. I laughed quietly to myself and set about investigating the house.
Marcus, Mari, Felix and I split up to look around the house. I walked upstairs. In the bedroom I found signs of a grisly murder – a struggle had broken furniture, dried blood pooled by the end of the bed, and the general sense of unease that accompanies any murder-site. I paced around the room slowly, reconstructing what must have happened in my mind’s eye. Two people had fought with, and killed, a third. The victim had been decapitated, but only after having been tortured. And this had happened more than a month ago. I didn’t feel sick, just sad. Death was a part of all life, and violence had been made a pat of mine, but I always felt saddened to see life taken cruelly and too swiftly away.
A cry from downstairs interrupted my thoughts. I recognized Mari’s voice followed by Felix’s loud oaths. I moved swiftly towards the kitchen where they had been. Mari stood outside in the doorway, pale and obviously distressed. Felix was outside, vomiting in disgust. Marcus stood with him. At my questioning look, Mari pointed towards the stove.
In a pot of stagnant and putrid water on the stove top was the severed head of a woman, decayed, rotting and barely recognizable. My stomach flipped at the sight and smell, but my lunch stayed where it was supposed to be. The head was unrecognizable, but the coincidence was not beyond me. The head was still that of a woman aged in her middle years. Together with what I had discovered upstairs, it seemed fairly clear that this poor woman was the resident, foully slain over a month ago. It was Zellara.
What magic had raised this woman from the dead to send us after her killer? What terrible forces from the Netherworld had conjured up a ghost to eat with us and use us as agents of vengeance? I was unsure of what to make of all of this – it was my first experience with the Hidden World.
I looked down at the severed head, my mind full of questions. Mari had regained her composure and seemed lost in thoughts of her own. Felix, true to his nature, was now strip searching the house determined to find some secret stash of loot.
Without warning a wind rose up around us, a swirl energy we could not see, but could only feel in our very bones. Mari looked at me, her eyes wide with fear.
“Get out now. Everybody get out.”
“Why? What is it you…”
“Get out!”
Mari turned and ran from the house. I followed. Felix had already fled and Marcus had been outside conducting his own investigations.
The door slammed shut behind me as I left the building. The wind we felt slammed the shutters open and closed. The wind turned cold and was accompanied by a turgid fog, oozing out of the house, but retreating from the afternoon sunlight. The windows of the house frosted over and all us stepped back in fear at this supernatural manifestation.
All of us except Marcus.
I don’t rightly know what made the young nobleman approach the house. Perhaps it was nothing grander than simple curiousity. But as Marcus stepped near to the window he saw something that marked his soul. I could not make out what it was he saw, and I am glad for this. All I know is what I saw of him, and what he has spoken of in hushed whispers in times since; whispers that always leave my blood cold. In the frosted window Marcus saw a woman’s severed head, so full of hate and rage, that to look upon it was to know all the evils of this world and the next. When he speaks of the incident he cannot to this day say what it was that stopped him from going mad at the sight of the thing. I cannot honestly say how I would have reacted to such a horror, but I am grateful to the goddess that watches over me that I was spared the sight.
All four of us stood a little dumbstruck at this haunted house. This was something beyond our ken. I grabbed an urchin and sent him to bring me Anca, a Varisian fortune-teller who lived nearby. If a Varisian’s spirit lay without rest here, perhaps she would know of some kind of ritual to quiet the restless dead. None of the four of us knew how to proceed. I took shelter in the refuge of the familiar. Ghost or not, this was a murder scene. I sent a messenger to the Guards, asking them to send a patrol. I told them the request was non-urgent, giving us at least an hour before the Guards arrived.
Soon, Anca arrived. She warmly greeted Felix and myself – for she knew of my twin brother also – and asked why it was I sent for her.
“A foul magic hangs over this house, Anca. One of our own was murdered here and her spirit haunts this place.”
“And what would you have me do, my lord?”
“I do not know the rituals. Is there a way we can quiet this restless spirit?”
Anca nodded in understanding and approached the house. Immediately she backed away.
“My lord, there is evil here I cannot control and would not to seek to disturb. What you ask is far beyond my simple tricks and lore.”
“Very well,” I nodded. “That’s okay. Can you spread the word, though? People should stay away from here for a while. It’s not safe.”
“I will tell our people, my lord.”
Anca nodded and moved off to tell the locals. Mari, standing nearby with her jaw open in surprise, walked up to me.
“Why was she calling you ‘my lord’?”
Anca had heard the question, and turned to answer it.
“Because that is his title, Lady. He is a Lord of my people, a royal prince, as is his brother.”
Mari blinked in amazement.
“Thank you, Anca. Bless you for your kindness and loyalty.”
“And bless you, my lord, for watching over us.”
Anca turned and walked away. Felix grinned from ear to ear. Mari looked at me with great big questions in her eyes before, with a blink and a shake of her head, turning back to the haunted house.
Several members of the Guard had arrived. I set up in a cordon to keep people away. By way of explanation I simply said that the building was a crime scene and we were waiting for further assistance. When one of them asked more I said off-hand that the house was the site of a haunting and magic was required to deal with it. All four Guardsmen looked at me strangely when I mentioned this, but were content enough to follow my lead for now. In the back of my mind the thought occurred that this incident could make or break my growing reputation within the Guard.
Before too long, a priestess of the Church of Pharasma arrived. Marcus had sent for his cousin, Ari. She could not come, but had sent Jen'taris, her colleague, in her place. Jen'taris was an older woman, but quite pretty. She wore the serious expression that seems to come so naturally to any priestess of the Death goddess, but there was a liquid fire to her eyes that made me want to look again, more closely, under more intimate circumstances.
“I am Jen'taris of the Church of Pharasma. What is happening here?”
I stepped forward, all business.
“A woman was murdered here some time ago, at least a month. It seems her spirit haunts this place. I can’t investigate the place properly until that spirit is dealt with, and as things stand the place represents a danger to the community. Is there anything you and your church can do?”
Jen'taris nodded at this direct and simple explanation. She approached the building, again halting almost immediately and muttering an oath of surprise.
“That place is very dangerous,” she said simply. “Dealing with this will not be simple. I’ll need more members of my church and this will take some time. I won’t want to be disturbed. Can you keep a cordon here all night?”
“For as long as you wish,” I nodded and gave the orders. The Guardsmen present, having seen how the priestess reacted, gave the house a wide berth and were more respectful of my orders relating to the haunted house. The part of my mind that plays politics so easily calculated that this story would now add to my reputation for the Guards had seen me deal so easily and comfortably with what frightened them. In truth it scared the s$~! out of me too, but I knew enough not to show that in front of the soldiers.
As Jen'taris turned to deal with the house, she looked me up and down. I was unsure if she was assessing me professionally or otherwise.
“We should be done here by about midnight. Swing by the temple grounds late tomorrow morning and I’ll brief you on what happened here.”
“Agreed. I look forward to it.”
The four of us moved off, leaving Jen'taris to deal with the house. A murder investigation, the restless dead, and a date with a priestess of the Death goddess – not a bad afternoon’s work!
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Agon's Journal, Entry 18
An interesting invitation awaited Marcus upon our return to his house. It seems his no-strings-attached return of the queen’s broach earlier in the day had made a good impression for a message had come from the royal palace – Marcus, and those who had assisted him in obtaining the broach, were invited to the palace for dinner. This was an incredible honour for Marcus as his family, while aristocratic, was only of a minor influence within the city. Marcus’s surprise was completed by the fact that the invitation mentioned the rest of us by name, not only his family, but Osric and myself as well.
All of us wondered at the timing of the invitation. With the death of the king less than a day before, this was a time of great political turmoil within the city. The queen had not yet cemented her position as the rightful successor to the throne. The noble families within the city were jostling for influence in the political shake-up that would be accompanying the king’s death. And thrown into the middle of all of this would Marcus, his sister, his cousin, his cousin-in-law Tain, Osric and myself. To say that we were intimidated by the prospect would be a severe understatement.
Dinner was set for the second hour of the night. We had less than four hours to get ready and present ourselves at the palace. Ari, Tain, Felix and I made our apologies and departed swiftly to get dressed. Marucs, I believe, threw himself into making some alternative arrangements for some business dealings he had set for later that evening.
Throughout the hurried walk home I debated what I should be wearing that night. The invitation did not specify a dress code. As a member of the Khorvosan Guard I could opt for my dress uniform, but in truth my dress uniform was less than impressive. I had no medals, and only one campaign ribbon, earned one year ago during a tour of the eastern borders. Wearing a dress uniform would also emphasise my lack of rank. As an officer cadet I was not yet actually commissioned. Oh I carried myself as if I was, worked as if I was, and was generally treated by those with whom I worked as holding a commission; however, the honest truth was that I was still ‘in-training’. The dress uniform made this painfully obvious and I had no wish tonight to be seen as some sort of baby-officer and hence unimportant.
But while my dress uniform was not as impressive as I would have liked, by wearing it tonight I would be making an honest and important statement. The truth was I actually cared a great deal about being in the Guard. I loved the work, and I loved the people with whom I served. We kept people safe. We stood on the wall and said “no-one is going to hurt you tonight, not on my watch”. I may have only been ‘in-training’, but I was a member of an organisation I believed in with everything in my soul.
I would wear my dress uniform for the dinner with the queen at the palace. For those who looked only briefly I would be seen as an irrelevance , but for those who took the time, or for those who spoke to me or to others in the Guard about me, they would learn that I was a young officer of quality. And I would be pinning my colours to the mast, as it were. I was a member of the Guard, and proud to be so.
Like all well-prepared young soldiers, I kept my dress uniform stored ready-to-wear. The uniform consisted of polished black boots, starched black pants with a white stripe along the seam, a starched white shirt adorned by my single campaign ribbon, clean white gloves, a thigh-length black felt cape with silver trim and a royal blue interior, polished black belt with highly polished steel fastenings, plus my service-issued officer’s sword and steel helmet. Both of these latter items needed a good polishing; this activity, plus picking over the black & white officer’s plume on the helmet and making sure it was correctly fastened and ‘according to regulations’. After putting in an hour or so my uniform was ready to go.
I could not help but laugh out loud when I saw what my brother had picked out to wear. As calm and straight-down-the-line as my dress for the evening was, Felix had taken an opposite approach. He was wearing the traditional dress of our mother’s people – all silk, yellow shirt, red pants, orange sash, green head-scarf and calf-high polished black boots. Adorning his fingers, ear and neck was a series of gaudy gold & silver rings, ear-ring and necklaces – replicas of the family jewelry (the originals had been lost years ago). Setting off his outlandish attire was, of course, a tambourine. He looked part-circus performer, part-confidence-man. As outlandish as the outfit was, it was actually correct for him to be wearing it as a Varisian royal prince. I did, however, question his wisdom in wearing the outfit.
“Are you sure that is appropriate, brother?”
“Absolutely, I’m a prince of royal blood. As are you. You may be wearing the uniform of the scum that oppressed our people, but we’re still a proud people. This is our traditional dress, as befits my – our – rank. It’s dinner with the queen and the peerage. Any foreign aristocrat would be entitled to wear their traditional dress, so why shouldn’t we?”
He made good points, although I object to his jibe at the Guard.
“You know, Felix, you weren’t actually invited to tonight’s dinner.”
“Bah, like that matters. I don’t think they’ll care, and even if they do I’ll just pretend to be you.”
I smiled at that.
“And those knives you’re carry I’m not supposed to see?”
“Well they’re a part of the traditional dress.” I gave Felix a stern look. “I’ll hand them over if they ask. Alright, when they ask. Happy?”
I nodded. We hailed a carriage and set off for Marcus’ house. The journey did not take long. The others had gathered at Marcus’ house and were climbed into the carriage to move to the palace.
Perhaps unsurprisingly Osric had turned down the invitation for dinner. He was, after all, one of the city’s known criminal figures. Sitting down to dinner with the people he made a habit of stealing from, surrounded by people who were paid by the city to arrest him, did not appeal to Osric as a good idea. Felix seized upon this by saying he would now use Osric’s invitation if anyone objected to his presence.
Tain was dressed in the ceremonial robes of his order – robes of white silk cloth laced with gold thread, a belt of gold links, over a white silk surcoat bearing a gold key emblem. Over this he wore a half-cloak of deep gold colour. While he carried an ornate crossbow, the favoured weapon of his order, the weapon did not seem a part of his dress for the evening. Tain’s eyes were set cold and hard. He seemed almost absent, lost in the thoughts of his dead wife that pressed in on him after avenging her. I did not envy him his current mood and Tain seemed to be present more for form’s sake than for himself.
Ari’s outfit enhanced her air of mystery. She also wore the ceremonial dress of her order: robes of fine black cloth trimmed with silver thread. Over this she wore as a pendant a clear crystal vial filled, no doubt, with holy water. At her hip she wore a dagger encased in a scabbard burnished by the blue whirlpool symbol of Pharasma. The fevered inner light that had washed over Ari at Lamm’s warehouse was still in her eyes. She seemed distracted somehow with her own thoughts, and I felt it best not to pry.
Marcus’s outfit for the night seemed to be a reflection of his own thoughts and mood. He had dressed well, in the latest fashions as was is habit – silk breeches and white shirt with laced cuffs, a white silk lace cravat and velvet waistcoat trimmed with red and black. Over this he wore a black and red brocade silk coat and, at his side, an ornate rapier and matching dagger. He dressed to appear as what he was – a man of determination, position, and blood with the personal skill and willingness to support his claim. To my mind he also looked like a man with too much on his mind, as if the pressures of balancing his competing duties and cares weighed upon him like a heavy stone.
His wife was dressed to compliment him, wearing a flowing silk brocade gown of dark red with white adornments. Accompanying this she wore silver ear-rings, a silver pendant set with a ruby and, of course, her rings. She wore her hair up and I noted that the pin holding up her coiffure would have fed a family for a month Yet for all her outward appearance of support to her family, to my eye she gave off a selfish air, as if everything she did was for herself, and her husband was just another piece of jewelry to compliment her. I admit I could have been mistaken, and in all likelihood I was just comparing her to Marcus’ younger sister, Mari.
Sometimes to indulge in hyperbole is a justifiable sin for a writer, and I feel that to give proper weight to how Mari looked that night requires such indulgence. She was a breath of fresh air, a vision of all of the charm that youth and beauty could hold. She wore a pearl-coloured dress, studded with soft coloured costume jewelry, that complimented her long blonde hair and green eyes. She smiled, so calmly, so quietly pure and confident in herself, that she lit up everything and everyone around her. I was entranced and could have spent the better part of a lifetime with Mari the way she looked that night. I didn’t say anything when I saw her; I just smiled. I hope, perhaps, that one day she could see how taken I was with her that evening.
With Mari, as always, was her pet cat. Marcus spoke with her before we left, saying that tonight was not an appropriate occasion to bring along her pet. We all checked ourselves, making sure we looked as we were supposed to for the occasion. Felix drew some concerning looks, but the others had realised by now that he was a law unto himself. For better or worse, we all climbed into the carriage for our dinner with the queen.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 19
The carriage ride to the palace did not take long. The palace, really a castle and as defensible a building as any I had seen, was lit up. Music could be heard gently playing from within. A unit of Guards, decked out in their finest dress uniforms with armour & weapons polished, stood flanking the entrance. We stepped out of the carriage before entering the castle. I didn’t overhear what arrangements Marcus made for I was absorbed in the scene before, in the splendour of royalty, and I wondered at how the queen mourned her dead husband.
Inside we were herded to a waiting room larger than most houses. Torches burned along the sides providing artificial day to the night. The gently piping music was louder here, but still did not overwhelm, playing the role of adding to the background ambiance. We all had the feeling of being watched, as if our very thoughts were being laid open before some unseen eye. Servants approached to take our weapons – none could go before the queen armed. Surprisingly, Felix offered up his knives without being prompted.
We were swiftly met by Lady Elizabeth, looking even more beautiful by the artificial light and dressed in her finery than she had this afternoon at Marcus’ house. She warmly greeted us all, taking Felix’far-too-colourful-and-not-quite-appropriate outfit in her stride. The greeting she gave Ari was especially warm, with Lady Elizabeth commenting on how much the queen was looking forward to meeting Ari specifically.
Lady Elizabeth led Ari and the rest of us into the ballroom. We were all overhwlemed by the splendour of the night. The large ballroom was populated with the best dressed, most noble of birth and influential people of the city – indeed even the region for Marcus recognized several land owners from the region with whom he did business. Small groups clumped around the room discussing the politics of the nation at this most interesting of times; and the small groups were fed by a slow moving stream of couples and the occasional bold individual that circulated through the room, spreading their charm and influence as only those born to money and position truly can.
Our arrival caused a ripple of whispers to spread through the room. Who were they? I recognize him? Who is the priestess with Lady Elizabeth? Who is that Varisian? What is she wearing? Why are they here?
Lady Elizabeth summoned over a small circle of aristocrats with little more than a slightly raised eyebrow. Soon Marcus and his wife were introduced to the group with carefully interesting facts spread out as conversational starters by Lady Elizabeth. Tain and Ari looked slightly awkward. Felix grinned, winked at the group and flagged down a passing servant to get a drink – what was no doubt the first of several. Mari stayed small and quiet, obviously aiming to keep a low profile. And I? Well in truth I was a little out of my element. Felix’ idea of having a drink or five sounded good, so I grabbed a wine to calm my nerves.
In the background I heard the queen speaking, her voice raised so that her words would be heard. She spoke not in anger, but to inform those whom she knew would be listening.
“I am SO grateful to you all for coming tonight and for showing your support to me in this trying time. The loss of so dearly-loved a husband is terrible at any time, but to have to balance the pain of that loss with the running of a kingdom is difficult indeed. I am so glad to you all for continuing to support me as you did my husband. When my reign is confirmed, just one week from now, I will be rewarding the loyalty you have shown. The First Families, gathered here tonight, will be receiving the full weight of my throne as I show that reward. Your holdings will increase and your families will prosper when I am confirmed as sovereign queen of Khorvosa. But tonight is not for such crass political talk. Tonight we gather to remember my dear husband, king to you all, friend to some of you, and husband to me.”
Polite applause and scattered cries of “here here” came from the crowd as the queen finished speaking. The chief steward directed us all to the tables where awaiting us stood such a feast that I was surprised the tables could bear its weight. A part of me stared at the extravagance and waste.
My people starved on the streets and huddled from the cold in drafty homes. The part of me that was a soldier wondered how many men this food could feed, or how many military resources could be gained for an equivalent cost. What did I do? I played the game. I sat and threw myself into he feast and the conversation, and did what I could to gain a reputation as an officer able to speak to and with the nobility. I was aided in this effort by my twin brother. He was so different from what those seated near us expected. He openly flaunted his Varisian heritage, made jokes readily, and engaged those near us with far more vivaciousness than the Chelaxians were used to. In short, it was a lovely performance and served very well to emphasise my “I’m a good little officer of the crown” patter.
Mari, I noticed, continued to keep a low profile. Oh, she spoke a t length to a host of obscure loners throughout the evening, but I got the sense she was avoiding someone. It was unusual behavior for the usually sparkling girl. Marcus wryly observed that the girl was avoiding her future in-laws, stationed far away from us but scanning the room. Mari, it seemed, had no wish to have night spoiled by having to talk to her future mother-in-law. (I had not known the girl was engaged!)
Tain kept mostly to himself, talking when spoken to, but mainly silently watching the rest of the group and taking in his surroundings. Ari too, was quiet, subdued by the opulence of her surroundings.
Marcus and his wife made an efficient team throughout the night. He avoided politics and spoke of business. He came across as tempered, intelligent and focused. His wife was by his side and gave what support she could in his conversation and in finding appropriate people for him to talk to.
During desert our end of the tables received a visit from the queen herself. She knew us by name, or appeared to for I suspect her knowledge was from a well delivered brief. She was polite to all, but her gratitude seemed as much as a performance as the rest of the evening. She insisted that Marcus’ wife, when he finally remembered to introduce her to the queen (it seems Lady Elizabeth still had an effect on the young nobleman), should join her for High Tea in a week’s time, and that the queen, as sovereign ruler of Khorvosa, would be delighted to meet get to know Lady Merivanchi.
The real surprise came with her genuineness towards Ari. The queen positively fawned over Ari, commenting on her place within the order of Pharasma and insisting that Ari should become ‘good friends’.
(I mean no slander or imputation by the use of the term ‘good friends’. What struck me as odd was the importance the queen placed on recruiting Ari to her side. I suspected this was due to Ari’s position within the temple of Pharasma. I had never enquired into the queen’s religious beliefs, but if our monarch held a fascination with the Death Goddess… Obviously the more scandalous part of my mind immediately began to ponder stories of secret lesbian death cults involving the monarch, but I kept my thoughts to myself.)
I recall Felix’ comment on the queen’s appearance…
“You Highness, you look absolutely becoming in that dress,” he quipped, true to form, “but of course if I were…”
“Yes, thank you, Felix. That will do” Marcus cut off my brother before his wit put his head in a noose.
(For the record, I think Felix’ taste is spot on. The queen was a young, vibrant, exquisite woman. But Marcus did the right thing to cut him off; cheap bar-room pick-up lines should NOT be used on queens who are still mourning-their-husbands-not-yet-cold-corpse!)
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Agon's Journal, Entry 20
As the evening wound down, and the desert plates began to be cleared to make way for the coffee and cheese, Lady Elizabeth asked us to accompany her to a side room to meet privately with her royal highness.
Felix and I both quickly threw down a coffee in an attempt to sober up. We had both enjoyed the wine and while we were not drunk, neither of us was really sober. Marcus had a clear enough head, despite an evening of social drinking. I knew from personal experience that he could hold his liquor, but I suspect his sobriety was more a function of his familiarity with the setting.
Marcus’ wife did not accompany us into the audience and was entertained by lady Elizabeth while the rest of us met with the queen; apparently the queen wished to speak only to those who had recovered her broach. That Felix come with us anyway did not surprise me at all. None of the queen’s guards batted an eyelid, believing he had with us the whole time.
The antechamber seemed small after the grandeur of the ballroom. A fire burned to hold back the chill, and some velvet cushioned chairs waited for us to fill them. Seated comfortably waiting for us to fill the chairs was the queen. As we sat she nodded to her guards and they left us there alone. Well, it was meant to look like we were all alone – a sign of trust – but I noticed the alcoves concealing waiting guards. I took no offence; the queen did hold a duty to keep herself safe.
Once we were seated, she addressed us in a clear and confident tone.
“My new friends. Let me say again how grateful I am to you for returning my broach. It’s theft has troubled me, and troubles me still. It is regarding this matter that I wish now to ask for your assistance.
“A former member of my inner circle, Trinia Sabor, was entrusted with this broach. That it disappeared only after she was entrusted with the care of this broach is no coincidence. I want her found and brought before me. She is a traitor to the crown of Khorvosa. My people, aristocracy and common alike, need to see a display of the justice I will give them, and so I will make an example of Trinia! I will give them bloody justice.”
The queen fixed us all with a stern gaze.
“You will perform this task for me, yes?”
Each of us had our own reason for his or her silence. In my more charitable moments I’d like to think I was merely deferring to Marcus’ judgment and giving him the role of spokesman for the group. What is closer to the truth on a personal level is more than likely what we all felt at that point in time – a puzzled fear of this woman who wanted to be sovereign ruler over all of Khorvosa. In that moment she seemed more despot than queen, and each of us loved not only our freedoms but our city far too lend our support to such a ruler.
And in our doubts, we paused. And that silence seemed to last forever. None of us spoke. The queen looked at us. We looked at the floor and at each other. Someone HAD to say something, but each of us waited for one of the others to speak up first. Finally, I gave my reply, not wishing to commit anyone else.
“Your highness, I will of course perform the sworn duty of any officer of the Khorvosan Guard and serve the crown.”
I gave a little bow and noted that seemed to have understood every word, and every hint within my words – that I wished to become an officer, that my loyalty was to the crown of Khorvosa, and that I spoke for myself and not the others.
Marcus and Mari both concurred. I noticed Marcus was reluctant to speak up. Felix, uncharacteristically, stayed silent.
The queen noticed the silence. How could she not? But she merely nodded and informed us that Lady Elizabeth would supply us with the details. The queen, the elad candidate for the sovereign throne of Khorvosa, the most powerful woman in the kingdom, and someone whom we all had just personally insulted, rose and left the room.
We just stared at each other, none of us really sure what to do or what to say. Lady Elizabeth entered the room after a short period of silence between us all. She furnished us with the details of Triania Sabor – who she was and where would could begin to look for her – and then politely showed us the way out.
For me anyway, and for my brother, the message was clear. Perhaps it was our mercenary background that gave us the insight? We were all assets. If we did our job, we would benefit. If we crossed our patron, we would suffer.
Long live the queen.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 21: 26th of Abadius, 4708
It was two days later that we all met at Brock House for yet another brunch. I was becoming quite used to the free feeds at Marcus’ house. His staff put on a good spread -no doubt a part of the ‘noblesse oblige’ that Marcus felt so strongly. Lady Elizabeth had set this day to meet with us and give us the briefing on the alleged traitor Trinia Sabor that she could not give us after the royal dinner. Personally I was glad of the opportunity to discuss a few things with the others while we waited for the queen’s advisor. My previous two days had been rather busy.
Chaos still gripped the city. It was as if a madness had taken possession of the usually law-abiding folk of Khorvosa. They abandoned normal rules and neighbourhoods fought against each other like warring tribesmen. In my cynical moments I thought that perhaps people had finally realised that civilized society exists mostly at the whim of convention; that it is a fragile thing easily thrown aside. That cynical part of me almost wanted to cheer at the lawlessness I witnessed during those times. Surely these people were just exercising their rights as sentient beings to live as free as they wanted, and to ignore the artificial constraints of civilization. It was a view I held deeply and passionately, yet kept tightly under control. When the part of me that was a soldier kicked in was in seeing the strong take advantage of the weak.
I was no miracle worker. I could not give a farmer a good harvest. I could not make sure a business would not fail due to a bad plan, a poor economy or just bad luck. I could not ensure a marriage or romance ran smoothly. Nor could I put food on the tables of the poor, or ensure that their roofs did not leak. But as a solider I could keep them safe. I could make sure that a dock-worker’s daughter was not raped half to death as she walked the streets. I could help keep the poison of drugs from the back-alleys and away from the clerk’s children. I could keep the shop-keeper from having his goods stolen by those stronger than him. Those little things, I could do. And so I, like so many of the Guard, worked harder in those days and nights than we had ever done before.
But not everyone pitched in. Some of the Guard, almost one in six, chose to leave during those times. They felt the work had gotten too hard. Or they felt that the uniform – black, white and red for the rankers; black, white and blue for the officers – had become too much of a target. Some just disliked having their lives interrupted by the Call of Duty, now that the phrase really meant something. And some cited politics as their reason, not wishing to serve under the queen now that the king was dead. Desertions were spread across all levels of the Guard – ranker soldiers and officers, militia and regulars. Some were my friends, comrades-in-arms with whom I had previously stood side-by-side, who now turned their back on all they had stood for only a week beforehand.
And not all who left put aside the sword. Some turned mercenary, a calling I could hardly fault them for. And others, like Sergeant Verick van Caskerkin, until recently a rising star within the Guard, decided their talents would best be spent serving themselves. The ex-sergeant got together some of the lads he’d served with and set himself up in charge of a butchery in the central docks area. For a few days he shut down the meat-markets’ normal distribution system and dealt out the vital food resource only to those with enough coin to pay for the privilege. Thankfully his criminal enterprise did not last long. Our area commander was on top of the situation within a few days and ex-sergeant van Caskerkin was captured and imprisoned. His trial was to be swift to make an example of him.
I would have liked to have been involved in the operation, but I was tied up with a murder investigation at the time. Several bodies had been found with their throats slashed. What piqued my interest was that the modus operandi of the murder – a particular type of throat slash –matched that of other murders I had seen reported only a few days before. Upon investigation it was revealed that all of the victims were members of, or associated with, the thieves’ guild. On the most recent bodies were placed two coins or tokens – one side of the token marked by a dagger, the other by a dragon. I did not know what to make of it all and, having taken one of the tokens from the bodies, I resolved to ask my new companions for their thoughts on the matter.
Felix proved useful in my investigations. I had found a witness to the murders, but the witness refused to tell me what he knew. He could recognise the killers, but would not reveal their identity for fear of retribution. No amount of cajoling or threats on my part could pry loose his tongue. I threw him in the lock-up for a few hours while I tracked down Felix.
“I need your skills, brother.”
“Sure. What do you need? Some silks? Something to keep you awake in powdered or liquid form? Booze? Some weapons?”
“No, I need you to follow someone.” Felix looked almost disappointed. “I have a witness in the lock up, someone who can recognise a group of killers. He is afraid of them. I need you to follow this guy when I release him. When you see him recognise people and immediately get scared, those people are the ones I want. Follow them and tell me where they go. But be careful.”
“Okay, so arrest me and I’ll befriend this witness guy and get him to confide in me.”
“Felix, I’m the one who threw him in the lock-up. If he sees you, it is possible he may think there is a connection between you and me, your identical twin brother.”
“So I’ll wear a disguise. Now, to come up with a plausible back-story... Hmm, I’ll be a circus performer from the borderlands…”
“Felix, look at me.” I waited until I had his attention. “Yes, you can and should disguise yourself, but your job is simply to follow this man. Do not talk to him. Do not interact with him. Just follow and tell me who is afraid of. Do you understand?”
“Yes, brother.”
Felix was disappointed he wouldn’t get to play dress-up-and-pretend the way he wanted to, but he did his job. He followed the witness and, when the witness ran off scared from a group of five men, Felix follow the five cloaked figures back to an upper-class theatre-tavern called the Sweeping Griffon located just a few blocks from the palace-castle. He came back to tell me all of this, but I had knocked off for the day, gone to my fencing lessons at the Orsini Academy and then for some drinks with my fellow students. I came back late to our rooms at the Cambion Manor and so it was only at the Brock House brunch where I finally got to hear Felix’s tale.
Tain had also had an encounter with the tokens, although the ones he found were marked on one side with a meat-cleaver and on the other by the skull-and-crossbones. While on his patrols Tain had found some racketeers selling ‘protection’ to some of the local businesses. Tain had shown them the error of their ways and, in between the sobs and wheezes that were the result of the savage ‘street justice’ Tain inflicted upon the would-be-racketeers, they revealed the tokens and told him that they were spreading them around on behalf of the boss – a way of marking the territory. On the subject of their boss’ identity they were less than helpful. Tain and I arrived at Brock House at the same time and were deep in discussion into the matter before we even got inside.
‘It’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think Agon, that each of us should come across these tokens at this time. If you believe in coincidences, that is.”
“Coincidences are funny things, Tain. On a deep enough level, of course, there aren’t any coincidences for all things are connected. But they are connected in ways most of us cannot understand so often these connections are of no relevance in our day-to-day lives, or in our investigations. I guess on a practical level, there are coincidences, but sometimes the links we see between events or things, are effectively just random occurrences.”
“Ahh, but if one learns how to look for the links, then what was at first random can becomes deliberate, and hence significant to an investigation or theorem.”
“True, but we do not always have the time, or the resources, to pursue every connection. We must draw the line and move on in order to achieve a more goal subject to time constraints.”
And so we went back and forth as we were welcomed into the house. I noted that Marcus’ servants looked at us, and this conversation, strangely. Ari, who had arrived with Tain, was happy to listen. She was pleased, I think, to find Tain & I – the tough guys – talking of philosophy. Our conversation drew to a close, and I found myself hoping for another chance to swap ideas with this serious young champion of Abadar.
Felix was already inside, looking over the Lamm’s ledger and trying to find further clues as to how the criminal ran his operation. Mari soon joined us in the drawing room where the four guests sat with Marcus around Lamm’s map of the city. There was a tension between the siblings, as if something of importance lay unresolved. I had my suspicions as to what that may have been, but felt it was not my place to pry. I simply smiled my greeting at Mari and returned to discussing the state of the city with the others.
The established order was clearly failing. The Guards and the Sable Company Marines were inadequate to quell the violence and chaos on the streets. Business would begin to fail, leading to more unrest. Food was beginning to run short. Marcus, whose family was engaged in the food industry, was torn between feeling sad for those he felt obliged to provide for, and feeling joy at the large profits the family business would begin to make as a result of the current crisis. Marcus had wisely given orders several days ago to lay in a store of food and water in the house in case things turned nasty in the streets.
Marcus revealed that among the aristocracy, there were both supporters of and detractors from the queen as sovereign ruler of Khorvosa. Neither group would speak out, waiting to see what happened before revealing their true colours.
Not all of our discussion was politics. Ari had investigated the haunting at Zellara’s House. The source was dark and powerful and far beyond what would be expected even for such a grisly death as Zellara’s. The Serious young priestess was unsure as to what this could portend.
(Of course I had learned this myself through speaking with Jen'taris, but kept quiet to give Ari her moment in the sun – not that Ari liked sunlight, but you understand what I mean. I had enjoyed meeting Jen’taris. We had made plans to meet for dinner, away from the duties of our work. That she suggested a restaurant close to her placed spoke of a promising night to come!)
Mari chimed in at this point, revealing that she had been able to decipher some of the slim black leather-bound book found among the paper of Gordon Lamm. It seems the book was a religious text that spoke of an apocalyptic return of an undead monarch to rule over the land on a ‘red seat’. The passages Mari had translated, marked by the previous owner, spoke of a dragon throne, of vast plagues and death sweeping the land. This disturbed Ari. She told us how during the battle Lamm had used magics of a divine nature, that he was the servant of a dark power. It seems Lamm had used these dark magics to shield himself from the attacks of those pure of heart and purpose. Ari wryly commented that such warding proved useless against my arrow as I was not considered a champion of either the Sacred or of Order. Not being a religious man I was entirely sure what she meant, so I chose to take her words as a compliment.
That Lamm had a spiritual and actively magical connection to a dark power that prophesized mass death, plagues, and dominion from beyond the grave made our two champions pause for thought. Personally, it just made me glad we had ended his life. In the back of my mind a warning bell sounded softly, but lacking any conscious reason for this I paid it no mind.
For some time Ari, Tain and Mari discussed what sort of dark power Lamm could have been involved with. Several names were bandied about, but no conclusions were reached. Whatever the source of Lamm’s power, it was something beyond our knowledge at that time.
The mention of a dragon ascending the throne, or at least controlling it made Marcus and I exchange a look. The dragon was the symbol of the House Arkona. Marcus knew of my distaste for that aristocratic house and my belief they were the controlling hand behind much of the city’s organised crime. The resulting discussion followed the same path as previous discussions dating back to before the times of trouble. I felt that House Arkona was responsible for many aspects of organised crime. I advocated the “follow the rich man” school of crime-solving. Marcus preferred to have more faith in the aristocracy and asked for proof; proof which of course I could not provide. In truth I wondered why those in the House Arkona would wish to upset a status quo that had them, as they were before the times of trouble, effectively controlling the city anyway. I filed away for later the possibility that this noble House, if they were as connected and influential as I had thought, might prefer things the way they were and hence become allies in restoring the established order. For better or worse, their corrupting influence might be of assistance in keeping the current chaos in check. Given the recent attitude of the House Arkona leadership in assisting the down-trodden that they preyed upon, they might even give such aid willingly and publicly. Interesting times could make for strange bedfellows.
Marcus and Felix had not made any real progress in deciphering Lamm’s business ledger. The cipher in which it was written proved unable to be cracked. They would need another piece of the puzzle to decipher the ledger. Our two resident business experts gave Tain and I, the sleuths, and good brief on what to look for if we came across something similar in the course of our duties.
The other portion of Lamm’s paperwork that provoked some interesting discussion was the diary of ‘L.Y. Marcella’. Mari had read through the diary, as had Felix, although I suspect the two had very different purposes in reading it. Mari told us that it was the diary of a young cousin of the House Arkona, a girl of about eighteen summers. The diary was typical of any young woman. It spoke of activities with friends, of the feuds and friendships that all young girls have, and of a growing infatuation with a ‘Mr. X’. The object of Marcella’s affections was never identified, but she wrote of a growing and powerful attraction to this man. She wrote of how she could not help herself but feel attracted to ‘Mr. X’, despite knowing how her brother would disapprove. The last entry, dated some two months before, spoke of meeting ‘Mr. X’.
Not Ari, Tain nor I knew of any unsolved murders or disappearances that could be linked to the diary. None of us knew of any scandals involving that branch of the House Arkona in recent months. I suggested that Mari return the diary, and use the opportunity to grow close to the family. Mari’s social circle already included a member of the House Arkona, but she seemed reluctant to get closer to the darkly mysterious family. (Obviously the girl was more sensible than her brother.) No decision was reached as to what to do at the moment. One of the sticking points would be explaining how this diary came into Mari’s possession for our involvement in killing Lamm was not exactly public.
Discussion turned to Lamm’s map of the city. The map divided the city into three parts. It turned out that each of the token Tain and I had encountered related to a different third of the city. The appearance of the token suggested that they were to mark the territory of those deeming themselves to be ‘in control’ of the criminal activities in the parts of the city. We all wondered at the timing of the appearance of this triumvirate of organised crime.
I told of the slashing murders targeting members and associates of the thieves’ guild. It would be stretching credulity to think that the new triumvirate had nothing to do with these murders. The Sweeping Griffon was the sort of establishment that Marcus, Mari and Ari would normally be seen at. I advised them to be cautious if they felt inclined to return there anytime soon.
Tain dug through the coins taken from Lamm’s warehouse. Sure enough, one of the coins was actually a cleaver/skull-and-cross-bones token. What had the gangster to do with the criminal triumvirate? Balko the alchemist, Lamm’s long time associate and second-in-command, was still being held at the Church of Abadar. Tain suggested that it would be worth questioning him further about the matter.
I was mildly amused to learn how Tain had gain possession of his token. He had filled out forms and sought permission from the superiors of his order to remove the piece of evidence. I, on the other hand, simply removed the token from the body, figuring one token was enough for the evidence locker. No doubt one day my superiors in the Guard would call me to account for my lack of attention to regulations, but not today and today I had work to do.
In truth I also wondered at just what it was we could do, not only amidst all of the current chaos, but with regards to the inescapable fact that none of us held any real influence within the city. Still, as Tain pointed out, these token and this knowledge had come to us for a reason. The champion said that if Destiny had dealt us this hand, it was our Duty to do our best.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 22
Marcus’ steward informed him that his guest had arrived, bringing another lady with her.
“Show them in.”
Mari quickly pulled Lamm’s city map off the table, gesturing to Ari to remove the ledger and other papers.
“Lady Elizabeth,” Marcus greeted the queen’s advisor as she walked in, “you honour my home.” Marcus turned to the lady’s companion, “and Ms. Sabina Merrin, I am pleased to formally meet you. I bid you welcome to Brock House.”
Both women tilted their heads in acknowledgement of the formal greeting. Lady Elizabeth was as lovely now as she had been every other time I had seen her, but her companion was breathtaking. I knew of Sabina Merrin of course. She was the queen’s bodyguard and a respected swordswoman. According to the more sordid rumours she was also the queen’s lover, as was Lady Elizabeth, and having seen all three women I can assure you that image was enough to keep a man warm at night. Sabina was a devastatingly beautiful woman; a warrior-woman who exuded an air of fire and sexuality. Felix stared openly, even Tain’s eyebrows raised at her appearance. The plate-mail armour she wore hugged every gorgeous curve yet still showed enough flesh to draw the eye. May the gods bless whatever smith designed that suit of armour! She carried a sword that looked too large for her to easily wield, but wore such an air of competence I had not the slightest doubt she could use it with expert skill.
Sometimes people have moments in their lives that shape their destinies, moments that stick in their minds forever, becoming a part of a box of special little memories treasured forever and taken out in moments of darkness and depression to raise the spirits and restore the soul. On that day I had one of those moments.
As Sabina’s eyes swept the group she met people’s eyes with the calm confidence of a woman comfortable with herself, her power and her appearance. When seeing Felix and I next to each other she did the double-take that most people give when seeing identical twins, yet her gaze hovered over me for a moment more, and a smile came to her eyes of such warmth that I suddenly began to sweat. She gave me a nod that spoke volumes of unanswered questions and made me forget for the moment every other woman I had ever known. My back straightened, my chest swelled, and, peacock that I am, my own smile grew to match hers. Then, in an instant, the moment was gone, and time restored itself. Such a pity.
The men had stood when the women entered the room. Lady Elizabeth gestured for us to sit and went on to tell us of Trinia Sabor.
“Trinia came with us from the homeland. She was a gentle girl, quiet by nature, and she missed Chelaxia greatly. What I could not say before is that we suspect her of being involved in the king’s death. The king was poisoned.”
I suppose we all reacted with shock at this revelation, but I can assure you it was dramatic shock only, for I think none of us were really surprised at this news. I know Felix and I had discussed this likelihood, and I believe the others had as well. Lady Elizabeth continued, painting us a picture of what had occurred.
“The king died slowly, with the poison being given to him in incremental doses over a week or more. His slow decline kept the healers from knowing what really happening.”
Felix spoke up.
“It takes a cold heart to do that to someone.” I didn’t ask how Felix had such a grasp of the murder’s mind; I didn’t need to. “Did this Trinia Sabor have the steel to do this?”
“We think so. She missed her homeland terribly. We suspect she may have killed the king in order to prompt her majesty to return home taking her retainers, and Trinia, with her. The poison seems to have been delivered in the king’s food and Trinia was responsible for bringing the royal couple their meals. That she fled with the queen’s rather valuable broach immediately after his death cannot be ignored.”
All of us nodded and absorbed the information. Twins have a special bond, where words are sometimes unnecessary. Felix and I looked at each other and shared a thought – that what we had just heard described a patsy more than it did an assassin. Mari shot me a look that seemed to say the same thing; intelligent girl.
“I am assuming you also have an idea as to where we can begin to look for Ms Sabor,” I asked. After all, no frame up is complete unless the framers know where the cut-outs can find the patsy. I was disappointed to find that it was Sabina who spoke up.
“Yes, we do. My informers have found that Trinia is hiding out in the Old City. The place is in almost total anarchy, making it difficult to get into the area and find out if she is indeed there.”
The unspoken assumption was that we would be able to go where the official forces could not. After all, that is how cut-outs are used. Still, I knew my part and played it as best I could.
“Then, mi’lady, we shall have to take a look for ourselves.”
Sabina shot me another wickedly warm smile and leaned towards me as she replied.
“Oh, Agon, I can assure you that I’m no lady.”
I liked where this was going, even if she was a manipulative killer.
“Duly noted.”
Lady Elizabeth smirked at this give-and-take. I think I heard Marcus choke on his drink. Tain’s jaw hung open in shock. Mari blushed and Felix chuckled. Ari broke the ensuing silence.
“So… what does Trinia look like?”
“Have you not met her?” replied Lady Elizabeth. Marcus spoke up.
“My cousin did not have the pleasure, but Mari and I know of Trinia and can describe her to the others if needed.”
“There is no need, Marcus. Here is a cameo that contains her likeness. Please take the time to look at it while we are here with you. I am afraid I must retain possession of the likeness.”
The small portrait was passed around. Trinia was a pretty little thing. She looked quite similar to Mari, actually – petite, blonde but with short hair, an innocent face, olive skin and green eyes. Lady Elizabeth spoke on.
“Trinia was a story-teller, quite a good one. She may be seeking aid from those of similar professions.” We nodded, taking in the information. I immediately began to form a plan of how we could find this runaway. “When you find her, for I am sure you will, notify Sabina or myself at once. Bring her to us, alive, so she can face whatever justice is appropriate according to the queen’s wishes.”
Marcus, more on his game than he had been at dinner, swiftly responded on our behalf.
“Of course, we will do our duty to the crown.”
Lady Elizabeth smiled and continued.
“There was one other thing. Field Marshall Kroft feels that the Guard has become over-stretched. I would ask, if you have the time, to go and see her. She may be able to find a use for your … many talents.”
Again, Sabina’s eyes locked with mine before she looked me up and down hotly. I felt a distinct need to take a very cold bath.
Marcus agreed again on our behalf. The queen’s retainers left us, and once again our world seemed a little dimmer without their light.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 23
In the pause that overtook us after the departure of the ladies, I spoke up to give voice to my plan.
“My friends, I have a plan of how we can proceed.”
“Go on,” Marcus replied, unsure of where I was headed.
“Someone needs to go sweat some information out of Balko the alchemist. Tain, perhaps we should pay him a visit. Felix, I suggest you go hit the streets, perhaps ‘Bloody’ Finch might or the Morrisey family might know where our little bird has flown. And Marcus, I believe you have some family matters that need to be dealt with, yes?”
“I do,” Marcus nodded, “and I’ll need Mari to help me.” He looked significantly at his younger sister. “But someone needs to meet Field Marshall Kroft. I would think you’re the most suited of us to arrange that appointment.”
He was right, although I did not look forward to the prospect. Field Marshall Kroft was fairly ‘stract’; she preferred her soldiers to stick to regulations, and I had the awful feeling that any time around the Field Marshall would result in me being forcibly reminded that in spite of my actions I was not yet a commissioned officer and should stop behaving like one.
Ari spoke up.
“You go speak with the Field Marshall. Tain and I will have a ‘talk’ with Balko.”
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Agon's Journal, Entry 24
It was only some time later that, over a bottle of two of good wine, I finally got the full story of what happened in Tain and Ari’s little ‘talk’ with Balko. I only wish I had been there to see it.
Priestess and champion arrived in full armour, weapons bristling, to speak to Balko. They wanted to project as fearful and intimidating a presence as they could. They gave him as much of a dose of ‘stink-eye’ as they could through the cell bars and then entered the cell to manhandle the alchemist outside. The trouble was, both Tain and Ari went through the door at the same time. The resulting tangle of limbs and weapons was nothing short of a farce. Laughter from Balko and everyone else who saw the incident broke the otherwise tense mood. The story quickly made the rounds and to this day is one of those urban-myth stories told among the Guard and the Church.
Restoring what dignity and menace the two could, they dragged Balko outside to a quiet room to interview him. Ari sat Balko down on the desk. Tain stepped back to lean menacingly against a wall. Well, that’s what he tried to do. Tain misjudged the location of the wall and the stool on the ground. He tripped and fell over in a spectacular heap, causing Balko to roar with laughter.
Ari restored the mood by channeling the power of her goddess to rob the breath of life from Balko with just a touch, and then reinforcing her message by breaking the alchemist’s fingers on one hand with a blow from her mace.
“Are you paying attention to me now, Balko?”
“Of course you sadistic b#*#*. Aarggh!!!”
Ari brought her mace crashing down on Balko’s other hand.
“I hope you have someone else to help you wipe your arse for the next few weeks. Now answer my questions or I keep going.”
Tain, having picked himself up off the floor, spoke up.
“Now hang Ari, that’s enough.”
“Back off, Tain. I want answers, blood or both. The Death Goddess gets another soul tonight!” Divine power flashed in Ari’s eyes, and Balko again felt the breath of life stolen from him.
“That’s enough!”
Tain dragged Ari off the alchemist and threw her outside, shutting the door behind her and jamming it with the stool. From outside Ari shoved against the door a few times but soon gave up. Tain placed his hands over Balko’s crushed hands and murmured a prayer to Abadar. Divine grave flowed from the champion to the beaten criminal and the power of a god soothed his wounds. Tain smiled and drew up a chair across from Balko.
“Now, how about you answer a few questions for me instead?”
The combination of bad-priest and good-priest had worked its magic. Balko sung like a canary.
Lamm had been behind the distribution of the cleaver/skull-and-crossbones tokens. He had been given a third of the city, but it is likely that with his disappearance, and assumed death, that someone else would have taken over. Balko had no information on the other members of the triumvirate.
Balko, as an alchemist, was able to shed some light on the matter of the poison given to the king. No normal poison would have survived the divine magic of the king’s healers. Some dark power had infused the poison used to kill the king. Balko, something of a specialist in his trade, even had a name for the poison: .
Their work well done, Tain and Ari returned the prisoner to his cell, giving orders that he was to speak to no-one. Tain stayed to watch over the alchemist, to see if he would try to communicate with anyone. Ari, forgetting caution and heeding her curiousity, set off for the Sweeping Griffon.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 25
Felix’ first stop was a tavern supplied by Petrie Morrisey. Petrie ran a successful liquor supply business throughout the city. He supplied liquor to taverns and specialized in doing so for ‘special events’ such as religious and entertainment festivals. I was good friends with Petrie’s daughter, Hannah, and worked from time to time alongside Hannah’s boyfriend Arthur as a trouble-shooter at some of the festivals. I enjoyed the work and especially enjoyed Hannah’s circle of young and pretty friends. Arthur had been badly injured in a fight Felix and I had had with Lamm and his men some months before. The youth was still recovering. The connection between our families was close. Of course, the Morrissey business, while successful in its own right, was an excellent front for an even more successful smuggling operation. Felix did a lot of work with Petrie and the two had a certain rapport.
After some conversational foreplay about working together to engage in the profiteering opportunities now available through the times of trouble, Felix asked about Trinia Sabor. Petrie was as ‘hooked in’ to the ebb and flow of information in the city as he always was. He pointed Felix towards the same part of town as Sabina Merrin had done. But Petrie added an interesting rumour. Apparently this Trinia girl was claiming, very loudly, that she had been accused of treason and that she was innocent. She was telling anyone who would listen. Petrie had no view of whether the girl’s claims were innocent or not, but he had heard the story from several sources.
Felix headed off the Old City to find out more.
‘Bloody’ Finch was an institution in some parts of Khorvosa. While Finch had a gift for comic theatre, his real talent lay in his sword-arm. Finding that he could make a steadier income teaching his sword-tricks, Finch spent a score of years teaching the blade to students of all social classes in Khrovosa. Noble or urchin, all Finch cared for was whether or not the student had the talent to learn and the coin – or drink – to pay. The ‘Bloody’ part of his name came from his vile temper and off-putting charm, for Finch cared for no social custom that did not suit his whim at the time, and he made a habit of answering insults with a ready blade.
‘Bloody’ Finch was an old friend of Colonel Cambion, the patron of Felix and me. Upon our arrival in Khorvosa, the colonel had arranged for us to meet the fencing master. Finch had taken a shine to us and had, for the better part of two years now, been passing on his tricks to Felix and myself. Felix got on better with Finch than I did. Finch was a drunk, slowly killing himself with liquor to dull the pain he felt for his dead wife. Unfortunately from time to time I had been called upon as a member of the Guard to put my mentor in the drunk-tank. While he still taught me, for I was a better pupil than Felix, ‘Bloody’ Finch harboured a grudge.
Felix found Finch drinking in a tavern on St Alika Street in Old Khorvosa. His grey-haired, red-nosed mentor had just finished a drink was looking around for someone to buy him another round. Felix slid into the chair opposite Finch.
“Hello there, you old devil.”
“Ahh,” replied Finch, smiling in greeting. His eyes narrowed as he looked closer. “Now which one are you? Felix; if I’m not mistaken.”
“Well spotted, sir.”
“Hmmph. Just as well. That brother of yours locked me up!”
“I know. He damn near arrested me for looting just the other day.”
“Were you looting, Felix?”
“Of course!”
The two laughed.
“I say, boy, my glass is empty.”
“So it is. You best buy another one. I’ll have one too.”
Finch smiled and ordered another round.
“So lad, what brings you to see me?”
“I’m looking for a girl.”
“Aren’t we all!” Finch laughed, then sobered and turned maudlin, “though none of them could be as beautiful as my Veronika.” Finch’s mood swung again as the barmaid leaned over the table to serve their drinks, “except this pretty young thing! What’s your name, darling?”
The barmaid, experienced in her trade, just smiled and walked off. Felix raised his ale.
“To your health, old man.”
“And to yours, pup.”
Both drank deeply.
“The girl I’m looking for is called Trinia Sabor. She was a hand-maiden of the queen, but fled recently under suspicious circumstances. Petite, short blonde hair, olive skin, nice figure, green eyes, a story-teller by trade. I’ve heard she’s hiding out in this part of town.”
“I know the girl,” Finch nodded. “I had a drink with her just the other day. Pretty thing. She’s in one of the blocks just down the road from here.”
Felix blinked in surprise. This seemed too easy.
“She’s bottled up nice and tight though, with those Hell Knights guarding the area. It’ll be difficult to get to her.”
“Hell Knights? Here? Why?”
“You have terrible grammar, boy. Don’t you learn anything in that university?” Finch paused to take a drink. “I have no idea why the Hell Knight are here. Why are they ever here? To keep order? To oppress the people? None of their damned business anyway. The Guard should be doing the job. Where’s your brother when he’s needed?”
“He’s working in the docks district, but I’ll tell him to come by. When did he Hell Knights set up shop?”
“In the riots after the queen died. Fresh food’s been pretty scarce around here. People are tearing each other apart. Always enough booze to go around though, so I’m happy.”
Felix wasn’t really listening and it was only some time later he realised the hidden significance of what Finch was saying.
“I think I might go take a look at these Hell Knights. Thanks Finch.”
“Take care, lad. Come by one morning soon and I’ll teach you a few tricks. You might need them.”
Felix moved off into St Alika Street. Sure enough, just down the road, a group of ten Hell Knights stood guard over an intersection. Felix circled around. At every intersection of a four-block area, ten Hell Knight stood guard. No-one got in or out.
Felix looked up. If the Hell Knights guarded the streets, perhaps the “thieves’ highway” would provide an avenue of entry. Sure enough, traversing the rooftops seemed to be an option the Hell Knights had not considered. Felix quickly scouted a route and, seeing no problems, mentally marked the way before climbing down to street level. Soon he was just one more anonymous figure on the street, and headed for home.
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That Tain guy seems like an intelligent, heroic and level headed fellow...
He is kinda cool, but that Pharasma cleric with too many names is bad@$$.
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Wow.
This journal is REALLY well-written, and a pleasure to read. It seems that your DM has indeed changed a lot of things in the adventure. I noticed that some of the combat encounters were skipped. Was this done on purpose to make the adventure even more about the role-playing?
One thing that's very interesting about this campaign is that a lot of NPC's were added to interact with the characters. It makes the story seem much more alive.
The trouble was, both Tain and Ari went through the door at the same time. The resulting tangle of limbs and weapons was nothing short of a farce. Laughter from Balko and everyone else who saw the incident broke the otherwise tense mood. The story quickly made the rounds and to this day is one of those urban-myth stories told among the Guard and the Church.
That made me laugh. :) What happened, did they both roll a natural 1 on their intimidate check?
Anyway, I'm looking forward to reading more about this promising campaign. Keep up the good work!
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Wow.
That made me laugh. :) What happened, did they both roll a natural 1 on their intimidate check?
Anyway, I'm looking forward to reading more about this promising campaign. Keep up the good work!
Tain rolled a 1 and Ari rolled a 2
Then when we got the interrogation under way Tain rolled a 1 again.
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That d20 is fired ... after the two natural ones in a row on the intimidate checks, I did a few test rolls ... they came up 11, 1 and 1 ...
Don't let Marcus's player touch your dice - he can un-luck dice.
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Wow.
This journal is REALLY well-written, and a pleasure to read. It seems that your DM has indeed changed a lot of things in the adventure. I noticed that some of the combat encounters were skipped. Was this done on purpose to make the adventure even more about the role-playing?
One thing that's very interesting about this campaign is that a lot of NPC's were added to interact with the characters. It makes the story seem much more alive.
Anyway, I'm looking forward to reading more about this promising campaign. Keep up the good work!
Thanks Moonbeam
Agon's player has a flair for writing. Me I am too lazy.
A few of us actually own the AP I skimmed through it when it first came out. I mainly buy the APs for the articles. So the GM is changing it a lot.
In regards to character creation we used to just make up characters then the GM was forced to shoehorn us into knowing each other - (or starting us out in an INN with a job add).
So for our last campaign (Supernatural/Xfiles) we spent the first character creation session working out how we know each other who we know and building a background before we started the actual character creation part. It worked realy well so when we started CotCT we did the same.
The GM has to be willing to trust that the characters arent going to abuse the background creation, but if you have a good bunch of players it can be really good.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 26
At the time I did not look forward to the meeting with Field Marshall Kroft. Looking back on things as they stand now, my apprehension was justified. I was a Cadet, the lowest of all possible ranks. She was a Field Marshall, the highest of all possible ranks. Just to get to her I would have to navigate through a maze of military bureaucracy and red-tape. Yes, I had the name of ‘Lady Elizabeth’ to drop, and this would ease my passage, but just because I wore the uniform I would be scrutinized; and I hate scrutiny.
Yes, gentle reader, I suppose I could have opted to go out of uniform. Had I done so, I would have been seen as just one more mercenary or irregular tapped by the Field Marshall to aid the city in a time of crisis, and in all likelihood, welcomed with open arms and with minimal fuss. Field Marshall Kroft’s habit of outsourcing some of the responsibilities of the Khorvosan Guard had earned her some enmity from the ‘old school’ traditional types – change always does – but the Field Marshall preferred to get the job done and to worry about the niceties later. One might think this would put her and me together in outlook; given time, rank and position perhaps you would be correct, but at that time, I had neither rank nor position and so was bound by the rules of military bureaucracy and hierarchy for better or worse – in this case, for worse.
I donned the uniform I kept unworn – the one every sensible junior officer or solider keeps folded away in their footlocker just in case he or she has to appear before the higher-ups in the military. My day-to-day uniforms, despite constant care and attention, sported the stains of soldier’s normal work – tears or repairs, blood-stains-not-quite-washed out, and the general wear-and-tear that comes with any physical job; my ‘virgin’ uniform did not. Before setting off I had it washed and pressed – overseeing the servants the whole time to make sure they did it right. (I think even the most highest of ranking officers get a little jittery when someone else washes and presses their uniforms – how would a non-soldier know how to do it right?) So looking as ‘stract’ as I could, with my weapons as shiny as I could make them, I set off for the headquarters of the Khorvosan Guard.
The Guard HQ was located in the south-eastern part of the central city, a few blocks north of the impressive High Bridge. The headquarters was sealed off, protected by a wall set with five towers. In times of trouble, such as now, this walled-compound was sealed off and manned by armed soldiers. Everyone coming and going was checked out. I was given the twice over before being allowed to pass through. My papers were checked and a runner sent to fetch my area commander to verify my identity. Fortunately a lieutenant posted to the guarding detail recognised me and called off the soldiers holding me up.
“Agon? What brings you here?”
Lieutenant Melyna Brown and I had served as cadets on the same campaign, out in the borderlands, last year. She was senior and had graduated ahead of me. This was her first posting. She was a good officer, determined and possessing a good professional knowledge of the military arts.
“Ma’am.” I fired off a crisp salute, which was returned. “I’m here to see the Field Marshall, actually; special orders from the queen’s advisor, Lady Elizabeth.”
“How did you manage that, Agon? Wait. Let me guess… friend of a friend?”
I smiled. As cadets together Mel and I didn’t keep too many secrets. She knew I had a habit of garnering contacts outside the normal chain-of-command.
“Yes, as it turns out. I even dined with the queen the other night!”
“You must be joking.” Mel had a laugh, and then sobered. “You’re serious? How?”
“Friend of a friend,” I laughed. Mel obviously wanted an explanation. “I helped a friend out the other day, a nobleman by the name of Merivanchi. It turns out we ended up doing her majesty a favour. Long story short, she liked our moxy and asked us to speak to Field Marshall Kroft, to see if we can help as some of her irregulars.”
Mell was impressed.
“Not bad for a Cadet, Agon. When are you getting your commission anyway?”
“In theory, some time next year.”
“There’s doubt in that statement.”
“Yes, in practice? Who knows? Hopefully a lot sooner than next year. I’ve had my fill of drill and paperwork.”
“I know what you mean.” Mel, sorry, ‘Lieutenant Brown’, nodded and led me away from the soldiers manning the gate. She would escort me in to the Field Marshall, presumably a more exciting option than directing the gate-gorillas.
We chattered as we walked. Mel – old habits die hard – told me about her roles since she was commissioned. She was engaged to be married now, to a member of the Sable Company, an elite mercenary company that assisted with Khorvosa’s law-enforcement and regional defence. Mel told me how much the Sable Company had been stretched – they’d even lost a few members during the recent riots.
It was good to catch up with Mel, even briefly. So often those of us who were Cadets together lose touch once we get commissioned. What disturbed me were her tales of how hard pressed the military was – both the Khorvosa Guard proper and the Sable Company. The militia, the part-time Guard members such as myself – had all be called up, even though a good portion of them refused to obey the Call to Duty. And the Sable Company, that stalwart of elite military professionalism, had lost numbers in the recent desertions, fuelled by rumours that pay would be reduced or even stopped entirely under the queen’s rule.
Quite literally, we lived in interesting times.
Mel guided me through the maze of Guard headquarters – I admit I hadn’t had much experienced in the complex – until finally we stood outside the operational command centre. Once upon a time it was a feasting hall. Now it was a hive of activity with people coming and going in continual streams, with maps on boards throughout the room, and the smell of stale body-odor from those who had been working here for far too long. Dominating one end of the hall, issuing brusque orders with the manner of one accustomed to command but far too heavily over-worked, was Field Marshall Kroft.
She could have been a pretty woman, but the scowl she wore like armour kept the beauty from her face. She had dark hair kept short, wore well-used but clean armour, and was armed, as befitted her rank, with a wax tablet to make notes and issue written orders. Her crystal-blue eyes spotted me as soon as I came into her sphere of influence.
“Who the fvck are you, Cadet, and why are you here?”
I came swiftly to attention. I didn’t salute as I got the impression she didn’t have the time.
“Ma’am, I’ve come at the behest of Lady Elizabeth. I’m with Marcus Merivanchi.”
I have to admit, the lady was switched on. Despite all of the chaos going on around her, she knew exactly who had sent me, who I was, and where I had come from.
“Aren’t there supposed to be more of you?” Field Marshall Kroft looked around me, seeing only Lieutenant Brown, practicing the art of invisibility.
“The others are conducting private investigations, Ma’am. I came to organise a time to meet you, at your convenience. The others did not wish to disturb your schedule.”
“Cadet Deparle, isn’t it?” I nodded. “If I’m awake, I’m here. If I’m asleep, I’m on a stretcher in the corner. Whenever your people wish to come see me, I’ll be available. I have jobs for them to do, and too little time to get things done. Tell your friends to come see me as soon as they can.”
‘Yes, Ma’am,” I saluted, turned and marched off. As I left I heard the field-marshal ask ‘which unit is he posted to, who is his commander?’. I had a terrible feeling that the field-marshal did not ask out of kindness, but to ensure I was behaving as I was supposed to, given my rank. Damn. More and more I was getting the feeling that my future career and ambitions lay in doing well in my extra-curricular service than it did with my regular duties.
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Agon's Journal, Entry 27
Marcus looked over his sister’s dress and bearing. She looked picture perfect – the dutiful daughter of a noble house accompanying her elder brother on his formal duties. She appeared quiet and demure, there for the sake of gifting her with experience in the family’s business. The deception was a good one.
Over the last few days, Marcus had come to a realization; one he did not wish to admit. His sister, little Mari, was growing up. And not only that, she had a powerful mind that was far more usefully employed than just in reading books. Mari could read people. Oh not with any sort of spiritual or magical gift; rather she had that knack of knowing what people were thinking, of reading the little movements of the face, hands and posture, of listening to the inflections in the voice, of all those little clues that told the truth of someone’s heart. Marcus’ meeting with the members of the Bannyer Household could prove very useful to the Merivanchi family, and to him personally. For far too long a war of subtle influence had raged between Marcus’ father and his uncle for control over the family. If Marcus was able to secure an alliance between his Household and that of the bannyer’s then Marcus’ father could well gain dominance over the family. Little Mari, if she did her job well could prove to be a valuable asset.
Marcus and Mari had arrived to the Bannyer manor by carriage. The Bannyer manor was a modest affair, a large house in the Hills district, but not a pretentious one. While behind the manor’s high walls, little could be seen of what lay inside, once inside the family’s taste and wealth was given room to express itself. Murals adorned every wall. A delightful garden gave colour and life to an inner courtyard, and well-trained servants stayed well out of the way as they scurried back and forth seeing to the needs of the family.
The interior of the manor contained a vast array of beautiful furniture and tapestries. The Bannyer Family had long held mercantile interests in the import and export industries, and like all good merchants, they had cherry picked the best for themselves. Despite being only a minor House, the Bannyer manor was one of the best decorated in all of Khorvosa.
Marcus and Mari were shown to the sitting room where they were met by the head of the household, his two sons, and one of his daughters. Lord Bannyer was an impressive figure. In his fifties, he still possessed the frame he did during his earlier days as an officer in the Khorvosan Guard. He hadn’t made a career out of his military service, merely serving his time as per his social requirements, but never-the-less he had excelled in the job, setting a pattern for his future life. Lord Bannyer strove to excel in everything he did. Now his goal was to further his family and the careers of his sons. He sought not only regular paths to success, but the irregular too, believing firmly that what was ‘standard’ was not the limit of what was ‘best’. To this ends, he had sought out Marcus Merivanchi.
If pressed on the subject, Lord Bannyer could only give half an answer as to why it was he sought out Marcus Merivanchi for an alliance as opposed to the youth’s father or uncle. He had heard the stories about Marcus – a wild lad in his younger days who had sobered considerably at the death of his sister. Lord Bannyer knew that Marcus was a private student of Orsini, the great fencing master, and that the lad had fought – and won – a number of duels of honour during his youth. What attracted Lord Bannyer to Marcus as an ally was Marcus’ ability to bring allies to him. Throughout his life Marcus had made friends and influenced people – if not publicly then always quietly. The lad had potential. Lord Bannyer saw that potential and so sought an alliance.
“Marcus, welcome to my home. It is an honour to have you and your sister here with me today.”
“The honour is mine, Lord Bannyer.”
“These are troubling times, Marcus, no doubt about it. I hear your reason for turning down my dinner invitation the other night was a very good one.”
“Yes, Lord Bannyer.” Marcus smiled, seeing the humour in Lord Bannyer’s words. “While I regret turning down your kind invitation, her majesty requested the presence of my sister and I at dinner. I was faced with a choice of whom to insult, and I can only apologise for choosing you.”
“No apology necessary, lad. You made the right choice, as I believe I have in coming to you personally to discuss what we are to do about the current crisis.”
‘We, Lord Bannyer?”
“Yes, boy, ‘we’. All of the minor Houses.”
Marcus leaned forward in his chair, genuinely interested.
“Consider my curiosity piqued. What do you have in mind?”
“Let us be honest, Marcus. We don’t run this city. We can’t and we never will.” Marcus nodded at the assessment. “But neither can the city run itself without us. The minor Families conduct much of the vital trade upon which this city and its people depend. I say this not as some kind of threat or indication of leverage, but as a marker of the Duty, of the noblesse oblige, we hold to the people of the city.”
Marcus could not help but smile to hear his own thoughts reflected in the words of Lord Bannyer. Marcus glanced at Mari for reassurance. The siblings had arranged signals beforehand to communicate between themselves. Mari subtly gave the sign that meant she believed Lord Bannyer was sincere.
“These days are trying one for the city,” Lord Bannyer continued, “as you well know. And with all of the chaos going on, all of the – let’s face is – uncertainty as to who will rule, it seems to me as if everyone is standing back holding their breath, waiting for someone to take charge.”
Lord Bannyer paused, observing the effect of his words.
“I agree with your synopsis, and with the underlying implication – that something must be done. I suspect, Lord Bannyer, that you have a plan?”
“I do.” Lord Bannyer stood and began to pace the room in his excitement. “Someone must take the lead. Oh, not of the major families. They’re far too stuck in their ways. But the minor families are sheep waiting for a shepherd. All they need is a leader. I’m not proposing revolution, nor revolutionary methods. What I’m proposing is that instead of sitting back and waiting for order to be established before we get on with the business of actually running the city and providing for its people, that we perform our noble duties straight away.
“If we get the other minor families behind us, we can begin to provide security, food, water, and good order to entire neighbourhoods. The Guard, good lads for the most part, just need to be shown the way. They’ll fall in line once they have something to rally around. And the more criminal elements of the city will soon realise that there’s more fleece to be shown from a fat calm sheep than a terrified one. Do you agree?”
“In theory, yes. But it will take more than words to see this done. For one, who will the minor families rally around? If any of the major families lead this effort, the queen – or whoever takes her place – will be seen as a potential threat.”
“But if one of the minor houses takes the lead…”
Lord Bannyer stared at Marcus, willing the young noble to come to the correct conclusion. Mari’s eyes widened in realization.
“Brother, he means you.”
Marcus’s mouth didn’t know whether to drop in surprise or rise in a smile. Lord Bannyer’s plan made sense, but the responsibility was incredible; as was the pay-off. While Marcus did struggle with his own fear for a moment of two, his answer was never in any doubt.
“I’ll do it. I will lead the families.”
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Agon's Journal, Entry 28
Emotions and chemical waged a war in Marcus’ head later that night. In all likelihood he had just made a deal that would give him more political influence in the cit than his father and uncle combined. Fear and exultation competed to dominate his emotional state. Mixed into this mental war were the two pints of ale he’d consumed at the ‘Sweeping Griffon’ tavern.
The Sweeping Griffon was in full swing that evening with a cabaret show being performed during a light supper. Marcus’ supper lay largely untouched while he drank, while Mari had demurely nibbled at hers over a single glass of white wine. Marcus knew she wanted to have more, but held herself back for fear of provoking a stern lecture from her older brother.
There was a good crowd at the tavern, and amidst all the people present, neither Marcus nor Mari saw the figures described to them by Felix earlier on in the day. They did see Ari, at the tavern after her questioning of Balko the alchemist for the same recreation-slash-curiousity reasoning as them. Ari told them briefly of what she and Tain had learned. (She skipped over many details; as I said, it was only much later that I had learned the full, rather comical, story.)
With the show winding down, and Marcus’ head slightly spinning from his drink, the siblings and cousin left the tavern for home. Marcus wished to walk off his drink and so the three declined a carriage.
I saw the three of them turn the carriage driver away. I had decided to investigate the Sweeping Griffon on my own. While I trusted Felix, I did not trust him to give me the facts as they actually were for he had a habit of telling a story with truthful elements instead. The difference is subtle, but had been significant in the past. I did not wish for mistakes to be made in this particular instance.
I was incognito, having ditched my Guard’s uniform and weapons. Seeing Marcus, Mari and Ari leave I decide to follow them to make sure they got home safe. I stuck to the shadows, in truth for no grander reason than I didn’t really feel like talking, for I was still dreading a dressing down from my Guard area commander on the morrow.
As everyone headed down the street, Ari tilted her head, suddenly aware of a new sound. Perhaps I was not as stealthy as I thought. I watched with some amusement as the three of them spoke quickly and quietly among themselves. They obviously knew they were being followed. They were apprehensive and ready to take action. I chuckled quietly to myself – if only they knew it was just me.
A cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows ahead of the group and began to walk towards them. From ahead, I heard Marcus and Mari speak, very loudly, and without subtlety.
“So Mari, is this that cloak shop you were told about?”
“Yes, I think it’s here somewhere, we might have passed it.”
“You mean the cloak shop is behind us? I thought I saw it on ahead.”
“Yes, it could be in front and behind us. It’s a pity Agon isn’t here to see them.”
“So what you’re saying is that the cloaks are in front and behind us right now?”
Such unsubtle clues deserved a response. At that stage I was pretty sure EVERYONE knew what was happening. From behind me the cloaked figure I had previously not heard, drew a weapon. I turned and sprinted towards then sound, hoping there was only one. Fortunately, my hopes were correct and I faced a single dark-cloaked figure. Marcus drew his ornate rapier and confronted the cloaked figure to his front.
Both of our opponents ran. Both of us gave chase.
Marcus shouted as he ran, “You there, citizen, stop that man!”
The bystanders, quite rightly, ignored him.
Mari joined in.
“That man stole my purse! Stop thief!”
At the aristocratic girl’s cry, two of the bystanders set off to pursue the alleged fugitive. Both disappeared around a corner chasing the cloaked figure. Slashing and gurgling sounds were heard. When Marcus turned the corner in hot pursuit he saw their bodies lying on the ground, their throats slashed, and blood pumping from their dying bodies across the cobblestones.
Marcus steeled himself, drew himself up to his full height and leveled his blade at the cloaked assassin.
“I am a student of Master Orsini. You are no match for my blade. Stand down villain.”
The cloaked figure smiled. With one dagger forward, and the other held backwards ina reverse grip, he signaled the nobleman onwards.
“Bring it on.”
*
My own conflict was far less dramatic. While my target had chosen to run, he’d had a run of bad luck. I was faster and easily caught up with the assassin, aiming to bring him down in a flying tackle. An expert fend saw me lying face first in the street. Unfortunately for the assassin, as he turned from my prostrate form, he ran straight into the back of a horse. His pause gave me a second chance and I easily brought him to the ground. We rolled in the street, wrestling each other.
In truth, at this stage I saw the matter as something of a lark – nothing too serious. Then he pulled a knife. Then he tried to slice my ribs apart. Fortunately, I even though I was incognito, I was still wearing chainmail under my clothing and his knife did nothing other than ruin my shirt. I’ve always lived by the rule that if someone tries to kill you, you are well within your rights to kill them right back. This being my philosophy, I drew my knife and proceeded to do my best to stab the bastard through his black heart.
Yes, I know I said I was unarmed, but a knife doesn’t really count now does it. I had left my Guard weapons at home. Like my brother, I rarely go anywhere without a knife of some kind.
As each of us sought to open the skin of the other I found myself aided by Ari. At the sight if drawn knives she had dispensed all thought of fisticuffs and laid into the assassin with her mace. Her assistance proved invaluable and soon enough I was in a position of dominance.
And that when this guy’s friends arrived. Three of them. With swords.
Ari had spirit, but was no fighter. I needed to get rid of my opponent fast. As I struggled to maintain the upper hand, Ari cried out in pain, her side opened from a vicious cut. She was bleeding badly, and back-pedaled, waving her mace back and forth to keep her assailants back.
With an angry yell, a head-butt, and a knee to the groin, I forced my opponent to weaken his grip on my knife hand. An instant was all I needed, and my blade slipped between his ribs. I heard his gurgling cry, and felt his slick blood pump across my knife-hand. Dealing death that close is never pretty. But fvck him – he had tried to kill me and his comrades were doing their best to kill my companion. I grabbed the assassin’s blade and rolled to my feet ready to confront Ari’s attackers.
I need not have been so concerned. The three new attackers reeled back as Ari called upon the power of the Death goddess. Death’s pale hand was stilled, and before our disbelieving eyes Ari’s wounds were healed. In an instant the fight had gone from a severely injured priestess, her companion trapped on the ground, to two ready armed and willing warriors, keen to deal death to their attackers.
The three cloaked assassins did a quick assessment, decided the odds were no longer in their favour and turned and ran.
*
Marcus was not having an easy time. The assassin he fought knew how to fight against an opponent with superior reach. He danced back and forth out of range of Marcus’ blade, forcing the fencer to close. The assassin would then weave in close, hoping to score a hit with his knives. Marcus would then be forced to hop back out of range. At first, this was a game Marcus could not afford to play. He knew his friends were in danger and did his best to end the fight in order to come to their aid. His rashness cost him a few cuts that he could have avoided with a more cautious approach. But with time reason reasserted itself. Marcus began to smile, realizing that I could easily handle my side of the fight. He toyed with his opponent, drawing him out more, and scoring a few cuts on the assassin.
Without warning, from behind Marcus a splash of acid raced forward and struck the assassin. The green acid elicited a yell of surprise from both combatants. Instinctively Marcus knew it had come from his sister – who else was there? Forcing himself to ignore the revelation that his sister was a magic-user as he had feared, Marcus concentrated on his deadly duel. A second acid ball forced the assassin to duck, giving Marcus his opening. He struck hard with a forceful lunge. His blade pierced the assassin’s chest, snapping ribs as the metal forced its way through one side and out the other. The assassin reeled back from the blow, tripped over his feet and fell hard against the wall of the alleyway. Proving the adage that a stab with a rapier doesn’t kill a man fast enough, the assassin went on to take several steps in flight before finally tripping over a barrel and falling down dead.
Marcus paused, out of breath and thankful to his fencing master for the long hours of training, and took in the world around him. He heard the sound of he Guards, their whistles sounding a ‘hue and cry’ as they approached. Mari, her eyes still afire with the magic she had wielded, looked at her brother, apprehensive at the expected lecture. Marcus just shook his head. Lectures could wait; for now, he was just happy they were alive.
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Marianna's Journal
I have translated the diary. The spell I learned from Arius worked!
However, my excitement has been dulled by the contents of the diary. It appears to be a religious text of some kind. The deity is not readily identifiable, though I am hoping Ari or Tain may be able to help me establish the god that may be linked to these writing.
The writings are apocalyptic and nihilistic. I have selected specific passages to share with the others, though I am loath to even touch the damnable book now. This may provide answers we desperately need, yet I am more than happy for Ari or Tain to deal with whatever relevations may be gleamed from the diary's pages.
Still, if I am going to share these passages, I must set them down somewhere.
Several chapters of text were marked out for attention. Those chapters read:
For the righteous and wicked will lay with the Whore of Devils; and they shall be rewarded with the taste of death. Two thrones shall succumb and the Red Seat shall be caked with death and decay. The faithful shall stand steadfast before this threat, for he who is dead shall rise again; and behold he shall be alive forever more. He shall have the keys of hell and of death.
…And before the throne there was a sea of glass like unto crystal: and in the midst of the throne, and round the throne, were four beasts full of eyes before and behind. Overhead flew a dragon blacker than the night with eyes lit with the fires of Hell…
The great city shall tear itself asunder with greed, cut beneath by thrice stuck plunderers, assailed from without by pretenders to the throne, rotten inside by avarice. The dragon shall raise much in this nest.
What is going to befall Korvosa?
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Marianna's Journal
By the All-Seeing Eye and the Eternal Rose! I am going to serve in the City Guard by command of the Queen!
The reality of my situation tempers my excitement. I cannot serve in the City Guard without bringing shame on Marcus and our House. If I could serve for a single night, may be two, just to experience a world without these constricting walls.
Imagine, using magic in combat? Throwing balls of acid or even sending the enemy to sleep. Victory through magic, no spilt blood, criminals brought down peacefully? Even Marcus could not deny that I am more than capable of protecting myself!
Our meeting with House Bannyer is also promising. I am curious to hear the offer hinted to Marcus in the letter he received the other night. This meeting will prove to be very interesting!
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Marianna's Journal
Those poor men are dead. Because of me. I cannot believe they died helping me! I was foolish to trick those men into pursuing that dangerous thug.
I was so selfish, caught up in the excitement of being in combat and finally having the chance to test my magic against an enemy. I was so impulsive and immature! Marcus was injured, Ari was seriously hurt and those poor men paid for my childish enthusiasm with their lives.
Why does Marcus desire to command men? Why is Agon dedicated to becoming an officer in the City Guard? How do they come to terms with the possibility that they may have to pay the cost of their leadership in blood?
I was so caught up in the moment! May be Marcus is right, I have no place in these events?! Even my magic failed to bring down a solitary foe! Only when he was thrown back by Marcus did he fall to my magical sleep. He lived, I am not sure I can bare to kill someone even in vengeance again.
Lamm was enough. Taking his life felt right, claiming vengeance for Talia. The cost of innocent lives, pointlessly on my behalf, makes me feel sick. Deep inside, a sinking pit of sickness.
What of House Bannyer and the offer made to Marcus? It was an offer he could not resist. This is a dangerous game we play. On one hand we have allied ourselves with the Queen, at least in her megalomanical view I imagine, and on the other he has thrown our House in with this new alliance.
I cannot bring myself to trust Lord Bannyer and his motives. Is he planning on using Marcus to advance his own house? Marcus may be in danger of being a piece in man's ambitions. My fear for our family almost eclipses my feelings of guilt.
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That made me laugh. :) What happened, did they both roll a natural 1 on their intimidate check?
Anyway, I'm looking forward to reading more about this promising campaign. Keep up the good work!
I am glad to read you are enjoying Agon's journal.
Our GM has set up a forum and wiki for our League. These have become an awesome resource for building on our campaign and extending the roleplaying elements as well.
Agon will not be at our next session, so we hope to compensate for his absence. He will be happy to hear that people are enjoying his journal.
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Another nice update. I really liked the description of the battle against the cloaked assassins.
Do I understand correctly who's playing who:
Chubbs McGee=Mari?
The 8th Dwarf=Ari?
Mothman=Tain?
Thanks :-)
Chubbs McGee=Mari?
The 8th Dwarf=Ari?
Mothman=Tain?
That is correct - I usually end up playing dwarves or the equivalent of, this game I thought I would try something different.
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Another nice update. I really liked the description of the battle against the cloaked assassins.
Do I understand correctly who's playing who:
Chubbs McGee=Mari?
The 8th Dwarf=Ari?
Mothman=Tain?
Mari is my character.
I have to apologise that due to work on the groups wiki and real world work, I don't get a lot of time to update my journal. I am hoping to do more thorough and more creatively written entries next week.
I am also moving away from a typical narrative style to a more reflective diary style. Since Agon does such a good job with his journal, it allows me to approach my writing in a different format.
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Well, we played again on Friday. Agon’s player couldn’t make it unfortunately, so I’m not sure how much of an update we’ll get from Agon’s point of view. I’m going to try to step into the breech and resurrect Tain’s journal for this session. I’m busy today and tomorrow, but will hopefully get a chance to post something sometime later in the week.
Tain’s Journal
Early evening, the 26th of Abadius
Upon returning to the Bank of Abadar, I immediately sought out Archbanker Tuttle to gain permission to work with Field Marshal Kroft and the Korvosan Guard. The Archbanker agreed that such an arrangement might prove advantageous, and permission was granted. I had mixed feelings about working for the Guard again, given the reasons for my leaving the organisation in the first place, but I was willing to do what it took to help restore order in this city, and see the populous safe.
I had barely left the Archbanker’s office when I was informed that a message had arrived for me from a street-runner. I paid the boy a coin, then read the message. It was from Ariadnae; it seemed that soon after leaving the Sweeping Griffon, she, Marcus and Marianna had been attacked. None of my relatives were seriously hurt, but Aria requested that I come and meet them at the scene as soon as possible.
With all haste I gathered my weapons and made my way to the street indicated in Aria’s message.
Upon arrival I found that a squad of Guardsman had arrived on the scene, and had taken two prisoners into custody, as well as taking away the body of a third man. Agon was there also, in conference with the Guard. I sought out the Merivanchis and discovered that Aria had already healed the wounds that she and Marcus had sustained in the fight.
It seems that upon leaving the inn, the trio had realised that they were being followed, shortly before they were ambushed by four combatants. By good fortune Agon was nearby, and engaged several of the thugs in melee whilst Marcus and Aria bested the fourth. Agon slew one of the assailants, but was in trouble with the other two when the Guard arrived, routing the remaining thugs. As I had observed, two were captured, one was slain and a fourth had managed to escape.
Approaching the Guard Sergeant, we requested an opportunity to question the prisoners, but were rebuffed. “They’re in our custody,” the man replied brusquely, “and we’ll question them.” Agon gave us a look that seemed to indicate he would handle things, and soon enough he marched off with the Guard squad, prisoners in tow.
I returned to the others. “I apologise for not escorting you home,” I said, looking at the torn sleeve of Marcus’ tunic and the pink, freshly healed skin beneath, at the rent in Ari’s breastplate. “Had I not left early, they may not have attacked you – at the least I would have been here to help.”
Marcus shrugged off the apology. “It has been a dangerous city of late.” I nodded.
“The situation is worsening, if street thugs are now attacking travelers on the streets but two blocks from Castle Korvosa. Or the second possibility; that this attack was not random, that you were targeted.” I could tell by the expression on my brother-in-law’s face by the light of the street lamp that he thought the latter more likely. “Either way, we must act.” I continued. “If you do not think the hour grows too late, we should go to see Field Marshal Kroft now.”
There was general agreement, so we struck across the city for Citadel Volshyenek, alert for danger – but no further trouble found us that night.
Tain's Journal
Evening, the 26th of Abadius
Along the way, the Merivanchis gave me a brief accounting of some of the things they had learnt. Marcus did not go into great detail about his and Mari’s visit to House Bannyer earlier in the day, except to say that it appeared most of the noble families remained loyal to the throne … though not necessarily to Queen Ileosa.
The trio had managed to hold a hasty conversation with Agon between the end of their battle and my arrival at the scene; although the details remained vague, it seemed that Agon and his brother Felix had uncovered some possible leads on the whereabouts of Trinia Sabore. Apparently she was still in the city, being protected and hidden by persons who believed her innocent of the crime she was accused of. They had also discovered that a squad of Hellknights had sealed off several city blocks, and were not allowing anyone in or out – an area where a woman matching Trinia’s description had apparently been sighted. Unfortunately, Agon had not told the others exactly where all this was taking place before the Guard patrol had occupied his attention and taken him away. But it would not likely be difficult to track down this Hellknight blockade – Hellknights were not known for subtlety.
“We will certainly need a way past those Hellknights,” commented Marcus, “if we are to find Sabore.”
“Surely if we have the authority of the Queen, or even the Guard, they will let us pass?” asked Mari.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Aria replied. “It will depend on whose authority they are here – the Queens, the Guards, or their own. The Order of the Nail was invited here to Varisia by the Crown long ago, but they only work for Korvosa when it suits them.”
“Indeed,” I said. “The Hellknights are sworn to uphold law and order – not the law of any wordly nation or city, but rather the absolute order of Hell. If they think that things have slid too far towards chaos here, they would act on their own. At any rate, I would prefer that we find Sabore before the Hellknights do, to see that she is brought to fair trial to determine her innocence or guilt. The Order of the Nail are all too likely to act as judge, jury and executioners.”
Marcus threw me an odd look, half glimpsed in the lamp light of the street. “Lady Elizabeth did not mention a fair trial,” he said. “I suspect that, whatever the real truth, Sabine has already been found guilty. Regardless, the Queen has directly entrusted us with the task of finding her, and I also would far prefer that it was us over the Hellknights; it will reflect badly if we fail in this.”
“You are concerned of what the Queen will think Marcus?” asked Aria. “I didn’t realise you were such a loyalist.”
Marcus glanced about – there were some distant shouts and the ringing of a watch bell carrying through the night air from the north, but the street we traveled through was deserted. “I am loyal to the Crimson Throne,” he replied, “and whoever rightfully and legally sits upon it.”
Tain's Journal
Late Evening, the 26th of Abadius
Citadel Volshyenek
Having presented ourselves at the gates, we were shown through the corridors and courtyards of the Citadel to the office of the Field Marshal. An older man and a younger woman waited within. The woman, her face looking worn and tired beneath her short cropped hair, and wearing red enameled field plate emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Korvosan Guard even indoors, stood and introduced herself as Field Marshal Cressida Kroft, then thanked us for coming.
The man sitting beside her stood also; he wore his long white hair pulled pack into a pony tail, and an ornate fencing blade at his side. The Field Marshal introduced him as Master Vencarlo Orisini. We had all heard of him of course, and Marcus knew him well, as the man was his fencing teacher and, as I understand it, a friend. Master Orisini had taught many of Korvosa’s current crop of accomplished swordsmen and women. In fact, as Marcus informed us later, he had also taught our recent acquaintance (and Queen Ileosa’s bodyguard) Sabina Merrin.
For now though, Marcus introduced us to Master Orisini (who was pleasant to all of us, but paid particular attention and compliment to Mari), then Field Marshal Kroft quickly came around to the reason she had summoned us. “You’ve all seen the state of the city these past few days,” she began. “The Guard is stretched thin trying to keep the peace and ensuring, as much as possible, that everyone is kept safe and fed. Between riots, looting, gang violence and desertions,” her expression darkens at the last, “we are struggling, even with the assistance of the Churches,” she nodded to Aria and myself, “the Sable Company and even … the Hellknights.” It sounded as if she could have done without that last bit of assistance.
“There are things that the Guard has just not been able to attend to – and some things that it would be best handled by … others. To that effect I have been putting together some teams of specialists – loyalists, people with skills, but not necessarily known to be affiliated with the Guard.” She looked us over critically, then nodded. “You come highly recommended by Lady Elizabeth and the Queen,” she added.
“So, I have a task for you. I’ll have Master Orisini give you the details.”
That worthy nodded and stepped forward. “The ambassador to our fair city from Imperial Cheliax is a man by the name of Darvayne Amprei. It is no great secret that he hates Korvosa, and to all appearances his appointment here. What is less well known is that he has, for many years, been seeking to buy up property within the city – he is quite a land-holder, and has some influence over many of his tenants. We believe that he has been using his money and influence to stir up trouble within the city and de-stabilise the economy. Up until now, this has been on a small scale, but with the recent troubles he has increased his activity. It appears that he intends to keep the current chaos going for as long as possible – enough perhaps to leave Korvosa ripe for a take-over by the Empire.”
Marcus stroked his chin. “Ironic. It was not so long ago in our history that many in the city would have welcomed a return to Chelish rule,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I countered, “but I believe that sentiment has changed as rumours of House Thrune’s loyalties and atrocities have been proved true.”
“Our city will never again willingly bow to tyrants.” Orisini spoke firmly, putting a premature end to the political argument. “We want Amprei gone, but the Guard cannot simply arrest him … or stick his head on a pike.”
“Diplomatic immunity,” I nodded. “You do not want us to …” I was concerned. I am loyal to Korvosa, I am not afraid to bring the good fight to the city’s enemies, but I am not an assassin.
Orisini shook his head. “Nothing like that. Amprei is a man of many vices, and he likes to indulge them at Eel’s End – perhaps you have heard of it? A collection of vice houses of various stripes, located at the eastern end of Old Korvosa, run by a rather ruthless crime boss named Devargo Barvasi.”
“Barvasi is a scumbag,” Field Marshal Kroft interjected, “but he pays his taxes and does not engage in any activity that is outright illegal – at least not that we can prove.”
The sword-master nodded. “We believe that Barvasi may know something of what Amprei is up to, or at least know something that we can use against the ambassador. We would like you to try to find out what he knows, find something we can use in some manner to shut Amprei down, or cause him enough political embarrassment that he will be forced to leave the city.”
“I do not know this man Barvasi,” I said, “but I know his type; they respond best to money. We may need to pay or bribe him.”
Field Marshal Kroft nodded, and turned to open a small strongbox behind her desk. “One thousand gold pieces,” she said, handing me a hefty coin bag. I accepted the money. “We’ll keep receipts,” I said.
“What does Amprei look like?” asked Ari, but Marcus fielded that question. “I’ve met the man,” he said sourly – obviously not a particularly pleasant experience. “I’ll know him if we see him.”
“Is there anything else you need?” the Field Marshal asked.
“Yes,” Ari replied, glancing down at her armour. “I think our armour might stand out at Eel’s End,” she gestures to her own breastplate, emblazoned with the comet symbol of Pharasma, and my scale mail, gold coloured in typical Abadarian style. “May we borrow something less conspicuous from the Guard?”
Kroft nodded, and suggested that we stop by at the armoury before we left the Citadel – we should be able to find something that would not stand out as Gaurdsmen’s armour.
“There is also the matter of recognition,” Marcus spoke up. “Obviously we are happy to serve the city in this capacity, but we will need the correct tools to do our job properly.”
The Field Marshal frowned slightly. “I’m not sure that I follow you – you’ll be deputised, so you may act with the full authority of the Korvosan Guard.”
“What my cousin is too modest to ask outright, is what rank will we be given?” Aria spoke, after a glance at Marcus.
Kroft’s frown deepened. “The point of us hiring you is that you’ll be working under-cover, indepentantly of the rest of the Guard. You won’t be running patrols or standing guard duty, you won’t have anyone working under you, and you won’t have anyone but me giving you orders.”
I stepped forward. “I believe that the Field Marshal is saying that we will be out-side the chain of command – exact rank is unimportant in the context.” I turned to look at the leader of the Korvosan Guard. “I further understand that we should report only to yourself?”
The Field Marshal nodded. “Yes, to me, or to Vencarlo if I’m unavailable. He acts with my direct authority in this matter.” Orisini smiled. “You know where to find me if I’m not here,” he said, directing the statement at Marcus, who indicated in the affirmative.
“Speaking of such things, I met your companion Agon earlier in the day,” Kroft added. “I suggest that it might be best if he did not come with you to Eel’s End; someone there may recognise him as a member of the Korvosan Guard, which could throw this whole mission into jeopardy. I’ve reviewed his file … Agon seems a competent Guardsman, but he is rather … noticeable.”
The four of us exchanged amused looks. That sounded about right.
“In the interest of full disclosure, there is something you should know,” I said, addressing the Field Marshal. “When the Lady Elizabeth suggested that we come to see you, she also tasked us with a mission directly from Queen Ileosa. A woman named Trinia Sabore is wanted for questioning, suspected of the late King’s murder. We have been asked to find her. Should the opportunity arise, we will need to pursue this woman, to bring her to trial, perhaps in favour of any mission we are undertaking on behalf of the Guard.”
The Field Marshal exchanged glances with Orisini. “We’ve heard of this suspect … though not of any trial,” answered Kroft guardedly (Marcus gave me a knowing look). “Of course, if you have been tasked by the Queen to find her you should do so.”
“We have heard rumours of a contingent of Hellknights keeping watch over a part of the city where Sabore has been sighted,” I continued. “We thought that, perhaps if the Order of the Nail is here at the request of the Korvosan Guard, you may be able to help us get through their blockade.”
“The Hellknights are not under my command,” answered the Field Marshal, her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. “I do not know at who’s bequest they are here – possibly the Queen’s, but more likely their own. I’ve heard of this blockade of course – they’ve been in place there since early this morning, or perhaps some time last night … and don’t seem to be moving. I would say you have time in regards to Sabore – the Hellknights will not act until they are certain of her location, and if she is within their blockade, she’ll not get out easily.” She looked at the sword-master again, who merely raised an eyebrow, then turned back to us. “Help us with Amprei, and I will see if there is anything I can do to help you with the Hellknights.”
There were no more questions and after a few formalities we were dismissed. Orisini showed us to the armoury, where Aria and I each requisitioned a battered, unadorned suit of armour, and then we were back out on the street, the sword-master having given his farewells and blessings.