Rise of the Runelords

Runelord Reflections 3 (Day 5)
The Catacombs of Wrath

Day 5 (3.13.15)

The Catacombs of Wrath.

After an uneventful and uncomfortable night spent sleeping in the Glassworks, then keeping watch over our prisoner and the secret tunnel that led who-knew-where, I finally was able to get out and do a little shopping.

Rakonia had come back late in the evening with a shiny new shield, and after some quick discussion Skalmold had gone out to pick up something of her own. When she got back, I couldn’t help but notice the gleaming new hammer she cradled in her arms, it’s three-foot shaft topped by a wicked-looking and beautifully inscribed head that must have weighed ten pounds. She informed me that the smith, something of a grouch, had closed up shop for the night.

So I waited. Impatiently.

Now that it was my turn, I could barely contain my excitement. I hadn’t bought anything in days. Straight ahead of the Glassworks ran Sand Alley, leading to Main Street, which in turn ran north to south from the town hall all the way down to the docks. The low hanging sun shone painfully in my eyes. I was roughly familiar with the town’s layout at this point. The northern portion rose up from the bay, culminating in a twenty foot cliff above which the magnificent new cathedral looked down upon the town. There were more things up there, like a fancy inn and an old, broken light tower, but you couldn’t see them from down where I was. The new cathedral, however, was impossible not to see, and it hovered helpfully above town and, more specifically, my destination.

Using the obvious landmark as a target, I started walking past Sandpoint Savories, the local bakery, and found myself unable to resist stopping in for a half-dozen sugary buns. I gulped them down as I walked, wishing I’d brought something to wipe my hands on.

I stopped as I turned on to Main Street, spinning around as something caught my eye. Across the road, a word leapt out across the intervening distance. Goblin?! Squinting as I moved forward, I slowly deciphered the curious script of the placard that hung above the building. “The Curious Goblin,” I muttered. Approaching, I looked through the window and saw shelves upon shelves, filled up with books. “What the hell?” I wondered, continuing on my trek across town.

I must have been a bit preoccupied by my wondering, because I made a wrong turn at the appropriately named Bent Street and found myself forced to head back south, away from my target. A grim-faced man with hairy arms stepped out from a doorway, tossing a pail of rubbish into a waiting cart. He gave me a dour look before returning to his task, and the wafting scent of vomit and stale beer filled my nose. Cracktooth’s Tavern, I read above the doorway. No need to ever visit there.

Pausing, I looked around, and saw the majestic Sandpoint Theater looming at the end of the block. The building was beautiful, on par with some of the things I’d seen back in Hyperborea. Even Magnimar, although much larger and more cosmopolitan, had no more impressive theater than this. I determined to take in a story, at some point. Ideally one that encouraged the throwing of over-ripe vegetables at the cast.

I took a little alley to the left, finding my bearings again on Raven Street and turning southeast to follow the side of the theater. Taking a left once I hit Festival Street, now I was heading northeast with my target in sight. I wondered at the name, since every other road was called something that directly related to it. Water Street ran along the waterfront, while the road along the river was called, you guessed it, River Street. I’ll give you one shot at figuring out what building Church Street runs past. Festival Street, though… must be where they held festivals, I guess. Across the way sat the impressive Carpenters’ Guild, fit men ranging from young apprentices to aging masters toiled in the early morning light, getting the tools of their trade ready for the day’s labor.

A break in the buildings gave me a glimpse of Mill Pond, and I pondered the nature of quiet, small town life and the inherent disinclination for imaginative naming it seemed to produce. But, I suppose, when there’s only one of any thing, there was no need to differentiate. Or titillate, as some names seemed designed to do. Admittedly, as an outsider, I’d benefited from this literalistic tradition. It was much easier to figure out, and remember, than names or, gods forbid, numbers.

The Pixie’s Kitten did not conform to my observations, but that was an obvious exception.

The Red Dog Smithy was already billowing smoke, the forge-fires tended to by a pair of sweaty, well-muscled youths. With a disarming smile, I asked where their master was. With seeming reluctance, one of the young men walked into a nearby building, followed soon after by an eruption of cursing.

After several long moments of this, I looked at the other boy, but he refused to meet my eye, feeding more wood into the furnace-type thing next to the forge. Quickly getting impatient, I headed over to the sound of the yelling.

A man with the largest arms I’d ever seen paused mid-shout, and I caught fleck of spittle hurling through the air in a ray of sunlight just before landing upon the wincing face of the lad I’d sent in. The man’s eyes bulged, and he took in a deep breath, turning to me.

I interrupted whatever he’d been about to say with a quick “I’m here to buy something.” I made sure the coinpurse at my belt jingled nicely as I said it. He paused, mid-way into an undoubtedly disrespectful introduction. “If I have to come back later, I won’t be coming back.” The pouch of gold coins clinked together noisily as I bounced it in my palm. It was early, and I was in no mood for either niceties or disrespect.

The man frowned, the craggy face pinched in thought. He rubbed a few days worth of stubble with a large, dirty hand covered in tiny scars, bright against the deep tan. Drooping, bloodshot eyes regarded me with both curiosity and annoyance. “You shouldn’t enter a man’s home without permission,” he stated, and I glanced around, realizing that I was standing in a small room that functioned as both sleeping quarters and kitchen.

“Fair enough,” I acknowledged, stepping back out beyond the threshold. Honestly, the place was kind of a dump.I looked at the pale-faced boy, waiting loyally for the man to continue his outburst. “That kid just made you a heap of money. You should be thanking him instead of yelling at him.”

Sometimes, you should just shut up and get on with things, rather than being pulled into drama. But sometimes, drama just begged for your attention. Standing up, the man shot me a disgusted glance. “You shouldn’t getting into business between master and apprentice,” he stated haughtily.

“You shouldn’t conduct your business while bellowing like some kind of animal,” I commented lightly, looking to see if I’d won a chuckle from the apprentice. Nothing. “It’s early, people are still sleeping.”

He made a scoffing sound. “Miserable laggards,” he muttered, leaving his dirty dishes on the counter with a clatter. “I’m surprised an adventurer such as yourself is up before noon,” he fairly sneered, striding outside and heading over to the forge area.

He stopped, cross-eyed at the gleaming steel leveled right between his eyes. “Look,” I demanded, watching him swallow, and I held the blade up for him to inspect. “This is what I want.” Eyeing me warily, he glanced at the weapon for a moment before striding off abruptly.

“Well?” I asked, feeling impatient and a little pissed off. Turn your back on me, will you? I contemplated hooking his feet out from underneath him as he strode off, but luckily the moment passed.

“I think I got just what you’re looking for,” he replied gruffly, heading toward a larger, windowless building.

Intrigued, wondering if I were supposed to wait there in the yard or follow, I decided on follow and hurried after, a spring of excitement in my step.

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“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked rhetorically, admiring the dark finish of the new naginata. The smith’s inventory had many fine weapons in it, but nothing that approached the beauty of what he’d had for me. The razor-sharp blade was beautifully wrought, and faint lines and bands of grey radiated across the dark metal in a pattern like nothing I’d ever seen. The metal alloy shaft was surprisingly light but undeniably solid, with a nice little counterweight at the opposite end, giving it a wonderful balance. I’d played with my new toy the whole way back from the Red Dog Smithy, spinning and twirling and slashing.

Skalmold nodded absently, clearly preoccupied with something else, and Zeyara went so far as to sigh loudly, so I took the hint. Still, though, it was a weapon that deserved to be admired.

Rainbow approached the chained and gagged man who hung suspended in his sister’s place, struggling futilely at his bonds.

Chanting in her soft, high-pitched voice, the halfing shaman did something that made the fight go right out of the man, his eyes suddenly glistening with friendly intent. Tsuto began speaking, muffled by the gag, and carefully we released him. He massaged his wrists appreciatively.

Magical friendship is a powerful thing. The slightly-crazed half-elf began a long, rambling conversation with the inquisitive Rainbow, giving a roundabout version of his life story. More importantly, he started talking about his master, a woman by known as Nualia.

The secret tunnel below the Glassworks had been used as an old smuggling route, and led to the ocean, as well as to something he called the Catacombs. It was here that Nualia’s ally resided, waiting to aid the goblins in their attack on the town. Worrying, the creature was some kind of demon that Vega recognized as a being called a quasit.

“Is it… big?” I asked, disgusted and more than a little worried that something like that could be hiding out right beneath this town’s feet. I wasn’t sure I was up for fighting a big demon.

“Tiny, in relation to other demons,” Vega assured, eyes staring up at the stone ceiling as she showed off some of her knowledge on the topic. “They’re less than two feet high,” she began, “physically weak but they fly, and their claws are lethally sharp and poisonous.” She paused. “Resistant to most elements, and like most demonic entities, they are partly… not here.” She frowned. “Their supernatural connection with their plane of origin, the Abyss, makes it difficult to hurt such creatures with physical means.”

“Meaning…”

She eyed our assorted arsenal. “It’s hard to hurt them with mundane weaponry.”

“Magic works on them, though?”

Vega frowned. “Sometimes. Physically attacking the creature will be difficult, unless we secure the properly forged weapons. Cold iron would be what we need.”

“My naginata is cold iron!” I exclaimed happily. It had looked so cool; much darker and less shiny than steel, but the smith had assured me it was at least as strong. Rakonia and Skalmold eyed their new weapons with an expression that may have been worry.

Tsuto was going on and on, explaining that Nualia was a beautiful female aasimar with silver hair and the features of an angel. In fact, we’d already heard about her. She was the adopted daughter of Sandpoint’s previous high priest, Tobryn. She mysteriously disappeared years ago and, shortly after, Sandpoint entered into its time of troubles, culminating with a blaze that destroyed the town’s temple and killed the high priest.

Being an outsider has its advantages. Sometimes, you learn something that the locals have dismissed as coincidence.

It was Nualia that controlled the goblin tribes surrounding Sandpoint. In fact, their recent attack on the town was, as we’d suspected, merely a ruse that allowed the corrupt aasimar to abscond with her adopted father’s remains. According to Tsuto’s ravings, the old man’s bones were subsequently used in a heretical ritual devoted to Lamashtu in which the Mother of Monsters gifted the otherwise beautiful aasimar with a hideously appendage: her left hand has been “blessed” by the evil goddess and was now a deformed thing that reveals the aasimar’s true, corrupt nature.

Lamashtu. The Demon Queen. Mother of Monsters, and also Demon Mother. Now that was worrying. The “good” gods were tricky enough; when it came to the profoundly evil ones…

And that wasn’t all. In addition to her goblin lackeys, Nualia had a number of allies, like the crazed goblin and foul quasit that laired underneath the town in the catacombs. Other followers included a wizard and a bugbear, which was something like a goblin but much bigger and scarier. Most disturbing, though, was a shadowy figure known to Tsuto as Malfeshnekor. Malfeshnekor’s true identity was unknown but Nualia expected to become even more powerful once she made contact with this being.

The name sounded demonic, so I assumed for the moment it was a demon. And probably a big one.

Tsuto’s raving revealed that, should Nualia and Malfeshnekor be united, there would be no need for subtlety, implying an all out assault against the town lay in the immediate future. It was possible her only interest in Sandpoint was stealing the old priest’s bones, but that bit of wishful thinking was not something I was willing to bet my life on.

Despite his servitude to the woman, Tsuto was unaware of her current location. He’d spent years living with the goblins, and it had a profound effect on his mind. As trusting as a babe, he followed Rainbow back into his former holding cell, allowing her to quickly snap the manacles shut once again once his usefulness had come to an end.

He blinked, the nice-looking, elf-boned face gradually screwing up in anger, and I contemplated the difficulties this poor bastard had been forced to face throughout his ill-fated life. A stain upon the honor of the very family he’d been born into. Hated and despised by his so-called father, a source of shame for his mother. Knowing that, quite possibly, she had been killed by the man for the crime of which Tsuto himself was proof. Exiled, alone in the wild… It was hard not to empathize with his plight.

Rakonia took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention. “When you see Lamashtu, tell her who sent you.” A chill ran down my spine; that was badass.

The gleaming edge of my blade new blade pierced clean through his chest, pinning the man to the wall. Zeyara stepped forward and finished off Ameiko’s half-brother and only surviving family member, neatly severing his head.

Hard not to empathize, but not that hard.

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We hauled the corpse upstairs, dumping it into one of the furnaces Rakonia had kept burning for just such a purpose. The burning smell of human meat began to permeate the building, and we quickly fled, locking the door behind us.

Rakonia, Skalmold and Zeyara excused themselves, heading off to the Red Dog Smithy to procure some of the other cold iron cutlery I’d noticed in the store room. I convinced Vega and Rainbow to get some breakfast at the hot bun shop I’d discovered.

Twenty minutes later, we were ready to start with the exploration.

Descending once again into the secret staircase inside the Glassworks, the SIsterhood of Steel finally entered the tunnel that stretched away into the darkness.

We trudged through the smuggler’s secret passage, Zeyara creeping a dozen yards ahead, moving stealthily out of the radius of Vega’s magical floating ball of light. How could a race lacking the ability to see in the dark even continue to exist? Let alone thrive? Such a terrible weakness…

After a minute of uncomfortable tip-toeing, the passage branched off to the left. With some quick hand gestures that consisted mainly of finger pointing, we continued down the original tunnel.

Long minutes of walking passed. Long, long minutes. Being fully encased in stone was disorienting, and the silence aside from our scuffing boots quickly grew tiresome. Just when I’d started to get an itchy feeling between my shoulderblades, the tunnel’s walls began to echo with a soft, repetitious sound. A gentle, whispering roar far in the distance.

It was oddly comforting, after the silence. Listening to people breath is no fun.

A few hundred steps later the tunnel made a final curve and bright light appeared ahead of us. The gentle lashing of waves was now clearly recognizable, and we hurried onto the beach once Zeyara slipped out ahead and gave an “All clear!”

We were on a beach below the ever-present steep cliffsides that ran along so much of this part of the Varisian coast. The Varisian Gulf stretched out before us, a beautiful azure under the midday sun. Perplexed, I looked around, trying to get my bearings.

“We came too far to be along the cliffs below the Glassworks. Right?” I asked, suddenly confused. The Glassworks building sat along the edge of town’s western cliff, facing the sea. No more than a hundred feet or so from the water. We must have traveled thousands.

Rakonia gave me a disappointed look. “Tunnel ran northeast,” she explained, as if to a slow person. “Not west. So no, this isn’t near the glassworks.”

“A ways from town, certainly,” Zeyara added, staring at the vast gulf of water with what may have been a measure of unease. A slender hand pulled at a lock of her purple hair, the color extra vivid in the bright sunshine. “Which makes sense, given that it was used for illicit activity.”

“Smuggling,” I recalled, somewhat needlessly. I wondered if they’d been smuggling something into the city, or out of it. And, in either case, just what was being smuggled?

“These don’t appear to be the catacombs,” Skalmold stated, walking up to join the cluster. Vega began to make her way across the beach as well.

She had a point. “You have a point,” I nodded, getting back to the mission at hand.

“Back to where the other tunnel branched off?” Rainbow asked Rakonia, who nodded in affirmation.

Back into the tunnel we went.

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The secondary tunnel quickly narrowed, no more than five feet across, making us walk single file. It wasn’t long before Zeyara held up a hand for us to stop. With minimal clinking and shuffling, the five of us waited tensely as she slowly made her way ahead, just out of sight. Reappearing, she waved us forward, but very, very slowly.

Creeping onward, I saw the wall along the right side of the tunnel disappear, opening into a good-sized chamber. And another dark gap beyond the first. I tried not to feel dismayed while considering the prospect of more tunnels. A whole maze of tunnels.

Another step, and something shifted ahead of us, a scuffling sound followed by Zeyara’s cry of warning that came from nowhere as the fetchling disappeared from sight.

I rushed forward, keeping the point of my naginata between me and whatever was inside the room, careful not to stick the blonde barbarian and armored dwarf nearby. Getting around the corner, I got a glimpse inside the small cavern, seeing the two abominations charging right toward us.

They were truly horrific. Man-sized, loping forward on all fours in a simian rush, their thick, clawed fingers scraping loudly across the stone. Their feral eyes glinted with subhuman, primal intelligence, but worst of all was their mouths.

As the things approached, they opened their fanged maws, sideways-hinged, like an insect. Each side had two clawed, finger-like mandibles, and revealed a wet, toothed hole that gnashed disturbingly.

Skalmold rushed forward, swinging wildly with her great hammer. The rest of us moved to surround the alien creatures but by then, the blonde warrior had laid them low with a series of smashing blows, ichor dripping off the head of her hammer.

A search of the room revealed nothing, while Vega’s study of the monsters revealed little other than that they were living and not undead. Rakonia felt certain they were abominations, twisted creatures warped by foul magics. It made as much sense as anything else.

Aware the fight had possibly given away our position, we moved onward. The second opening turned out to be another small tunnel that ended in a pile of collapsed rubble. Hours, if not days of labor to remove it. No sense wasting our time there. Continuing on, the tunnel came to an abrupt end twenty feet ahead, but in a small alcove was carved in the rock to our right, a doorway beckoned us.

“Wait a moment,” Rakonia muttered, advancing to the end of the tunnel. We watched her approach the dead end, stopping and looking around. “Sometimes I get a feeling…” She stopped, frowning. “Nothing.”

“What’s that up there?” Rainbow asked, pointing at a small recess in the ceiling at the tunnel’s termination point.

“Wooden slats?” Skalmold wondered, investigating for herself.

“Maybe a floor?”

Maybe a trap, I thought, envisioning a stream of acid pouring down from above, flooding the tunnel-

“Let’s see what’s behind the door, first,” Rakonia suggested, and I nodded at the dwarf’s idea. Zeyara ninja’d the door open with a few dabs of oil and her shiny, spiky door-opening tools.

Inside was a statue of a beautiful but enraged-looking woman. As the dwarf and fetchling secured the room, which looked empty enough to me, the rest of us examined the strange work of art. In one hand she held a gleaming weapon, an ivory and gold ranseur, basically a spear with two pointed hooks curving up and out from the blade’s base. Or a trident, if the side prongs were filed way down. Her other arm clutched a large book to her chest, a depiction of a seven-pointed star on the cover. Unlike the weapon, this was actually part of the statue, and Vega sighed in frustration as she realized this.

We examined the statue, the floor, the ceiling, slightly paranoid that something valuable was just sitting there, apparently unguarded. Rakoni made as if to grab the ranseur, and with amazing speed the rest of us had exited the room, backing out into the hallway.

“Just in case,” I explained to the bewildered-looking dwarf.

Turns out, it was fine. No trap, no alarm.

A door to our left, and two passageways, one ahead, the other to the right. After a moment, we exited the room, investigating the strange niche with its wooden “ceiling”. I hoisted the dwarf up, grunting with effort and ready to leap backwards as she prodded at the obstruction. Acid, boiling oil, sewage…. none of those things flooded out as she pushed back the barrier and clambered up. “You should see this,” she called, sounding moderately impressed.

Intrigued, I jumped up and pulled myself through the trapdoor. In an uncomfortably cramped stone cell, I looked at Rakonia, who pointed beyond the metal bars that turned the stone alcove into a cage.

“Some kind of prison,” she assessed. She examined the metal bars, frowning. “An old one, at that. But still solid. No lock. Must be some sort of mechanism,” the dwarf muttered.

From what I could see, the room consisted of eight or ten similar cells, disappearing behind a wall that blocked our view of the rest of the area. I squirmed uncomfortably as Rainbow squeezed into the cell, looking around with interest. “Mister Whiskers smells those bad things around,” she whispered.

I didn’t see any in the vicinity, but no doubt the place was lousy with them. “Any ideas on how to get through?” I gasped through gritted teeth, quivering as I strained to lift the metal bars. Brute strength was not sufficient to budge the ancient, but solid, iron barrier.

Rainbow reached a hand out through the bars, and her little rat ran down her arm, disappearing around the corner. “Stairs,” Rainbow commented. “And… a lever.”

“Yes!” Rakonia whispered in excitement. “We need to pull it. How far away is it? What direction?”

Rainbow had a look of concentration on her face. “It’s near the floor. Mister Whiskers is going to try and move it.”

I crouched down, holding out the non-sharp end of my naginata for Zeyara to grab on to. “Get ready.”

The rat was apparently successful; I resolved to reward him with some cheese. Or maybe new bedsheets. The doors rose with a brief clatter, some unseen mechanism drawing them upward. Quickly, the rest of the group climbed up into the cell, making their way out into the room. Glancing around, we noticed a pair of wooden staircase that led to a long platform which ran across the room at a height of about ten feet. The platform led to another tunnel carved into the rock, high in the wall from our current position.

Cautiously, we began to ascend the stairs, trying to keep as quiet as possible. As we reached the fifteen by fifteen foot platform at the top of the stairs, the horrors dropped down from above.

The creatures must have been biding their time, no doubt amazed at their luck that we hadn’t bothered to glance up and catch sight of them. The Sisterhood of Steel found itself in an awkward position, attacked halfway up the stairs.

Zeyara disappeared as one of the abominations landed on the platform which led to the next tunnel, but Rainbow and Vega were caught from behind by two of the hideous creatures. I lashed out with the new naginata, stabbing over the heads of my companions and drawing blood from one before turning to slash another across its ugly face. Skalmold stood precariously at the edge, swinging that great hammer with reckless abandon. WIth a furious battle cry, the dwarven ranger took on two of the beasts who had dropped onto the platform behind us, claws scraping against her shield, her axe inflicting bloody damage to the creatures’ unprotected legs.

Zeyara appeared behind one of the creatures, blade exiting through it’s abdomen in a seemingly vital spot. Furious hammer blows, axe hacking, and blade slashing punctuated the brief eternity before first one, and then the next of the beasts fell.

Vega wiped away at blood while Rainbow went to work healing our cuts and gashes, something I was getting used to. A dangerous habit, having someone always around to bring you back to good-as-new. It could make one grow careless. Continuing on, we crossed the platform and entered what I’d assumed was a tunnel but was in fact more of a hallway.

The room we came upon was in littered with ancient and terrible devices of torture, bits and pieces of detritus scattered everywhere. I thought I recognized parts of smashed furniture, and broken glass was definitely present in abundance.

“What happened here?” Rakonia wondered, walking up to one of the two doors and examining it. “Locked. Scratches on the door here. I don’t think they got it open. But this one…” She crouched down, examining the floor, or perhaps the bottom of the door. “It’s been used.”

“By those monster things?” They didn’t look like the door-opening type, but I’ve been mistaken before.

The ranger shook her head. “Goblins.”

“Maybe they were looking for something important that’s on the other side of this door,” Zeyara hypothesized, eyes alight with possibilities while her tools were already at work upon the lock. “Something valuable…”

We were sadly disappointed.

Inside was a strange, triangular room with three more doors, each of which was easily opened, revealing the skeletal remains of some twisted, degenerate species. One set of bones had a third arm sprouting out of its chest, another a ribcage that extended all the way to its feet.

“Well, that’s unsettling.”

“Mutant freaks,” I muttered, unable to keep the loathing out of my voice. Something about the unnatural beings was deeply disgusting.

“They were human,” Rakonia commented.

They looked anything but. “How can you tell?”

“Certain bone structures,” Vega explained, pointing to various places on the skeleton. “It was, at one time, exactly as the dwarf says.”

“Disgusting,” I commented. As if humans weren’t gross enough already, someone had made them even more hideous.

“Tsuto mentioned a crazy goblin leader with three arms,” Rainbow recalled.

Perfect. “Time to purge some mutants.”

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Continuing on through the unopened and apparently used door that led further into the complex, we came to a much larger room, easily fifty feet long and half as wide. Halfway down the wall, another passage went off to our right. The floor was laid out in a strange checkerboard pattern, what appeared to be wooden pallets laid out in regular intervals.

“Shh,” Zeyara cautioned. “Hear that?”

Faint moaning could be heard, as if at a great distance. Faint, but unmistakable.

“Zombies,” cautioned Rainbow, peering into the room from under our legs.

“You probably shouldn’t step on the wooden spots,” the fetchling advised wisely, cautiously entering the room and pressing herself against the wall. As we entered, there was a startling cry and a trio of misshapen goblins burst out from the hallway ahead of us.

Shouting in their strange, guttural tongue, the creatures rushed at us. Rakonia fearlessly stepped forward to confront the larger, three-armed goblin that held a trio of wicked looking weapons, grunting as the creature attacked her with a flurry of strikes, leaving the dwarf reeling. Another monster was more goblin-headed snake than anything else, its body winding across the floor to attack us, practically inviting me to jab it in the guts. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough to stop it, and it threw itself forward at my companions. Another monstrosity circled around, going for the embattled dwarf but intercepted by the sudden appearance of Zeyara’s blade in its back.

Careful to avoid the pallets, I positioned myself and slashed at the snake-goblin that was biting and hissing at Skalmold and Vega, poison dripping from its oversized fangs. The barbarian woman dashed past the thing, moving to assist Zeyara or Rakonia, I couldn’t tell which. As the dwarf staggered from the three-armed goblin’s latest assault, I rushed over to help as well, the snake-fangs missing me by inches. I moved up behind the bleeding ranger, her bloody axe swinging out at her opponent, distracting it enough where I was able to get a good stab in over her shoulder.

Screeching, the thing renewed its attack as Skalmold and Zeyara brought down their opponent and joined the fray. Hopelessly surrounded, the goblin’s eyes failed to widen with the panic one normally sees in the eyes of the doomed, and with a series of killing blows the mutated creature slumped to the ground, dead.

The remaining snake-like goblin had been slain by Vega’s magic, and Rainbow rushed in to heal the group, first with a wave of channeled energy, and then pulling out the wand for our battered dwarf.

We congratulated each other while looting the bodies, the prize being one of the creature’s blades. A wicked, black-glass sword, short and slightly curved. Zeyara fondled it greedily, running a thumb down the blade.

“It’s magical,” Vega commented. Our first magic weapon! I hoped to get one myself, someday.

“Is it supernaturally sharp? Does it flame on command?” asked the fetchling excitedly.

“Uh, no. Just… magical.”

“Oh. Still, pretty cool…” I agreed.

“What about the them?” Rainbow asked, peering over the edge of a pit into the darkness below. The zombies staggered around the bottom of a twenty foot square shaft cut into the rock, a deadly surprise for anyone who would have been foolish enough to step on the wooden pallets. If the fall didn’t kill you, the undead surely would.

“Get out the rope.” I spent the next minute securing myself in a makeshift harness. “Okay, so Rakonia and Skalmold, you’ll hold the rope, and slowly lower me in. Just a few feet,” I cautioned, “so I can get at them with my blade.” They nodded. “And, of course, don’t drop me.”

The plan went off without a hitch, and amazingly I was extracted from the eleventh and final pit within a quarter hour, nine less zombies in the world.

The hallway that the mutant goblins had come from had a spiraling staircase that had once led down but now was covered in rubble, effectively blocked. To our amazement, strange letters began to play across the area, an effect that delighted me all the more once Vega began to translate some of the inspirational and wrathful sayings. It was written in Thassalonian, an ancient language once used in this part of the world. At the end of the hallway, another door opened up into a perfectly spherical chamber.

“Whoa,” I whispered, or something like it. The sphere shape was interestingly novel, but most interesting were six objects that appeared to hover in midair in the center of the chamber. Upon inspection, there were five items, along with a crow crawling in maggots. Fairly fresh, then. “Might be a trap,” I said, unwilling to enter it myself.

A thought occurred to me, and reaching out with my mind, I channel my mental force from intention into action, pulling at one of the objects with the power of my will. I grabbed it once it was close, handing it to Vega before starting at the next one. Very fulfilling.

The crow and the maggots, I left. I could only hope they weren’t vital to solving this underground labyrinth. We ended up getting an interesting-looking book with scary pictures, and a written missive of some kind, confirming some of our suspicions about Nualia’s plans.

The place dead-ended there. We made our way back to the prison area, remembering a door that Rakonia now felt certain led to the room with the statue. From there, we headed down another passage, ascending a series of stairs leading up to another door.

Zeyara listened at the doorway, then waved us in. As Rakonia and I entered, three bat-winged things flew out of nowhere, and I nearly screeched in surprise. Worse than bats. The things looked like severed heads, skinned and blackened and raw, a pair of clawed, evil-looking wings. Their mouths worked, their large fangs gnashing in terrible anticipation.

As Skalmold entered, the dwarf was taking a swing at one of the creatures that darted about. I lashed out, the extended reach of the naginata letting me smack one out of the air. Rakonia dealt it a solid blow, sending it crashing into the wall, and from the doorway a burst of magic bolts shot out, hitting one of the others. The remaining two let out an awful shriek, the hideous noise bringing Zeyara to her knees in the hallway.

The bat-winged heads flew past us, fluttering out into the passage. I gave one a decent cut as the creatures seemed to abandon the fight, but it continued on. I watched, helpless, as the thing descended upon Zeyara, latching on to the fetchling’s face with its clawed, devilish wings, pressing its mouth to hers. Blackened veins began trickling across the stunned ninja’s face, some kind of horrible, horrible curse-

Something happened, a strange flicker, as I railed against what I was seeing, dreading the result. The moment played itself out again, but this time Zeyara resisted the monster’s attack. The creature pulled off, flying a short distance further before dropping to the ground, felled by bolts of magical energy.

The third had turned on Rainbow. The halfling shaman tried to fend the thing off, keeping it at arms distance while it fluttered around her head. I descended the stairs, using my weapon to hook the smaller woman and hoist her back to me.

Unfortunately, this left Zeyara as its next-closest target, and once again the fetchling suffered through that horrible kiss.

This time, I was unable wishfully think the outcome away. The blackened veins appeared again, foully staining her pale grey flesh.

The creature didn’t last long, but the victory felt hollow as Zeyara recovered, feeling at her face.

It was Vega who broke the bad news. “Vargouilles are created by infecting humanoids with their kiss,” she began bluntly. “The effects are rapid, but the end result is always the same. The victim’s head begins to change,” she continued, unaware of our horrified stares. “Within hours, the hair begins to fall out. Hours after that, the ears elongate, growing into leathery wings, and tentacles will sprout along their chin and scalp. Teeth elongate and sharpen into fangs. Eventually, they begin to lose their minds, and at the culmination the head detaches from the body and leaves it behind to rot, beginning its new life as a vargouille.”

Rakonia was looking into the room beyond. “Stairs in here, leading up. I think I may know where we are inside of town,” she stated. I gave her a look that clearly said Now Was Not The Time.

There was a minute of dead silence as we contemplated this horrific fate. “Is there any way to cure her?” I choked.

“Yes, a powerful spell designed to remove diseases should to it,” Vega confirmed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the priest of this town is capable of such magic.”

“Are you?” asked Zeyara hopefully.

“I’m arcane, not divine,” Vega explained shortly. She looked at Rainbow.

“I don’t have that kind of power yet,” the little shaman admitted.

“Well, we’ll figure something out,” I said reassuringly, hoping that would prove the case. “Maybe Magnimar-”

“Let’s get moving,” the fetchling requested.

“Back out? Or further in?” It seemed a callous question, but…

“The quasit may know we’re here, and if not it will figure it out when it finds all these dead minions. We can’t risk it getting word to Nualia. Besides,” she stated flatly, “Magnimar is too far away.”

She was right, of course. Sixty miles, even on horseback, was a lot to ask. We had to find something in town. It was our only hope.

Somewhat fatalistically, Zeyara took up point again and we turned back into the catacombs.

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The final unexplored hallway led off the room with the forbidding statue of the angry woman, and a minute later we’d come to another set of doors. Something about the inscriptions that lined it, as well as the double-door construction, hinted at the importance of this room. I carefully reached into my belt, feeling the tug of unseen fingers pulling away whatever I reached for with fey-like mischief. Except it wasn’t mischief, it was the damned souls of my stupid, whispering family, their petty revenge against my decision.

Downing my special fiery blood elixir, I felt the reassuring and moderately addicting rush of power, and spent a moment calling upon the intuitive connection I felt with a power that seemed polar opposite to what we were about to confront. The others finished their preparations, and we readied ourselves.

Cue the boss music.

We burst in, expecting just about anything that included a small flying demon… but the impressive room looked empty. The largest chamber yet, this one stretched ahead and above, the ceiling at least 30 feet above our heads. At the far end, a pair of stairways led to a large balcony, a dull red glow against the wall the only natural illumination in the room. Directly ahead of us, a fifteen foot wide pool of water lay dark and still, at the center of which a smaller ring of spikes topped with skulls were arranged in a circle. The walls were decorated with frescoes and inscriptions of an unfathomable language, but one obviously steeped in evil and violence, given many of the pictures I saw.

Cautiously, we entered, and suddenly the floor rumbled as a monstrously blank figure made of rock and earth abruptly appeared, lurching toward us.

Spells were being cast and Skalmold’s blonde hair was whipping around behind her as she ran towards the stairway, Rakonia heading toward the other side. I watched the earth elemental rush forward, battering the barbarian woman with a powerful fist. Cursing, I rushed to her aid, and cursing, I watched my blade bounce harmlessly off the creature’s rocky armor.

Bolts were flying and magical orbs shot across the room, Skalmold brought her hammer down and pounded a large portion of the creature into the floor, the elemental dissolving into nothingness upon destruction. She roared, bloody and furious, rushing towards the stairs. Above us, our expected nemesis appeared, the wicked-looking, toddler-sized demon flapping away, high above us as it chanted a string of cruel-sounding words.

Skalmold reached the base of the stairway and instantly keeled over.

Zeyara appeared on the balcony overhead, hurling a dark-bladed dagger at the hovering quasit, her throw striking true and causing the creature to scream. It disappeared again just as Rakonia reached the balcony.

I rushed over to the unconscious barbarian, glad that the blonde was at least breathing. I gave her a firm poke in the ribs, readying myself to unleash my ancestral power. Skalmold got to her feet, running upstairs while I hulked out at the bottom, the room suddenly seeming twice as small due to an efreet-sized perspective.

Rushing upstairs, I was in time to see one of the horrible abominations we’d first encountered appear in a burst of smoke, a cruel voice laughing from above us. Rakonia caught a glimpse of the quasit before it disappeared, hurling her cold iron axe against the ceiling in an impressive spray of sparks.

Vega cried out as the monstrosity clawed and bit her, and the quasit appeared above her, it’s body spinning wildly as it let fly a throwing axe that seemed to possess a faint radiance all its own. The axe bit into Vega’s back, and she fell to the ground, bleeding and lifeless.

Skalmold smashed the abomination over the side of the balcony, the thing landing a solid fifteen feet from the base.

The quasit remained frustratingly out of reach for the others. Rakonia scrambled to recover her axe, while Zeyara tossed another cold iron dagger, scanning the area impatiently. As I reached the top of the stairs, I had grown nearly twice as tall, and with a roar I rushed across the balcony, the equally enlarged naginata whistling through the air, biting deeply into the creature overhead. I shouted insults at it, and I’m saw its beady eyes widened in understanding and fury.

The creature hovered near the ceiling, twenty feet above us. As my companions watched in frustration, the axe buried in Vega reappeared in its hand, and quick as lightning it hurled it once again… at the prone form of the human. The arcanist’s body gave a twitch, and nervously I attacked the demon again, failing to bring it down. The axe reappeared, and as it threw the weapon Rakonia stepped forward, trying to shield the fallen human’s body with her own. The axe spun past her, though, and once again Vega was struck.

There was an awful lot of blood pooled around her.

Focusing everything upon my opponent, I blocked out the panicked voices and the fumbling for potions as my companions tried to save Vega’s life. Spinning my whole body to get some extra force, I brought my weapon in a great arc, grinning maniacally as I felt the blade bit into resistance… resistance that suddenly stopped resisting. The pieces of the quasit fell down to the floor below, and Rainbow clamored up the stairs, fretting over the state of Vega’s ravaged body before she went about making things right.

The red glow had come from an altar placed near the wall on the balcony; Rakonia and Skalmold smashed the thing to pieces, quickly backstepping as a vile fluid leaked from the shattered wreck. We looted the quasit’s possessions, the body having disappeared back to its demonic plane of origin.

Aware that time was passing, we hastened back to the Glassworks, emerging from the depths and heading into town to search for the needed magic.

Zeyara was constantly fiddling with her jawline, rubbing her hands over her neck as if to make sure it was still attached. I’ll save you the suspense; we were able to find the right kind of healing magic at the Feathered Serpent, the local enchanted item store, in the form of a barely-affordable scroll, which Rainbow successfully used to great effect.

With a collective sigh of relief, we headed back to the Rusty Dragon for some long-overdue lunch, taking account of the spoils of war and checking in on a seemingly-recovered Ameiko, who informed us that she’d finished preparing the food we’d ordered.

Which was good, because travel lay in our future. One of the things we’d recovered had been a document detailing part of Nualia’s plan, and informed us where she was most likely to be found. An island off the coast called Thistletop.

View
Runelord Reflections 2 (Day 4)

Day 4 (3.6.15)

Broken Glass

I laid in bed late into the night, exhausted beyond measure. I lay there, staring. Staring at the ceiling, for gods know how long. It was like every muscle in my body had turned to water. Bone-weary, I couldn’t quite find the oblivion of sleep I so desperately sought.

My mind spun with plans and observations and hunches, the strengths and weaknesses of my freshly-formed group’s members, the names and faces of the people in this town I found myself in. People who owed us, or didn’t like us. Important people, and people who just seemed cool. Thoughts of winter, and something that had been in the back of my head, something familiar as Rainbow’s healing energies had washed over me that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Itching at my thoughts but frustratingly impossible to grasp, I found myself coming back to that feeling again and again.

I don’t exactly know what it was, or when it happened. Not exactly. Maybe it was laying there for so long, finally realizing that one of the other five women should have turned in by now. Maybe it was that faint, annoying sound that kept pulling me back from the brink of consciousness. Whispering. Or maybe a crackling flame. Maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever the case, I found myself getting up out of bed, creeping toward the doorway with an overabundance of nervous tension.

What am I scared of? I wondered that myself, but couldn’t deny the terrified pounding of my heart, pulse throbbing in my ears as I reached out towards the door knob. I looked down, and saw a strange glow from beneath the door, a sliver of light that seemed to flicker.

I remember gritting my teeth as I flung open the door, preparing myself for whatever had my danger senses tingling. Another goblin raid, or an angry mob of villagers, or Zeyara’s secret mission turning out to be murdering us all, or maybe even giants…

Everything was in flames.

I gasped at the beauty of it, but even as I did it became clear that something was not right. There was no hallway, no staircase to go downstairs. There was nothing but fire. A whole world of it.

Glimmering from above pulled at my attention, and I looked up to finally noticed the brilliant constellations that hung above me, startling in their clarity. Spellbound at the awesome sight, I wondered where the roof had gotten to, but looking back into the room I realized that it was no longer there.

Unsettled by this development, I peered around carefully. I was within a sea of fire, a burning expanse that flickered and churned, a sound not unlike deep bass rattling my bones. A world of fire, and its flames made even the sky seem to burn. But, far above, I could see the constellations so clearly, I knew they, at least, would be separate from the raging inferno that engulfed me. Shooting up towards the bright stars, I found myself hurtling into an infinite gulf of blackness as the fiery area was left behind.

The stars were brilliant; I could easily pick out the most familiar ones. They were beautiful, but they made the place in between all the darker in contrast, and I found myself facing a vast chasm between the stars, so dark it gave me a serious case of the nerves.

Suddenly terrified, I realized that something was out there. Out in that nothingness. Waiting. Biding its time. I began to hear whispers, hissing whispers both familiar and unknown. My caravan-family, gone and dead all these years. A dark, harsh whisper of something alien and deep, reminiscent of fire and bronze.

They were telling me to go, to embrace the darkness, give myself over to it. The lessons my mother had tried to instill came flooding back, and every last part of me railed against the fate that lay yawning before me like a bottomless pit, ravenous and ready to swallow up the flickering light inside me.

Sensing my hesitation, the voices got louder, more insistent. Demanding. Now I was getting angry. Black, shadowy tendrils lashed out from beyond time and space, infinitely cold with the limitless nothingness through which they’d traveled. WIth a roar, I felt myself beating powerfully against the pulling grasp, great wings thrashing through the void, the incredible power I unleashed allowing me to tear away from the clutching tentacles as if through cobwebs, wheeling and diving back down into the fiery depths below, rippling with strength and bellowing with rage.

I turned my head, strange and sinewy, getting a look at myself.

A dragon, with scales of deep, dark red-

“Rusty Dragon-”

Something twitched.

“”The Rusty Dragon Inn-”

Gradually I opened an eye. The bed twitched again. I looked down, seeing the small form of Rainbow curled up in one corner of the bed.

My heart froze as the whispers began.

I lay there, listening for a good minute, before blowing the hair out of my eyes. Screw that noise. Blearily, I sat up, disturbing the halfling enough to cause her to roll over, nearly crushing her pet rat in the process. Mister Whiskers, however, deftly scurried away, pausing before continuing to nibble on the bedsheets.

I was yawning, halfway to the door, when it sunk in, and I turned to get another look. Sure enough, numerous holes dotted the now-ragged end of Ameiko’s sheets. I shook my head. Not good. Maybe I should check in with her, break the bad news. Possibly catching her in the bath. Humming to myself, pleasantly distracted, I decided a bath of my own was in order.

A short while later I opened the door to the common room, surprised at the lack of noise and customers, vaguely disappointed that I’d ended up bathing alone. The place was so dead, the only people I saw were the Tian woman who worked for Ameiko and an elderly man. “I’m sorry, but the Rusty Dragon Inn is temporarily closed, please come back tomorrow. I apologize for the inconvenience.” The man, somewhat grumpily, turned and left with a grunt, and the woman turned to me, looking more than slightly flustered. Something strange happened with her eyes, then, possibly a gleam of hope. With hurried steps, she approached.

I’d never caught her name, and without a proper introduction I couldn’t remember much about her at all. Now was not the time to start trying, though.

“Something wrong?” Zeyara appeared from the hallway, rubbing her prominent mantis-eyes, the solid orbs distinctly yellowish in the morning light that shone through the window front.

“Where’s Ameiko?” I asked, more pointedly.

The woman, who I’ll call the Tian manager for lack of a name, informed us that her employer had disappeared earlier that morning, following the delivery of a strange letter. Her expression practically begged us to ask and see it, and after some half-hearted deliberation about Ameiko’s privacy, she hastily produced the document in question.

“Chicken-scratch nonsense,” I muttered, louder than I should have, apparently, as the manager woman gave me a startled and slightly offended look.

“It’s Tian, clearly” stated Vega.

“What’s it say?” Rainbow asked, peering over the table upon which the letter had been placed, straining on her tiptoes.

“Ah,” Vega stalled, “I can’t… that is, I don’t know how to read it-”

“Well what good does that do us?” Rakonia asked in a gravelly voice.

“SInce there’s only a few Tian-born people in town-”

“Hey,” Zeyara snapped her fingers. “One of them’s right here.”

Skalmold had caught on, mostly, at least. “Did you write this note?” the blonde asked threateningly, looming over the now-shaking Tian woman.

“N-no!” she denied. Skalmold put her down, turning to look at us rather quizzically, clearly out of ideas.

“But you could read it?” Zeyara suggested, getting a frightened nod for her trouble. “To us.” I grinned; the way she asked it as a question at first, but then demanded it at the end.

The woman took us into the back room, behind the kitchen, where various dry goods and sundries were stored. As I glanced around at all the stuff, she began to read.

Ameiko’s long-lost brother, the half-elven bastard Suto, was the supposed author. He beseeched his sister to meet him at the Glassworks, the Kaijitsu family’s claim to fame in Sandpoint. There, they would confront the old bastard Lonjiku about his role in the crisis with the goblins. He went on to accuse his father of being the one who’d opened the gates along the north wall, allowing the goblins access to the town, and that together, brother and sister would make it right.

I couldn’t help passing judgement then and there. I didn’t know anything about this Suto character other than that, as a stranger, he was untrustworthy. But her annoying father had seemed stuck up and cold; it was impossible not to believe the worst about him.

Some people save give people a chance. Or multiple chances. I prefer the snap judgements. Don’t second-guess yourself, and act accordingly. And, if you should be wrong about them, at least you’ll be alive, even if they wind up otherwise. Live and learn, that’s what it’s all about. That, and better them than you, at least when it comes to dying.

I gave the Tian manager-woman a long, hard stare. “Don’t talk to anyone about this.” I took the letter from the table, intending to throw it into the fire, but found to my amazement the pages already crackling as a current of energy tingled its way down my arm.

That was new.

Nobody else seemed to notice, everyone busy grabbing their gear or using the privy if they hadn’t already. Making haste as best I could, I slid into the chain armor, wiggling until it felt comfortable. Zeyara was hopping around the room, trying to fit into her skin-tight leathers. Moments later we were out the door, casually rushing across town towards the western cliff overlooking the ocean.

The Street of Glass, as were so many of the town’s imaginatively named streets, gave a good indication of what could be found along it. The Glassworks loomed large, stone and imposing, along most of the street.

As we approached, an old man called out to us. “Eh, yeh won’t be getting in today, sonny. They done shut down the place!” He looked like he’d just told us the most important and amazing fact that had ever been discovered, nodding vigorously to affirm his own story. “Ain’t nobody come or gone all morning.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Intensity crackled off of me

He swallowed, surrounded as he was by three imposing female figures carrying weapons and staring at Zeyara’s creepy pupil-less eyes. “What are yeh?” he gasped, suddenly much more frightened than gregarious.

“We’re the people who saved the town from the goblin raid, night before last,” I announced importantly before turning the question around, putting him on the defensive. “Who are you?”

The old man sputtered, squinting around at each of us in turn. “Eh? What’re yeh about?”

In all fairness, he may have given a name, but I’ll be damned if I can remember it.

Zeyara caught my eye and quietly disappeared, heading across the street towards the building.

“What is happening in the Glassworks?” Rainbow asked reasonably. Looking down in surprise, the old man caught sight of the halfling looking up with those wide, earnest eyes of hers. “You said something about it being shut down…” She paused politely, giving him a ‘go ahead’ kind of look and held out a hand to signal he should continue.

He crouched down, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Yeh see, little un, the Glassworks is always up and running at the crack o’ dawn.” He nodded importantly. “I live across yonder, and its always the same. Smoke billowing out the chimneys and people hustlin’ and bustlin’ all over the place. Get’s so’s a man can’t get his beauty sleep!” He chuckled at his own joke, fingers rasping across the stubble lining his withered face as he pulled at his jowls. “Why, back in ‘87-”

“This morning,” Rakonia prodded, looking disgruntled. The man glanced at her, eyes narrowing before shaking his head.

“That’s what I’m gettin’ to,” he whined. “Nobody’s out and about. They only got but one furnace running. The place is locked up tighter than a maid’s… er-”

“Careful,” I warned.

He stuttered for a moment, then turned to point at the building. “Yeh see,” he began, the did a double take. I followed his gaze and saw the emaciated figure of Zeyara across the street, bent over and fiddling around with the door. “What’s going on here?” he exclaimed, looking concerned.

Deftly, I stepped in front of his gaze, the gleaming mail rings catching the light of the newly-risen sun quite dazzlingly. “You are right to be concerned, citizen,” I said pompously. He looked up at me in surprise. “Your help is appreciated. As we investigate, make sure to steer people clear of the building.” He stared at me blankly. “Tell them what you told us, that it’s closed.”

“Er… alright…” We left the old-timer gaping in his spot along the street, heading to the building as Zeyara gave us a subtle hand-wave.

“It’s open,” Zeyara stated, sliding something into her belt pouch.

“It was open?” Skalmold asked, looking puzzled. “But the old man said-”

“It is open now,” clarified the fetchling, turning the handle and opening the heavy, ornate door. It swung backwards into the building, revealing a silent, dim interior.

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Making glass was apparently more complicated than I’d imagined. Not that I’ve ever spent time thinking about it, really, but between all the chemical smells and heat and smoke, it seemed not completely different than a forge. Minus the anvils.

It was eerily quiet. With a shared glance, the Sisterhood of Steel crept its way through the building. The majority was stone, with hallways and small, specialized rooms holding strange devices or mundane-looking barrels.

The stink of the place began to get worse, and there was something underlying it that gave me a feeling of foreboding. Almost like cooked meat…

We opened a set of massive doors, and looked upon a scene of slaughter.

The room was long, with numerous individual furnaces and kilns arrayed in neat rows. A series of workbenches and tool racks ran along the perimeter. But it was the blood that drew my attention. Blood spattered the floor, the walls, in some spots even the ceiling. Mangled corpses lay scattered about, their ruined flesh red and wet in the flickering light of the furnace. Sightless eyes gazed into oblivion from around the room. And there, in the corner, a human-sized shape caught my eye. Thick, dripping glass had cooled solid, but within I could just barely make out the shape of a humanoid figure.

Ameiko! was my first panicked thought. The intensity of my worry was surprising.

And then, the living occupants of the room turned on us.

From their hiding spots around the room, a small tide of familiar, wicked-looking goblins rushed out, beady black eyes glinting with malice and mouths opened in high-pitched battle-screams, fanged maws dripping spittle and blood as they raised their strangely curved swords and attacked.

I felt something turn on inside of me, stepping forward around to the left side of the kilns that separated one side of the room from the other even as Rakonia and Skalmold made for the other. The goblins rushed forward and my naginata lashed out, severing the legs out from under one of the beasts before spinning up and thrusting its way through the chest of another. Through the glassmaking devices, I could see Skalmold laying waste with her humongus hammer roaring incoherently, and heard Rakonia’s furious shouting, no doubt insulting her hated enemy in their native tongue.

I was shouting too, the words feeling utterly right and beautiful; I’d never felt so eloquent about insulting the parentage of an opponent. Zeyara appeared to flow behind one of the goblins that had held back, her blade flicking out in a fluid motion and exiting its throat in a spray of dark blood. I watched the degenerate creature fall to its knees, gurgling before keeling over, and heard the fetchling shouting something at me but I couldn’t understand the language she was speaking in.

I clove the last goblin on my side of the room, the green-skinned monstrosity falling to the floor in a heap of split bone and glistening muscle. I hooked its limp, child-sized body on the end of my naginata and hurled it across the room into a wall where it collided with a satisfying crunch.

I looked around for more, but the last of the creatures was being bound with rope by Rakonia, the dwarf’s eyes slightly crazed with the prospect of her captive. Things began to slow down, and as I caught my breath I heard her say, “Always save one for questioning.”

“That’s what I was telling you,” Zeyara frowned at me.

“I couldn’t understand the language you were speaking in,” I explained.

She rolled her eyes. Or at least, I think she did; it’s hard to tell when the things are a uniform yellowish-green color. “You seem to understand me fine right now.”

That was true. Puzzled, I shrugged helplessly, feeling like I was missing something.

Rakonia had already begun to question the captive in the goblin tongue, Rainbow occasionally inserting a sentence or two of the guttural, primitive-sounding language. Wiping her bloodstained hands on her thighs, the dwarf stood up from her gristly work. Vega looked a bit ill, paler even than usual, but Skalmold had watched the scene with interest. It was hard to read Zeyara’s blank, luminous eyes, but she hadn’t blinked during the torture at all.

“They came in from somewhere below,” the squat ranger began, giving the creature’s corpse a kick for good measure. “A tunnel. And below is where their master is. Crazy, it thought.”

“Their master?”

“A human, by the sounds of it. The one who led them here.”

I walked over to the glass statue, unable to get a thought out of my mind. As I peered at it closely, seeing the horribly burned features of an old man, I fairly danced with delight. “Hey, it’s that old bastard!” I shouted with relief. The others turned to look.

“Lonjiku Kaijitsu,” Vega confirmed, peering at it closely.

“Let’s keep going,” I said, eager to find our still-missing-and-possibly-alive friend, as well as this so-called ‘master’. I had some questions of my own for him.

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A secret door in the floor was hidden cunningly in the stonework. We would never have found it if it hadn’t been left open. But there it was, and cautiously we descended the stone staircase.

“These stairs are old,” Rakonia whispered.

“How can you tell?” I asked. It seemed like stone was stone. Ageless.

“I’m a dwarf,” she muttered, as if that explained everything. Which perhaps it did. After all, I seem to have an innate ability to find the place on a building where, if a fire were to be lit, it results in an all-consuming inferno.

At the base of the stairs, a stone chamber opened up, three doors along its walls and a dark tunnel that curved away in the distance. Zeyara held up a hand, creeping her way through the room silently and listening at the doors. Her eyes glowed a dim green, the angular face pinched in concentration.

“Sounds from those two doors,” she breathed, barely a whisper. “Someone sleeping in the first, crying in the second.”

Crying. “Ameiko.” I nodded at the first door. “Sleeper first.” Zeyara shot me a questioning glance, thinking to rescue our friend first.

We’d do that once the ‘master’ had been dealt with.

Slowly, quietly, carefully, the fetchling ninja opened the heavy, ancient-looking door, quick dabs of oil to the hinges allowing for a silent entry. Not that it turned out to be necessary; the slumbering figure on a pile of bedding snorted and turned, reeking of potent spirits.

We surrounded the figure, a strangely-dressed half-elven man. Presumably Suto, Ameiko’s brother, bastard child of her mother and some unknown elven lover. The alleged inspiration for Lonjiku’s rumored murder of his wife. The ultimate cause of Ameiko’s estrangement from her family. All that, just by being born.

In unison, we raised our weapons, bringing them down upon the helpless, sleeping opponent. As the butt of Rakonia’s axe collided with his stomach, the staff-end of my naginata was cracking him across the head. After a brief burst of pummeling, someone raised a hand to stop. Grinning, the others quickly tied up the man good and tight, blindfolding him, gagging him, and then putting a burlap sack over his head for good measure.

I burst into the room next door, envisioning a heroic rescue scene where Ameiko would be sobbing her gratitude and rushing to embrace me, but the sight that confronted me brought the taste of bile rushing up my throat. Chained to the wall, Ameiko Kaijitsu hung limply, her arms held above her awkwardly as she sagged on her knees. Her face was a mass of bruises, and numerous cuts and scrapes had bled and dried all over her body.

I rushed forward, feeling a burning need to get close to her, somehow make it right. A flood of vitality rushed through me, and without knowing exactly how I imagined the power flowing through my hands, into her, giving her strength. She gave a gasp, jerking and sending the chains rattling. “Zeyara!” I called, watching the cuts and bruises fade away, leaving behind patterns of dried blood. The fetchling appeared at the doorway. “Can you unlock her?” I eyed the heavy, solid-looking manacles. Zeyara made a scoffing sound, and a few seconds later I was catching the limp form of the newly-freed Ameiko.

I tossed her over a shoulder and headed out. “I’m going to get her back to the Rusty Dragon. Be right back.” I headed to the stairs. “Don’t start the questioning without me. Maybe get him set up in the other room,” I added, and Zeyara at least nodded in understanding.

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Once the unconscious woman had been safely and stealthily deposited in her room, I made my way back to the Glassworks. The lack of commotion outside was promising. Casually, I walked up to the building and entered, studiously avoiding the inquiring gaze of the old man who still lingered outside.

The questioning proved difficult. Suto was apparently quite mad, and silent on all topics that we brought up.

While Rakonia and Skalmold tried working the man over, the rest of us were contemplating our next move.

“Lonjiku was a traitor. His son-”

“Not his son,” Rainbow clarified.

“True. Well, this guy, Suto, was working with the goblins as well.”

“And?”

“Well, it paints a rather grim portrait of the Kaijitsu family.” Only one of which will be alive to suffer the consequences. And she was innocent. Probably. “All I’m saying is that we have to be careful to get our stories straight.”

“Stories?”

“Several workers, townspeople who live here in Sandpoint, are lying dead on the floor upstairs,” I began. The others nodded, some looking uncomfortable. Maybe even a little sad. “Soon, their families will begin to wonder, people will investigate… if they find us, or this Suto asshole, who knows what conclusions they’ll jump to.”

“We should get out ahead of this,” Vega commented, picking up on the idea. “Inform the mayor of the attack, and that we investigated and dealt with it.”

“Yes, goblins attacking the town again. Somehow they got inside-”

“Through the tunnel, most likely,” Rainbow commented, eyeing the dark chasm through the rock that stretched off as far as we could see.

“Yes, but… maybe best to keep that to ourselves, too. Incriminating, having a secret tunnel out of your business, and one that goblins know about…” There was something romantic about the notion of knowing about a secret passage nobody else did. Also, I had plans for this business, plans that wouldn’t work if the place was taken over by the town as restitution for the traitorous actions of the family, whether past or present.

“So, what do we say?”

“Just keep it vague. They must have snuck in under cover of darkness. We got inside, saw the goblins murdering people, Lonjiku and the rest having battled them valiantly but falling to the overwhelming numbers. Then we came and killed their attackers.”

Rakonia approached, shaking her head. “Won’t talk,” she muttered.

“Maybe magic would succeed where conventional tactics have failed,” Vega offered, laying out the possibility for mental compulsion. Rainbow quickly agreed, but the power she required to accomplish such a thing apparently couldn’t be unleashed until the following day.

It was midafternoon. We looked around at one another, and then decided to set a watch over our prisoner while the rest of the group met with the mayor and took care of other business.

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After closing the secret stairway and locking the door behind us, Rainbow, Zeyara and I sauntered uphill toward the town hall. Laying out the situation to Mayor Deverin, who looked shocked at the event and relieved that we’d dealt with it, we made arrangements for the collection of the corpses, minus Lonjiku’s glass statue, which we had decided to keep for the moment.

I spent the rest of the day meeting with soldiers and walking the rounds, making visible appearances to show that we were taking our duty as semi-legitimate protectors seriously. The men, more town militia than military veterans, responded well, and as I chatted them up I made sure to ask their opinions of the town’s defenses, and what areas needed to be shored up in case of imminent goblin attack. I made a point to insert requests for this or that, for help building a wall or digging a trench or showing volunteers how to wield a spear or a crossbow. All very reasonable and obvious, and for the most part they were compliant, slowly getting used to doing what I asked. It was a habit I intended to cultivate.

Late afternoon, I walked across the bridge spanning the Turandarok river that framed the eastern edge of town, heading up into the cliffs that rose south of the city proper across the cozy harbor. Only a few ships were at dock. Crossing over a stream that fed into the harbor’s placid bay, the trek became more strenuous as the land rose dramatically. The road made its way into a small wooded hill, at the top of which rose the residences of the town elite. The large, elaborate mansions that greeted my eyes were magnificent; the homes of the four founding families of Sandpoint.

I knocked politely at the Valdemar residence, hoping for an audience with the local patriarch, but nobody answered..Annoyingly, I noticed the family crest of the Scarnetti adorning another of the manors, opposite of the Valdemar, in fact. But where the Valdemar estate faced the harbor and Sandpoint, the Scarnetti home faced out into the sea, back towards Magnimar.

Heading further up the clifftop, I snuck a look across the area to get a look at the Kaijitsu manor gleaming proudly along the cliffside, facing the sea and the gradually-setting sun.

As I made my way back to the Rusty Dragon, I smiled to myself. Someone was about to come into a nice little inheritance…

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“So… how you holding up?” It was stupid, but the silence had grown first uncomfortable, and eventually tedious.

Ameiko stared across the room with red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve been better,” she sighed.

Time to put a positive note on the ordeal. “I can only imagine.” I paused, pretending to consider my thoughts. “Think of it this way. We caught the traitor who had opened the gates for the goblins, which unfortunately was your father. Kind of struck me as an asshole,” I commented, realizing too late that it was a bit soon for that. Luckily, the woman was nodding her head, fingers playing with the streak of white that ran through her black hair, framing her face. “As for Suto’s mad alliance with the goblins-”

“Tsuto,” she said.

“Huh?”

“My brother’s name. Tsuto.”

“Ah,” I said agreeably. Sounded the same to me. “Tsuto was a traitor, too, working for the goblins. They called him ‘master’.” I shook my head. Stupid goblins.

“You’ve been right about them all along. Your father, murderous, trecherous bastard that he was, got less than he deserved as reward for his traitorous actions. Every injury and death that occurred that night the goblins attacked Sandpoint is entirely his fault.”

“You’re right,” she murmured, looking tired. I pressed on.

“Your father, patriarch of the family. Your brother. It’s like you said, since your mother died, the Kaijitsu family went to shit. Except for you.” I ticked of a point or two on my fingers. “You’re respected here, people like your place and seem to like you. There’s no need for you to suffer the taint of association that knowledge of your family’s crimes would bring. Let the town think your father died a hero; they need inspiration during this time of need, not more things to be fearful of. Traitors in their midst… It’d be a witch hunt. Your brother should be kept out of it entirely.”

“But it was him,” she murmured, her voice dripping with the pain of betrayal. “Tsuto was the one behind it.” They’d been close, apparently, before the boy had gone off the deep end. She looked like she was willing herself to ask a question. I nodded encouragingly. “What happened to him? Did he… is he-”

“My condolences,” I said, with perhaps too strong a dose of irony. “Let’s just say he will not be returning to town. Permanently.” I let it sink in for a moment. Grief and relief seemed to war across her features. Struggling, I came to a decision. “I’ll be honest with you. He’s dead.” Which of course wasn’t true, not yet at least. But, for all intents and purposes… “For all intents and purposes, he disappeared last time he left and never returned. Sandpoint needs you more than they need to know the truth about your family.”

“But all those people, the workers who were killed… they deserve to know the truth. Their families deserve justice.” Ameiko had a hard glint in her eyes, like she was about to do something meaningless and self-sacrificing.

“They have a measure already,” I assured her. “The goblins are dead. The ones responsible for their murder are dead, too.” I shook my head. “Don’t lose sight of the bigger picture.”

She shot me a quizzical look. “What bigger picture? My family is a bunch of traitors-”

“In the grand scheme,” I interrupted, “the goblin attack was only a ruse, your family pawns of whoever is behind all of this. And that person is still out there. And,” I couldn’t help adding, “it was two members of your family that were traitors; the Kaijitsu family is now represented by only one person, and I happen to know she’s pretty loyal and, basically a decent person.”

“Who do you think it is?” she asked, glossing over my revelatory statement.

Fine. I shrugged. “Who knows? Could be that Chopper everyone talks about so much around here.”

Ameiko shook her head. “He was caught years ago, by Sheriff Belor.”

“Well, whoever it is, they’re out there. Making deals with goblins, of all things. Maybe, if you can find the will to carry on, you’d be willing to lend a hand in the defense of the town? Come on, you were a badass adventurer, and your talents speak for themselves. Singing or performing would be great,” I continued, pushing through the hesitation I saw in her eyes, “but it’d be even better if you were seen helping to man the walls or patrol the river, and maybe you could work out something with free refreshments for the sentries. It would help to lift morale and increase the participation rate of the volunteer militia, if only to get a taste of your cooking!”

“But… what do I know about battle, about defending a city?”

I rolled my eyes. “More than just about anyone else in Sandpoint. At least you’ve wielded a weapon in anger before. And it’s not what you know, it’s the attitude you bring to the task. You’re not going to run away at the sight of the enemy, and seeing you stand firm will give others the courage to stand as well. But you’re also smart enough to know what you don’t know, and won’t make stupid mistakes from arrogance or ignorance.”

Finally, she looked a little impressed by my assessment of her character. “You really think they’re going to hit us again?” As if it were the most unthinkable thing in the world.

Patiently, I shrugged. “I’m not sure. But a wise man once said, better safe than sorry.” She looked amused for a moment, lips twitching in a brief smile. “You can have your revenge against both the goblins and the spectre of your father and brother. Do it by protecting the people they wanted to destroy and taking your place as a leader among the town in a way your father could have never thought possible.”

And, just to lay it on thick, I brought up another spectre. “Your mother would be proud of you, Ameiko.” If only she were still here, if only your father hadn’t killed her. Tears glistened in her eyes, and I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty bringing up someone I knew nothing about to give my point an extra emotional punch.

Finally, she agreed. “It will be like you said. Goblins snuck in, attacked my father and the workers. I’ll have to find out the names of the victims, arrange for compensation for their familiies…”

“And what about-”

“Yes, I’ll help with the defenses as best I can.” She smiled, stretching her arms out above her. “Maybe I can teach some of the local girls how to stick someone with a blade.”

“It comes in handy more often than you’d think,” I agreed.

“I do like the idea of giving out some food to the sentries. Good marketing, if nothing else.” She nodded appreciatively at my suggestion.

I had another. “You look like you could use a bath,” I commented. “Nothing like a long, hot soak to wash away your worries. Take the night off, get your manager friend to run things for a night. People will understand.”

She gave me a frank look. “You look like you could use one as well.” Looking down, I noticed the dried goblin ichor that had encrusted the sleeves of the outfit I wore below my chainmail. Shit, has that been there all day!? It wasn’t just a little spot here or there; great big splotches of rusty-colored blood covered much of my clothing. Damnit!

That explained some of the looks I’d been getting.

The thought gave me an idea. “I guess so. Wanna go together?” I asked innocently.

“Go? Where-”

“Bathe.”

Her look became guarded. “Ah…”

“I thought I heard that girls take baths together all the time in Tian,” I explained. In fact it was the only thing that stuck out in my memory about the place. “Just two girls, no big deal, soaping each oth-”

“No, well, I suppose yes,” she sputtered. Hopefully flustered rather than shocked. “Public baths are a thing there. I’m more Varissian than Tian,” she admitted. “I’ve lived my whole life here, so…”

“Ah, I see. Well, another time then?” I got up to go.

“Definitely,” she said automatically. I flashed her a smile and left.

The Sisterhood of Steel was gathered around what was quickly becoming “the usual” table. I leaned back, feeling smug. We’d slain a fair number of goblins, found that Ameiko’s asshole father had been taken care of, captured her traitorous brother who now awaited further interrogation the following day. We’d discovered a secret passage underneath the Glassworks that practically begged to be explored, and rescued Ameiko, who was suddenly the beneficiary of a large inheritance… most notably the Glassworks and the Kaijitsu Manor outside of town along the cliffs.

It had been an interesting day.

And tomorrow promised to be interesting as well.

View
Runelord Reflections 2 (Day 3)
Hunting, Feasting, Undead Slaying

Day 3 (3.6.15)

The Sisterhood of Steel

The day broke magnificently, the cool autumn breeze giving the town a fresh, invigorating feel. Which was fortunate, since coming up with a name everyone could agree upon had taken long into the night, and I’d consumed perhaps too much of Ameiko’s excellent spirits. After breaking our fast on biscuits and bacon, the Sisterhood of Steel was ready for action.

Coming up with a name, something to symbolize the ad-hoc unit of guardians we were suddenly in the position to represent… it was important. I knew that from my time in Hyperborea, and to a lesser extent Magnimar. A name to catch the interest of those who might be in a position to offer us something. I wasn’t sure exactly what, but the future lay ripe with possibilities after our fortuitously witnessed performance the previous evening. I adamantly refused anything incorporating “flowers” or other girly shit, and Rakonia made it clear the name needed to be pronounceable after some of Vega’s more outlandish suggestions. She had a point; try saying Antianeirai.

The nuances were important; it was, after all, the informal title that people would use to identify us. The Sisterhood of Steel… the name rang with a certain strength, as well as the inherent feeling of camaraderie evoked by the implied nearly-familial relationship between its members. I had become fixated on using mercy in the name, but I had to agree that hearing the Mercykillers were arriving in town might not have the intended awe-inspiring effect.

I’d expected to start the day with a sense of purpose, but yawned and blinked blearily as we stepped out into the streets, feeling uncomfortably full. Damn it, these free breakfasts were starting to get to me. Aside from the full belly, everything felt pretty normal. The sun, well above the rooftops of the flat little city, promised another day of comfortable warmth. But as the cool breeze washed over us, I couldn’t help remembering that winter was coming.

After standing around in the street for a moment, the six of us shrugged shoulders and went off in different directions. As the town awoke and went about its business, I took the opportunity to meet the people as I walked through the streets, exchanging pleasantries and wishing them health after the assault the night before, and hinted at future vengence to those who looked more angry than shocked.. I knew full well that everyone recognized us, it being a small town and us being strangers, armed and sometimes armored. They reacted with the expected gratitude, and I found my spirits rising at the prospects of a friendly populace.

Suddenly, something was whispering in my ear. I jerked my head around, my long hair whipping a man walking nearby right in the eyes. He let out a startled cry I pretended to ignore, searching for the invisible whisperer.

Then I heard it again.

I turned to the man who had a palm pressed to his right eye, looking at me warily. “Did you hear that?” I paused, he looked at me in confusion. The whispering started again. “There! That!”

With one wide, frightful eye, he nodded slowly, his face suddenly pale. So I’m not going crazy, I thought with relief. That hadn’t been the first time I’d heard voices.

“-disturbed the burial ground. Meet us at the cemetery behind the church, I’ll keep Abstalar from going in.” I frowned, taking a minute to remember Abstalar Zantus was the High Priest of Sandpoint, and had led the dedication ceremonies the the day before.

I looked around, seeing the church rise up just down the road a few hundred feet. The town wasn’t that big. I made my way there, striding purposefully as I saw a couple other figures approach the area.

The whispering voice turned out to have been Vega, who waved at us through the wrought iron gate. Her arcane magics had been mainly expressed with bolts of force she’d hurled unerringly at her foes, and although she called herself an arcanist rather than a wizard or sorcerer, the distinction, I confess, was lost on me. “Over here,” she called out in her real voice, and we entered the church grounds, heading towards the rows of stone marking the town’s dead.

At the edge of the graveyard, a small stone building stood, worn but looking well-made. Moss clung to the rough stonework, and a pair of double doors lay slightly ajar, a black slice of the room’s shadowed interior revealed.

“What-” I started, but Rainbow made a shushing noise, holding up her hand as she chanted under her breath. Her eyes narrowed in recognition.

“I can sense the taint of undeath in there,” she confirmed. I stared, then nodded in appreciation. Undead creatures, within a tomb, inside a cemetery… who would have thought?

“It was the former High Priest’s tomb,” Vega explained quietly, “and Abstalar found it open this morning. I thought I should get in touch with you, first.”

“How did he die?” Zeyara asked suddenly.

Vega appeared to think about it for a moment. “He was slain when the church burned down.”

“Five years ago, during the time of trouble,” I added unnecessarily, feeling the urge to contribute and wanting to prove I was following along..

“Do we know how the church burned down?” the fetchling inquired, glancing around. I shrugged, not remembering.

“Maybe we could continue this discussion later,” Rainbow chided, stepping up to the doorway she’d not taken her eyes off. Vega spoke a few words and with a gesture the doors parted fully. Eerily, six yellow-white skeletons stood, the hollow pits of their eyes seeming to stare at us with evil intent. I’d never seen true necromancy before, and the early afternoon suddenly felt quite cold, sending a shiver down my back. Rainbow stepped forward into the darkness towards them until I grabbed her shoulder, holding her back. “Wait-” I cautioned, worried about the diminutive woman being cut down by a swarm of undead.

“It’s fine,” the waist-high shaman assured, and unleashed a wave of energy, pulsing into the room. I watched as the coruscating light washed over the creatures inside the dim crypt, the skeletal bodies falling apart before my eyes. Zeyara, Skalmold and Rakonia entered to the sound of crushing bone, ending with the unmistakable crunching sound of axe sinking into bone. From the scattered remains that greeted us, the physical method was no less effective.

So much for the undead menace.

“It can’t be!” a familiar voice shouted from the doorway, reminding me of long-winded speeches and boring, incessant droning.

We turned to the priest, explaining that these were animated dead and that we were most certainly not desecrating the hallowed dead of the town, but he was staring at the central sarcophagus in shock and horror. I turned, noting how its heavy stone lid had been pulled back, and looking within was greeted by the sight of nothing.

“He’s gone! Ezakien Tobyn is gone!”

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I half listened as the more inquisitive members of the group grilled Abstalar. Ezakien had been the former High Priest who’d died five years back. He’d adopted a young aasimar, some girl who’d had celestial blood somewhere in her ancestry. Demanding efreeti in one’s bloodline could be annoying enough; I can’t imagine what having a nosy angel as a relative must be like.

The five-year-dead High Priest was nowhere to be found; his skeleton either taken or turned into one of the monstrosities that had waited within the tomb. Abstalar suspected it was the former, some kind of unholy desecration of the good man’s final resting place.

Shaken, the current HIgh Priest of Sandpoint took his leave, heading back towards the newly consecrated church, bidding us to inform the sheriff of what we’d found.

I frowned as the others quickly picked up on the idea, and soon we were making our way towards the constabulary. Law enforcement could be a pain in the ass, but at the moment we were on the up and up, with the added bonus of the previous evening’s heroics to bolster his opinion of us. If unable to avoid such figures, I preferred to befriend them, as friendship went a long way towards turning a blind eye to lesser offenses.

Sheriff Belor Hemlock was an imposing man, his towering frame clad in well-worn boiled leather armor, a mark of office displayed from a cord hanging around his neck. He watched us with what looked like unfriendly suspicion, but what I soon realized was his only expression, a kind of intense sternness. “You’re saying that the goblin assault was in fact a diversion, distracting us from the mysterious desecration of a prominent citizen’s grave?”

“Pretty much. And don’t forget the use of necromancy amongst the crimes,” Rakonia reminded helpfully. If possible, the sheriff’s eyes grew even grimmer. At the news, not the dwarf’s odd, closely-shorn hair. The unkempt ranger had spent some time in the area, and the two had a working relationship from her days scouting the countryside.

A brief discussion led to the conclusion to bring the news further up the social ladder, this time to the mayor herself.

“What’s her name again?” I asked.

I got a dirty look from the otherwise stern-faced lawman. “Mayor Deverin. Mayor Kendra Deverin.”

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“Your town is a lot more exciting that I had been led to believe. It’s been an interesting visit so far.”

The mayor looked slightly uncomfortable. “Yes, usually, it’s a very quiet place.”

I nodded. “That’s what we keep hearing…” Smiling at her slightly flustered expression, I continued, trying to get to the point without sounding too mercenary. “As it happens, the Sisterhood of Steel,” I paused, waving an arm to encompass my companions, “is looking for a place to make themselves useful.” Make ourselves useful: my favorite euphemism for mercenary work, fighting for payment.

“Ah. Well. We’ll have to see what the future holds. For the time being…” and she launched into her pitch about helping out and getting on friendly terms with the townsfolk as prerequisites for any future association.

Rakonia ticked off several points regarding the goblins, spicing it up with speculation based on her previous encounters with the foe. Her passionate hatred of the things was a selling point.

As I watched Mayor Deverin’s eyes widen incredulously at the frothing dwarf’s ever-more-violent descriptions of what she wanted to do to the green-skinned monsters, Sheriff Belor interrupted with an uncomfortably fake cough. “Yes, well, seeing as how the little brutes are working together, this represents a direct threat to the city. With the numbers of those tribes, united, Sandpoint is in serious danger.” He stared at the mayor grimly. “I need to get to Magnimar, get a detachment of guards to help secure the city. Until this menace is dealt with…” He shook his head slowly.

“What happened last night could happen again,” the mayor finished, brow creased with worry.

“Probably worse,” I mentioned, drawing everyone’s gaze. “Since this attack was clearly just a diversion.” I knew that because others had pointed that out earlier. “And whoever was behind it, well, they got what they wanted,” I continued, drawing a baleful look from the sheriff, “so at least part of their nefarious plan is well on its way to fruition.”

In the silence that followed, Zeyara stepped in. “It is clear that the goblin tribes need to be dealt with, as well as their human or humanoid ally,” she proclaimed cooly, the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, we would offer a sizeable reward for the destruction of the enemy goblin tribes-”

“What about individual goblins? Can we work out some, I don’t know, bounty or something?” I asked, struck by the extreme justice of my idea.

Kendra Dreven’s crafty eyes narrowed in surprise. “Why yes, now that you mention it, there is a bounty on goblins. Belor-” she began, shooting the sheriff an inquiring glance.

“Five gold for a pair of ears.”

“Ears?” Rainbow asked, mildly shocked.

“Pair?” I asked, disheartened. Each would have been better.

Zeyara causally withdrew a long string from underneath her shirt, dozens of small, pointy ears sewn into a rather disturbing necklace. But instead of seeing savage war trophies, I was looking at pure, gleaming gold, and that changes one’s perspective on the sight of severed body parts. When she held it out to the mayor, Kendra gave her a queasy shake of her head, pointing instead at the sheriff. Dutifully, the powerful man accepted the grisly trophies with admirable stoicism.

Mayor Deverin seemed to come to a decision, her face resuming its mildly friendly expression. “With Belor gone-” It took me a second to remember Belor was Sheriff Hemlock, “-the town will be without its strongest protector.” The sheriff’s frown, if anything, increased in its seriousness at the praise, his apparent equivalent to blushing. “Sandpoint would be most grateful to you if you’d lend us your talents while the sheriff brings back the soldiers.”

I frowned at the mention of lend, but the others were quick to assure the mayor that of course we’d help the town out. Belor Hemlock left immediately for the metropolis of Magnimar, the largest city in hundreds of miles, along the coastline sixty miles south of Sandpoint.

Where I’d just come from, actually.

There were advantages, I thought to myself, as the mayor called for certain documents to be drawn up, affixing her seal to orders giving us temporary entry into the Sandpoint milita. Someone started to ask about obtaining some official sanction to give orders and command the local troops, but I hastily waved the idea away. That wasn’t how we were going to get people to do what we wanted.

But we would get them to do what we want. Of that, I had little doubt.

With an objective that kept us in town for the near future, we left Mayor Deverin’s office with a modest sack of gold for our performance the day before, along with a sizeable bounty collected on goblin ears.

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Hitting the streets again, I set to work convincing everyone we should take Aldern Foxglove up on his offer of a boar hunt in the Tickwood Forest, seeing as how we were about to become confined to town for the foreseeable future on guard duty.

It was easier than I’d anticipated. Even Vega decided to come along, a large point in favor of the idea being the promise of riding horses Aldern had mentioned the group of us. Horses that I fully intended for us to keep. Travel was much more pleasant atop a horse than trudging along the road. Once your thighs get use to it, anyway. They do need a good deal of food, but seeing as how the horse carries its food, your food, and you yourself… overall its a pretty good deal.

Finding ourselves near the Feathered Serpent, a shop specializing in magical items, we picked up a wand that promised healing properties. After the deadly melee of the goblin assault, we’d pooled our money to purchase something to keep us alive. Rainbow held on to the wand, looking more like a miniature walking stick in her tiny hands.

We made our way back to the Rusty Dragon Inn, where Aldern was staying while in town. Ameiko would be getting the place ready for the afternoon crowds when we arrived, and I was determined to sidled up to her with a proposition.

However, we were greeted with the sounds of raised voices. Shouting, even. It was in a strange, sing-song language nobody understood but Vega recognizes as Tian.

The place that Ameiko Kijitsu’s family was supposedly from.

We burst through the front doors into a full on family fight. An aging man shook his fist at a furious-looking Ameiko, shouting incomprehensibly. Ameiko, shaking her head angrily to clear it of the white-streaked bangs, set aside the food she’d been preparing and very carefully laid down the knife she’d been using to chop vegetables.

The old man said something else, his voice cutting even across the language boundary. I saw Ameiko’s face go pale, and her assistant bowed her head in apparent shock. The man stood his ground, a look that almost dared her to do something in response.

With a shout of fury, Ameiko lashed out, the skillet in her hand ringing a glancing blow off her father’s skull. The man staggered backwards, dazed, and I saw the look of regret enter the woman’s expression, and couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit disappointed.

“Is there a problem here, Ameiko?” I asked sweetly, letting my fierce grin directed at the man speak for itself. “Is this guy bothering you?” I knew who he was, but sometimes it makes sense to play dumb.

“I-” she began, stopping to collect her thoughts.

The old man used the silence to address us. “Not your business!” he roared. “You go back, where you come from, stay out of our town. This trouble come with you!”

“Now wait a sec,” I said, annoyed. “We helped save your butts from the goblin raiders that were otherwise rampaging through your town last night.”

“I go now.” Frowning, the old man turned to leave, muttering to himself. I looked inquiringly at Ameiko, a raised eyebrow as if to say “Should we stop him?”

Vega followed the man into the street, calling out something along the lines of “And don’t come back!”

Ameiko disappeared into the kitchen, shoulders shaking with emotion, and I waited a minute before heading back to comfort her in the best way I could think of.

“We’d like you to make us some food for the road,” I explained, ticking off the compliments one by one. “You’re cooking is the best in town. You’re an adventurer yourself so you know what it’s like out there, what to make and how to make it last on the journey…” I could see her warming up to the idea, and let the thought marinate over some early autumn cider.

“I can make you a couple weeks worth of trail rations, and only for, say, half price…” she paused, perhaps seeing the wounded look in my eye. “Screw it, free of charge,” she stated, and I grinned widely at her generosity. I started to thank her, but she was already planning out the meals in her head, and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

The others had found Aldern Foxglove, and the dandy, a term I don’t use lightly, was positively beaming at the attention. His grin got even wider as I sat down at the table beside him. “So, Aldern, we’ve decided to take you up on your generous offer.”

“You have?” he asked, slightly breathless and utterly delighted. I almost winced at his eagerness.

“Yes, it sounds like it would be a great time. I haven’t been hunting around here.”

“I have-” Rakonia began, no doubt ready to burst into another one of her how-I-killed-a-certain-animal-then-ate-it stories.

“There was mention of horses,” Zeyara interrupted slyly.

“For boar hunting,” I added helpfully.

“Oh, yes, of course!” the man agreed, adjusting his ridiculously frilled collar. “One simply cannot hunt boar without the proper equipment, a horse being an essential part.” He nodded, trying to look knowledgeable.

I smiled, but inwardly I’d begun to have my doubts. These doubts were amplified into concerns upon really listening to the name of the forest that we were entering: the Tickwood.

As we left, I glanced back at Ameiko. Daddy issues. Hmm.

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A short shopping spree followed. Six riding horses were acquired, or rather five and a pony for Rainbow. Aldern went out of his way to be generous, and others were quick to take him up on his offer to equip us for the hunt.

“I’d like a bow,” Rakonia said.

“Er, well, yes, that could be arranged…”

“A composite bow?”

“Er, I suppose-”

“Masterwork?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a great deal of, um, funds on hand. This was more of a clear-my-head trip; most of what I had was given in donation to the new church. The rest, to you, and to pay for the horses. Perhaps, if you were to visit me in Magnimar…”

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Two hours later and we had to abandon the horses.

The animals were sound of body and hoof, but aside from that little could be said of their merits. They were certainly not the pristine and beautifully muscled creatures I’d seen on occasion during my years in Hyperborea, when the knights would ride through on the way to one of their joint exercises with the centaur cavalry.

The problem was the forest. Tickwood sounded disturbingly specific about its menace, and as we approached Aldern gave us the details. It was, indeed, host to an infestation of giant, blood-sucking ticks. “But not to worry, they haven’t been a problem for years,” he assured us offhandedly. Even hundreds of yards away I was already scanning the treetops for signs of humungous bugs, my flesh crawling at the thought.

The forest was old, the trees large and spaced well apart from one another, but between them undergrowth made the way difficult for horses. After a few minutes blustering through the woods, we turned back and hobbled our mounts well beyond the edge of the trees. Silently, I hoped that when we returned they wouldn’t have become a meal for giant ticks. Or wolves. Or goblins…

The forest was dim, light dappling across the soft loam of its floor as we crept through, snaking our way past brambles and especially dense thickets of plantlife. I quickly felt lost, and concentrated solely on keeping an eye on at least one of the others at all times, wishing I’d brought my precious compass along. Until I remembered the ticks with a burst of fear and glanced up, expecting the worst.

Nothing dropped down on my face.

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An hour that felt more like four later, Rakonia paused ahead of us. Rainbow, hesitant to partake in the taking of an animal life, had nevertheless been caught up in the thrill of the hunt, and waved us on excitedly. Ahead, rooting through an exposed patch of muddy earth, a pair of large, bristly pigs snuffled and grunted.

Vega’s voice whispered in our ears. “They’re eating truffles!”

Listening to their contented grunting, I noticed, first, the size of the creatures. Quite large; pigs were large, too, but pigs didn’t have the second thing I noticed. The short, curved tusks that sprouted from their mouths, curling up and away out of their lower jaws, looked deadly even at this distance.

I had the stupid goblin bow in my hand, thinking of taking down one of the pigs at a distance. A hundred feet away, the grunting suddenly stopped, and I drew as my companions took aim, loosing a ragged volley of bolts and arrows at the beasts, none of which landed on target.

Enraged, the boars stood up and faced us as I dropped my bow and picked up the naginata, seeing others continue to shoot, except for Skalmold, who advanced further than me but kept her temper and resisted the urge to rush headlong at the beasts.

The first of the pigs rushed forward, straight at the blonde barbarian. Skalmold swung the great hammer that was her weapon of choice, dubbed an Earthbreaker. The beast avoided the blow, and lashed out violently with its razor-sharp tusks, and I watched with horror as the hardened warrior fell backwards, holding the ruins of her stomach in with one arm.

Moving forward, I speared the boar that had felled Skalmold, allowing Zeyara the opportunity to stab it from behind. Rakonia fended off the other beast that lashed out at the dwarf in a frenzy, Vega unleashing bolts into the creature at close range. Rainbow rushed in, healing the wounded with a wave of life-giving energy, and the remaining boar died abruptly from a terminal case of axe-through-the-skull.

With varying degrees of shakiness, we let out sighs of relief, using the new wand we’d purchased with our profits from the goblin assault to heal the paler-than-usual Skalmold. “Boars put up quite a fight,” someone commented.

“If that’s the worst these woods have to throw at us-” I began cockily, before an icy chill of dread ran down my spine. I looked up, into the canopy above.

Immense, chitinous monstrosities scrabbled in the treetops, gathering themselves as if to leap.

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“Above us!”

“Ticks!”

“They’re huge!”

“Disgusting!”

Everyone reacted instantly to the warning, each in a distinctly different way as the five horrific creatures began to move. Vega had been off on her own investigating the site for truffles, but after seeing one of the enormous monsters directly above her, hastened back to the group.

One of the ticks scuttled down a tree directly above the Aldern, the gawping nobleman standing there uselessly as the monstrosities advanced. As large as a good-sized dog, the creature’s movement was alien and unnerving, its spindly limbs and terrible . “Stay behind me!” I warned, slicing into the approaching creature as it came around the thick trunk, shifting back to interpose myself between him and the next closest.

Vega was hurtling magical energy bolts, Rakonia was slashing viciously with her axe, but it was Skalmold who was making the best of things, laying about with her hammer and smashing the hard-shelled creatures as if swatting flies.

I lashed out at the tick closest to me and the nobleman, the blade turned aside by the creature’s hard exoskeleton. Panicking, I felt the creature latch on, digging in to my shoulder with its horrid mouth, all serrations and barbs. I wrestled against its clamboring limbs, feeling it beginning to drain the blood from my limb with a rising sense of panic. Blasts of magical energy slammed into the monstrosity, and with gasping breaths I hurled the inert corpse away from me with disgust, examining my arm only for an instant before looking away.

Skalmold was cleaning the last of the creatures’ ichor off of the face of her great hammer, and Rainbow once again used her connections to the spirit world to rejuvenate the flesh of her allies. The flesh of my arm reknit, but the memory remained.

Scanning the canopy above us revealed no more imminent threats, and we looked at one another for a moment before Aldern broke the silence.

“That was amazing…” he breathed. He looked at me with unmistakable adoration. “You saved me.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Now, what to do about these boar?”

His eyes widened in surprise, recalling the purpose of our being here in the first place. “Of course! Well, I suppose we… hmm. I’ve always had serv-, er, experts, to do this kind of thing for me.” I studied him carefully, hoping for his sake he hadn’t been implying we were his servants. More like babysitters. Or bodyguards-

“First thing is to bleed ‘em,” stated Rakonia bluntly, and went about putting word into deed. The rest of us watched, some sickly fascinated, others merely sickened or fascinated. I watched with amazement as the fluid gushed out of the creature’s slit throat, dangling from the ropes that suspended it head-down from an immense branch overhead. Mostly, though, I was curious about the skinning. Vega recruited Zeyara to hunt for truffles, and with some friendly help the group soon had a large quantity of the sought-after mushrooms.

Luckily, nothing was drawn to the smell of all the blood, or if it was it stayed out of sight. Before the creatures were fully drained, it was decided we should make haste out of the forest as soon as the creatures’ guts had been carefully ripped out and tossed aside. Nobody was eager to encounter any more giant insectile blood-suckers. I still felt drained, and the image of those terrible jaws was something I feared would haunt my nightmares for days to come.

We dragged the carcasses back to the edge of the wood, finding our horses right where we’d left them, unharmed and unstolen. Skinning the boars was messier than I’d thought, and required lots of patience and effort: apparently skin didn’t just rip off nicely like the rind of an orange. More like an apple; you have to cut it out.

Aldern Foxglove kept the two boar-heads as trophies, particularly enamored with the one split open by Rakonia’s waraxe.

“So, Lord Foxglove, now seems the right time to discuss the bodyguard duties we’ve been performing for you all afternoon.” Zeyara’s alien yellow-green eyes stared at the nobleman craftily.

He looked at her, again with that startled expression, before turning to me for some reason. I shrugged. “It was more like dangerous work than the leisurely hunting trip you made it out to be.”

“Oh… If I in any way misled you,” he began with an earnest expression, pausing to look at the others. “Any of you, you have my utmost apologies. I was told the ticks were no longer a problem-”

“Who told you that?” demanded Zeyara.

“Uh, a man, at the tavern. He was telling me… told me about… hmm. He was rather into his cups, come to think of it-”

“We appreciate your generosity,” I interrupted. “The horses and the food are most welcome.” I paused, making it clear I was waiting for him to acknowledge my graciousness.

“The pleasure is-” he began belatedly, but I had already started talking again.

“The Sisterhood of Steel is there for their friends. I hope you’ll remember us, in the future. We’re on the lookout now for an organization, or possibly a family, to partner with. If you happen to know of anyone willing to risk a small investment for a potentially great reward, I’d be very, very grateful if you’d let us know.”

I eyed the others, particularly Rakonia, and shook my head once. Aldern stuttered for a few moments. “I, that is, it is possible that I could be of some service to you ladies,” he stated in a rush, eyes locked on me. It was starting to get uncomfortable.

It was time to get back to Sandpoint. “We’ll work something out. I’m sure we’ll be in touch “ He gave me a lopsided grin when I said that. “You sure you don’t need an escort?” I asked for the third time, not quite trusting his judgement.

Aldern Foxglove turned in his saddle, viewing the road that stretched out along the coast ahead of him. “Positive. Thanks for all the help. For saving me and Puddles last night.” He grinned, pulling his small dog out from its riding sack where it has spent most of the day. The dog was surprisingly well-behaved and above all silent, and therefore its presence was ignorable and unnecessary to mention. Until now. “And the trophies!” he exclaimed, patting the sacks hanging from his steed.

We bid farewell to the strange, seemingly inept and possibly enamored nobleman, turning our newly acquired horses back to town.

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As the sun set, the Rusty Dragon sprang into life. Guests from across the town of Sandpoint began to arrive, some looking eager, others apprehensive until their eyes fell upon what awaited inside.

A fire blazed merrily in the large hearth that lay to our backs, the windows thrown open to the refreshing evening winds off the ocean. The hundreds of pounds of wild pork that we’d provided had incited a frenzy of preparation once we informed Ameiko of our intention.

Invitations were sent out to all of the people of the city who’d lost relatives or loved ones in the goblin attack, as well as those injured or the rare few who had acted with mention-worthy valor. Once everyone had arrived and the heaping plates of various slices of pig were placed upon the tables, we took turns addressing the crowd.

“To friends!”

“To the fallen!”

“To REVENGE against those who have wronged us!”

By the third toast, everyone had loosened up and I spent the next hour flitting from table to table and group to group, sharing a few moments with each. You never knew who’d turn out to be important at some point in the future.

Early on, we received a message that the town’s premier scout had returned to town.

“Shelay-who?” I asked.

“Shelalu Andosana. The sheriff mentioned her, said she might-”

The pleasant buzzing in my ears droned out the rest, and we excused ourselves to meet with the illustrious ranger. Other than the fact she was an elf, I remember little else about her, mostly information that Sheriff Belor had already given us. There was some strange eye contact between the elven scout and Zeyara, but aside from that the trip was wasted.

Getting back to the inn, I began making up for lost time. Two hours after the dinner began, half of the room emptied, but the volume and drinking had not diminished significantly, at least from what I could tell. I was playing a game that involved throwing small knives at a series of concentric circles on the wall, and was finally confident I’d made the perfect toss when something rudely jerked at my arm.

“The Iss woman is here,” Zeyara mentioned. I regarded her blankly, mid-chew. “She’s the one we visited last night. With the husband who angrily called her away.” Now I remembered. Carefully, I swallowed.

“Whose son kept staring at you like he’s in love with you,” Rakonia added helpfully.

“He’s in love with Rainbow, if anyone. More his size, anyway.” I ignored Rainbow’s offended look. “Where is she?” I asked pointlessly, realizing that the sobbing sound that I’d become aware of had drawn everyone else’s attention. I followed their eyes to Megan Iss who was looking around the room with equal measures of despair and panic, if you can imagine such a thing.

As we approached, her eyes lit up with manic intensity, begging us between excruciatingly frequent sobs and gasps. Her story was garbled, but involved some kind of bad girl that her husband had disappeared with. Not her son, who we’d met, nor her young daughter, both of whom were presumably still in the house. Which, according to her, meant danger.

It sounded like rambling, honestly, but we decided to check it out in an abundance of caution.

Approaching her house, the woman stopped. “No further, I can’t… can’t go back-”

“Alright, alright,” I said patronizingly, hands raised and palms out in the universal ‘calm down!’ signal. Frustratingly, the woman edged backward and fled, leaving me suspicious.

“Uh, the door’s locked.”

I groaned. Glancing around, people were beginning to stare, mostly thanks to Megan’s overly-dramatic exit. Not the ideal time for Zeyara to whip out her lockpicking tools. Rakonia headed back towards the inn, trailing after the matriarch of the Iss family. One who, we hoped, had a key.

Several awkward and unpleasant minutes of waiting later, the dwarf returned bearing the only thing that made the delay worth it. The door clicked open, and we tiptoed inside, not silent but trying not to be too obvious, at least.

Legs poked out from underneath a table; approaching, we discovered the unmoving form of her son, whose name escapes me to this day. A quick examination by Rainbow revealed the boy to be near death, an apparent victim of multiple bites across his legs and thighs. Rakonia identified the wounds, apparently, because she said “Those were made by a fox.”

“Werefox!” Skalmold whispered with superstitious dread, her long blond hair seeming to bristle at the notion of moon-touched beasts. I myself contemplated an old story I’d heard regarding something called a kitsune, and idly wondered if there was a connection between such a creature and the exotic Kaijitsu family from a far away land…

Rakonia and Rainbow contemplated what to do with the boy, but time was of the essence so I tossed a tablecloth on top of him and beckoned the others onward.

In a bedroom upstairs, we found the patriarch of the Iss family. Dead. His body looked to have been bitten hundreds of times, great chunks of flesh missing from the corpse, some of which lay scattered about the bed on which he lay.

A soft voice, possibly a giggle, penetrated the thin walls of the room. Carefully, we crept back into the hallway and up a steep flight of stairs that no doubt led to the attic. My fiery gaze can see even in complete darkness, so I confidently ascended the stairs with Zeyara, Rakonia and Skalmold into the blackness above.

What I saw was a little girl, talking quietly to herself, sitting beside some small objects, possibly toys. Alone, in the dark. It was eerie. The others barely had time to clear the stairs when a horrific feeling of misery swept across me, a sorrow and loss so profound that I’d not felt its like since my family-caravan’s untimely demise.

The others, too, registered shock, especially the blonde barbarian who, unlike the fetchling or dwarf, couldn’t see in the dark. A small, childlike shape seemed for form out of the deepest recesses of the room, it’s hideous shape seen only for a moment before it was hurtling toward us.

Wrestling the sadness that gripped me into something more like anger, with slashing fury my blade cut sweeping arcs through the air. Backed up by the hammering blows of Skalmold, Zeyara’s darting sword and the chopping axe of Rakonia, we assaulted the foul creature. Once it was within reach, the unnaturalness of the creature became even more evident; it’s head appeared to be nothing more than the skull of a fox.

A large fox, but still. I sighed, wondering what it would be like to meet a kitsune. Maybe some day…

Our blows were deftly avoided or simply rang of the creature’s undead form harmlessly. Vega and Rainbow appeared at the stairs, and the arcanist unleashed some kind of magical attack on the creature. “Attack it now!” she encouraged, and the battle turned as a few solid blows finally connected. Snarling, if a creature without lips or the ability to breath can be said to snarl, the thing which we later identified as an Attic Whisperer took off running, straight towards the human and halfling at the rear by the stairs.

Three separate weapons intercepted them, near-simultaneous hits from a massive axe, a huge hammer, and my razor-edged naginata cut and smashed the thing to pieces. Literally.

The Attic Whisperer’s painful wandering and eternal torment were ended. Unfortunately, the little Iss girl seemed to wake up out of her fugue and began screaming hysterically.

I’ve heard it’s bad to violently shake kids, so instead I picked her up and we left the house, Rakonia and Skalmold retrieving the girl’s unconscious and possibly dead brother on the way. Luckily for him, he had survived thanks to Rainbow’s tender mercies, and we brought both kids back to their mother, Megan.

After assuring the Iss family that the menace was dead, we informed them of the demise of their father, or husband in Megan’s case. They took it surprisingly hard. The man hadn’t made much of an impression, honestly.

I quickly grew weary of the tears and thankful sobbing. Bidding everyone a more peaceful evening, I headed off to bed.

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Rememberances (Days 1-3)
Rainbow's reflections

Rainbow, Halfling Shaman.

During the first battle I remember casting a sleep spell and watching as the rest of the group deftly handled the five remaining goblins. I healed our wounded party members and some townsfolk after that one, and suddenly there were more of the nasty creatures coming at us.

This time I cast an entanglement spell that worked on most of the creatures but did nothing to stop the leaders, who appeared to be bards or something. Those guys had some sort of magical ability, I can’t recall just what it was but we managed to take them out fairly quickly. With the aid of the town priest, I healed the party and more injured towns folk.

By the time the healing was dealt, we were set upon by more goblins… but this time they had goblin dogs. I was all out of spells and watched as some of you went down. I managed to hit a couple of the creatures with some crossbow bolts but knew my real worth was in keeping the party healthy. So I got as close as I could and did some channel healing. Thankfully we managed to take the rest of the little fuckers out and helped save Sandpoint.

That night we rested up and decided that on the following day we would go goblin hunting. The next morning Vega got up early and while Rakonia finally gulped down the slime water for a gold piece, Vega met with the priest who told her he heard noises coming from inside a crypt. We decided to hold off on the goblin hunting and investigated the sounds in the burial site.
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The Spirit of life flows through me, allowing me to spontaneously detect the presence of undead, which I did outside the crypt. Sure enough I could sense some weak undead auras just behind the door. I think it was Rakonia (but it might have been Skalmold) who opened the door. Either way, once the small stone chamber was exposed, I channeled the holy energy and a bunch of the previously deceased went down. The fighters quickly dispatched the remaining skeletons and once again we proved that a woman can do twice what any man can hope to accomplish.

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Runelord Reflections 1 (Day 2)
Dedication Ceremony

Day 2. (2.20.15)

Festival Interrupted

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The day broke beautifully, the sun’s rays shining through the slatted windows, drawing razor-edged ribbons of light slowly across the walls of the room. I watched them for a bit, slowly realizing where I was.

I sat up, five other bodies laying around the room in various stages of undress. I stared at Zeyara for a moment, petrified upon seeing her dead, blank eyes staring at the ceiling in a disturbingly corpse-like manner. Then she blinked, and turned her head toward me with a questioning look. I swallowed, the fiery spirits that had washed away the fish slime leaving their own unpleasant reminder of their passage down my throat.

I could have done with a few hours more sleep, but the thought of the day that lay ahead got me excited. Competitions and free food awaited me, and neither involving disgusting fish slime.

Grimacing, I got up. Heading to the bath before anyone else could make it out the door, I took a few minutes and made myself as presentable as I could. I was largely unconcerned, but my mother’s well meaning advice came back, nagging, and so I used the thought of Rakonia’s hair to take the time to brush my own. As I returned, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of a dwarven tantrum, a big grin smearing itself across my face.

Bursting in the room, I let her curses wash over me, enjoying the dismayed look in her eyes as she grasped futilely at her head. “What’s that smell? Why do I stink? Where’s my hair?! What happened-”

“It’s actually the smell of not stinking that you’re detecting,” I assured her, while the others hid snickers and tried to come up with something encouraging.

The fact was, if we were going to be around this dwarf any longer and wanted to avoid our own personal infestations of vermin and worse, drastic measures had needed to be taken. My work was done once the body had been tossed into the water, but I made sure they understood what needed to happen. Getting rid of the hair had been the first necessity.

“It looks good on you,” someone said bracingly.

“This way, animals probably won’t smell you from a mile away,” another added.

“Your helmet will fit so much nicer, too,” spoke a third.

Slowly, the panic and rage dissipated from the dwarf’s eyes, and Rakonia adopted a look of resigned acceptance.

“The competitions are starting soon!” I reminded, feeling eagerness and excitement spurring me on. Free meals, and prizes… it promised to be entertaining.

Breakfast was an affair to remember, and as we gorged on honeyed biscuits, jellied fruits and slabs of thick, crispy bacon, the hostess Ameiko encouraged us to attend the cooking competition being held as part of the festival, where everyone got samples from the four major eateries in Sandpoint. Including, it turned out, the Rusty Dragon Inn.

The festival was hours away; originally I’d heard it was to start a few hours before noon, but in truth the festival didn’t begin until noon, and the fun wouldn’t start until after that was underway. Sullenly, I followed the others around town, my armor not drawing the kinds of stares one got in many other places. The naginata I carried got several, but more curious than hostile. The immense hammer that Skalmold had strapped across her back seemed to draw more attention.

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To begin the festival, I think somebody said something. If that was the case, it was no doubt boring.

Anxiously, the minutes ticked by and finally, finally, the events got underway.

The first competition, which I gleefully awaited, was revealed to be a test of agility. I smiled at that; I was pretty light on my feet. Zeyara moved like a ghost, but we’d been told it was more obstacle-course than duel, and I was pretty sure I could handle whatever got thrown at us. A name was called, and the competitors were led to a long, narrow beam suspended by two ropes. It spanned a freshly-dug pit that looked unnaturally muddy and wet. A group of kids lined the sides of the pit, each holding something in their hands.
“That better not be a communal latrine,” I muttered. I fear my voice was more anxious than snide. It didn’t smell like a latrine…

Nonplussed, I watched the first entrant lurch his way across the narrow beam, only to be pelted by a swarm of objects thrown by the children lining the sides. At first I thought they were rocks, but as one bounced off the contestant’s forehead and failed to draw blood, I noticed they appeared to be bundles of cloth. Possibly wrapped around a rock. The crowd cheered as the man plummeted over the side, spinning crazily and coming down head first. The jeers continued even as two burly-looking laborers hustled forward to extract the unmoving form from the mud, cheering as he was carried off to safety and, hopefully, resuscitation.

As the next name was called, I slowly made my way over to the pit. The young men standing there looked at me, eyes widening just as expected, stopping somewhere short of looking at my face. I gave them a friendly smile. “Hello, boys.” They continued to stare. “Looks like you have a fun job, here. My friends and I… have you met them?” I asked innocently, pointing toward where Zeyara and Vega waited, possibly looking nervous or excited. “We’re staying over at the Rusty Dragon Inn; we’ll be there later tonight, if you find yourself in the area.”

They turned to one another, chattering excitedly. “Okay!” was pretty much the response.

“They’re all pretty badass,” I confided. “A bit competitive. You could really make their day if, say, you happened to miss them every throw.” I shrugged. “I’m just saying. I bet they’d be grateful,” I mused, almost to myself. “Anyway, have fun and enjoy the festival. Maybe we’ll see you around!”

And with that I wandered back, watching until the next contestant tried to make his way across the mud pit. As he teetered, arms flailing wildly before falling into the muck, I strode up to the man in charge of the event, proclaiming that I got to go next.

With the eyes of the entire crowd on me, my own narrowed in focus as I tried to concentrate. Striding across the thin, moving beam was slow but steady, and luckily the projectiles thrown from the young men never managed to connect. I hopped off the other end flushed with success, the enthusiasm of the crowd aided by the fact that I’d stripped off my armor, leaving me with little else. I was feeling pretty good about myself, until I watched Zeyara follow with somersaults and handsprings across the narrow beam with cool ease. The crowd that had cheered me appeared not to know how to react to the fetchling’s display, the cheers muted not with fear or suspicion, but awe.

Vega spent a moment to collect before slowly making her way across as well. It made me happy that I’d gone before Zeyara. She was a hard act to follow.

An extremely modest cash prize followed, but mostly this wasn’t about prizes. It was a matter of pride.

The next competition was one of strength. The flask in my pocket seemed to radiate heat, my fingers tingling with the urge to extract it, uncap it, and drain it. Numerous barrels were placed upon the town square, weighted with sand to varying degrees. Rakonia attempted to carry two across the fifteen yard mark, failing. After a quick sip of my secret infrit juice, I grabbed two as well, grappling with the weight heroically only to fail as spectacularly. Roaring with fury, Skalmold lifted two herself, staggering forward only to drop a few steps later.

Things weren’t looking good for the girls. Some comments overheard amongst the thrall of onlookers infuriated me, and I got up to try again. The two impossibly heavy burdens were once again too much, even though I knew I could do it. Furious, I let my body recover for a moment as my companions downgraded their attempts to a single barrel. Both made it across the fifteen yard mark, essentially winning.

If there’s a lesson to be learned there, I wasn’t ready to learn it. Once the competition was finished, I stood and approached the barrels again. There was a tense silence as I lifted up the two weighted casks, growling as I staggered across the grassy square. Halfway across, something shifted and I found myself once again falling to the ground.

I lay there for a moment, panting and dreading the laughter and derision that the crowd would heap upon me. But, to my amazement, there was little of that, and I noticed a nod of approval here and there amongst the spectators. It seemed the effort, at least, had been appreciated.

It wasn’t enough, really.

Finally, the competition that the blonde barbarian Skalmold had been waiting for: dancing. I was at most a fair dancer, but my innate grace and charm went a long way toward turning ordinary into intriguing. I walked away with a small prize, only slightly envious of Skalmold’s elaborate routine that had won her the big award.

I wasn’t rich, but was no longer poor. For the moment. Which, along with the recognition I’d gotten from participating in the events, was good enough for now.

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Following the competitions, we were allowed to sample the various foods served up by the five major eateries in the city. There was seafood and venison and some kind of vegetable stuff that Vega asked for when she noticed I was about to toss it in the trash.

I visited the same places several times before understanding that everyone was only supposed to be taking one sample each; that way everyone could get to try a little bit of everything. After that, and a few possibly judgmental looks, I had the others grab me extra helpings instead.

I came across Rainbow talking up the merits of the Rusty Dragon’s food, drumming up support for our current landlord. Smirking, I got in on it, and with the others’ help, we soon had the crowd buzzing with the name Kaijutsu.

Sated, we followed the crowd to the square before the new cathedral, awaiting what the locals seemed to consider the main event.

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During the dedication ceremony to the newly-built temple, a long-winded affair praising Desna and a bunch of other gods, I tried my best to wait patiently until the promised pyrotechnics got underway. Skalmold expressed disappointment in the fact that Gorum, god of War, hadn’t been included. The halfling shaman had shown interest in the idea of a temple to multiple gods, and sure enough was watching the proceedings with intense focus. I was bored to death and ready for a drink. But then, halfway through, things suddenly got exciting again.

There was a crack of thunder, or a boom, or something, and people began looking around nervously. Without warning, the unmistakable howls of baying wolves erupted within the town, and a harsh cry of inhuman voices rose up, squeaky and terrible. The incomprehensible song was later translated for me, mostly threats and contemplating ways of cooking their enemies.

“Goblins!” Rakonia cursed, her large axe already in one hand as she expertly strapped a shield to her other, the motion obviously well-practiced.

My naginata, which I called Slicer in my head, was of course in my hand. One of the reasons we stood in the back.

It was a good thing, too, because just like that, they were upon us. Dozens of the small, wicked-looking creatures rushed through town, some riding wolves, some carrying torches, some screaming at the top of their lungs. In the seconds that transpired, I watched a building put to the torch by one of the creatures even as another tossed a flaming brand so poorly it landed on the goblin’s own back, setting it alight. Panicked, a horse charged by, eyes rolling with fear as its hooves destroyed the skull and ribcage of a goblin too slow to get out of the way, pulping it against the paved thoroughfare. Seconds later, it fell screaming, its forelegs viciously chopped by one of the green-skinned monsters. Another goblin chased after one of the many fleeing children, brandishing an odd sword and screaming “DIE! DIE! DIE!”

As we stood to assess the threat, the townsfolk reacted more instinctively, clutching loved ones and fleeing back to their homes in a desperate attempt to escape.

Springing into action, I spun my naginata deftly while approaching a large group of goblins making their way towards the priest who lay near the podium, the exact same spot from which the man had addressed the crowd moments ago. Rainbow and Vega began weaving some magic while Zeyara took care of the child-chasing goblin, Rakonia ran forward and Skalmold charged into the creatures.

I was impressed by the assault I hastened to join, noticing the swinging barbarian take a slash from a goblin’s blade. Stepping up behind the furiously flailing axe of Rakonia, I stabbed out with the long, curved blade of my weapon, the razor-sharp steel slicing the diminutive creature neck to groin. “First blood to me!” I roared, watching its guts spill out in fascination. Two of the creatures at my flank abruptly collapsed, by all appearances asleep, and the remainder were quickly dealt with by Rakonia’s dwarven waraxe, Skalmold’s great hammer, Zeyara’s shortsword and my own naginata. Along with a few well placed bolts from Rainbow’s crossbow, almost laughably tiny but undoubtedly effective. Two of the creatures remained slumbering from Rainbow’s spell, and Zeyara crouched down to slit one’s throat, severing the neck all the way to the spine with her enthusiasm. My eyes narrowed, the ugly little creature filling me with hatred. I raised Slicer high, holding it near the very end of its haft, almost like an axe. I brought it down, twisting my torso to get the greatest impact, and was rewarded by cloven lumps of now-dead goblin bursting apart from the ground.

As the world slowed back down to normal, a strangely familiar feeling washed over me, and I saw Rainbow in the act of releasing a powerful wave of healing energy, the cuts and nicks decorating my companions disappearing. A feeling of resonance overcame me, like a glimmering, divine spark. Or possibly its antithesis. Either way, it reaffirmed my sense of destiny.

Unfortunately, before I could ponder any further, there was a terrific explosion and we turned to see the wagon that had held the festival’s pyrotechnics go up in flames. It was devastating, not having them to look forward to. But, at the same time, the huge fire was pretty cool. A few screaming, burning goblins staggered away only to fall, twitching to the ground. That was even cooler. Others began to appear from behind the now-burning wagon, and we heard a foul chanting coming from the group of short, green-skinned monsters.

Rainbow summoned thorny tendrils from the ground, the plants snaring our opponents’ limbs and holding them firm, aside from a couple who broke through. I approached with the other warriors, but one of the chanters began making gestures and suddenly I was overcome with a fit of laughter. Helpless to act amid the hilarity of the situation, I watched first one then another goblin go down in quick succession, the uncontrollable amusement bringing tears to my eyes.

Moments later, though, the effect ended. Most of the other goblins had been slain, and my blade finished off one of the last as I lashed out in delayed frustration. We stood over the corpses of the fallen goblins in victory, some still held by Rainbow’s magical, clinging vines. As the halfling collected her bolts from the corpses of the slain, the rest of us were searching the streets, some for the loot of the fallen and the rest for danger. I couldn’t see any more of the creatures, but the sounds of combat and screaming could still be heard.

The six of us, strangers the previous day, hustled further into town. I rushed ahead first, mostly to keep from being outpaced by my less-armored companions. The sound of cruel laughter and a wild, lupine howl echoed around the corner.

I decided that now was probably the best time to access my ancestral power, legacy of Greatest Grandfather. I allowed the simmering cauldron of molten power that existed deep within me to boil over, releasing the constant tension I’d long grown use to. I felt the fiery energy coursing through my veins, and the world seemed to shift, growing smaller. Calling upon the ancient efreet magic that pulsed through my veins, I grew immense, standing nearly twice as tall as Skalmold.

The barbarian dancer dashed past me without a second glance, throwing herself into battle as soon as the enemy came within sight. Rushing forward, I took in the scene. A man with a small dog were being harried by a group of the goblins, this time led by two fiercer members of their species. These latter, bulkier goblins rode on wolves, and reacted the moment we came into view. They turned to unleashed a pair of arrows but, fortunately for me, neither hit their target.

As the wolf riders broke away from the main group, circling to the sides, the cluster of goblins on foot was engaged. Rakonia followed the large blonde in, squat frame barreling into the enemy with a shouted battlecry that reverberated through the streets.

The man who’d been attacked took the opportunity to scramble away. His fine clothes and subtle but expensive jewelry betrayed his noble heritage, I noted with interest, and he clung to his small dog as he dashed up the road. I rushed towards one of the wolf riders, the immense blade at the end of my weapon whistling through the air.

The naginata is my weapon of choice for its elegance as much as its reach. Essentially a curved sword mounted on a six foot pole, it was good for stabbing and slicing, as well as chopping and scything and even hooking. The best parts of spear and sword, put together. As my size magically doubled, so did the length, and from across the street I lashed out, slicing the armored wolf-riding goblin clean in two.

To my left, the others were engaged in a furious melee. Skalmold’s titanic hammer mashed another gobin into boneless paste, and Zeyara appeared, stabbing one of the creatures from behind with her short, deadly blade. Bolts of arcane energy tore through the air, Vega’s super-charged magic crackling with power.

The now-riderless wolf went berserk, rushing up at me in rabid fury. All awareness of the rest of the battle disappeared as my hasty backhanded slice missed, the snarling face snapping with terrifying viciousness. I staggered back, pulling away from the terrible bite it had inflicted, my thigh bloody and mangled. Damn worthless shitty chainmail, I thought to myself, and then the pain washed over me.

I swayed, the world seeming to fade at the edges. The enraged beast came at me again, and I summoned the last reserves of my energy. It had gotten in too close for my main weapon, so I lashed out with my blade-edged gauntlets-

And the world went dark. Until suddenly I was blinking, looking around in confusion from the ground. How’d I get here? I remember wondering.

“Did… Did I get it?” I asked, looking around hopefully for a smashed lupine corpse.

“No. Vega’s magic killed it.” Zeyara shrugged, getting up from the goblin corpse she’d been looting nearby. “I think the dwarf got the other.”

A pale-looking Rainbow stood nearby, obviously depleted after all of the healing magic. I looked at the piled, grimacing bodies that had apparently been dragged nearby, the citizens groaning but slowly falling silent with wonderment at their freshly healed wounds. It is sometimes all too easy to take for granted, but we must thank the gods for magical healing if nothing else. Imagine having to wait days, weeks, or even months to recover from easily healable injuries. Some people still live like that, but luckily not the people of Sandpoint. Predictably, the cleric who’d given the boring speech and then cowered behind his altar during the battle came around to lend what aid he could.

Invigorated by the battle but now cognizant of the dangers that lay in store, I became more determined than ever to assist the other five warriors in seeing the merit of forming some kind of company. A company of heroes. Heroes for hire, I liked the sound of that.

The mood was somber, but townsfolk began reappearing, and offerings were placed in the temple by thankful or, more rarely, grieving residents. Not everyone had been fortunate enough to have us nearby. Yet enough had a guilty excitement hiding beneath their expressionless faces, that feeling you get when the danger has passed and you realize you’re alive, you survived! It’s even better when your opponents lie dead at your feet._ I survived, and you didn’t!_

But how had I survived was humbling. That wolf had fucked me up; I probably would have been a goner, on my own. If it hadn’t been for the others, all of us working together, things might have gone differently for me. For this whole town, probably. It was a complicated thought, and it made me tired, and I said so. The townsfolk were beginning to press in claustrophobically; besides, it would be better to maintain an aura of mystery. Let those who’d witnessed our deeds do the talking. Let the stories grow a bit.

The others shrugged, and we returned to the Rusty Dragon Inn, our opponents’ weapons and valuables bundled up and weighing down Rakonia, Skalmold and myself. It was the best kind of burden; the kind that was pure profit.

The nobleman who we had rescued from the goblins was there, waiting for us. He introduced himself, and I think he gave us a welcome reward that we graciously accepted. Impressed by our skill and thankful for our intervention, he invited us to his estates to enjoy some boar hunting in the future.

Rakonia returned a short while later, belching unpleasantly and looking mightily pleased with herself. “Guess who’s name is number twenty-nine on the wall of Hagfish Tavern?” I pretended to be proud of her. Or impressed or something. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help wincing at the thought of that filthy slime running down my throat.

Patrons of the inn treated us to round after round of drink, and we enjoyed a nice table nearby the fire for an hour or so. There was a little more talk of histories and philosophies, but mostly reliving events of the day and contemplating what to do next. The goblins had been a diverse lot; going over the corpses, no fewer than five separate tribes appeared to have participated in the raid. Some force seemed to be controlling them, focusing them and making them bold. Several prominent townsfolk had, while delivering us a fresh round, expressed their concerns regarding this strange inter-tribal alliance.

So, goblin hunting seemed in order. But, first things first…

“So,” I asked subtly, “what are we going to call ourselves?” By just stating it like we already were a team, it would hopefully avoid any wishy-washiness of particularly taciturn or antisocial members.

“We could be called the Sisters of Mercy,” I said, chuckling darkly. “Like, our name sounds righteous and trustworthy… which we are,” I affirmed swiftly. “But, well… yeah. Irony, or surprise or something.” A few eyebrows raised quizzically.

“Or… how about the Gynomorphs?” Silence. Possibly stunned silence. “Well, do you have any ideas?”

I waited impatiently for a response from the other members of what would, one day, be known far and wide as—

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Runelord Reflections 1 (Day 1)
In the beginning

Day 1. 2.20.15 (In-Game: Rova, September)

A Somewhat Expected Party

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Night had fallen slowly, the great sea that glittered off to the west swallowing up the last sliver of sun with slow, patient deliberation. It annoyed me; I much preferred the nights back home, when you went from sunlight to shadow in the span of minutes. The mountains devoured the light in moments, and the sudden transition was always amazing. Like the death of the day, colors washing out until there was nothing left but shades of grey. Sudden, and violent. Not this long, lingering affair.

It had been a long trek up the coast from Magnimar. The urge to get away from the stifling population of the city was my main reason for making the nearly sixty mile journey to the isolated town of Sandpoint. I’d heard it mentioned frequently in recent days, and as I suffered under the “suspension” I’d been given following a bout of “overzealousness,” their words not mine… anyway, I was ready for a change of scenery.

Living on the road wasn’t a great deal of fun, however. My keen night vision was only helpful when my eyes were open; sleeping alone under the stars had grown to feel like asking for trouble. This is maybe why I was so startled to notice a small form curled up under a tree, a few dozen feet from the road I grudgingly trode.

Warily, I approached, every clink of the chainmail I wore making me wince. The lone figure looked humanoid… a small child perhaps.

I poked it with a toe.

As the being shifted with a high-pitched exclamation, a small blob of fur darted out from behind it. I stared at the tiny, beady eyes that regarded me calmly, a whiskered nose twitching as its neck craned out, displaying the fearsome rodent incisors that were impressive on even such a tiny creature.

Frowning, I dug around in my backpack and got out some of the disgusting cheese that had come with the meals I’d purchased. Iron rations indeed. Breaking off a nice chunk, I held it out and the rat snapped it up, hurtling across the shifting body and stopping at the tree, its tiny paws grasping the prize, childlike, rotating the piece as it took bite after bite.

The small girlish figure looked up from the ground. “Who’s your friend?” I asked. I’d always been partial to cute, fuzzy pets. If only they hadn’t proved so fragile…

“Mr. Fuzzy Whiskers,” the little girl replied, her voice high but unphased. She looked around curiously.

“Isn’t it a little late for you to be out, little girl?” I asked, feeling obligated. The thought crossed my mind that, perhaps, returning this child safely to her parents would be worth a reward of some kind. “Are you lost?”

“Lost?” She looked even more confused. Something about her face was a little strange, and then her blanket fell away, revealing a chest that had no place on an 8 year old anything. “How can one be lost, when the stars shine above?” She looked up, and the rapturous look on her face gave me a sudden case of the chills. “The stars are here to guide us…”

“Ah, yes… “ I agreed noncommittally.

The womanly girl glanced over, suddenly remembering my presence. “I am Rainbow Stargaze,” she stated. “I’m not a little girl, I’m a halfling. A shaman of the stars.”

“Lucrezia,” I nodded, introducing myself. “I can tell you’re very comfortable out here, Rainbow, but I for one prefer a roof over my head-”

“How can you see the stars, then?” Rainbow inquired, looking perplexed.

“-and I’ve heard there’s good times to be had in the town.” She regarded me blankly. “Like, bars and stuff. And a ceremony for some new church with free food.”

“A church?” The waist-high halfling paused, eyes sparkling with sudden interest. “What kind of food?” Rainbow asked. To me, her tone sounded a little accusatory for my liking.

“Uh, I dunno. Probably game meats, I suppose, lots of fish and lobster-”

“I don’t eat meat,” Rainbow explained, sounding now more condescending than disapproving. “I can use my magic to make old food become as new, safe to eat. The waste of others becomes my bounty.”

“Wait, you eat other people’s… waste?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard that right. Common has so many different dialects and nuances, it can get confusing.

“Yes. From their dumps, when I can,” she elaborated.

Now I was really grossed out. It took a few moments for me to catch on to the fact that Rainbow visited the actual refuse pits of villages and cities, eating old, rotten food. Disgusting, really, but better than what I’d originally thought.

Aside from her eating habits, though, she seemed interesting. And that little rat was perched on her shoulder, looking up with those cute beady black eyes. So I invited Rainbow Stargaze to join me in making the last few miles to Sandpoint before reveling in as much fun as my last two pieces of gold could buy.

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Setting off into the night, we entered a small forest and almost immediately encountered a foul stench. Nose wrinkling, I looked at Rainbow in dismay, but she shook her head. “Wasn’t me.”

“Arrggh.” That’s what I heard, or something like it. A lumpy figure clad in scaled armor stepped out from behind a tree. A tangled nest of ropy tendrils sprouted from her head, and dirt and grime covered every visible inch of its skin. It, in this case, was obviously a dwarf, but the gender was incomprehensible.

“Hello…”

“Who are you?” the creature asked, gruffly.

“I am Rainbow Stargaze, and this is Mister Fuzzy Whiskers-”

“Uhg, a rat!” it exclaimed.

“Lucrezia Firenza,” I said, trying to deflect the look of hatred I imagined in the dwarf’s slitted eyes as it regarded Rainbow’s pet. “And you, uh, sir?”

The furrowed eyes turned to me. “I’m no sir! I am Rakonia Stoneborn.”

“Nice to meet you, Rakonia.” I turned to Rainbow, crouching down and huddling. “That smell…”

“Yes, something will have to be done,” she agreed dreamily. Mister Fuzzy Whiskers wrinkled his nose from his perch on the halfling’s shoulder.

I glanced over at the dwarf, who was staring at us impatiently. I turned back to the huddle. “Is it a man or woman?”

Rainbow shrugged. Mister Fuzzy Whiskers gave a squeak that I could have sworn was a laugh.

“Rakonia, pardon my ignorance,” I began, turning toward the disheveled figure, eyeing the immense axe strapped to her back cautiously. “Are you a woman?” The lack of the beard seemed like a clue, but the state of this creature was so slovenly and mannish I had serious doubts.

“Gender is meaningless,” Rakonia grumbled unhelpfully, arms crossed.

“Yes, but…” I began, trailing off. “Imagine, hypothetically, if I were to be referring to you to a third party. Would I say he did this or she did this? It’s just that ‘it’ has such negative connotations in Common, genderlessness being a sign of-”

“She,” the apparent ‘she’ grunted.

Rainbow Stargaze shook her head sadly.

The rank stink of unwashed dwarf was becoming unbearable, even in the open air. An idea popped into my head. Carefully, one hand reached up inside my backpack, searching for the small glass bottle within. With my other, I pointed out into the woods.

“Hey, what’s that?” I asked, staring into the trees. Rakonia kept her eyes on me, puzzled or maybe suspicious. And quite right to be so. “Who’s that over there behind you?” I tried, trying to sound more urgent.

Rakonia spun around, falling for the ruse and looking off into the night. I stepped forward, reaching out to spray the short but squat figure with a blast of my Magnimar perfume. The dwarf, meanwhile, was calling out into the night. “Who are you?” she challenged, accompanying the question with a startled fart.

I almost chuckled as the dwarf spun back, hands flapping as if to ward away the pleasant and powerful odor I’d doused her with. Instead, I held my breath, only to do a double take as motion caught my eye. Unsettled, I watched a strange figure step out of the woods right around where I had been pointing. Lusterless grey skin seemed to absorb the half-moon’s illumination, a pair of glowing yellow-green eyes bulging hauntingly from her gaunt face. A black suit of leather armor clung to her emaciated frame.

Looking closer, her dark hair gleamed with a deep purple I’d never encountered. And so we met Zeyara, the shadowy skulker.

“Who are you?” someone exclaimed, possibly me. The shadowy, almost wraith-like figure stopped several yards away.

“Zeyara,” she murmured, and although we waited for the surname, it never came. Introductions were made. It seemed to be a night for that kind of thing.

“Do you often wander around alone in the dark during the night?” I couldn’t help asking this new stranger. She nodded absently, and I left it at that.

“What are you?” I continued, as politely as I could. Her bulbous eyes regarded me blankly.

“What are you?!” Rakonia challenged, pointing a finger at me accusingly.

I rolled my eyes, a bad habit, I know. Taking of my helmet, I ran a hand through my hair, pulling the thick, deep red locks back to expose my forehead. “I have horns; what do you think I am?” These initial moments could be fraught with danger if people leapt to conclusions. Humans were likely to, elves less so. Dwarves, though…

“Demon-spawn!” she cursed, or something like it. I shook my head, annoyed. I turned to give the dwarf a clear view of my posterior.

“Does it look like I have a tail?” I asked, slapping myself there to prove a point.

“You’re one of the fire-born!” Rainbow exclaimed in her high-pitched voice. I spun to look at the small shaman, amazed.

“You amaze me!” I admitted, impressed with her perception.

After a brief discussion of our now-mutual destination, Rainbow and Rakonia started swapping life stories, and Zeyara stepped closer. Something was off about her eyes; then I realized the luminous orbs had no pupils. It was eerie, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of staring into the eyes of a blind person. Despite her strange, even unsettling appearance, her concerns were pragmatic. “That smell…” she began, eyeing behind her as we trudged ahead of the shorter pair who followed in our wake.

I could only agree. Rakonia looked fit, but… unkempt would be a nice way to put it. And even with the perfume, the odor was unpleasant.

“Guess she doesn’t bathe much, out in the wild.”

“We should fix that,” the pale woman stated, and I found myself liking her candor. Traveling alone was not only dangerous, it was boring. I was finding myself enjoying the company of Rainbow and Zeyara.

Putting our heads together, we began to hammer out the vague beginning of a plan.

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Getting into town was surprisingly easy, given the darkness. The sun was three hours set, and most folks were preparing for bed, but in the distance we heard the sounds of what could only be alcohol-induced merriment. My step suddenly felt lighter.

The Rusty Dragon Inn was the first place we came upon once inside the city limits, and as some of my companions began to buy drinks, I soon found myself pleasantly relaxed thanks to the free liquor. At some point during the evening, two humans approached us. One, a tall blonde who’d been dancing as we’d walked in, had the accent of the far north, while the other spoke in a more local dialect. They introduced themselves as Skalmold Bangsidotter and Roussane Vega, respectively. The blonde had a savage demeanor, despite her deft footwork, and took her drinking seriously. Vega was more reserved, sitting and drinking only water.

The hostess, or owner, or whatever the operator of this inn was called, came to our table several times during the evening. She was definitely attractive, but in a strange way. Her eyes were different. I’d like to think it was because of the respect our appearance commanded, but in truth she was understaffed considering the nearly-full tavern. She introduced herself as Ameiko Kujutsu, and turned out to be an ex-adventurer herself, something not uncommon in the town from what I’d heard. The meal she served was devoured swiftly by the six of us, and although I decided to thank her for the meal personally and get some face time.

“Who was it that cooked our meal?” I asked innocently after approaching her place at the bar. She looked up from the glasses she’d been wiping down. “We’d like to thank them for the food, it was delicious.” I laid it on, quick and thick, before she could come up with a response.

“Oh, thank you, that was me,” she stated, pleased but not overly so.

“Ameiko? You own this establishment, right?” I was breaking out all my big words tonight. “Nice place,” I commented.

“I enjoy it,” she confided, glancing around the room fondly. “And it keeps me away from my mother, all the better,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Family issues?” I asked, pretending to sympathize. My family problems ended with a bunch of giants squashed them against the rocky flats, nearly a decade ago.

Instead of taking the bait, she nibbled. “I don’t want to bore you with the details,” she settled on. Her tone had a note of finality that made me decide not to press the issue. I decided to change the subject.

“We’ve heard rumors,” I said softly, lowering my head conspiratorially. She remained upright, refusing to play along. “What happened five years back. I haven’t heard from anyone, well, local, and am worried about bring up old memories. The kind they’d rather forget.” I regarded her frankly. “You seem capable and intelligent; is there anything you could tell me about what happened back then?”

Her obsessive flagon-cleaning stopped as she seemed to gaze into the distance. “The time of troubles. Those were dark days. I was only a kid back then, but… yeah, I remember. The Chopper; it was all anyone talked about, near the end of it. Of course, they only took action once the right kind of people got taken.” Her voice had lowered the moment she’d stated the apparently forbidden name, and I had to lean forward to catch her words. “Luckily, things have been quiet ever sense. Mostly, at least,” she amended, before looking up to address a loud voice that beckoned her from across the crowded room. “Sorry, I have to get back to running an inn,” she smiled.

I tried not to let my annoyance show. “What do you mean the right kind of people?”

As she filled two large mugs, she spoke softly, still staring at the drinks. “The lower classes, they were disappearing left and right. For weeks.”

“The rich,” Zeyara observed, giving me a good start. I hadn’t seen her arrive. Had she been with me the whole time?

“It wasn’t until someone from the founding families got taken that they bothered catching the murderer.” And with that, she disappeared in a whirlwind of motion, refilling drinks and picking up empty plates and other equally uninteresting activities.

Zeyara gave me a mysterious nod and then returned to our table. I followed, taking deep breaths of fresh air while it was available. Fresher air, at least, I amended, the odor of sweat and liquor strong in the air.

Ameiko did offer to rent us a room, one that, with a few additional cots, would fit all six of us. Much of the city’s rooms were rented out due to the festival happening tomorrow.

“I’m sleeping outside,” Rakonia stated firmly, staring at us challengingly from below furrowed brows. Surprisingly, the rough, blotchy cheeks turned a deep crimson as the hostess’s eyes fell upon her.

“Yes, we will of course respect Rakonia’s wishes,” I said agreeably, feeling immensely relieved. I’d seen things crawling around the dwarf’s hair, and had since made a point to sit as far away from her as possible all night. “But as for us, well… what, exactly, are we looking at in terms of cost?”

A sum was stated and agreed upon, my share representing around a quarter of the wealth I had to my name. The coins fairly flew from my purse when she brought up the fact that the inn had its own private bath.

I’m positive my eyes glinted as I exchanged glances with Zeyara and then Rainbow. The halfling rubbed her little hands together eagerly.

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It wasn’t long after that when Rakonia, piss drunk, abruptly challenged the entire tavern to a fight. Taken aback by the sudden outburst, I soon found that nobody had paid her the least attention, or at least were pretending they hadn’t. Her blunt, ruddy face was glowering pugnaciously, and I couldn’t blame them for not staring, or even glancing, her way.

Except for some stupid kid. The milkling was barely old enough to shave, and I felt a stab of alarm at the upcoming confrontation that would no doubt likely ensue. Broken bones, at a minimum. Could even get gory. Heartened, I settled back to watch the show.

They settled on arm-wrestling. Rakonia slammed the boy’s hand into the table with a loud crunch, eliciting a series of amazed but pained screams from the kid. This drew some stares, but he waved off the concerned looks, staring at the dwarf in amazement. “You’re strong!” he said in a dozen different iterations.

And you’re an idiot, I thought to myself. Her arms were as thick as her legs. Which were as thick as my waist! What the hell had he expected? He may have been a foot taller, but unless I missed my guess Rakonia had a few stone’s weight in her favor.

The foolish boy heaped praises upon the dwarf, who had turned back to yet another tankard. Cradling his obviously broken hand, he looked around uncertainly… and then stopped as he noticed Rainbow beckoning him from a corner of the room.

I watched the strange interaction that followed with vision slightly blurred by the quantity of drinks already consumed as well as the increasingly potent stench of Rakonia’s flatulence. The halfling took the boy’s hand in her own, running her tiny fingers over it and eventually wrapping it tightly with a long strip of cloth. The two continued to talk for a while, and then the boy pressed something that glinted unmistakably across the lantern-lit inn before rushing out the door.

Gold.

Eager to get away, I caught up with a conflicted-looking Rainbow as she made her way towards the door, following the boy.

“Hey there-” I began, hoping that transaction I’d seen had been innocent.

“That boy gave me money,” the halfling stated, her eyes asking a question I didn’t quite understand.

“That’s… nice.” I paused. Was Rainbow a closet Calistrian-worshipper? And for a bare handful of coins…

“No, it’s not right. I need to give it back,” Rainbow mused. “Besides, money doesn’t really have any value, anyway.”

This puzzled me, having seen the halfing purchase a round of drinks using coin earlier that evening, but I let it go. “Well, should we-”

“He just left, we’ve got to go catch him,” she insisted. I nodded, and gave an unnecessary “after you” arm-wave, the child-sized shaman already halfway out the door.

We caught up to him a block or so away. The streets were surprisingly empty; in Magnimar, there is always an element that not only survives in the darkness, but thrives in it. Apparently not so in the backwater of Sandpoint. Rainbow was about to give the foolish kid his money back, but I had another idea.

“You want to make sure it gets back to its proper owner, right?” I cajoled Rainbow, and convinced the boy to bring us to his home.

His mother was first relieved to see the young man, and wary of the two strangers outside her door. “Can I… help you?” she inquired, not timid as much as skeptical.

I nodded at Rainbow to take it away. She nodded back amiably. Trying to be clearer, I pointed down, and with a smile she held up the four gold coins the boy had given her. “What is… I don’t-”

“That foolish boy of yours nearly gave away your hard-earned money tonight, lady. There are all sorts of liars and thieves who would seek to take it from the boy, by trickery or force. It is lucky for you that my friend Rainbow Stargaze is not one to take advantage of people!” I waved an arm, indicating the halfling at my side.

A look of dawning understanding crossed her features, and as I detailed the reason why she should be thankful for our helpful intervention and honesty, she came to appreciate those very things. What followed was a short chat about the town, touching briefly on the nature of events that had transpired some five years ago.

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Sandpoint had been beset by a series of unfortunate occurrences, most notable the disappearance of numerous citizens of the town. This time of trouble had seen the burning of the Church of Desna, goddess of travelers and the stars. The celebration that was to be held tomorrow was, in fact, the re-opening of that very church, along with secondary naves dedicated to another five gods inside, serving the spiritual needs of the entire community.

A murderer had run rampant during that time, many of the disappearances blamed upon the mysterious figure behind the brutal acts, known in the town’s lore as the Chopper.

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“But since then, things have been pretty quiet-”

A harsh masculine voice called out to the woman from inside the house, and our discussion was stopped short. Insisting that everything was fine, the lady rushed inside and we shrugged and left, only then noticing that Zeyara had been shadowing us throughout the entire journey. I waved, thinking of walking back together, but she once again disappeared into the darkness, no doubt slinking out of sight in hidden alleyways and along rooftops.

The Rusty Dragon was in a bit of an uproar. As we got back, numerous people were standing near our table, and Rakonia’s eyes were wide with excitement.

Someone had told her about a competition run by one of the inn’s competitors, the Hagfish Tavern, where you can get a tankard full of mucus-like hagfish slime to drink. If you can get it down, there was a cash prize, along with the distinction of having your name etched in the wall of the inn in tribute to the deed.

“I’m gonna do it!” the dwarf shouted gleefully, her grin slightly manic. Shrugging, the rest of us gave ‘what the hell’ looks to each other, and followed the ranger out into the night.

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Imagine a chanting crowd, hooting and clapping and stomping the floor. Rakonia stood amid a wide pile of sawdust, holding the tankard in her hand. I’d seen the mess that the barkeep had lifted, a long slimy snake of mucus that he’d had to cut with a knife in order to separate, the vile, translucent stuff plopping wetly into the mug.

The tankard tilted back, I saw the dwarf’s throat bob as she swallowed once, twice, then-

Now imagine the crowd roaring with laughter and amusement, if anything louder than they were cheering before. The dwarf bent over, a long string of slimy goo hanging from her mouth, eyes bulging as she fought to bring the rest of it up. I chuckled mean-spiritedly, thinking of how tough the ranger had presented herself. Maybe it wasn’t arrogance and disdain for the rest of the world that made her so filthy and uncouth. Perhaps it was all an act, just the mask of a sensitive soul too frightened to seek the acceptance of-

Imagine the laughter dying, first slowly, then with increasing rapidity, until, in the span of five breaths, the room is deathly silent. Clearing her throat unpleasantly, Rakonia bent down, gathering up the semi-liquid contents of her vomit in the tankard. Stunned, everyone watched as she approached the barkeep, holding the vessel out. With undisguised disgust, he waved the tankard away. “No, keep it-”

“Again,” Rakonia stated, clearing her throat and spitting noisily. “Put more on top. I’ll drink it all.” There were gasps from the crowd. Rainbow made a noise and clenched her stomach with both hands while Zeyara, Vega and Skalmold looked on in horrified fascination.

I watched as, once again, the hagfish slime was harvested from an aquarium behind the bar, and the disgusting mixture was raised up by the dwarf, as if in salute. The room remained deathly silent as it tilted back… only to erupt in thunderous glee when, a moment later, the dwarf began projectile vomiting with impressive force.

While the others looked on in dismay, and in Zeyara’s case frank and outright horror, I sensed a different problem. Here we were, standing around supposedly supporting our crazy looking dwarf friend. The laughter, while not cruel, was filled with the sounds of derision. Rakonia had made an impression.

Somewhat mockingly, the barkeep had looked at us with a rueful shake of his head. “Anyone else want to take the challenge?”

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“Why? Why would you do it? Is no one civilized among the bunch of you?” Zeyara looked around in desperation. “You,” she stated, pointing to Rainbow. “You’re the most cultured out of any of them!”

At least I didn’t try to drink my own vomit. I was still gasping for breath at this point. The cheering, the applause, the smell of charred wood as my name had been burnt into the wall of fame… it was all a blur. The twenty-eighth winner in over fifty years of attempts. Even as I choked, I patted the coinpurse tucked underneath my leggings, its weight as reassuring as the looks of admiration, or possibly just novelty, that the townsfolk had worn.

Afterward, I’d stuck around for as long as I could stand, but once outside I’d walked a few blocks and shoved a finger down my throat, forcing up the heavy mass of uncomfortable slime that filled my stomach to its limit. The long stringy mess had taken some work to get out, and I had this horrible image of puking out a tentacle that never ended. I still dream about that.

Better up than out the other end, I suppose. I could hear the dwarf’s explosive stomach problems half a block away. Idly, I hoped that she’d had the sense to find some cover before pulling down her pants. If she remembered that part. I wasn’t too concerned, she wasn’t sleeping in the room with us, and all I could think about was bed.

But upon arriving back, the Rusty Dragon was largely empty. The others decided to close the place down, while I quickly took advantage of the empty bath and washed away the lingering smell of fishy slime.

By the time I returned, Zeyara, Skalmold, Vega and Rainbow were standing around the prone form of Rakonia, who was snoring loudly.

“The bath is open,” I said, and with a matching set of evil grins, the five of us turned back to the dwarf.

“Who’s going to carry her?” Zeyara asked, glancing significantly at me and the blonde barbarian.

“I’ll help,” I stated, grabbing a tablecloth and throwing it over the crumpled, lumpy form. “But that means someone else is scrubbing her.”

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Next time: Wake up with a haircut, competition fruition, and kill and be killed.

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Welcome to your campaign!
A blog for your campaign

Wondering how to get started? Here are a few tips:

1. Invite your players

Invite them with either their email address or their Obsidian Portal username.

2. Edit your home page

Make a few changes to the home page and give people an idea of what your campaign is about. That will let people know you’re serious and not just playing with the system.

3. Choose a theme

If you want to set a specific mood for your campaign, we have several backgrounds to choose from. Accentuate it by creating a top banner image.

4. Create some NPCs

Characters form the core of every campaign, so take a few minutes to list out the major NPCs in your campaign.

A quick tip: The “+” icon in the top right of every section is how to add a new item, whether it’s a new character or adventure log post, or anything else.

5. Write your first Adventure Log post

The adventure log is where you list the sessions and adventures your party has been on, but for now, we suggest doing a very light “story so far” post. Just give a brief overview of what the party has done up to this point. After each future session, create a new post detailing that night’s adventures.

One final tip: Don’t stress about making your Obsidian Portal campaign look perfect. Instead, just make it work for you and your group. If everyone is having fun, then you’re using Obsidian Portal exactly as it was designed, even if your adventure log isn’t always up to date or your characters don’t all have portrait pictures.

That’s it! The rest is up to your and your players.

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