| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 31 May 2004 : 02:16:22
Upon this Fateful Day
Note: This story represents the events in a solid 24-hour period, with each chapter representing one hour of that day. The following takes place from 12:00pm to 1:00pm. No wizards were harmed in the making of this story.
Edit note: Be aware, this story may be missing italics in some places, since I copied the text straight from the original Word document. They will be corrected in the future as I find them.
[12:00] Midday
The bells atop the city clock tower began chiming in the distance, heralding a new hour over Baldur’s Gate. To the many people throughout the town, those chimes were meaningless; another routine effect of their dreary lives. In a dimly lit tavern at the southeastern corner of the city, the chimes were the signal for the death that was about to occur.
“Time is an illusion,” said the old man, “A day, a year, a decade… it makes little difference how much time slips away. All past actions eventually return to you, full circle.”
“You knew it would come to this, Verskul,” said a cold female voice behind him.
“In the end, what can a person do but look back on all their yesterdays, all their ‘accomplishments’, and laugh at the futility of it all?” Verskul grasped the amulet over his chest, “When your time has run its course, what is left of you but shadows and memories?”
“It is time now, old man. Prepare yourself to die.”
Over the next twenty-four hours, everything would change. The fate of over a million lives was now hanging in the balance on borrowed time.
(12:01)
Brushing aside the curtain that separated the rest of the store from his living quarters, Derrick stepped out onto the rickety hardwood floor, garbed in his old grey adventurer’s tunic and pants for the first time in six years. He was surprised they still fit. As he moved toward the door, his store assistant Ayva called out to him from behind a stack of small crates.
The former adventurer looked about his shop and sighed. The walls of the shop were lined with all sorts of obscure antiques, colourful trinkets, and magical miscellany that he and several friends had acquired over the years. He recently hired Ayva to help him run the place… though he wished she wouldn’t insist on him being within sight at all times. Made him feel old.
He was still young enough to go questing, or so he believed, but the daily struggle of owning a modest pawnshop at the edge of one of the Sword Coast’s largest cities was quickly adding the grey strands to his hair. Still, he was content with the way business had been going for the past five years.
“Derrick,” she asked in her usual patronizing tone, “I thought we were going to go over the monthly income figures before the tax collectors show up tomorrow?”
Always down to business without even a hello. Derrick shook his head, “I received an urgent message from an old friend. I’ll just be heading out to see what the problem is.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to protest, “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be back within the hour.”
“Somehow, I doubt you’ll show your face around here until tomorrow morning, just as the tax-men arrive. And having a hangover might not help the situation.”
“I assure you, I’ve no intention of downing any drinks until tonight’s celebrations are over. A drunk hanging around the shop wouldn’t have the best effect on business, I imagine. Here, if you’re so uncertain…” He walked over to the counter and flipped an antique hourglass. The grains of sand began to run down and fill the lower half. “If I’m not back before the sands run out, I’ll double your pay for a month.”
Ayva frowned at him. “Fine, you have one hour. Say hello to Rombis for me, and keep safe out there.”
“I always do.” Derrick chimed as he slipped out onto the street.
(12:04)
The gnomish enchanter gingerly dripped a green glowing fluid onto the crystalline object in front of him, waiting patiently as the liquid slowly spread out over the crystal shard. After the dropper had emptied, he closed his eyes and concentrated, sensing the magical force now contained in the crystal before him. The gnome waited for the fluid to harden over the crystal, then carefully wrapped the delicate device in opaque cloth and pushed it forward with three other identical packages. “There, that’s the last one.” He muttered to the man standing idly at the opposite side of the room.
“I take it the others are securing the transportation, Melik?” replied the well-dressed con artist. He didn’t have a good feeling about this mission, especially with such a short amount of time left to prepare, but he wasn’t about to let that slip with his employer.
“They’ll be ready,” snapped the gnome, “You on the other hand had better handle the crystals gracefully. I’d rather not see all my hard work literally go up in flames before the sun even sets. Four crystals, four chances to get it right. And Terrence, make sure you’re out of the way when they go off. If you do foul up, we’ll need someone to set the other crystals.”
Terrence snorted and sat down, propping his feet on the table, “Nice to feel so important. Don’t worry, Melik, I’ve been conning nobility for years. It’ll go without flaw.”
“See that it does. I want those people dead long before the next sunrise.”
(12:16)
Although they lived on the same street, years had passed since Derrick spoke with his dwarven friend, Rombis. The old ex-battlerager had given up his axe and shield in favour of a beer mug and… another beer mug. It surprised Derrick that the dwarf managed to stay in business, since it defied all logic that Rombis would allow alcohol to remain in the taps rather than in his belly. He arrived at the tavern and found himself in an empty, dimly lit barroom. Squinting in the shadows, Derrick tentatively stepped forth, and nearly keeled over. (12:18)
His mind was reeling. He was staring down at a human corpse outlined by a large pool of blood. Sunlight suddenly poured in from an open window, illuminating the unusual floor centrepiece. He kneeled down for a moment, and picked up a shiny stiletto dagger lying beside the body.
The corpse was that of an old man with very stiff facial features. His post-death expression didn’t display any fear or anger, but a calm serenity that led Derrick to believe that the fellow might have been caught unaware.
The doors burst open and a trio of guards rushed in, led by a young woman in a green veil. “There, Lieutenant, that man is a murderer!” she shouted, pointing directly at Derrick as if the guards needed further help spotting him.
Derrick himself was about to protest, but he realized that he was holding the murder weapon in his hand and any words would be considered dubious at best. Wonderful. He’d walked the straight line for six years, then suddenly he gets framed! Seeing no other option, he bolted away from the guards and leaped through the window, fleeing out into the streets of a suddenly unforgiving city.
(12:21)
The guards collectively cursed, and two moved off to pursue the escaped killer, each making a bumbling attempt to jump through the window in heavy plate mail. The remaining Lieutenant bent down to check the dead man and looked to the woman who had flagged them down, “Madam, I’m afraid you’ll need to wait until my superiors get here. I’ve a feeling they’ll want to question you personally about what happened.”
With tears welling up in her eyes, the woman nodded silently.
Sighing and with a slight shake of his head, the guard grabbed a nearby table cloth and carefully draped it over the body. Someone was going to pay for this.
Derrick swore and skidded to a stop as a guard stepped into view at the end of the alley. He snatched a dirty blanket hanging out of a garbage can and tossed it over his shoulders as a makeshift disguise. Realizing he couldn’t return to the pawnshop with a squad of guardsmen in tow, the framed adventurer instead ran north to an open bazaar. The market was thankfully full of activity and customers browsing the various stalls.
Knocking a crate of oranges out of the way, he merged into the crowd, and glanced furtively over his shoulder. The guards had spotted him! They were shoving aside peasants who had stopped to grab the fallen oranges, still hollering at him to stop as if they expected him to suddenly change his mind and surrender. From his pocket, Derrick pulled a scrap of parchment and a piece of charcoal, and began to frantically scrawl a message as he moved across the square.
(12:27)
A guard barked at the meddlesome peasants, prompting many to move quickly. Peering across the square, he could see the killer wearing a pathetic muddy sheet over his head. He was about to close in when a horse-drawn wagon veered by, swerving to avoid the fruit-grabbing peasants.
“Move aside!” shouted the wagon driver as the guards narrowly jumped away.
Making a rude gesture at the driver, they turned their attention back to the man wearing the dirty blanket, who was now crouched behind one of the stalls. A guard stormed forward and yanked the sheet away…
“Ah! Spare some alms for an ol’ man, sir?” wailed the beggar squatting underneath. The guard blinked, and stared at the blanket in his hand. The beggar noticed the guard’s interest, “Ah, a kind gentleman threw that over me shoulders just now. I’m never one to refuse charity, so-”
He hurled the blanket back at the old beggar and shook his head at the other guard. Where was the murderer?
(12:30)
Derrick peeked out over the edge of the moving wagon, making sure that the guards were gone. He stayed on for a few more minutes, travelling north a while before jumping off some distance away from the market. Now that he was out of danger for the moment, he could stop and consider his next move. The ex-adventurer darted into a side street, wondering just what in the hells he was going to do now.
(12:36)
An sneering elf, clad entirely in black, stepped into the stables at the edge of town and approached the nearest stable-hand, a small dirty halfling. “You there, half-size. I am a… contact from the city guard. I need to know where are the horses that will be used by the diplomats arriving today, and exactly what time they’ll be needed.”
The halfling squinted and grinned, “Well, now! That’s no way to introduce yourself!” He dropped his shovel, extending a filthy hand, “My name’s Flink, what’s yours?”
The elf wrinkled his nose in disgust, not returning the smile or the gesture, “I am not interested in pleasantries, halfling, I demand you tell me what I want to know this instant.”
“Well, now, I can’t really tell you that sir! Never know when there might be spies or assassins lurking about. It would really be bad if someone were to die just because someone said the wrong thing to the wrong person, you know?”
“Can you read?” demanded the elf as he pulled out a scroll. The halfling shook his head. The elf didn’t seem to care, and briefly waved the scroll at halfling, then put it away without letting the stable worker really get a good look at it. “It’s an official notice stating that all civilians and guards are to give me leave to pass on official business from the Baldur’s Gate city council. Show me the horses.” He leveled a dark gaze at the halfling.
The halfling looked flustered, but didn’t contradict the elf. “Uh, yes sir. This way.”
He led the man into a room near the back of the stables, where several well-bred black horses stood idly in their pens. A middle-aged, narrow-faced human stable worker was there, grooming one of the horses. As the pair approached, the groomer stepped forward, “Now, what is the meaning of this? Nobody is supposed to come back here except the paladins! These horses are for-”
“Dace, he has a pass from the council.” Flink whispered.
“Does he now?” replied the narrow-faced man, “Good.” In an instant, the groomer pulled a short sword from behind his back and slashed at the surprised elf, who collapsed as blood spurted from his throat. The horses nearby brayed in agitation.
“Flink, throw him in the back with the stable workers’ corpses,” Dace ordered. “I cannot wait to get out of these serf’s clothes. Get the pass off his corpse, we will meet with Melik within the hour.”
Dace wiped his sword off on the hay, leaving as the halfling hid the evidence of their bloody deed. Such is the work of assassins.
(12:49)
Captain Atamir cursed. Only a dwarf would keep every bottle in his tavern magically locked in cages. He stood from behind the bar after checking the locks, then figured he should get back to the murder case. “One more time, miss,” he said to the green-veiled woman at the bar, “you heard one of the local merchants get in an argument with this wizard,” he waved unconcernedly at the corpse that was being checked by the clerics, “and this merchant drew a dagger and stabbed him in the chest.”
The woman in green nodded silently.
“Hm. Typical barroom death. I see this all the time, you know? Nothing surprises me out here any more. Know where this merchant works?”
“Yes, he owns a pawn shop somewhere in town.”
(12:53)
Fearing he might be lost, Derrick lurked down the narrow alleyway, searching the walls for the door into the building. There were two men in rags sitting at either side of the alley, each appearing to be asleep. To Derrick it was obvious they were thieves. He wished they’d be a little more discreet about it.
As he passed, the pair shot up from the ground and blocked his path. Derrick expected this. What he didn’t expect were the two jagged-edged swords they seemed to pull from out of nowhere. “Well, what have we ‘ere? A cheeky traveler wandering round this part of town?”
“Ha, what could he possibly be thinking?” cackled the other thief.
“Maybe we ought to lighten ‘is purse a little, aye? Make it little easier for him to travel, hm?”
Derrick spoke with a sharp tone, “Actually, I was thinking you’d best back down. I’m one ‘cheeky traveler’ you may soon regret crossing.” The thieves merely snickered and advanced, waving their blades back and forth.
(12:59)
Within a certain pawnshop in the corner of the city, Ayva peeked out at the crowd brewing down the street… something suspect was going on out there. Behind her, the last few grains of sand in the hourglass fell through to the bottom.
[1:00]
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| 26 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| Rhezarnos |
Posted - 12 May 2005 : 05:48:23
I'm sorry that I didn't read through every post you wrote (no excuses for that) but from what I've read, it's quite interesting and well written. Don't worry, will try to finish reading every thing ASAP. |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 11 May 2005 : 20:02:11
Epilogue: A Coda in Grey
One Month Later
“Captain!” shouted the junior officer as he burst into Atamir’s office without knocking as usual.
Atamir slammed his wardrobe shut and whirled on the guard, “What in the hells do you want?!”
“Uh, sir, that elven cleric of Tyr sent another message asking about the whereabouts of someone named ‘Krevis’. How should I respond?”
“Bah, tell her the same thing as usual: Krevis vanished after the day of the summit attacks, and is still at large somewhere.” The Captain waved a hand and growled, “Dismissed, and don’t come back about this matter again!”
The young man saluted and quickly left, eager to be away from the hotheaded guard captain.
Atamir’s cheek twitched. The elf woman would grow suspicious soon, but he would be long gone by the time she figured out the truth behind what happened.
The Captain opened his wardrobe once more and stared at the single piece of clothing within. It was a lone suit of leather armour that he had stitched together himself from several different coloured patches of fabric. It was the sheer chaos of the patchwork design that the malicious spirit within him enjoyed so much.
“Yes,” Atamir said to himself, “Soon the hunt shall begin anew.”
* * *
Verskul opened his eyes, but found that his vision was blurred. Wait… he opened his eyes? The wizard came to attention and gasped as he realized that he had eyelids. Staggering to his feet, he quickly found that he seemed to be back in his original body; flesh, skin, and all.
“How is this possible…” he stopped as he tried to look around. It was extremely hot here, wherever ‘here’ was, and the old wizard could smell smoke and charred flesh burning nearby. Rubbing his eyes, Verskul wondered how he could have possibly been restored to his old body. Unless…
Verskul blinked as his vision cleared, then his eyes widened in horror. He was standing in a dimly lit underground cavern, perched atop a small red island in a lake of bubbling lava. Stumbling backward, he gazed up at the stalactites lining the ceiling like teeth in a predator’s maw.
“The Nine Hells…” he whispered, “I’ve been banished to the Nine Hells and imprisoned in my weak, frail body?!”
“Yes,” uttered a booming, gravelly voice behind him.
The wizard stiffened for a moment and his eyes shifted to the side. Moving quickly, he then spun around and raised his hands, shouting the syllable for a magic missile. The spell instantly fizzled and left his hands in a puff of smoke.
“Nice try, ‘wizard’.”
Verskul found himself staring up at a five-metre tall, black-scaled baatezu devil carrying a huge, bloody sickle.
“We’ve been expecting you,” growled the monster, “You sought eternal existence in life? You’ll have to settle for eternal existence in death. This will not be a pleasant experience for you…”
Verskul cried out in fear for the first time as he looked around for a way to escape. Down in the lava, several familiar faces bubbled up to the surface, each screaming his name in pain. Treysen, Ayva, the Shield Knights… but Lorelei and Krevis were strangely absent.
“No, Verskul,” cackled the baatezu as it loomed closer, holding its sickle high, “You shall not leave this place. You are to remain here for a very, very long time.”
“This isn’t right…” said Verskul as he stood paralyzed in fear.
This isn’t right.
This isn’t right.
This isn’t right...
* * *
In one of the many small buildings in the city graveyard, Derrick was staring quietly at a grey stone coffin, uncertain where he should begin.
“Hello, Syra,” he said meekly to the tomb of his lost wife. He sent a doubtful glance over to the exit of his family crypt, where Bryn was standing just outside of earshot. His son simply gave a slight nod.
He turned back to the coffin, “I’m sorry that this will probably be both the first and last time that I come to visit you.” Derrick closed his eyes and lowered his head, “For years I’ve been afraid. Afraid to face my past, afraid to face the consequences of my actions, afraid to face you.
“But not long ago, I learned something. Time really is just an illusion; in the end, everyone does have to face their past and answer for the things they’ve done before. I never understood that before. Not when I lost you, not even when I lost so many others around me.” He briefly thought of his sister Jena and all those who had died as a result of his actions. Even Lorelei and Myrk. Heck, even that bastard Orwin.
“But even after all that I’ve been through, have I made peace with myself? Have I truly found absolution for the wrongs in my past?”
He waited in silence, but Syra could give him no answer.
“You’re right. There can’t really be any resolution to those questions. All I can do is ask your forgiveness for the things I have caused, and hope you can find it in your heart.” He kissed his hand and touched it to the grey coffin lid, “Goodbye, Syra. I’ll see you again some day, in one world or another.”
With that said, Derrick pulled his cloak back on around his shoulders and slowly walked with his cane toward the exit of the crypt. The man paused for a moment as he stepped outside and looked down at his son.
“It’s time to go. I think I’m ready to move on.”
* * *
True to her word, cleric Selena Shademoor oversaw the destruction of Verskul’s phylactery one month after the events of the fateful day. One year later, she would be promoted and named a full Priestess of Tyr for her faithful deeds. To this day, she continues to perform her divination and healing services in Tyr’s name.
* * *
With the destruction of both his phylactery and magical essence, Verskul’s spirit was banished to an afterlife in the many layers of the Nine Hells. He never escaped this bleak realm, and remained there to suffer for eternity.
* * *
Unconcerned about Chancellor Thinder’s death, the ambassadors from Waterdeep, Athkatla, and Tethyr, approved and managed the formation of an elite navy to use for their own purposes along the Sword Coast. Three years later, the first ship from this oceanic force finally set sail.
* * *
Although there were no witnesses or direct evidence to connect Dace with any of the murders he had committed on the fateful day, he was quickly charged and tried on several previous crimes that he had done in the past, ranging from kidnappings to assassinations.
Much of the case against him was carried out due to the efforts of Selena Shademoor and covert information supplied by an unnamed source. Dace was eventually declared guilty on all counts of his crimes, and was sentenced to serve three consecutive life terms as Lancam’s Isle prison, just off the coast of Baldur’s Gate.
He never fulfilled his entire sentence.
* * *
A few months after the death of his former friend Krevis, Captain Durin Atamir quietly resigned from his position in the Baldur’s Gate city guard under claims of ‘conflicting interests’. He vanished from the city without a trace mere days after his resignation, and his current whereabouts are unknown.
* * *
With the death of guild leader Orwin, the disappearance of guild lieutenant Rassa, and the absence of guild lieutenant Tomar on the fateful day, the head position of their near-destroyed Shadow Thief guildhouse was left vacant. The guild’s Shadowmasters in Athkatla subsequently promoted Cerdan, the only available lieutenant, and named him the new leader of the local guildhouse. He operated his guildhouse admirably for the next few years.
* * *
After the explosion atop the city clock tower, Derrick Curaten’s leg was left too severely damaged to be fully healed, leaving him crippled for the remainder of his life. With this injury, his days of adventuring and action were now brought to an irrevocable, and perhaps liberating, conclusion. He soon closed his Baldur’s Gate pawnshop following the events of the fateful day.
Shortly after, both he and his son Bryn moved away from the city and traveled north to the city of Waterdeep, far away from the influence of the Shadow Thief guild and most other official thieves’ guilds. For the remainder of his lifetime, Derrick never returned to Baldur’s Gate.
With his son now safe and the liche Verskul forever destroyed, Derrick knew that his story had finally come to a close.
* * *
Despite the best efforts of Selena Shademoor’s testimony to her superiors, the Church of Tyr refused to acknowledge that the city had been saved by a lowly ex-thief. Because the public knowledge of the events on the fateful day was left shrouded, very few people would come to know of Derrick Curaten. And those who did know would just as quickly forget his name as they returned once more to the routine proceedings of their lives.
Like so many other heroes and villains, both Derrick and Verskul would fade away in time, soon to be left as nothing more than footnotes in the grander history of the city.
However, the events set in motion by Verskul on this fateful day could not be undone. With the liche’s death, shadowed eyes were now focused on Baldur’s Gate. Already, the gears of an entirely new threat were beginning to turn. For others, this story was only just the beginning.
Fin
Author's notes:
Well, that's it. If anyone has actually read this whole thing through, then bless you. I hope it wasn't TOO bad.
I do intend to write a sequel to follow up on the ‘other enemies’ that Verskul hinted at, as well as the consequences of the events that happened in the story. But I’ll probably take some time to write one or two short stories before I get around to that.
I'm always open to questions, comments or suggestions, so feel free to post a review or send me an e-mail if you like. Peace out.
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| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 08 May 2005 : 08:01:49
Fires on the Horizon
(11:00)
Bryn’s entire body was paralyzed with shock. But even in his stunned state, he was keenly aware of the vital fact that he was still alive. The boy’s wits finally returned to him, and he saw Krevis’ crossbow lying on the ground, still loaded. Following his gaze up, Bryn gasped and took a step back.
Krevis toppled over and landed hard against the ground. The tip of a glowing crossbow bolt protruded from the man’s eye, which was now leaking blood all over the corpse’s face.
Shrieking slightly, Bryn frantically wiped his own face, struggling to be rid of the blood that had sprayed when the magic bolt pierced through Krevis’ skull.
“Are you hurt, kid?”
Bryn looked up and saw an armoured man with the insignia of the city guard standing behind Krevis, his own crossbow in hand and a few glowing bolts on his belt.
“What – what did you do?” the boy choked out.
Atamir never took his eyes off Krevis’ fallen form. Without any other magical weapons, Atamir was forced to use the same magical bolts that Krevis had dropped behind on the battlefield during the wyvern’s attack.
“There was no time,” the Captain said in a daze, “So I made a choice.”
(11:04)
Cerdan and Derrick stood off to the side of the street while Selena spoke to the cleric that was guarding a path out of the district.
“Do you really think she won’t just have us arrested?” asked Derrick.
“Trust me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s women.”
The ex-thief snorted, “That’ll be the day.” He sent an uneasy glance up at the clock tower. The pulsating red cloud in the sky would undoubtedly attract attention, but Derrick wasn’t sure if there would be any unassigned, able-bodied guards left in the immediate area after the wyvern attack.
Selena returned to the pair as the cleric she was speaking with hurried off to the north. “I explained the situation to him as best I could. He’ll rally whatever help he can find from Greyhelm Tower.” The elf shook her head slightly, “But with the disarray of things back there, I’m uncertain if he’ll be able to meet us at the clock tower for another hour, at least.”
“Fine. We’ll have to figure something out on our way there,” Derrick said as he set off toward the liche’s position, “Maybe we can use Verskul’s phylactery as a bargaining chip.”
“That won’t work,” Selena explained, “I don’t see how it can be of use unless we destroy it. And the holy ritual to destroy a phylactery as powerful as that one would take hours to complete.”
“Well pardon us for our complete ignorance, oh wise one,” interrupted Cerdan, “But how exactly are we going to fight a liche? Can’t you cast a turn undead spell or something?”
The cleric hesitated a moment. In truth, she had never even fought a liche before. “My turning ability is too weak to cause anything more than some skin irritation in a zombie. I’m just a diviner, remember.” She absently touched the holy symbol on her neck. “The liche’s power comes from the magical connection with his phylactery. Sever that link, and you cut off whatever spells the creature was casting.”
“You said we can’t destroy it.”
“No, but perhaps we could break the link from the liche’s end. I still have a Bolt of Glory spell left. It might be enough to weaken Verskul’s physical form and disrupt his spell.”
Derrick nodded along, even though he didn’t like the uncertainty in the woman’s voice. “We also need to see if he has the Sigils. Somehow they’re vital to his ritual.”
“Very well, leave that to me,” declared Cerdan, “I’ve never picked a liche's pocket before, but today seems as good a day as any to try.” He tugged at the edge of his glove and shook his head slightly. “Hm. Two thieves and a mediocre cleric against a liche-wizard with enough power to wipe out an entire city. Not a good day to be me.”
Selena pointed at Derrick, “Then you’ll just need to keep him distracted and then stay out of the way while we do our tasks.”
“Alright,” Derrick said as they neared the clock tower, “I’m counting on you two.”
That was a very bad choice to make.
(11:11)
“Go on, kid,” Atamir said to Bryn, “I’ll take care of this mess.”
Bryn swallowed nervously and nodded, then rushed away, now more eager than ever to escape this region.
The Captain crouched down beside his former friend’s body and for the first time in many years, lowered his head in prayer.
“I’m sorry, Krevis. I ended your life here today just as I ended your life by hiring you to kill Aelun so many years ago.” He shook his head in regret, “My vendetta, all those years of hatred and anger at paladins and their ilk… I always believed I was in the right. Yet here I am now, soon to be cursed by the same spirit that afflicted both Aelun and you.”
Atamir slowly rose to his feet, “But what will I do now? What bloody vendettas will I incite in others, should I become like you?”
Krevis was silent and unmoving, offering neither reassurance nor solace to the Captain.
“Goodbye, Krevis. May you find peace at last.”
(11:15)
Derrick stared directly up at the tall building, wondering if this would be his final hour alive. Or perhaps his finest hour alive.
Approaching from behind, Cerdan passed a longsword to his friend, tilting his head toward a store across the street. “Here, don’t ask how or where. I just figured we might need weapons, so I ‘acquired’ a few of them.”
Selena unclasped the mace from her belt and held it ready, “Come. It’s time to go.” She placed her hand against the doors, but was abruptly shocked by a spark of electricity, forcing her to flinch back.
“He has a magical field blocking the entrance,” she said, “I don’t have any more spells that can dispel this ward…”
Derrick reached into his pocket, “Step aside.” Drawing out the liche’s phylactery, he held out the silver pendant and touched it against the field. As it made contact, a slight ripple appeared in the invisible barrier and extended outward, making the doorway look like a wall of water. A few moments later, the field burst in a small flash of light, forcing all three of them to shield their eyes.
When the light cleared, the field was gone, and only the wooden doors remained. Without waiting for the others to say anything, Cerdan shrugged and boldly pushed them open. “If that’s the best he has to offer, then maybe this won’t take so long after all.” He then disappeared inside. “So much the better. I haven’t even had breakfast yet today.”
Derrick gripped the hilt of the sword and began to follow the elves. The ex-thief paused for a moment and sent one last glance at Greyhelm Tower in the south.
“Someone will be watching over you, Bryn.”
And he then turned away to face the looming threat.
(11:18)
The doors of Greyhelm Tower creaked open, and the clerics and pages began spilling out into the streets, quite eager to flee to the perceived security and safety of their own homes. Among the crowd were the three diplomats from Athkatla, Waterdeep, and Tethyr.
“We are in agreement, then?” Lord Siron said to his counterparts.
Ambassadors Korrien and Elsina nodded. “We are. All that remains now is the official announcement.”
“Indeed,” Siron caught a young page by the shoulder, “You there, boy, send word that we are to make a special declaration before the remaining officials and envoys in half an hour. The entire city should hear of what we have to say as well.”
The page nodded and scurried off, leaving Siron confident that the message would be delivered quickly enough. Even with the scene devastation in the streets all around him, Siron found himself smiling.
(11:20)
Derrick quietly crept up the last of the stairs to the top of the clock tower. Standing in a square around the wide rooftop were four massive stone pillars that held the tower’s bell suspended at the centre by cables. Verskul was standing on the opposite side of the roof, facing the city with his back to the stairwell.
Hiding behind one of the pillars, the ex-thief peeked around at the liche. The glowing Sigil around Verskul’s neck was currently enveloped in an aura the very same colour as the dark blood-like clouds overhead. The artifact was beating like an artificial heart, causing the clouds to expand with every stroke.
Squinting at the undead wizard, Derrick noticed two things; Verskul was neither chanting his spell, nor moving his hands for the casting gesture. A cold pit formed in Derrick’s stomach. Were they too late to stop the casting?
He glanced over and saw that Cerdan was in position behind one of the other stone pillars, ready to approach and lift the Sigil once Selena’s spell was fired off.
Raising his head slightly, Verskul listened carefully. Over the humming noise from the Sigil, he became acutely aware of the sounds of several figures moving around behind him. The liche shifted his weight to one foot and began to focus his mind on another spell.
Selena was the last to emerge from the stairwell. Standing by the edge of the rooftop, she halted for a moment and stared at the clouds forming above. The crimson shade had already grown to cover about half the city. What’s more, she could make out tiny specks of flame starting to appear in the air against the dark red backdrop.
“Psst!” Derrick made a furtive gesture at the elven woman, wondering what she was waiting for.
Nodding quickly, the cleric raised her hands and closed her eyes, then began to softly whisper the Bolt of Glory incantation. It was at this point that Verskul pivoted around and thrust a bony hand forward, sending a purple bolt of energy flying across the rooftop toward Selena.
“Hold it, look out!” Cerdan leaped from his hiding spot and dove at the woman, tackling her to the ground as the spear of energy soared past. The sudden interruption disrupted Selena’s concentration, and the spell fizzled into a useless puff of smoke from her hands.
“Two incompetent elves?” said the undead wizard, “This is the best they have to send against me? You are hardly even worth the effort.”
Verskul raised both his hands and touched the skeletal thumbs together. A sudden gale of wind seemed to blow from his sleeves, blasting both elves around in the air and juggling them like a pair of marionettes.
Clinging to the stone pillar, Derrick watched in horror as Cerdan and Selena, both screaming against the rushing wind, were thrown one by one over the edge of the roof and fell out of sight.
Selena continued screaming as she fell from a tower for the second time in the day. Her plummeting cries were soon cut short as her cloak unexpectedly snagged on the high branch of a tree near the base of the tower. However, the sudden stop gave her little relief, as the clasp of her cloak cut into her neck and began choking her.
Cerdan fell past a split second later, missing the tree completely and colliding directly into the ground with a sickening crunch.
Gagging on her cloak, the initial shock faded and Selena fumbled for the release pin in panic. Before she could find it, there was a short tearing noise and the edge of her cloak ripped, letting the elf fall free. But as she fell, her head crashed against one of the tree’s lower branches and the cleric was knocked into a daze before she even touched the ground.
Back on the rooftop, Derrick’s heart was gripped in fear. He rushed to the side of the building as soon as the magical winds ended and peered down over the edge. As far as he could tell, both elves lay completely immobile on the ground below. Whether they were alive or not, he couldn’t see. In any case, the ex-thief was now left alone against the powerful enemy.
“Ah, the one who killed Lorelei,” Verskul said as he saw Derrick, “I’m told you are a resourceful pest.” The liche raised his hand again and sent a series of glowing electric sparks jumping through the air toward him.
The ex-thief took cover behind the pillar again, and the magical attacks struck the stone support, each one driving a fist-sized hole into the structure amid a cloud of dust.
Damn it all, Derrick thought as he looked up at the sky. The red clouds were continuing to spread, even though the liche’s concentration had been diverted to other spells and distractions. He would have to stall for time as he came up with a better plan.
“Why are you doing this?” Derrick shouted as the liche continued his spell assault, “Why destroy the city and yourself as well?”
“Myself? Ha, a simple teleportation cantrip will see me away safely from this doomed city. Baldur’s Gate is only the beginning, you see. There is more going on than you can ever hope to understand.” The liche continued to hurl spells into the pillar, creating more and more damage to weaken the support. Verskul knew that Derrick was stalling, but it didn’t make much difference. After all, liches possessed enough magic force to cast innumerable spells. And the longer Derrick tried to stall, more time would turn against him as the ritual approached completion.
“I won’t let you use the Sigils’ power! There are–”
“Use them? No, mortal, you have it all wrong.” Verskul would have sneered if he could. “I intend to destroy the Sigils of the Fallen. These artifacts contain some of the essence of a former god. Have you any idea how much untapped power that is? And like any form of energy, magic can be converted into raw force if its containment is broken.”
“But why destroy them?” Derrick was frantically checking his pockets for something he could use against the liche.
“You think I am the only one looking for the Sigils? I will deny this power to others.”
“That still doesn’t explain anything.”
“Do you believe yourself to be a hero?” asked Verskul, ignoring Derrick’s question, “If you manage to defeat me, do you think anyone will remember your name a year from now?” He let out a bitter laugh, “You’ll simply be forgotten like countless other ‘heroes’ in this false existence. In the end, all things are devoured and lost to the ruin of time.”
The wizard unleashed a huge, green magical fist that punched into the side of the pillar, creating a massive breach across the stone. Derrick gripped his sword, knowing he couldn’t stay in this spot much longer.
“So like all other thoughtless mortals,” continued Verskul, “You seek to grasp all that you can in life, deluding yourself with quests and ambitions. Lorelei sought revenge. Treysen and Ayva wanted eternal life. The Shield Knights and mercenaries wanted gold and prestige. Krevis… simply enjoyed killing. But what of you? What do you have that is worth living for?” Verskul paused his attacks, hoping to goad Derrick into leaving his cover.
Derrick braced himself. I’m doing this for my son. He burst from behind the pillar and threw his longsword at the liche as he dived behind one of the pillars closer to the liche.
Verskul simply raised his palm, and the sword was enveloped in a red glow before striking. Calmly lowering his hand, Verskul allowed the sword to hang frozen in mid-air before him.
“Fools and dreamers all. My quest was once to seek eternal life for myself. Now I seek to deny it for others.” Verskul made a slight motion with his fingers, and the sword began to orbit around the liche in a circle.
Derrick reached into his tunic and touched the hard surface of the Wizard’s Box. “What ‘others’? Who are you talking about?” he asked, hoping to keep the liche babbling on.
“Right now you believe that I am the most dangerous enemy of this city. You are wrong. Pray that you never find out what that means.” Verskul paused a moment to look up at the red cloud, “I know you are trying to stall me. In truth, I was stalling you.”
Derrick’s head went up at this.
“But you fail to remember that I am a liche, and no longer limited by physical gestures and vocal spells like a mortal mage. So long as I have my magic, the spell ritual will continue to progress uninterrupted. Look upon the skies. The crimson death has nearly spread to cover all of this wretched city. Time is not on your side.”
Taking a deep breath, Derrick stared down at the Wizard’s Box. The infernus crystal had already been activated, and would no doubt explode mere seconds after it was removed from the anti-magic properties of the box. But Derrick had no other option. So far, he’d already survived one of the worst days of his life… now it was time to make a stand.
Jumping out from behind the pillar, Derrick pulled open the box in his hands, then thrust his arms forward, tossing the shadowed crystal at the liche.
Verskul didn’t move from his place or say anything. All he did was raise a hand, and a red aura appeared around the crystal, making it hover in place like the longsword.
“An infernus crystal,” the liche observed, “A good idea, but fruitless. My magic is more than able to shield me from the blast. Once again, you have failed to achieve anything mort–” Verskul stopped when he saw Derrick hold up the silver pendant.
Focused and unblinking, Derrick was holding Verskul’s phylactery a few centimetres over the open Wizard’s Box.
“Sorry, Verskul,” said Derrick, “Time’s up.”
He dropped the silver pendant into the box and clapped the lid shut. Instantly, the connection between Verskul’s physical body and his magical essence was severed, completely nullified by the Wizard’s Box.
The Sigil around Verskul’s neck stopped glowing, as did the auras around the sword and the infernus crystal. Both floating objects clattered to the ground, leaving Verskul dumbfounded as if part of his body had just been amputated.
“What is this…” Verskul whispered, shocked by the sensation of being robbed of magic, “What have y–”
The infernus crystal at his feet then exploded, sending a towering burst of flame in all directions. Derrick ducked behind the stone pillar, clapping his hands over his ears and lowering his head to his knees as the blast shook the clock tower roof. Although the pillar blocked the flames, the ensuing concussive force shook the very foundations, and the stone pillars crumbled to pieces.
From all around the city, civilians who had previously hidden themselves away in their homes upon seeing the red clouds now poked their heads outside as they heard the thundering explosion atop the city clock tower.
In a single minute, the explosion had cleared, leaving behind piles of stone rubble with clouds of dust and brimstone atop the building.
One pile of rubble suddenly moved, and a hand burst out from underneath. Derrick shoved the stone pieces out of the way and slowly, painfully, dragged himself away from the rubble. He was covered in dust and bleeding heavily from lacerations all over his body… but the fact that he was alive felt satisfying enough.
Breathing heavily, the ex-thief just lay on the rooftop for a long time, staring up at the sky and trying to ignore the intense pain in his leg. The crimson clouds had stopped expanding, and even now were beginning to fade. Small shafts of sunlight were starting to peek through the dark veil, and Derrick could see that the threat was over.
Looking down, he saw that the Wizard’s Box was still gripped tightly in his hand. The ex-thief quickly put the container away into his tunic before forcing himself up into a sitting position. He could see that his leg had been crushed by a particularly heavy stone slab, and had difficulty moving it aside.
The longsword he brought was lying nearby, caked in black dust. The man reached over and used the sword as a makeshift walking support to hobble on his feet. Favouring one leg and wincing with every movement, Derrick slowly crossed the roof to the place where Verskul had been standing.
To his surprise, Verskul’s cracked skull still remained there on the ground next to the oddly undamaged Sigil. The embers in the skull’s eyes were much dimmer than before, and there was a red wisp of energy slowly leaking from the liche’s mouth and dissipating into the air.
“Not… over…”
Derrick gasped and nearly fell backward as the liche’s jaw fell open.
“…greater threat is coming,” Verskul hissed weakly, “Fires on the horizon… but thanks to you, I will not be here to see it…”
After that, the red embers finally died out, and all that remained of Verskul was a charred skull and a series of broken ambitions.
Derrick carefully bent down and retrieved the Sigil of the Fallen. Part of him wondered what had happened to the second Sigil, but his better sense told him that after all he’d endured today, it shouldn’t be his problem.
He turned and made his way toward the stairs, but paused for a moment to gaze up to the north. As the last of the red clouds began to vanish, he couldn’t help but hear Verskul’s words echo one more time in his mind. The last of the crimson mists hung in the air, like fires on the horizon.
Did Verskul speak the truth? Was there another threat looming out there unseen to all?
The man shook his head. There was always another threat lurking somewhere in the world, but he didn’t care now. All that mattered was that Bryn and countless other innocents were safe, for a while at least. Derrick hobbled down the stairs, leaving his concerns behind for once.
(11:43)
Lord Siron stood atop a makeshift podium as he addressed the small crowd of city representatives who had been brave enough to stay at Greyhelm Tower throughout their many ordeals during the day. Flanking the envoy on either side were Elsina and Korrien, both patiently waiting for him to begin his speech.
“Lords and ladies,” Siron began, “Upon this fateful day, we have experienced a great many trials that threatened both this summit and the relations between our respective nations. Yet it is a tribute to our united resolve that we have remained here, unblinking in the face of danger and adversity.
“Even your own city’s chief representative, the late Chancellor Thinder, stood by his desire for a naval alliance up to his dying breath. Therefore, in his name and in recognition of our cooperative potential, our three nations, Athkatla, Waterdeep, and Tethyr, have elected to join forces with Baldur’s Gate. We shall bring to life the elite allied navy envisioned by Chancellor Thinder.”
Siron took a dramatic pause for the benefit of his audience before continuing…
(11:45)
“…Though we have all experienced great losses by the events of this day, it is only our intense dedication to the wellbeing of others that these heavy sacrifices are made…”
Captain Atamir stared solemnly as Krevis’ corpse was driven off in the wooden cart toward the city graveyard. All he could think about was his future. He knew what madness would one day befall him as a result of the choice he had just made. Was it worth it? Was he right to sacrifice his own life, his own sanity, all to save the life of a lone child?
He looked to the side and saw a small group of street kids laughing and playing in the street, blissfully unaware or unconcerned about the destruction and mayhem that had gripped the district mere hours ago.
“Yes,” Atamir whispered to himself, “I think it was the right choice.”
(11:48)
“…New alliances and new friendships must be forged for our mutual benefit and survival. Old animosities and mistrust serve only to weaken the union that our nations may one day hope to achieve…”
Selena watched as the other clerics hoisted Cerdan’s broken form onto a stretcher and began casting a few healing spells to stop his bleeding until they brought him to the nearest temple. The fall from the tower had rendered the thief’s arm and a leg broken, fractured several of his ribs, and caused a large amount of blood to leak down his side. Yet the halfwit still wouldn’t stop grinning at her.
“Now you owe me twice for saving your life. Feeling guilty yet for trying to arrest me?” chuckled the thief.
“First I will make this clear to you,” she said, “I cannot stand thieves. You are greedy, self-centred, sneaky, and altogether terrible people…” She raised her head slightly and sighed, “But I am thankful that you saved me.”
“Thankful enough to bless me with a kiss?” he asked with a wink.
“Don’t push it.”
Oh yes, Cerdan thought smugly, she likes me.
(11:51)
“…But we must remain ever vigilant if we are to move forward into this new era. Age-old foes and future enemies will undoubtedly arise, and it will be our duty to overcome whatever dangers may threaten the safety and stability of our cultures…”
“Get in there, you black-hearted scum,” ordered the guard.
Dace sent a chilling glare into the man’s eyes, prompting the guard to swallow nervously. The assassin smirked as he stood just outside the entrance to the city jail. He took a moment to briefly look up at the skies and enjoy the outside air one last time before he was locked away.
The assassin knew deep in his heart, however, that he would be free again. Perhaps not in a few days or a few months, perhaps not even in a few years… but like all other things, he would be overcome this setback.
There was always another day, he thought to himself as he passed inside the jail. After all, there was still much to be done…
(11:54)
“…And so we leave you with these closing words: Our navy alliance shall be commissioned not for gold or power, but for the peace of our common people. With that, we bid you good morrow, for a new day rises.”
Derrick emerged from the clock tower looking ten years older and in terrible shape.
“Dad!”
The ex-thief looked up and saw Bryn standing beside Selena, where Cerdan lay on a stretcher. Derrick hobbled over and hugged his son for the first time in the long day. Neither father nor son spoke a word, but they knew by each other’s appearance that they had both been through an exhaustive series of events in the past twenty-four hours.
“He showed up just a few seconds ago,” said Selena, “We all saw the explosion, and feared you’d be dead. I wanted to assure him that–”
Derrick waved for her to be quiet, “Never mind that.” Holding his son’s hand for support, the ex-thief reached into his pockets and brought out the Sigil and the Wizard’s Box. “Verskul’s physical form is destroyed and his spell disrupted. I want you to take these artifacts. His phylactery is currently nullified inside the box. I trust your church would have the resources to destroy it?”
“It may take a few weeks to organize everything, but I’ll see to it personally,” Selena said as she accepted the objects, “What about this Sigil?”
“Verskul said it had power from some god. Destroying it like he wanted might not have the best effect on the city.” He gestured at the remnants of the red clouds, “Just be careful what you do with it.”
“Maybe you should also come with us back to the tower. The remaining clerics can probably heal your wounds.”
Derrick shook his head and muttered, “I’ll pass a temple on my own way home.”
Something in his tone kept Selena from pressing further. The elven cleric simply nodded and stepped aside so Derrick could speak to Cerdan, who was still on the stretcher waiting to be carried away.
“Well, just like old times, eh Blade?” said the thief, smiling as usual to cover up the pain he was feeling in his extremities.
Derrick was in a less celebratory mood, “I appreciate all the help you gave me today.” He paused and put a hand on Bryn’s shoulder, then turned back to Cerdan. “But I hope you won’t take it the wrong way when I say that I never want to hear from you or the thieves’ guild ever again.”
Flashing a weak grin at both father and son, Cerdan simply said, “Keep safe out there, Derrick.”
“I always do.”
With that, Derrick took his son by the hand, and they walked to the south, following the road back home. It was, after all, a brand new day. So who knew what surprises it would hold in store for them…
(12:00) MIDDAY
.
Note: Not over. Epilogue to follow.
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 05 May 2005 : 06:17:21
Descent
(10:00)
Derrick touched his pocket to ensure the angel-pendant was secure. “Do you think I’m a complete fool that I would hand such an important artifact to an enemy?”
“I am not your actual enemy, there is very little for me to gain should the city be completely destroyed. Bad for my line business.” Dace could see that Derrick was still skeptical. “I think you do not know what it is you carry,” the assassin continued, “I believe that pendant is Verskul’s phylactery; the vessel of his arcane power.”
“Even if that’s true, I’d have even less reason to hand it over. Now back away, or else you’ll limp away.”
“My request for the pendant was a courtesy from one thief to another. What do you hope to accomplish? We are both aging men faced with an impossible challenge. If you will not give the artifact freely…” Dace clanged his sword and dagger together and raised them up in an ‘x’ salute. “… then you are just another walking corpse blocking my way.”
Derrick instinctively reached for his sword, only to grip at air when he remembered that the guards had confiscated his weapons. The ex-thief backed away and turned to flee as Dace advanced.
Running back around the corner into the alley he came from, Derrick was now at a loss for what to do about the phylactery; there weren’t any guild agents around that he knew of, and the overzealous guard captain probably wouldn’t be very receptive to a fugitive’s cries for aid.
Damn it all, he thought, Maybe a new opportunity will present itself…
At that moment, another man wearing black stepped into view at the exit of the alleyway, blocking the path to the street. Derrick skidded to a stop and heard Dace slow down behind him as well.
“Well, well,” Krevis said, grinning at the two older men, “now I find myself with a dilemma; whom do I hate enough to fight first?”
Derrick looked down and saw that Krevis had recovered his kukri blade.
“You.” Krevis pointed his weapon past Derrick at the assassin, “I heard every word you said. Never killed a liche? It’s terrible fun. But I’m afraid you’ll never have a chance to do so after I finish you here and now!”
Sending a glare at both Derrick and Krevis, Dace said nothing. After a few seconds of tense silence, he fixed his sights on the madman and boldly strode forward without giving Derrick another glance as he shoved past the ex-thief. The assassin raised his blades in salute, and thrust ahead to make the first strike.
(10:10)
When Derrick realized that Dace had given him an out, the ex-thief quickly retreated away from the duelists and followed his original course through the alleys toward the tower. Before he got far, a few muffled voices were heard nearby over the sounds of clanging metal from the two murderers.
“This way!” shouted Captain Atamir, “Someone saw the killer run through here.”
Derrick swore inwardly and immediately threw himself to the side of the backalley, hiding behind a trash heap as a band of guards came into view from around a corner. Captain Atamir led a squad of officers and a cleric toward the sounds of the fight up ahead. “That must be them. Remember, men, one of them is immune to our weapons, so we’ll have to restrain him with brute force.”
As they passed, Derrick frowned with concern; already they had forgotten about the wyvern attack. What’s more, none of them even knew about Verskul or the whole matter with the Sigils. Those damned Sigils.
He quietly emerged from the refuse pile after the guards were gone. What were the liche’s plans, anyway, that justified going through so much trouble to secure those two artifacts? After everything he’d been through, Derrick still didn’t know the full answer.
‘The power to set the city aflame by noon today’ was what Lorelei had said before her end. Derrick’s frown deepened as he sent a final look toward Greyhelm Tower, where Bryn was hiding. With the wyvern threat neutralized, there would be no immediate danger to his son. But if Verskul was going to somehow rain utter destruction on the entire city, he’d certainly be using something greater than a single wyvern…
“Be safe, Bryn,” Derrick whispered, his heart heavy with regret, “I’ll see you again …” He turned away and disappeared once more into the back streets of the city to look for Cerdan.
(10:16)
Dace twisted his head to the side as Krevis’ weapon lashed out, shearing off a few grey hairs just above the older man’s ear. Striking back with his elbow, the assassin forced Krevis’ arm away and slammed it into the wall.
“Weak,” Krevis muttered as he brought his leg up, kneeing Dace in the stomach, “Why are you helping them, these animals that are less than you or I?”
The mercenary reeled back and gripped his dagger, even though he knew the weapon couldn’t harm Krevis. “I am not out to help anyone but myself.” Dace allowed himself a slight smirk as he dropped down to one knee, appearing to be tired. “I simply have nothing to gain if your employer destroys this entire city. It would be very bad for my line of business.”
“You won’t get close to Verskul. You can’t even kill me,” Krevis said as he pressed in with another attack.
Dace’s arm swung up from the ground in an arc and he threw a fistful of dirt into Krevis’ eyes. The madman cursed aloud as his eyes squeezed shut in irritation, but didn’t slow his approach. Angling his body perpendicular to Krevis, Dace caught his opponent by the collar and redirected the madman’s charge, driving Krevis’ head into the stone wall.
Krevis’ skull crashed hard against the surface and he fell sideways into the dirt. Taking advantage of the enemy’s stunned state, Dace made two quick swipes and pinned Krevis’ sleeves deep into the ground with a pair of daggers.
“You are correct, Krevis. But I will settle for slowing you down.”
Without paying another second of attention to the madman, Dace got to his feet, short sword in hand, and walked away from the scene. He went off to the east, following Derrick’s footprints around a corner to–
“Hold it.”
Dace froze. That wasn’t Krevis’ voice…
Atamir and several guards stood on both sides of the intersection, each man looking unkempt and quite angry. Dace’s finger twitched and he started to gauge his chances against seven trained and fully armed guardsmen.
“You…” Selena whispered, “You’re the criminal with the infernus crystal!”
When she mentioned the shard, Dace suddenly became aware that his breast pocket felt a bit lighter than it was before. He touched his tunic and his eyes widened slightly. The Wizard’s Box was gone!
The assassin immediately took a step backward and glanced around the corner where Krevis lay. To his utter disappointment, the madman had vanished from the scene as well, leaving two torn shreds of fabric beneath the pair of daggers in the ground.
“Seize him!” The guards raised their weapons and cautiously approached the assassin.
A sneer formed on Dace’s lips. They were too close to outrun, too many and too well equipped to outfight. As capable as Dace was, he wasn’t stupid enough to throw his life away out of spite. Slowly, hesitantly, Dace lowered his sword arm and tossed his blade to the ground. The officers quickly closed in and checked his pockets, but found nothing of note besides a series of ordinary steel daggers and throwing knives.
“Where are your comrades, the thief and the possessed one? Do they have the crystal?” demanded the elf woman.
“I have nothing to say, the matter is no longer in my hands.” Dace lowered his head slightly, glaring down into her eyes. “If you do not perish, then remember this day. Know that I will not forget this.”
Atamir sighed softly and motioned to his guards. “Get him out of here. Have a local perimeter set up and seal off the entire district. No one gets in or out until we find his fellow crooks.”
As the guards began shackling his wrists, Dace wondered what had happened to Krevis, and if he had taken the infernus crystal. No matter. The guards were taking him to the nearest jail, so he’d be well away from the area if the crystal were to explode.
One of the guards roughly shoved Dace forward into the street as Selena followed along, continuing to interrogate the assassin. Dace barely listened, as his eyes were fixed on the clock tower to the south. This was all just a temporary setback for him. He’d be back on the streets eventually. It wasn’t over yet…
(10:31)
Creeping through the shadowed backalleys, Krevis found himself trapped within the city district. Guards and clerics were patrolling all the main routes out of the region. With their holy magic, the religious robe-runners posed a serious threat to him. Now that Atamir had an idea of what was going on, it would only be a matter of time before they captured Krevis.
The madman sneered to himself and, as he contemplated his next move, a hand seized him by the shoulder.
“Hold there, civilian. Identify yourself.” It was a lone guard, armed but posing no danger.
With a flashing movement from his wrist, Krevis unconcernedly brought his kukri out from his sleeve and lashed out, cleaving the man’s throat.
“Don’t interrupt my thinking, bug,” Krevis snapped as the guard fell. Then the murderer’s eyes fell to the crossbow strapped to the man’s belt.
A smile slowly played across Krevis’ face as he then looked toward Greyhelm Tower in the north. The hunt wasn’t over for him just yet.
(10:35)
Atamir checked the tracks in the ground, then glanced up at the clock tower in the distance. “The other culprits couldn’t have been moving too fast, judging by the distance between their footprints. They should still be in the district, and with the routes blocked, they’ll have no choice but to reveal themselves eventually.”
“What do you intend to do now, Captain?” asked Selena.
“As much as I want to find Krevis, I need to head back to the tower and check on the diplomats.”
“Very well, I shall continue the search for the thief who took the silver pendant from us.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Atamir grumbled, waving his hand half-heartedly.
Selena watched as he stormed off, obviously upset over the corrupting changes that he had seen in his former friend. The elf shook her head. The Captain would have to find his peace in his own way. Right now, she had a more pressing duty to follow.
Although she had only examined the pendant briefly, her short divination revealed that the artifact housed some sort of dark energy, like that of a truly black-hearted soul. The cleric quickened her pace and followed the trail of footprints deeper into the maze of alleys.
(10:39)
Not far away, another elf was making his way through the very same back-routes in search of Derrick as well. Cerdan had seen the wyvern burn up and die, but was left puzzled as to why the guards were now stopping people from leaving the district.
“Derrick, Derrick, Derrick. What have you gotten us into now?” he mumbled as he paused near an intersection to get his bearings. Less than a day ago, Cerdan’s biggest concern was that he had forgotten to feed his cat. Now he was risking life and limb for a friend he hadn’t spoken to in almost six years.
“One day, I’m going to look back on all this and hate myself. Ah well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” Letting out another sigh, the elf picked a random direction, then stepped around a corner.
And he nearly crashed into a familiar white-cloaked cleric. Cerdan and Selena stared at each other in surprise and said nothing for a moment.
“You again!” he suddenly cried, “We just keep on running into each other. What, are you stalking me or something?”
Selena was in less a mood for jokes and stepped back, reaching for her mace, “If you make any moves, I will be forced to harm–”
Cerdan moved, grabbing her by the wrist with one hand and deftly knocking the mace away with his other. “You’re a little slow there, miss. Spend much time in sparring rooms?”
The red-haired cleric suddenly brought her knee up, slamming Cerdan in the groin. He crumpled amidst a litany of elvish curses, giving Selena enough time to retrieve her mace and raise it in a defensive posture.
“I’m placing you under arrest for assaulting a representative of Tyr,” she said.
The thief croaked, “This is the thanks I get for saving your life back at the tower?”
“Tell that to the judge. I have a duty to carry out.”
“Wait,” Cerdan raised his hand as he slowly got up on a knee, “there’s a liche somewhere in the city. He’s planning to destroy all of Baldur’s Gate, and I’m trying to help stop him.”
“Why should I believe this nonsense?”
Still partly stunned from the low blow, Cerdan started babbling, “The wyvern was a distraction, so was the summit assassination and Derrick and Myrk’s framing yesterday, and–”
“Hold on. This ‘Derrick’ person, tell me who he is.” Selena remembered her ordeal back at Derrick’s shop, where Krevis had been tearing the place apart.
Regaining his composure, Cerdan managed speak slowly, “Derrick was framed for the murder of Verskul yesterday at that dwarf’s tavern. That man I was chasing, back when I hit you with the wooden board? He was involved in a conspiracy to draw everyone’s attention away from the real threat…”
“That liche you mentioned…” Selena thought back to the silver pendant, wondering if it could have been a vessel for a liche’s infernal soul. She held her mace up over Cerdan’s head. “Get up. You will tell me everything you know about this.”
(10:45)
Derrick hurried through the alleys of the district, searching for Cerdan. Clutched in his hand was the small jewelry box he had stealthily pickpocketed from Dace when the assassin had shoved past to face Krevis.
The ex-thief had only opened it for a brief second, but the stench of brimstone and the sphere of darkness that emanated from within told him plainly enough what lay inside. In all this time, the crystal hadn’t exploded, so Derrick assumed the box was being used to nullify the magical effects for the conspirators to transport the infernus crystal safely.
“And that’s all I know, miss.”
That sounded like Cerdan’s voice. Derrick stopped and listened carefully to the voices nearby.
“So if you really want to save lives, you’re going to have to cancel my arrest and let me go.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” said a female voice, “From what you’ve told me, you wouldn’t stand a chance against a liche anyway.”
Grabbing a heavy rock from the ground, Derrick looked around the corner and saw Cerdan standing by a wall, speaking to a red-haired elven woman. The ex-thief stealthily moved forward and raised the rock up high.
Selena saw a shadow move in the corner of her eye and immediately ducked to the side as the stone flew past. The cleric spun around and raised her mace again, expecting to have to fight both men at once.
“Wait, let’s all be civil about this!” Cerdan shouted, “Gee. Can’t believe I’m being the mature one here.”
“You! You’re the thief who stole the silver pendant!” accused Selena.
“What are you doing with her?” Derrick said to Cerdan, paying no heed to the woman’s comment.
“Trying to get us some extra firepower. Nothing wrong with having a priestess on our side when we take on the liche.”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?” the cleric asked, “And I’m not a priestess, I’m just a divination cleric.”
“I mean we have to find that liche and stop him right now.”
“Cerdan’s right,” Derrick added after a moment of consideration, “One of the conspirators told me that the city is to be destroyed before noon today.”
“That’s less than an hour away!” Selena protested, feeling carried away by all this, “And besides, how do you plan to find this liche?”
Both men were quiet for a moment and glanced at each other uncertainly.
“Well,” Derrick said, “Lorelei said he would be using some massive spell that would encompass the entire city. So Verskul will likely need to cast it from some high vantage point, where he can see all of Baldur’s Gate.”
“He wouldn’t be atop Greyhelm Tower. Arcane spells can’t be hand-cast from there.”
“So what, praytell, shall we do now?” asked Cerdan, “We’re running out of time.”
(10:52)
Bryn glanced around the hallway in the tower to make sure no one was watching him, then slipped inside a windowed room and locked the door behind him. It had taken a while to slip away from the clerics and the pages, all questioning him as to who he was and why he was in the area.
Even though they received word that the wyvern was dead, they were ordered to remain inside the building due to some crazed killer wandering the streets. As if I’d ever run into him, thought Bryn as he pushed the window open.
He peeked outside from the second floor and looked down. “Okay, I can do this,” he assured himself, “Just tuck and roll.” He climbed up on the sill, then prepared to jump.
“Hey, you!!” The voice from below startled the child, making him stumble and fall face-first into the soft dirt of the garden below.
Spitting and sputtering, and with the sting of impact all over his body, Bryn raised his head slightly to see a person standing before him.
Krevis wore a grin on his pale face that sent a chill through the boy’s spine. Even more chilling was the loaded crossbow in the man’s hands.
“On your feet, boy. I need a hostage to get out of here, and you’ll do just fine.”
Glaring defiantly, Bryn stood and remained silent, not bothering to wipe the dirt from his face.
Krevis tilted his head. The kid wasn’t whimpering or crying, not even wetting himself. That tipped the killer off that Bryn might be more trouble than he was worth.
“Oh, hells with it. There’s probably a better hostage somewhere inside that tower, anyway. Say good night, kid!” Krevis raised his crossbow and prepared to fire.
A moment later, there was a whoosh from a crossbow bolt and blood on Bryn’s face.
(10:57)
Verskul momentarily paused his chanting as the first part of the spell ritual was completed. A spell powerful enough to rain fiery destruction down upon a whole city took time to complete. Less than an hour later, his mission would finally be at an end.
The Sigil around his neck began to hum softly and the liche could sense a shadowy cloud forming in the sky overhead, drawn by the dark energy he was attracting. Verskul looked out across the city, satisfied that all he saw would soon lie burned and shattered. Yes, at long last, things were coming together…
(10:59)
Off in the distance, the bells from the clock tower began chiming, signaling the end of yet another hour in this fateful day.
“Somewhere high, somewhere that can be seen from all points of the city…” Derrick whispered to himself as he considered the information they knew about the liche’s plans. The two elves stared at him expectantly.
With dawning realization, the ex-thief slowly turned and craned his neck toward the city clock tower to the south that overlooked all of Baldur’s Gate. “… Somewhere like that.”
Cerdan followed his friend’s gaze and squinted at the top of the clock building, “What the – is that a red cloud? It wasn’t there before…”
They watched as a dark crimson cloud in the sky was rapidly extending its reach to create a blood-like shadow over the entire city.
Derrick reached into his tunic and took out the silver pendant. The eyes of the flame-winged angel engraving were now glowing warmly like two red embers. He turned to the others with a focused look in his own eyes. “This is it. Things are about to become much worse today.”
(11:00)
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 30 Apr 2005 : 07:01:04
Though this be Madness
(9:00)
With her legs still dangling without support, Selena threw her other arm up and grasped the edge of the stone precipice. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she closed her eyes for a moment.
There is no need to panic, she thought, I’ve never had a fear of heights...
The elf glanced down and saw Treysen’s mangled body far below. His neck had been twisted into an unnatural angle by one of the large stones that fell from the tower during the wyvern attack.
…until this moment, that is.
She turned her gaze from the sight below and focused on the balcony she was hanging from. Thrusting a hand over the edge, she found a grip in the crack between the bricks on the balcony floor. Straining her weight against what little strength remained in her arms, the elf slowly began to pull herself up.
As she did, however, the brick she was holding wobbled slightly and suddenly came loose from its place, sending both the brick and her hand flying back. The cleric let out another scream as her other hand lost its grip on the balcony as well, and her body slid down off the side of the balcony.
Wind whistled past the elf’s ears, and she plummeted down… and fell through the roof of a wagon canopy.
Cerdan released the reins of the merchant wagon and looked back at the woman he just saved. The leather canopy had completely caved in under the cleric’s weight, but the silk pillows and fineries inside the wagon cushioned her fall.
The thief stood atop the driver’s perch, “Are you alright?”
Selena rolled over and felt a tearing pain from her shoulder and leg, “Ugh, my arm and ankle. I think I broke something again.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing a good spell can’t fix, miss…?”
“Selena Shademoor,” she mumbled, rubbing her shoulder as she tried to hobble into a standing position on her good leg.
Cerdan gave her an odd look, “That’s not an elven name.”
The cleric brushed her messed hair out of her eyes, “Well, sir, I would not–” she stared at Cerdan and her memory clicked.
I knew it, thought Cerdan, smiling inwardly, she’s captivated by my daring rescue!
Selena reached for the mace at he belt and ordered, “Do not move. I recognize you from earlier today, you hit me in the face with a board!”
“Aw, spike it all!” Cerdan cried as he remembered the woman. The thief immediately grabbed the reins and gave a hard shake, prompting the horses to charge. The steeds went into a quick gallop, causing the cleric to stumble and fall on her back atop the collapsed wagon roof as the vehicle lurched forward.
Cerdan leaped off the driver’s perch and hit the ground running in the opposite direction. Selena rolled over and looked back at the fleeing elf. The rogue sent a quick glance over his shoulder at the woman and made a brief smile and salute before disappearing into the streets.
(9:10)
Bryn warily stepped out of the building as he saw the horses come to a stop just outside the front of the stables. As he watched, the elven woman rolled off the back of the vehicle and carefully stood on her uninjured leg.
Selena noticed Bryn standing nearby, “You there, boy!” she shouted, mistaking him as one of the pages from the summit, “Run around the front and find the nearest cleric. Tell them I’m out of healing magic and require aid.”
The wyvern was still circling above the streets, and the elf needed to save her remaining magic for the Bolt of Glory spell. At a loss for what to say, Bryn simply nodded and dashed off, uncertain as to what he was going to do now.
(9:13)
“Prey, prey, everywhere,” Krevis whispered to himself as he moved unnoticed through the crowd of guards and archers, “And so the hunter is drawn.”
Animals, that’s what they were. These childish creatures who believed themselves men. Krevis reached to his side, drew his kukri weapon, and stepped over to the nearest archer that was aiming a longbow at the wyvern.
With an almost casual swipe, the pale man severed the bowstring, making the archer drop the arrow and sending the bow shaft out of position.
“Hey! What in the bleeding hells are you doing?” the archer yelled into Krevis’ smiling face. The officer then noticed the crudely sewn, multi-coloured armour that the madman wore. “You’re not a guard, why are you even he– ullk!”
Krevis twisted his blade deep in the man’s gut and sharply pulled out, relishing the mixture of shock and fear on the man’s face as the last flickers of life went cold.
“Murderer!”
Krevis turned and saw that, much to his pleasure, a trio of guards had taken notice of the kill. All three now drew their swords and began to circle around him. Even with the wyvern flying overhead, more heads were starting to turn as those nearby noticed the man’s eccentric attire and his bloody weapon.
“That’s right!” screamed Krevis, waving his weapon in a ring around him, “Come closer, let’s see how many I can kill before it dawns on you to fear me!”
One of the guards lunged in at Krevis’ exposed back, raking the blade across in a blow that would fell an ordinary man. The patchwork leather shirt tore easily under the sword, but Krevis’ exposed skin didn’t show any sign of damage. None of these guards were equipped with enchanted weaponry, leaving Krevis impervious to them like a god among animals.
The murderer pivoted and drove the kukri up under the surprised guard’s chin, drawing a stream of blood down both the weapon and Krevis’ hand. When he glanced over his shoulder, Krevis saw that the other guards were starting to hesitate and had now adopted defensive stances.
“Yes… now you understand what you face. Now you see the spirit of death standing before you!” Krevis’ voice reached a deranged pitch, and he charged headlong into the officers that stood against him.
(9:20)
Atamir shoved his way through the crowd toward the tower, wondering what could possibly be taking the elf so long to cast her blasted spell. Leave it to a faithmonger to fall short in dire times. The wyvern was showing no sign of slowing down, despite the dozen or so arrows now protruding from its hide. The Captain watched the scaled beast climb higher into the sky as it prepared for another attack run.
“How could a single beast pose such a threat?” Atamir growled. Perhaps it was magically enchanted or heavily trained. But if that was true, then why was it attacking alone?
A scream from nearby in the square drew the Captain’s attention. Squinting across the street, Atamir could see several guards and archers lying on the ground, each sporting bloody stab wounds in critical places.
Stab wounds? The Captain drew his sword and ran closer. A man in patchwork armour stood laughing at the end of the corpse trail, and was in the process of cutting down another guard that stood before him.
The Captain held his blade up and shouted, “Turn around and face me, you murdering jackal!”
Krevis spun around toward his new opponent and an expression of amusement played across his face. “Well, if it isn’t my good friend Durin Atamir! How are you, chum?!” He snickered as he casually wiped his bloody weapon off on his sleeves.
“Krevis…” Atamir was left wordless at the changes that he now saw in his former friend. A chaotic mess was his hair, and streaks of blood stained his hands and clothing. Perhaps most telling was the pale, clammy look of his skin. The demon spirit had undoubtedly taken its toll on Krevis. The man Atamir had once known was now dead on the inside.
“Krevis, drop your weapon and stand down.”
The madman let his eyes bug out. “Oh, this? Certainly!” he threw his kukri down into the mud, “I couldn’t possibly kill you with a steel blade.”
Before the Captain could approach, Krevis spun around in a circle and snapped his loaded crossbow up to point. The murderer grinned down the glowing bolt at his former comrade, “Instead, you get a special death. Think of it as a reward for what you turned me into. As you can see, I’m much happier. Now it’s your turn to drop your weapon.”
“Krevis, you’re not well. That… creature possessing you is destroying your mind.”
“And strengthening my body. Without the power of magic at your side, how do you intend to kill me?”
The Captain squeezed the sword hilt. “It doesn’t have to come to that.”
“No it won’t.” Krevis brought the crossbow up to eye level and took aim, “Tally-ho, Atamir.”
Something suddenly moved in the corner of Krevis’ eye. The madman looked to the side just as a man in grey clothing tackled Krevis across the waist. Krevis’ fingers twitched as he fell, and he inadvertently released the enchanted bolt. The missile shot through the air and drove its way through Atamir’s armour. Stunned, the Captain looked down at the glowing bolt protruding from his chest, and managed to stagger back a pace before falling to the ground.
Derrick jumped to his feet and drew the dragon wand from his tunic as Krevis lay in the mud.
“I can’t harm you with steel or sword,” Derrick said, pointing the weapon at his foe, “But I think a magical flame would do the job.”
Krevis slowly sat upright. His kukri was still in the mud, and his crossbow and magic bolts were nearby as well, but he was smart enough to see that he wouldn’t be able to reach either weapon in time.
“You can kill me, but you can’t destroy me,” Krevis sneered, “Besides, you’re weak. You couldn’t even bring yourself to finish off the Maiden.”
As he spoke, Krevis was trying to figure out a way to escape safely. The spirit within him was immortal, but the entity had become accustomed to its current host body. Krevis was a skilled fighter; it would just be a nuisance to wind up in the body of an aging merchant like Derrick.
“Stop,” Atamir wheezed from behind, “he’s… possessed.”
Derrick made the mistake of turning his head toward the fallen officer. Immediately, Krevis sprang forward, ripped the wand from the ex-thief’s hand, and tossed it aside. The murderer then simultaneously drove his fist at Derrick’s jaw while sweeping a foot around the ex-thief’s heels. Krevis kicked in and knocked Derrick off balance, making him fall back.
“Now to finish this,” said Krevis. He looked around, checking the ground for the dragon-wand.
“Looking for this?” Atamir whispered. The Captain was still on the ground, but now clutched the red wand in his hand, pointed directly at his former friend.
Krevis slipped a hand in his pocket and threw the first hard object he could find into the Captain’s face.
Atamir brought a hand up to block the metallic object, and Krevis took the chance to hastily flee into the nearest crowd of distracted civilians.
“Damn,” muttered Derrick as he struggled to his feet and rubbed his jaw, “Far too old for this.” He was about to follow after the killer, when Atamir called out.
“Hold, criminal!” The Captain’s words were slow and said in a fatigued voice, “You’ll not escape so easily this time.” The dragon-wand was now pointed at Derrick’s chest.
“Didn’t you get shot?”
“My armour didn’t stop the bolt, but slowed it down.” Atamir winced and Derrick could see a patch of blood around the base of the wound, “It’ll take more than a flesh wound to stop me. Now surrender yourself.”
“I’m not a criminal or a killer. Perhaps at one time, in another life, but not here, not today.”
“I don’t care. You’re wrapped up in everything that’s been going on, “Atamir weakly pulled himself upright, “And I’m going to make sure I find out everything you know.”
“I just saved your life.”
“Do you think me some sentimental fool? I won’t betray my duties. I am placing you under arrest.” Atamir called out for additional guards, and stepped closer to the ex-thief.
Nearby in the mud lay a silver pendant in the shape of a flame-winged angel. Neither man was aware of just how vital this artifact would soon be to them.
(9:32)
From a nearby rooftop across the square, Dace stared up at the spiny wyvern, still circling overhead. Dozens of bleeding bodies lay about the district, painting the earth a telling shade of red.
Destruction, chaos, and death everywhere. Dace frowned. None of these things disturbed him in the slightest. But there was something distinctly wrong about all of this.
Verskul claimed that their actions here at Greyhelm Tower were merely a distraction. The assassin turned his gaze across the city, considering all the places he’d been to over the course of the day.
The assassinations at the Ducal Palace were irrelevant for the liche’s plans, that much was certain. If anything, they were meant as distractions for something else. The Shield Knights at the docks were tools for the liche, blinded by the promise of wealth. And Verskul’s base seemed like little more than a launching point for the wyvern attack.
Dace’s lip curled down as he considered all the facts. Verskul was doing what any good magician would do. He was misdirecting the audience’s attention away from the real trick. Everything that had happened, all the murder, deceit, thieving and betrayal was a sideshow, a distraction from something grander. But what could be more devastating than what the assassin could see before him right now?
Dace thought back to Verskul’s base. When he was waiting for Krevis and Verskul to prepare, he’d seen the liche hand a silver pendant to Krevis. Something about their body language and the way they carefully handled the artifact indicated that it was very important to their mission in some way.
The assassin placed a foot atop the edge of the rooftop and started scanning the crowd below for Krevis. Dace didn’t know what was going on, and he didn’t like that at all…
(9:37)
Krevis peeked around the wall at the nearby fools who were still stupidly trying to stand their ground against the wyvern. Razor-Wing had smartened up and was currently focusing its attacks against the archers. But Krevis could see that the bowmen were already beginning to get lucky; blood was starting to seep from the arrow wounds scattered across the wyvern’s hide. Krevis grumbled to himself incoherently. The protective enchantments on the beast were supposed to last a few hours longer, but the unexpectedly quick response from the city archers put a hitch in that plan.
“Atamir. The bleeding bastard must have sent them a summons ahead of time,” Krevis muttered out loud. The man started to roll up his sleeve, “Guess I’ll have to give my old friend a little parting gift.”
Krevis glanced down at the jeweled bracelet on his wrist and paused. All but one of the magical gemstones had been cracked. The madman snorted. So now he was the only one left, while Treysen and the other henchmen were all dead.
“Too bad, I was hoping to slaughter them all myself when this business was over. Ah well,” he said in a disturbingly carefree tone.
Krevis stepped just outside the alleyway so that he could be seen in the street. Eyes locked on the wyvern above, Krevis raised his arm and allowed the gems on his wrist to glint in the sunlight. The command spell woven into the bracelet was activated, sending a psychic signal into the rampaging beast’s mind. Krevis made a quick gesture with his hand, then pointed at the part of the street where he had last seen Captain Atamir.
The wyvern hovered in place for a moment, then let out another battle cry and began to flex its bone-tipped wings.
(9:41)
Derrick leaned to the side, trying to peer past the three guards holding him captive. Captain was standing several metres away, speaking with a few clerics. More importantly, he was holding up a certain silver pendant.
“Look at the shape of this amulet,” Atamir said to the clerics, “And look at the symbol on the dagger our prisoner was carrying.” The Captain held up the silver weapon Derrick had acquired from Lorelei earlier. The clerics could plainly see the same flame-winged angel on both artifacts.
“He’s working with Krevis, I tell you!” Atamir reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the magical bolts Krevis had been carrying.
“Captain,” said a female voice before Atamir could continue, “Shouldn’t we be focusing on the wyvern?”
The guard captain turned and saw Selena approach, accompanied by another cleric and a sandy-haired boy.
“I think Krevis is commanding the wyvern attack somehow. Same with him,” Atamir jerked his head in Derrick’s direction.
Derrick squinted between his captors. What in the hells was Bryn doing here?! His son hadn’t yet noticed Derrick standing behind the guards. So much the better. If Bryn were to call out to his father, the fanatical guard captain could seize the boy in an instant.
But Derrick had to get his son away from the battlefield before the wyvern burned down the lot of them.
“You there,” Derrick said to the nearest guard, “Tell your Captain that I’m willing to tell him everything I know about this attack in exchange for a simple request.”
Meanwhile, Selena was staring at the silver pendant in Atamir’s hand as the man continued his rant.
“Captain, where did you get that bauble?”
“Do you remember Krevis, the mercenary who killed Aelun? He’s here in the city and he was carrying this.”
The elf reached out for the pendant, “Please give it to me, sir. There is a distinct aura of death magic about it.”
“What?” he waved an arm at the other clerics, “None of these people have said anything like that!”
“They are healer clerics, not a specialized diviner like myself,” said Selena as she took the object and peered at the engraved image.
“Bah, you robe-runners are all the same to me.”
A guard stepped over to the group and whispered in the Captain’s ear.
“I see,” said Atamir. He pointed at Selena, “Elf, come with me. If you’re really half the diviner you claim to be, I may have use for you.”
She sighed, but moved after the guard captain. “You there, child,” she said over her shoulder to Bryn, “stay with these clerics and go into the tower. It’s probably safer there.”
Bryn raised a hand as she walked away, “Wait, I don’t belong–” Despite his protests, the clerics began ushering him and several nearby pages toward the looming tower.
(9:49)
“That boy who just arrived with you,” Derrick said to Selena and Atamir, “I want him escorted well away from this district under guarded protection.”
“Why? What’s so important about him? Isn’t he just a page?” demanded the Captain.
Selena cut him off before he could respond, “I’ll grant your request so long as you tell me about this artifact.” The elf held up the silver pendant for Derrick to see, “There is an incredible amount of necromantic energy flowing through it.”
Atamir turned on the cleric, “Now hold on, elf. I’m the one ask–”
Derrick examined the burning angel image, “There’s some mad wizard trying to destroy the city, I–”
An ear-shattering screech filled the air, prompting Selena to instinctively drop the pendant and slam her hands over her ears. Atamir spun around and saw the wyvern soaring down, making a straight line at them.
“Run, scatter!” the Captain shouted, sending the nearby guards fleeing. The beast’s trajectory was different now; it was angled down too far, flying too fast. Atamir could see blood seeping from the creature’s wounds. It was on a suicide run.
Derrick looked down at the silver pendant, lying innocently on the ground. ‘An incredible amount of necromantic energy’… He snatched the pendant up and sprinted off while the wyvern distracted the guards.
Atamir stared up at the approaching beast and pulled out the dragon-head wand that the prisoner had dropped earlier. He pointed it up at the winged vision of death and concentrated on the wand’s magical energy. It had been years since he last used a wand, but his audacity was rewarded by a low growl that began to sound from the artifact’s mouth.
The wyvern was going at too high a velocity to react, and the wand shot a searing column of fire directly into the creature’s path. The flame struck the beast in the eyes, and Razor-Wing let out a pained shriek as its leathery wings were consumed in a cloak of fire.
The Captain immediately dropped the wand and grabbed Selena by the arm, yanking her along as they ran to avoid being crushed by the burning wyvern.
Razor-Wing struck hard on the ground in a fiery heap and slid across the street before crashing into a nearby building. The beast was completely blind, but it could see its own death looming closer. The wyvern took some small solace in the fact that it would die here bravely while on the hunt.
That thought was quickly extinguished as the agonizing fire consumed the last of its protective enchantments. Within minutes, the wyvern’s broken form was completely devoured by the unforgiving inferno.
(9:55)
Derrick ran through yet another back-alley, looking for a path that would double back to near the rear entrance of the tower. The clerics inside the building had undoubtedly sealed the doors, and now that the wyvern was dead, the guards would eventually be ordered to hunt Derrick down once more. If he was going to find Bryn, he’d have to–
A black-gloved fist suddenly struck out as he rounded a corner, hitting him in the nose with a wet ‘crack’ and sending him reeling back. A narrow-faced man stepped away from the wall and stood a few metres from Derrick.
Dace fixed the ex-thief with an impassive gaze, “You are fortunate that I have nothing to gain from your death. That could change, however, if you do not give me the pendant I saw you take.”
Gripping his nose and coughing at the slight taste of blood, Derrick stared at his new opponent. The man seemed familiar from earlier in the day.
“And why should I do that?” After being beaten so easily by Krevis, Derrick knew that he was too exhausted and burnt out to keep holding his own in combat.
“Because,” stated Dace, “I have never destroyed a liche before, and this would be a good day for me to learn.” He reached into his tunic and drew a short sword, “So what say you?”
(9:58)
From his vantage point, high above the city, Verskul could see dozens of burning buildings in the north, but Razor-Wing was no longer visible. It was of little concern; even if the wyvern had perished, it was too late for anyone to stop the liche now.
Turning around full circle, Verskul could see the many districts throughout the bustling city. Baldur’s Gate, he thought, for centuries, a jewel of the Sword Coast, still standing against the ravages of time.
But the liche knew that time was an unbeatable foe, an illusion that you could never harm. Nothing could fight it forever; no hero or villain, no city or civilization, not even a god could survive indefinitely. Verskul would have snorted if he had a nose. It had taken him so long to realize the folly of this existence. In the end, everything is eventually reduced to waste and forgotten. And as it is said, that which is forever forgotten never existed.
And so too do we not truly exist here, Verskul thought as he touched the Sigil of the Fallen at his neck, I will ensure that no one continues this false existence. My name may be remembered for a time, but in the end, all things are lost. Death is the only real justice in this world.
The liche raised his hands and began to chant the first syllables of his dark ritual…
(10:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 28 Apr 2005 : 03:14:19
Under Burning Skies
(8:00)
It wasn’t so much the prey or even the taste of blood that gave so much thrill to the wyvern. Razor-Wing’s maw curled up slightly as it embraced the rush of the wind blasting past its body and the sight of the tiny, panicked crowds of humans below as they scattered from his path. Yes, the true thrill came from the hunt.
The grey tower was now close enough that the wyvern could see the mess of wagons and diplomats gathered outside the front doors. Still grinning, the beast began a downward dive, opened its maw wide, and prepared to release the heat building up in its lungs.
(8:02)
It was the sound that perturbed the guards more than anything. That screeching cry, like the death scream of a hundred black crows, was enough to stun many of the soldiers before they realized what was happening.
Atamir turned away from the wagon he was checking and saw the winged bringer of flames on fast approach. The Captain was the first to react among the stunned crowd.
“Sound the alarm and evacuate the remaining envoys!” he shouted, “To arms! To arms!”
A number of nearby guards and paladins glanced around at each other and uncertainly held their swords and shields up. Across the plaza, Razor-Wing unleashed a volley of its flame breath, sending a sheet of fire over a group of wagons.
“No, you idiots! Round up our archers and spellcasters,” Atamir clarified. A gauntlet clapped him on the shoulder and Atamir turned to see Sir Treysen standing behind.
“We have none,” said Treysen, “They were all slain in the explosion at the Ducal Palace, and no reinforcements were sent.”
“Then we need to get the envoys away from this place,” said Atamir.
“I’ll take care of that. You command the field out here,” the false paladin ran inside the tower, smiling to himself.
(8:06)
The Captain grabbed the nearest guard, “You there, lieutenant. Where is the squadron leader?”
“Over there, sir,” the guard pointed across the street toward the charred bodies in the fire.
“Well then, you’ve just been promoted. Order the men to spread out and do their best to distract the beast from the envoys’ wagons. But tell them not to fight it. They won’t stand a chance without ranged weapons.”
The guard nodded and began to move through the crowd, nervously spreading Captain’s commands.
Atamir glanced about the crowd and spotted a familiar bun of red hair several metres away. He shoved his way past the fleeing civilians and caught Selena by the arm. She blinked and slowly came out of her shocked state.
“Tell me you have an offensive spell,” said the Captain, “A lightning, blade storm, magic stone, anything!”
“I have a Bolt of Glory, but I can’t hit the monster from this distance. If I was able to touch the beast, I could use another special spell I have,” she said, touching the holy symbol of Tyr around her neck, “But I imagine that would be nigh-impossible to achieve right now.”
Another fireball struck a wagon nearby, exploding as it made contact and sending the vehicle spinning across the square, crushing bystanders along the way. Everyone watched as the wyvern flapped its razor-tipped wings and soared higher into the sky.
“I don’t have any healing spells left either,” Selena said, looking at the bodies strewn about.
“Forget the healing, these men are prepared to die. We need to kill that wyvern!”
“I can transmute my Bolt of Glory spell into a widespread healing spell…”
The Captain shook his head, “The paladins could handle that later. This creature is our major concern, think on that!”
High above, Razor-Wing stretched its wings full spread, casting a great shadow over the tower below.
(8:11)
Damn creature, Treysen thought to himself as he raced up the steps through the tower’s winding central staircase. First it shows up three hours early, then it starts attacking without even waiting for my signals.
He threw open the trapdoor at the top of the stairs, climbed out onto the tower’s flat rooftop, and rushed to the battlements.
Razor-Wing was flying in chaotic movements, randomly breathing fire or slashing the sharp bone tips of its wings on the buildings below.
“Attack the guards, you dumb animal,” Treysen muttered.
He pulled back the cuff of his uniform and held his arm high, exposing the jeweled bracelet around his wrist. The gemstones shone in the sunlight and the colourful glinting caught the eye of the flying creature.
Treysen made an exaggerated swooping gesture with his arm, then pointed toward the swarm of guards, all desperately trying to achieve some semblance of an ordered rank and file. The wyvern let out another screech, then followed the false paladin’s directions and began a dive for the cluster of men and women.
(8:15)
Peeking his head out the stable doors, Bryn gazed up with a mixture of fear and awe at the great creature terrorizing the district. The boy couldn’t see the guard captain or the elven cleric anywhere, and this attack surely would have distracted them from the search for his father.
“Wonder if I can make it across the plaza safely…” he whispered aloud, taking a tentative step outside. As soon as he did, a flaming wagon came down, crashing to pieces just a few metres from the stable doors, making Bryn stumble away onto his back.
“Huh,” he said to himself in a daze, “Think I’ll just wait it out in here.”
(8:18)
Krevis couldn’t stop glaring daggers at the back of Dace’s head as they walked toward Greyhelm Tower. The madman’s hand was resting atop his crossbow, prepared to raise and shoot upon the slightest provocation.
“You can stop that now,” Dace said without turning, “I gave my word to your employer. So long as it suits me, I will see this mission through to the end.”
“And what do you gain from this, you blighter? Gold? Prestige?”
“I have enough of the former, and I no longer care for the latter,” he turned his head slightly and Krevis could see part of Dace’s grey hair under the hood, “Priorities change when you have played the game for as long as I have.”
“Your priorities had better not conflict with my own, for if they do…” Krevis lifted the crossbow and the magic bolt cast a faint green glow on his face, creating an even more menacing look than normal.
Dace turned back to the road and said nothing. Krevis grinned wildly to himself, satisfied that he made the point clear enough. Both killers, though silent, could fathom two pieces of information; they were both in this for the sheer thrill of the hunt, and before the day was done, at least one of them would be dead.
(8:22)
Selena made her way up through the many floors of the tower, racing toward the rooftop vantage point. Part of her was stinging with uncertainty; she had sworn her cleric’s oath first and foremost as a diviner and a healer. Yet now she had no choice but to turn away from the injured and dying people below in order to bring damage to a greater threat. Hopefully it would be easier to hit from with the Bolt of Glory from the roof.
She climbed up through the open trapdoor to the outside. Halting in her step, the elf spotted Treysen standing at the balcony edge, waving his arm around in precise, directing movements. The cleric immediately rushed to his side and saw Razor-Wing, flying about in circles around the plaza.
Treysen jumped in surprise as the elf entered his field of view, and he instinctively pulled his arm back down. Selena noticed that when he did this, the wyvern abruptly stopped and hovered in its place for several seconds, staring at the pair, then began to randomly breathe fireballs at the ground below once more.
“What are you doing here?” Selena and Treysen asked simultaneously.
The paladin replied first, “I was… observing the battlefield, directing the guards and knights down there.”
“It won’t do much good without any archers,” Selena said, shaking her head, “The Captain sent me up here to launch a spell at the wyvern.”
“A spell?” he echoed, feeling a pang of worry, “No, no, that won’t work.” His mind raced to think of an excuse.
Selena noticed his cheek twitching into a slight sneer.
“What if you miss?” he finally said, “You’re not a trained war cleric. If you accidentally strike the soldiers below, you’ll only make the situation worse. Are you really that certain of yourself?”
“I…” she glanced over the side of the rooftop, then held her head high, “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Damn, thought Treysen, I just strengthened her resolve.
The elf began to move her hands in the necessary motions for the spell, but the knight lashed out and grabbed her roughly by the wrist.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that. I am not confident that you can cast the spell accurately enough.”
Selena yanked her arm away and was about to try the spell again when they heard the wyvern let out a low roar from below. She looked down and saw a piece of wood sticking out of the wyvern’s side. It looked like a toothpick compared to the size of the creature.
A second shaft of wood struck the flying beast in the tail. Looking further down, Selena saw a small team of soldiers in red uniforms fanning out across the plaza. The archers had arrived from the city barracks.
“Damnation, how did they get here so fast?” Treysen muttered under his breath.
Although his words might not have been heard by human ears, the elf’s hearing picked up the entire sentence. Selena brought her head up in disbelief, “What did you just say?”
“Er, nothing. Look, there is no need for you to cast the spell now. We’d best head down below before we’re struck by a stray arrow.”
Treysen was worried that there had been such a quick response from the local militia, but didn’t pay it much thought. Razor-Wing’s scales were thick enough to take several volleys of arrows, and it would be some time before they managed to slow the beast down.
Now he had another problem to deal with. The false knight gestured for the cleric to follow, and they descended back down into the stone tower.
(8:32)
Derrick glanced around the corner, and was amazed at the number of soldiers and archers running about the square, all to take down a single wyvern.
“How about that,” Cerdan remarked, “We’re completely spiked.”
Derrick squinted at the beast, “It must have some protection enchantments. Why are there so few battlemages here?”
“That’s why,” Cerdan said, pointing at a nearby building consumed in flames, “It first destroyed the mages’ guild.”
This is going to be much more difficult than I anticipated, Derrick thought to himself.
“So what’s your illustrious plan, Blade?” asked the elf.
“We need to find someone in charge, probably a paladin. I saw the guard captain removed from his command last night. You scout around the side, I’ll search the front battleground.”
“Heh, me with all the slippery stealth, you with all the combat action. Just like old times.”
“I hate old times,” Derrick murmured as he made his way through the crowd of archers and fleeing civilians.
(8:37)
Selena followed behind Treysen by a few steps, staring at the three broken gems on the jeweled bracelet around his wrist. The elf though to herself, only one of those gems were cracked earlier.
“Tell me again, sir. What was it you were doing on the roof?” she asked.
Treysen didn’t stop or look back, “I was directing troop movements.”
“But how could they see you from that height? And how can you possibly direct so many guard squads just by moving a single arm in the air? That doesn’t –”
“Cleric, I will confess to you: I’m tired. Lack of sleep might not affect elves, but humans have such failings. Please do not make this harder on me than it already is.”
“Very well, sir.”
Selena quietly incanted the syllables to a Detect Evil spell and waved her hands as the knight’s back was turned. The spell activated, and Selena detected… nothing. There was no telltale evil aura coming from Treysen.
Sir Treysen looked back and saw her bringing her hands back down.
“What were you about to do?” he demanded.
Embarrassed that she actually thought Treysen might be a traitor, Selena stammered, “I- I wasn’t doing anything, sir. Just stretching, sir.”
The false paladin furrowed his brow and continued walking down the stairs. She knows, he thought to himself, she’s figured out that I’m a traitor! If I want to escape the city with Verskul and whoever else is left, I’ll have to silence her.
Glancing over to the side, Treysen could see an empty room that had a balcony overlooking the back side of the tower. Most of the guards and archers were gathered at the plaza on the opposite side of the building.
Treysen smirked and waved Selena over toward the room, “Look over here, there is something important you should see outside.”
(8:42)
Krevis gazed up at the scaled creature gliding upon the wind. Fires, smoke, and screams filled the air, and the madman let out a dark chuckle, soaking up every second of the experience.
“I see our intervention is not necessary,” said Dace, “the wyvern is creating more than enough distraction from whatever it is your employer is planning.”
“Heh heh. Maybe I’ll throw a little extra support to ol’ Razor-Wing,” Krevis fastened the crossbow to his belt and drew out his twisted kukri, then loped off into the battlezone.
“Where are you going?”
The madman flashed a devilish glare back at the assassin, “I’m going hunting.”
(8:45)
Selena stood a few feet away from the edge of the stone balcony, but wouldn’t go any closer, despite Treysen’s urging.
“Is there some reason for this? There are more important matters to deal with right now,” said the elf.
“Oh, there’s a reason.”
Treysen turned and took a menacing step toward the cleric. On instinct, Selena took a step back and raised her hands in defense. Thinking she was going to cast a spell, the false knight charged forward and grabbed her by the arm before she could reach for her mace.
“Release me! What is the meaning of this?” she shouted, now convinced that there must have been something wrong with her Detect Evil spell earlier.
“The meaning?” Treysen echoed, “It is fear. Fear of my own death, fear of ceasing to exist. After all, a hundred years is far too short a time. Once this city has been destroyed, my master will grant me eternal life.”
Despite her attempts to pull away, he forced her over to the balcony, overlooking a four-story drop. “It was no small matter to mask my aura so none would sense my betrayal. But for me, the sacrifices will outweigh the gains.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Just another sacrifice.”
“Then it seems I have no choice…” Selena closed her eyes and uttered an unintelligible elven syllable.
Treysen tightened his hold on one of her arms, “What was that?” Unwilling to wait any longer, he quickly shoved her from the edge.
The cleric’s holy symbol of Tyr suddenly released a blinding flash of yellow light. Treysen would have screamed in surprise, but he found that his lungs were now immobile and wouldn’t exhale. Completely paralyzed by the spell in Selena’s amulet, Treysen couldn’t release his grip on her arm either.
The elf fell backward from Treysen’s push, pulling the false knight over the balcony along with her. As they went over, the cleric snapped her free arm out and was able to grab hold of the balcony edge. Treysen’s weight, combined with the elf’s flailing movements, caused his hand to shake free from her wrist, and the knight plummeted toward the ground.
This isn’t right, Treysen shouted in his mind as he felt the air shooting past him, Why can’t I move? Verskul, save m–
And he was abruptly silenced by the hard ground rushing up to meet him.
(8:52)
Another exploding fireball sounded from the nearby battleground as Cerdan made his way around the back of the tower.
“Derrick, you crazy, crazy man,” he thought aloud, “Ah well, at least it isn’t me rushing headlong into trouble back there.”
As he made his way toward the stables behind the building, Cerdan saw that there were a surprising number of horse-drawn merchant wagons standing about unattended. Apparently the owners were either too rushed, or too dead to bother retrieving their vehicles.
The elf was about to check inside the main stable building when he heard a high-pitched noise coming from up above. He tilted his head slightly… it wounded like a woman’s scream.
A woman? Cerdan eagerly looked up and spotted a figure in a white cloak, dangling by one arm from a balcony high up in the tower.
The thief’s eyes went wide and he ineffectually shouted, “Stay there!” before running for the nearest wagon. Rescuing pretty damsels always brought rewards… in more ways than one.
(8:55)
From his hideout, Verskul could hear pounding on the front doors. Apparently a few of the local guards saw the wyvern burst out through the roof and were intelligent enough to investigate the source, rather than chase after the winged beast. Intelligent, yet still ultimately foolhardy.
He gazed around the main narthex. The polished black altar at the centre still pulsed with the magical force from his reanimation ritual.
The pounding stopped briefly, then was replaced by an slower, louder banding noise. Evidently the guards had wised up and found something to use as a bettering ram.
No matter. The liche stepped up to the altar and laid his skeletal hand against the cold surface, fingers spread, concentrating on the flow of arcane power. Magic was, to the more learned spellcrafters, just another type of energy in nature. And like energy, it could be converted into direct force under the right conditions. As a liche, he had the ability to feel the magic. It was like touching raw power, distilled into a tangible form. The red embers of Verskul’s eyes flared slightly, and he began to harness the energy within the altar.
The doors creaked and burst open off their hinges, allowing a trio of guards to charge inside. Verskul barely noticed. He pushed with his mind and was bathed in a green light. His form blurred and vanished like a mirage, leaving the baffled guards and alone in the room.
A moment later, the altar suddenly exploded, sending a sphere of flame to all corners of the room. The guards lost their composure and turned to flee, but the blast knocked them off their feet and sent them flying out the front the building. The walls were devoured by the magical fires and weakened, causing the roof to cave in.
And elsewhere in the city, Verskul was now ready to begin his final ritual…
(9:00)
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 25 Apr 2005 : 05:53:56
Dark Alliance
(7:00)
Swirling yellow lights haunted his vision, slowly drawing him out of his unconscious state. Dace snarled slightly and clutched at his eyes as he sat up in the cot. He looked down at his side; there was still a great deal of dried blood caked around the tear in his leather armour, but the wound had been healed. A thick scar remained in the place where the crossbow bolt had struck, but it was small compared to some of the other battle marks he’d received throughout his life.
“Ah, you have awakened!” seeing the assassin rise, the priest of Il-Mater began his oft-rehearsed monologue, “Using our divine gifts from our patron, we have brought you back from the brink of death.”
Dace grimaced and hobbled to his feet. His side felt rather stiff and his right arm was extremely sore, which would hamper his fighting ability, but overall he was in much better condition than he had been several hours earlier.
“Il-Mater makes no demands of you, gentle-sir,” the priest went on, “But we would appreciate any compensation you’d be willing to make to our cause.”
Typical, thought Dace, whoever said that ‘one cannot place on life a price measured in gold’ was surely a fool. As an assassin, Dace understood the hollowness of those words better than anyone.
He reached into his tunic and found the gold mask he’d taken from the Shield Knight. Evidently the priests had been honest enough to heal him before seizing their payment. Dace held out the shiny artifact and the priest smiled briefly. But as soon as the healer’s fingers touched its smooth surface, he recoiled in horror.
“Black sorcery!” he cried, staggering back, “I am sorry, but that… artifact is powered by dark magic. We cannot accept it, nor can we allow it to remain here. Please sir, remove it from our temple at once.” The priest backed away and moved to attend to another patient as far away from Dace as possible.
The assassin stared at the mask with interest, and experimentally held it up, a few centimetres away from his face. Through the eyeholes, he could see nothing but the boarded-up well at the side of the room in front him.
Taking a deep breath, he pressed the metal mask against his skin. Images and sounds suddenly flashed through his mind. H was seeing a vision through the eyes of the platinum mask, which was still attached to the corpse of the other Shield Knight far away in Verskul’s hideout.
Dace saw things as if he was lying on the stone floor on his side. Across the room, he could see two men, one wearing colourful stitched-up armour, the other garbed in a blood-red wizard’s robe.
“…after you have dealt with our prisoners,” said the robed man, “locate the assassin whom the Shield Knight spoke of, and eliminate him. Then see about finding the second Sigil,” the wizard turned and Dace saw Verskul’s skeletal face, as well as the black Sigil amulet around his neck.
Verskul peered about the room, “Hold, someone is scrying upon us…”
Dace yanked the gold mask from his face and the vision vanished, leaving him momentarily disoriented. Looking down, the assassin saw that he’d subconsciously grasped the burning-angel amulet that was identical to the one worn by the liche.
He then stared at the boarded-up well in front of him. Judging by the amount of rust and decay on its hinges, no one had used it for a long time. Perhaps the well had dried up long ago.
Dace glanced back down at the Sigil. Once again, he realized that he had a great opportunity in his hands.
(7:10)
Atamir glanced back and saw that the cleric was lagging behind, “Hurry up, elf. Time is becoming a serious factor.”
“I don’t appreciate being referred to by my race,” Selena replied, “I have extended every courtesy to you, Captain. Perhaps you would be civil enough to do the same?”
“Don’t play your moral superiority with me.”
The elf sighed. Never before had she worked with someone as aggravating as the Captain, “Is there some reason you are so hostile to those of the faith? It may ease your anger to speak of–”
“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, either.”
Selena was quiet for a moment, “A paladin hurt you once,” she observed, “Some wrongful doing that shattered a once-pristine impression of knights. Am I getting warm?”
Atamir’s lip curled and kept his eyes locked forward, hoping she would shut up.
“What was it Captain? A theft? Blackmail? Murder?”
“It wasn’t just the knight,” Atamir snapped, “It was your entire blasted Order!!” He twisted around and jabbed a finger at her, “Nashkel, 1349 DR. Twenty years ago, a paladin let a group of children die, and your Order did nothing to punish him!”
“Aelun,” Selena said, “You speak of the fallen knight Aelun.”
“Oh, so you know of him? Then you also know that after his release, he fled to the jungles of Chult until–”
“Until he was finally slain by a hired mercenary two years later. Yes, I’ve been told of his fate,” the elf closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, “And because of the Order’s ‘failure’ you have treated all paladins with contempt?”
Atamir grudgingly nodded and turned his attention back to the road.
“But you never learned the truth behind Aelun’s condition,” she added.
“What are you on about?”
Her green eyes stared into the back of the Captain’s head, “Several years before the Nashkel incident, Aelun was one of the bravest knights in the Order.”
“I bet he was,” scoffed the guard captain.
“But his courage was what led to Aelun’s destruction. A few years earlier, we captured a madman who had been wandering the Sword Coast, slaying travelers on the main roads. I was one of the acolytes assigned to divining the source of his madness,” she absently squeezed the holy symbol around her neck, “He had been possessed by an immortal demonic spirit, one that feeds on violence, and drives its host toward murder and insanity. There was, however, one fact that made it unusually difficult to deal with.”
Atamir was now listening closely, but failed to grasp the relevance of this tale.
“It had the ability to transfer bodies upon the death of its host. Because it fed on violence, the spirit would always switch to the body of the nearest person who killed its current host.”
The Captain’s face paled; he could see where this story was going. He cleared his throat, “And… Aelun somehow ended up killing this man?”
The cleric nodded sadly, “We underestimated the madman’s strength, and he broke free of captivity, killing dozens of our numbers until Aelun made the final decision and downed him with an arrow of slaying. He chose to sacrifice himself, his soul and sanity, in order to halt the madman’s rampage and temporarily stop the vengeful spirit.” She sighed and looked toward the eastern horizon as they rode on, “At first we could not detect any sign of the spirit in Aelun’s body; we assumed it was defeated by the purity of his heart. That was until the Nashkel incident.
“We could not execute him, for it was the demon spirit that was responsible, and it would simply change bodies and continue its vile deeds. Nor could we imprison him, for the lack of carnage would prompt the spirit to kill its own host and find a new one.”
“So you just cut him loose into the world?!” shouted Atamir.
“No. The trial that was held was only done for public display. In truth, we secretly arranged for him to be sent away to Chult and placed in a sealed dungeon, where he could hunt wildlife as much as he wished. It was only a temporary solution, of course, but we hoped to find an alternative before the spirit became restless.”
The Captain’s eyes weren’t focused on anything, he was lost in thought, “But then the mercenary came…”
“Yes. Someone had hired a sellsword from Nashkel to slay Aelun. We didn’t realize this until after the mercenary had escaped… and now the spirit roams the world in that mercenary’s body, roaming the world, spreading suffering and hatred at each step.”
“I- I can’t believe this,” the Captain cried, “Why had I not heard of this?”
“At the time it was secret knowledge; we didn’t want the whole world to know of this immortal evil,” she reached up and brushed her hair out of her eyes, “I suppose it doesn’t matter today, now that Aelun has long since passed on. In any case, the point of this story is to tell you that Aelun wasn’t truly responsible for what he did. He sacrificed himself to try and stop this evil, but in the end it consumed him.”
“I see,” the Captain slowly let out his breath, but didn’t make any apology; twenty years of hostility against paladins wasn’t something that could be buried by a single story, “And you never found the one who killed Aelun?”
“No. We’ve been searching ever since Aelun’s death, but we could find very little information on the mercenary, Revis.”
“You mean ‘Krevis’. His name was Krevis.”
“I see you are familiar with that part of the case.”
Yes, Captain Atamir thought to himself, I’m familiar with it… because I’m the one who hired Krevis to slay Aelun in the first place.
“Why did he do it?”
“I beg your pardon?” asked the elf.
“Why did Aelun kill the madman instead of merely disabling him?”
Selena could only shrug in reply, “Innocent lives were in immediate danger from the madman. Aelun… he had no time,” she closed her eyes for a moment, “He made a choice.”
With that said, both riders continued on in silence toward the grey tower in the north. Atamir’s head was swimming, and not from all the ale he’d downed in the past night. Krevis had been one of his former adventuring companions, and now was running wild somewhere in Faerûn, possessed by a malicious spirit.
What have I done, thought the Captain, quietly throwing his head up to the skies, What have I done?
(7:24)
Krevis sang a sadistic tune as he waved the bloody kukri blade around in the air, “And the time finally caaame, to bring an end to the gaaame…”
Derrick and Cerdan exchanged glances as the madman approached the elf’s cell.
“My master no longer needs either of you, since you blinkers obviously don’t know where the second Sigil is,” the madman smirked, “So now, before I head off to the tower, I get to have a little fun.”
He pressed a finger against the lock on Cerdan’s cell, causing the plate glowed for a moment, and door slid open. The elf squared his footing and raised his fists, prepared to defend himself.
“Oh, now that’s hardly fair. Here I am with a kukri in hand, while you make do with nothing at all. What do you plan to do? Wear down my blade by hitting it with your internal organs?” Krevis reached into his tunic and threw a plain dagger at the elf’s feet, “Pick it up. Time for the dance to begin.”
Cerdan snatched up the dagger and charged, but Krevis simply sidestepped and spun about, slashing the elf across the back as he passed. As Cerdan hit the floor, struggling around to defend himself, Derrick found himself looking around his own cell for something that he could use to aid his friend.
Rather than press his attack, Krevis patiently waited just out of striking distance for the elf to get to his feet, “Pathetic. Are there no skilled fighters in this damned city? I- oof!”
The elf dived at his opponent, managing to tackle him across the chest. Pinning one of Krevis’ hands down, Cerdan raised the dagger high and plunged it down at the man’s throat. Derrick quickly looked away; he’d already seen more blood in one day than he had in six years.
Cerdan stared down at his opponent. The blade was sticking out of the man’s neck, but tip didn’t seem to be penetrating the skin, there wasn’t even a drop of blood.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Krevis said, twitching his neck to dislodge the dagger, “My flesh is invulnerable to normal weapons. A small perk from a special little spirit within me.” The pale man bashed his head forward, knocking the elf off of him, “You didn’t really think I’d give you a chance, did you?”
As the elf struggled up, Krevis strode over and planted a foot atop the elf’s chest, “No wonder my employer seeks to burn all the people here. Never before have I been so underwhelmed by the sheer –”
A dwarven boot sailed through the air and struck the killer in the back of the head. Krevis twisted his head around and sent a dark gaze at Derrick, who simply glared back and threw Rombis’ second boot at him. Ducking low, Krevis was distracted long enough for Cerdan to snap his arms up and seize the man by the wrist.
Krevis responded by kicking upside the elf’s jaw, then reversed his kukri blade and forcefully cracked the pommel across the side of Cerdan’s skull, knocking him out. The mercenary then reached into his pocket and took out a small green vial, which he gave a little shake.
“This isn’t nearly as satisfying as I was expecting, so I’m just going to have to end our little melee here and now. But look on the bright side, at least you won’t suffer a slow, painful burning death like the rest of this city. Instead,” smiling madly, he opened the bottle and prepared to pour some of the poison onto his blade, “You’ll suffer a slow, numbing poison death.”
A spinning dagger flew out from the shadows and knocked the bottle from Krevis’ hands, and the vial shattered on the floor amidst a green puddle. Krevis twisted around in alarm toward Derrick, but the ex-thief was squinting at a figure cloaked in black that had appeared at the entrance of the room.
“Who in the bloody spikes are you?!” Krevis shouted, pointing his kukri at the newcomer.
Dace said nothing and simply strolled forward, raising a dagger and short sword up in his signature ‘x’ salute. Confident that the elf wouldn’t be waking up for a while, a mischievous grin danced over Krevis’ lips as he rose to meet Dace’s approach.
“Didn’t I already kill you today? Looks like I’ll have to do a better job this time.”
There was no sign of emotion on the older man’s face, “You are not the first to make the mistake of leaving me alive. Time to pay the price.” Krevis closed in, swinging his blade.
Derrick recognized the newcomer from the Ducal Palace earlier in the day. Why then, he wondered, were these villains fighting each other?
Maneuvering his wrist about in a circle, Dace deflected his opponent’s weapon and then thrust his own short sword into Krevis’ chest. But although the strike cut through his armour, the attack shed none of Krevis’ blood. Instead, the force from the impact caused Krevis to stumble back, bracing his hand back against Derrick’s cage.
Dace dropped into a crouch, blades raised, as Krevis pushed off and lunged in for another attack.
Glancing down at the lock on his cell door, Derrick noticed that the lock panel was glowing where Krevis had accidentally touched the cage. The lock-plate clicked and separated into two parts, unlocking the door.
While the combatants were busy clashing blades, Derrick shoved the door open and rushed over to the nearby table, grabbing the dagger and the dragon-wand that had once been held by Lorelei. Next he went to Cerdan’s side. The elf sported a bruise on the side of the head, but was otherwise unharmed. Derrick pulled one of Cerdan’s arms over his own shoulders and helped the semi-conscious elf to his feet.
On the other side of the room, the twisted kukri sliced through the air toward Dace’s side, and the assassin quickly angled his dagger to block the move. Before making contact, Krevis sharply swept his blade up in a diagonal direction, and the kukri instead slashed across of Dace’s hand and fingers.
Cursing in pain, the assassin instinctively dropped his dagger, but still had enough presence of mind to bring his short sword up for defence. Krevis was quick to press the advantage and closed in, batting the sword aside and forcing the tip of his blade beneath Dace’s chin.
“I don’t know who you are, old man, and truthfully I don’t care either,” said Krevis, “But I should thank you. You’re still nothing, but at least this fight was a mite longer than the others,” he raised his blade, lightly cutting the assassin, “What’s that? You have something to say?”
Dace whispered through clenched teeth, “You are defeated.”
The assassin quickly rolled his weight to his heels and pushed himself away, letting his body fall backward from the kukri. His left hand moved in a flash and before Krevis could lunge forward, Dace whipped a small vial of liquid out from under his tunic and threw directly into Krevis’ face.
The tiny flask shattered against Krevis’ sickly skin and the liquid created a hissing noise as it made contact. Screaming in pain, the man collapsed, dropping his kukri and clutching at his face.
Dace stared in surprise. The assassin had meant to throw of vial of red acid at his opponent. Instead, Dace had mistakenly thrown a flask of holy water from the temple of Il-Mater.
Being possessed by a demon-spirit had its drawbacks.
After snatching up Krevis’ twisted blade, Dace reversed the weapon so it was pointing down at the fallen man. The assassin spoke with contempt, “Now that I command your full attention, I demand to speak with your comrade, the undead wizard.”
“You’ve found him,” came an echoing voice from behind.
Dace turned to see Verskul standing at the doorway, a fiery glow encompassing both of the liche’s hands.
“You have one sentence to tell me why I should allow you to continue living, mortal.”
The assassin stared the liche straight in the eye, refusing to appear frightened, “The Sigil you seek is hidden well.”
As soon as he heard the words, Verskul dismissed his spell and the glow dissipated, “And I take it such information will come at a price?”
“Why are you dealing with him?!” yelled Krevis, now sporting heavy red and black scars across his face, “Because of this blinker, both the prisoners escaped!”
“They are of little concern for now,” said Verskul, “We will be long gone by the time they alert anyone. The envoys at Greyhelm Tower are of more pressing interest. If we let them live, my enemies may learn of what we are doing.”
Verskul pointed at Dace, “You there, assassin. What have you to say?”
Dace reached into his tunic and tossed the gold mask to the ground, sending a clattering noise through the room, “You rely too much on magic, too little on raw skill. That mask led me here, and I could have slain your henchmen, had I needed to do so. And now I have a proposal you would do well to hear.”
“And if we decide to gut your sorry innards instead?” asked Krevis.
“Then I show you what it is like to be caught in point blank range of an exploding infernus crystal,” Dace said as he touched the anti-magic box in his pocket.
Krevis wrenched his face into a sneer; he could see where this was going.
Locking eyes, the liche made a quick gesture, dismissing his co-conspirator. After Krevis grudgingly stormed off, Verskul returned his attention to Dace.
“Tell me.”
(7:38)
“We’ve arrived, Captain.”
The elf’s voice shook Atamir from his thoughts as they neared Greyhelm Tower. Many of the envoys’ entourages were gathered out in front of the building, all hastily preparing to leave the city. Sir Treysen stood out front as well, stoically overseeing the wagons and carriages.
Atamir rode straight up to the paladin and dismounted, passing his horse off to the nearest page. Selena directed her own steed toward the stables.
“You there, knight!” called Atamir, “What is the meaning of all this?” he motioned at the diplomats.
“Chancellor Thinder was assassinated shortly after you left. The killer used a magical disguise to penetrate the building. With the sun now risen, all but a handful of the remaining diplomats are retreating from the city out of fear for their safety.”
Atamir frowned, “So the Baldur’s Gate summit is a failure.”
“Not completely. The Waterdeep, Athakatla, and Tethyr envoys are still here. They seem strangely eager to work out some deal that Thinder had proposed to them last night.”
The guard captain shook his head at the paladin’s false optimism. Glancing toward the city’s clock tower a few blocks to the south, Atamir could only wonder at how so much destruction could be wrought in a single night.
“Paladin,” he said, “I will remain on guard here so long as we still have envoys in the building.”
“Hm, yes, of course,” Treysen said unconcernedly.
(7:41)
“What, praytell, are we going to do now?” asked Cerdan, lightly touching the bruise over his ear.
Derrick looked back through the crowded street, but didn’t see anyone following them, “Both Lorelei and that crazy pale guy mentioned something about their employer burning the city. Everything that has happened today was just a prelude to that event.”
“Well, just give me twenty-four hours, and I’ll have every guildhouse in the city up in arms, and we can launch an attack on –”
Derrick shook his head, “We don’t have that long. Whatever they’re planning is going to strike before noon.”
“That’s less than four hours away! How do you plan on stopping them?”
The ex-thief gazed to the north at Greyhelm Tower off in the distance, “We’re going to enlist some additional help.”
(7:44)
“A terrible idea, a terrible idea,” muttered Krevis as he watched the liche remove the silver pendant from around its neck.
Verksul ignored the man and set the pendant down on the table beside the Sigil.
“You expect me to work with some blinkin’ amateur?” Krevis went on, “If the mercenary ruins my task –”
“If Dace ruins your task, it will be of no consequence. You and he have only a peripheral mission, a diversion from the true plan. All day you have complained of a lack of action, you should be thankful for this opportunity.”
The pale man grumbled incoherently.
Verskul placed the Sigil around his skeletal neck and continued, “The real threat will come if my enemies learn of all this. For that reason,” he picked up the silver angel pendant and held it out, “I will entrust my phylactery to you. So long as it is kept secure, my spell will go uninterrupted.”
“What if the assassin somehow gets hold of it?” asked Krevis, jerking his head toward the hallway where Dace was waiting outside of earshot.
“He has no magical ability, he won’t be able to destroy it. And I’m sure you won’t let him overpower you again,” the last sentence stung Krevis’ ears.
“No,” Krevis said, hefting his crossbow, already loaded with one of several enchanted bolts, “Not again. But I still think he’ll try to betray us.”
“Of course he will! The only reason I allowed him to work with us was so you can coerce him into divulging the second Sigil’s location later on. But remember to first focus on stirring chaos at Greyhelm Tower. If your distraction doesn’t succeed, my plans for this Sigil will fail.”
“Yeah, yeah. No worries about that. I’ve been itching to rack up a new kill count for weeks.”
The liche nodded and with a chilling voice said, “Good hunting.”
“Tally-ho,” added Krevis with a perverse grin.
(7:49)
“This will only get us both arrested,” argued Cerdan, walking after Derrick, “You’re wanted for murder, and I’m a professional card-carrying guild thief!”
“What, they have a card for it now?”
“Do you honestly expect the paladins to take your word on a fanciful story about an undead wizard and an invulnerable madman?”
“No. Someone might recognize me from earlier today,” replied Derrick, “That’s why you are going to tell them.”
“Utterly insane.”
“Then why are you still following me?”
“Why are you so eager to see this through?” the elf countered, “A few hours ago, I practically had to plead to you for help. Now you want to rush in headlong.”
“When I faced Lorelei, I realized something. I can’t run away from these things any more. Six years ago, I let Lorelei die because I turned my back on her when I could have saved her. Same thing with Syra. I can’t let today’s events slide; I have to do something to stop Verskul. Even if that means putting my faith with the paladins of Tyr.”
The elf was silent for a moment, then said, “But if you get arrested, Bryn won’t have a father. And I can tell you he won’t end up in a very good place in life without you.”
Derrick scraped to a stop and spun to face the elf, “What are you talking about?”
Cerdan frowned, “Bryn tried to join the guild a few months ago. He went through all the basic training sessions and probably would have made it in if I hadn’t found out about him. If he can’t join the guild, what if connects with some street gang?” the elf’s visage softened slightly, “Look, there has to be a better way for us to convince the knights.”
Derrick found himself filling with speechless anger. After all the years of lecturing and warning about the dangers of the guild, Bryn had gone off and done the second-most stupid action he could possibly take.
Before Derrick could say something, a distant crashing noise sounded from behind them. A huge winged creature burst out into the air through the roof of a building to the southeast. Squinting against the beast’s form in the sunlight, Derrick slowly realized it was a wyvern.
“I think that thing came out of the building we escaped from!” cried Cerdan.
With horrified awe, Derrick watched as the creature swooped low and soared toward the north. It was flying in the direction of Greyhelm Tower.
Derrick turned to Cerdan, “I’ve a feeling the knights will be a little too preoccupied to bother arresting you or me.”
(7:57)
Flapping its massive, leathery wings, Razor-Wing was flying in a direct line for the tall stone spire at the city’s northern point. A murderous gleam filled the creature’s eye as it looked down at the peasantry, running and cowering as the wyvern streaked through the skies overhead.
A low growl began to form from deep within the creature’s throat, and Razor-Wing could feel the familiar build-up of heat in preparation for a breath of flame. The wyvern stretched its scaly claws as the tower grew larger. The hunt was about to begin.
(8:00)
.
Note: For those who don't know, A ‘phylactery’ is an artifact that is used to store a liche’s soul and the essence of his magical force. By keeping it outside his physical form, a liche can normally use the phylactery to regenerate himself in case his body is destroyed. |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 23 Apr 2005 : 04:34:25
The Strength of her Convictions
(6:00)
Bryn slowly backed away from the dangling spider, sending a nervous glance over his shoulder and wondering if he could reach the roof door in time.
“That’s right, kid, try to run. You won’t get far, I have enough web to ensnare you eight times over,” laughed the creature.
The boy turned and broke into a run for the door. On reaction, the spider snapped its head forward and let loose a thick mass of webbing, which entangled Bryn around the legs. He tripped and fell forward, knocking against the door with his head as he fell.
As soon as it creaked open, sunlight flooded into the stairwell from across the eastern horizon. When the sunbeams touched the spider, its fur began to hiss and smoke. Screeching in pain, the nocturnal beast fell from the ceiling and hit the ground on its back, flailing its legs around in the air in panic.
The creature made a futile attempt to cover its eyes with its forelegs, but the front limbs had already become scalded into blackened crisps. In seconds, the creature’s entire form was charred as if it had been tossed into a smithy’s furnace.
Bryn covered his nose and struggled to keep from throwing up as the rancid stench and smoke wafted off of the spider’s corpse. He reached down and with some difficulty, ripped the sticky webbing off of his legs. Wiping his hands off on the wall, he carefully moved around the smoking creature, then made his way back down the stairs, away from the burnt remains of the Night Parade beast.
(6:05)
The Shield Knight in the platinum mask was bound to the wall of the dark room by magical chains. Verskul stood nearby, now garbed in a robe the colour of dark blood.
“The Maiden specifically instructed you to refrain from hiring outside parties for the summit assassinations,” said the liche, his voice bearing an unnatural hollow echo, “Not only did you defy that order, you failed in your mission.”
“We are not fools. Why should we risk the wrath of the combined Sword Coast nations when we might deflect the blame on an independent rabble of sell-swords?”
If Verskul had lips, he would have sneered. Acquiring the services of the Knights of the Shield had been Lorelei’s idea, and the logic behind her proposal had seemed sound at the time. The liche grimaced inwardly; trusting her had been yet another failing of his mortal shell. It made little difference, however. Verskul knew what this day’s outcome would be, one way or another.
“Where are these mercenaries now?” he demanded.
Krevis suddenly opened the door and barged in, “Verskul, one of the prisoners has escaped, and Lorelei–”
“I did not summon your presence!” Verskul raised a hand at Krevis, and a gale of wind rushed through the room, hurling the man back outside and slamming the door shut behind him.
Platinum-mask spoke evenly, “Three of the mercenaries are already dead. The fourth was felled by a shot in the chest from your own henchman,” he gestured at the door that Krevis had passed through.
“I see. And what of the prisoners you captured?”
“How do you know of that?”
“We are not fools either. The enchantments that the Maiden placed upon your warehouse included one that would let her eavesdrop on your conversations. You had two prisoners whom you sent to the Ducal Palace. Are they dead as well?”
“The guard was killed in the infernal crystal blast. I… do not know of the Tethyrian envoy’s fate.”
“Then he may spread word of our plans to others at the summit?”
“I…”
The liche’s burned skull swayed from side to side, “You were to operate in secrecy and cut off all loose ends. If any learn of what I am doing, my mission will be in serious jeopardy,” Verskul waved his hands and began to cast a spell.
“Wait, what are you doing?” the Shield Knight’s platinum mask suddenly began to glow and sizzle. He reached up to yank it off, but the scalding metal had become sealed to his face, and he only succeeded in burning his hands.
Verskul looked on in stoic silence as the room filled with the stench of burning flesh and the sound of agonized screams.
(6:14)
Lord Siron peered out down the hall as Sir Treysen directed a pair of clerics in removing Chancellor Thinder’s charred remains.
“And so the mighty fall,” Siron turned and saw ambassador Elsina approach, “I will confess that the Chancellor’s death does little to draw tears from my eyes.”
Lord Siron stared at the Waterdeep envoy for a moment, “He blackmailed you as well, didn’t he?” the Athkatlan took her silence as an affirmation, “Then we have a common concern. Thinder claimed that he would reveal damning information were he to die an untimely death.”
“Perhaps we have no choice but to accept whatever consequences befall us.”
“Or perhaps we could use this turn to our advantage,” Siron lowered his voice conspiratorially, “With Thinder gone, we are free to pursue our own ends. What if we were to lead this navy proposal? If we continue the project in the Chancellor’s name, his associates may choose to work with us rather than expose our secrets.”
“And without the Chancellor reaping his share of the profit, we might stand to gain much wealth and power,” Elsina mused.
The Athkatlan ambassador nodded, “Perhaps we should have a word with ambassador Korrien. I shall speak with you anon.”
With that, Siron stepped off with a smile on playing across his face, already beginning to push the recent encounter with his undead daughter out of his mind. There was still much to be done.
(6:19)
Selena sadly stared at the ceiling, resigned to her fate. She could no longer feel anything, which was perhaps fortunate since the stab wound in her abdomen would have caused immense pain. At least it would be over soon.
No, wait. I must have strength, she thought to herself, Believe the convictions of my faith in Tyr, and my deliverance is at hand. Death is but a doorway, time is a window. I am prepared to move on.
A noise from the door suddenly drew her dazed attention, and the dying elf could make out two figures wearing black off in the distance. Was she hallucinating? Was this some frustrating trick played by her mind in the face of death?
“Derrick Curaten? We’re here from the Baldur’s Gate Taxation and Collections Board, and we have – what in blazes?!” The tax collectors stared at the dying elf, lying amidst the mess.
One of the collectors kneeled beside the cleric, examined her wound, and touched her neck, “She’s alive, but I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
“Slllff…” Selena managed to croak out, staring at the antidote on the shelf up above.
“Did she just say ‘sloth’? Is she drunk as well?”
“No, wait. I think she said ‘shelf’,” the collector looked up at the merchandise on the shelf overhead, “Well, she’s either asking for a Calimshite rash ointment, or an antidote potion,” the tax collector retrieved the curative, then she carefully poured the contents into Selena’s mouth.
Slowly, Selena’s vision began to blur, and she could feel a faint warming sensation in her fingers and toes. Perhaps it wasn’t her time yet. The day had only just begun.
(6:26)
Derrick squinted into the darkness. He was navigating a very old, labyrinth-like stone building, with precious little lighting save for the tiny shafts of sunlight coming in through cracks in the ceiling. In the centre of the ceiling was a huge centre-frame in the shape of a large skull made of black glass, blocking out the sun.
“No more hiding, Lorelei!” he shouted as he weaved through the stone passageways, “This madness has gone on long enough.”
“Do you know what this place is?” the Maiden’s impassive voice echoed from all sides, “It is an abandoned temple of Myrkul, the one-time god of the dead. A fitting place for our final encounter.”
“Myrkul was destroyed years ago in the Time of Troubles,” Derrick yelled into the darkness, hoping to keep her talking so he could follow her voice.
“And yet much of his power and influence still linger,” Lorelei replied, “Where do you think the Sigils of the Fallen come from? Long before the god of death was killed, he hid a small portion of his raw, necromantic power in the two Sigils, with the vain hope that one of his followers might use them to raise an undead army and fuel his cause.”
Derrick could hear her voice echoing a bit louder down one particular direction, and he quietly moved in pursuit.
“The dead god’s plan never came to fruition, but the power still remains locked away in the artifacts. That is why my master seeks the Sigils. Verskul died yesterday at my hand, but it was not just to make you lead my henchmen to the thieves’ guild,” she lightly touched her forehead, “The true reason was so he could be raised as an undead liche. For only one who has already shuffled off the chains of mortality has the ability to wield the Sigils’ power.”
Why is she telling me all this? Derrick wondered as he peeked around a corner and into a clearing at the middle of the building. Around the bend, Derrick saw the Maiden with her back turned to him, standing at the middle of a wide sacrificial circle that extended to the opposite walls of the temple.
Very slowly, Derrick unhooked the dragon-wand from his side and aimed it at the mage in green. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focused on the magical energy within the artifact, and prepared to release the spell within.
That was when the dragon-head began to let out a loud growl. Derrick’s eyes flicked open, and the Maiden simply turned to face him, yet she made no move to avoid the stream of fire. But instead of striking her, the flames seemed to blast around her form, leaving no mark of their passing on her skin or clothing.
She shook her head at him, “You think I am not immune to my own magic?”
Derrick stuffed the artifact back into his tunic and instead brought the dagger from Rombis’ corpse to bear, “This is where your evil comes to a close, Maiden. Even your own father has given me leave to stop this madness.”
“Yes… once more this chamber will serve as a place of judgment,” she extended her arms and rotated full circle, “Now think of all the death, all the pain and suffering that has been stirred in my wake. Think of your own son, and know that should I emerge the victor, I will claim his heart as my trophy over your failure.”
Seething with anger, Derrick drew his arm back and charged with full fury at the undead mage across the sacrificial circle. Lorelei sluggishly raised her hands and began the motions for a spell, but Derrick reached her before she could finish. He snatched one of her bony hands and knocked it to the side, disrupting her casting gestures.
Next, he thrust the dagger into her gut and twisted it roughly. Any mortal man would have faltered and collapsed from the shock. Lorelei just reached up and threw her veil to the ground, giving him full view of the hollow stare in her dead, white eyes.
For a split second, Derrick glanced again at the sun tattoo on her face. Something immensely important was nagging him about the symbol…
Lorelei punched Derrick between the eyes with her free hand, sending him reeling back in pain. He clutched his face, feeling as though he’d been hit square on with a hardwood club. The ex-thief stumbled back and noticed a few shards of light on the ground, seeping in from cracks in the ancient glasswork on the ceiling.
“Pathetic,” declared the Maiden, “I thought you were a killer. Yet you fight like an invalid. Do you not realize that your son’s life will be forfeit should you perish?”
Questions began to seep into Derrick’s mind: Why isn’t she attacking? Why does she keep trying to goad me into combat? How can I defeat her?
Panting and tired, Derrick glared up at her forehead. Even on the verge of defeat, he couldn’t take his eyes off the tattoo. That tiny little… sun.
He glanced up at the black glass ceiling. Sunlight, the bane of the undead. Lorelei had removed her opaque protective veil earlier, and Derrick realized that he had the answer to one of his questions.
Derrick reached into his tunic and drew the dragon-wand, “All the death that has been doled out by your hand and all your mindless hatred have put you on this path,” he thrust his arm directly up at the ceiling and began to focus on the wand’s magic, “This is your end, Maiden.”
The dragon-head began to let out its low, telltale growl, and Lorelei spread her arms and tilted her head back.
“Yes…” she whispered.
The growl continued, but Derrick suddenly hesitated. She wasn’t trying to attack or escape, or even hurl one final threat or curse. She was… expecting her end.
“You want me to kill you…” he said in surprise.
“More foolish words have never been spoken. I want to kill you.”
“No, I think that’s it,” everything started adding up in Derrick’s mind, “You’ve had a dozen opportunities to kill me today, yet every time you’ve either let me escape or ordered that I be kept alive.”
“We needed you to lead us to the thieves’ guild.”
“But even after I did that, you still didn’t kill me, even when you had me in captivity.”
“I ordered the wererat to slay you!” Lorelei spat.
Derrick held up the silver dagger, “But before that, you planted this weapon on Rombis’ body for me to find, didn’t you?!” He stared at the dragon-wand, “Back at the tower, you even hesitated before blasting me with this wand, giving me time to dodge the spell…”
Lorelei’s cheek twitched, but she said nothing. Her facial expression remained unreadable.
Derrick pointed at her tattoo, “When you showed me your face, I didn’t recognize that mark on your forehead at first. But now I know why it was familiar. My wife had been a scholar of religious history. She once showed me a series of holy symbols of Lathander, god of light and new beginnings… that tiny sun tattoo was one of those symbols.
“Before I came here, your father called you a ‘blasphemy’ to his religion. That’s why you want to die, isn’t it? Even after being raised as an undead, you still have the strength of your convictions as a Lathanderite. You see yourself as a blasphemy.”
“Death is the only real justice in the world,” Lorelei murmured as she held up her hands, “Every day in this wretched, false existence brings me nothing but pain and torment.” She looked up and stared Derrick in the eye, anger rising in her voice, “You owe me nothing but death. Think of all the wrongs I have committed against you and those around you. Rombis, Orwin, Cerdan, Jena, Bryn… They all cry out for vengeance. Come and end my life as you did once before.”
Derrick glared at her. The woman was responsible for so much death, yet for the first time today, he was feeling something other than anger toward her. It was pity.
“I think I finally understand what this is all about. You believe that by dying, you’ll be granted the one thing we all desire: absolution. Forgiveness for what you are, and what you’ve become.”
For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a tear forming at the corner of her pale eye. But no, it must have been a trick of the light.
“Well, I can’t give it to you,” Derrick lowered his dagger, “No more killing, no more wanton hatred and destruction. I am responsible for starting this cycle of murder six years ago. Now I have to be the one to stop it here,” he threw his weapon to the ground, “And no further.”
Lorelei closed her eyes, “Fool. You know not what you do by leaving me alive.”
“No, I know exactly what I’m doing… for the first time in a long while. If you want to die, do it yourself.”
“I cannot. I am bound by magical geas that forbids me from committing suicide. Ever since I was raised from death, I am forced to serve my master, the very wizard who had me kidnapped six years ago.”
“Then fight for your freedom, Lorelei. Tell me what his plans are and how I can defeat him.”
She shook her head, “Now that he has transformed into a liche, you will be hard pressed to defeat him. He has a terrible creature at his disposal with the power to set the city aflame by noon today. But I do not know how he will do this; there are many things that he never saw the need to tell me.”
“You must know of some way we can stop that from happening. If you truly desire absolution, this is your path. Help me.”
Lorelei was silent for several heartbeats. At last, she opened her eyes, “Very well. I will do what I can, for the remainder of this fateful day.”
Without warning, the glass ceiling suddenly shattered, and shards of black glass rained down amidst beams of glaring sunlight. Derrick barely jumped back in time, avoiding the jagged pieces.
Lorelei, her veil still removed, widened her eyes in shock as she was touched by the sunlight, and her scarred flesh burst into grey smoke and dust. The ashes fell off her skeleton and drifted to the floor in clumps as Lorelei collapsed, reduced to nothing more than a pile of bones and dusty green robes. Now she was just another memory lost to the shadows.
Hearing a guttural chuckling from behind, Derrick scrambled to his feet and spun about to face the newcomer. Krevis, carrying a large crossbow that had been pointed at the ceiling, had a sadistic grin plastered over his face, “That was weak, ‘No more killing, no more hatred!’ ” he said in a whiny imitation of Derrick’s voice, “That was real weak. And here I thought there’d be some guts in vermin like you.”
The ex-thief dived for the silver dagger on the ground, but Krevis casually drew his green wand and summoned a portal in the ground beneath Derrick as he landed.
Krevis lowered the wand as his opponent fell through, then went to check on Lorelei’s remains.
“Looks like I win after all, Maiden,” he grinned, looking down at his jeweled bracelet to see that the third gem had now cracked, “I’m sorry I didn’t stretch it out a little longer. It would have pleased me to hear a scream or two. Ah well,” he sifted through the pile of ash and clothing, then removed the Sigil that Lorelei had been carrying, “Looks like I’ll have a bigger hunting ground soon enough.”
(6:47)
Selena used her last healing spell to ease some of the pain in her stomach, then swallowed another healing potion to repair the wound. The numbness in her legs was just starting to fade, but at least she had regained the ability to move freely.
“Are you certain you don’t want us to return you to the Temple of Tyr?” asked the tax collector.
“There is no temple left for me to return to.”
“But surely there is some place where you can receive some aid?”
Before she could reply, the door chimed and someone marched inside the store.
“I finished my part of the list already. What’s taken you so long?” Captain Atamir said to the elf, “And what in the hells happened here?”
“I was attacked by a madman who was ransacking the shop, looking for something. He left me for dead…”
“Yes, but what of the owner? Have you found him?”
The cleric narrowed her eyes at him, “It would be customary for you to show concern for an injured person’s well-being.”
The tax collector intervened before the Captain could respond, “Guardsman, this store is owned by a local merchant named Derrick Curaten.”
“I see,” said Atamir, “And where is he now?”
“I can’t say, sir. With all the ruckus going on here, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had already skipped town.”
“Alright, I’m going to check this ‘Curaten’ fellow’s records. In a few minutes I’ll be heading back to Greyhelm Tower to check how my officers are progressing.”
As the Captain brushed past into the back room, a second tax collector entered from outside, “Cleric, I’ve brought you an extra horse to use, if you think you need it.”
Selena took a deep breath and carefully stood, leaning on the countertop for support, “Thank you.” The elf glanced down and saw the broken hourglass lying on the floor, its streams of sand scattered across the floor. She had an odd premonition that even with her recovery, her time was somehow running short. She looked up at the window as the sun hovered low on the horizon of a red sky.
There was still much to be done.
(6:53)
Bryn walked freely through the bright streets, tired but relieved that his ordeal with the nocturnal monsters was now over. He was down the street from his father’s pawnshop, and when he saw the two horses out front, he became worried that Ayva might still be around. Taking a place near a parked wagon, the boy peered down the road and waited, wondering if he should risk moving closer.
After a few minutes, a poorly shaved guard and a red-haired elf emerged from the store, each looking rather worn and weary. Shuffling alongside the wall, Bryn came closer and peeked inside the store window, then widened his eyes when he saw the mess within.
“Hey, kid!”
Bryn turned and saw that both the guard and the elf were staring at him.
“Stay away from that building,” Atamir said, “It’s owned by a murderer, and seems to have attracted a variety of dangerous people today.”
Bryn nodded and turned away, pretending to be playing some imaginary game.
The Captain turned back to Selena, “As I was saying, I don’t need any help from you or your Order. I can hunt this ‘Derrick Curaten’ on my own.”
“It would be prudent for you to seek guidance on the matter first.”
“Bah. Are you going to follow me or not?” he said as he mounted his steed.
“Yes, but please do not ride so fast. I’m still weak, and I don’t wish to risk falling off and breaking my neck.”
As they set off on a slow trot, Bryn discreetly moved to follow them. His father obviously wasn’t at the store, and probably wouldn’t be returning any time soon. If this guard was going to look for Bryn’s father, he might as well tag along.
(6:57)
Holding up the black amulet, Krevis watched the burning angel glint in the dim light. He held out the Sigil of the Fallen, and a pair of blackened skeletal hands carefully took the artifact.
“Yes…” Verskul hissed as he ran a sharp finger along the face of the Sigil, “Now my plans may finally come to fruition.”
Krevis scratched at his pale hands, “Lorelei is dead. Derrick killed her.”
The liche’s hollow eyes showed no sign of concern, “Then he is more resourceful than I originally believed. An admirable trait.”
“What’ll I do with them?”
“You may take whatever action you wish. I must make preparations for the casting ritual.”
The man in the patchwork armour nodded absently, “Yeah, great. Casting your grand spell might attract the notice of the town guard and the various city guilds and temples. But hey, that’ll just give us more people to kill! ‘Course, if word of your attempt reaches the ears of your enemies, that’s a whole other story…”
Verskul raised a dismissing hand, then paced toward a massive, bolted door in the back of the room. The liche reached out and began to unclasp the locks, “They will do no such thing, for their eyes will be directed toward a more pressing concern.”
The door opened, and the liche stepped through into a wide room with a large pit in the base of the floor and an open skylight overhead. Verskul was magically strong enough that he could stand in the sunlight without taking harm.
Down in the pit, lay a massive brown and scaly dragon-like beast, held in place by chains atop a nest. As soon as Verskul stepped to the edge overlooking the pit, the wyvern’s head shot up and blew a plume of smoke from its nostrils.
“I return, Razor-Wing, now heed my call,” spoke the liche, “The time has come for you to deliver flaming death and reign fear from the skies once more.”
The wyvern’s lips curled back to reveal an array of jagged teeth. It reared its head back and let out an ear-splitting screech that echoed through the air. At long last, it was time for the beast to hunt.
(7:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 20 Apr 2005 : 03:56:25
Kids’ Stuff
(5:00)
The wolf-beast slowed its breathing as it peeked through the doorway into Bryn’s room. A puff of smoke came out from its nostrils as it saw the kid sleeping peacefully, unaware of his impending doom. The creature stretched its claws, then stepped inside. When the beast’s foot came down, it landed on something warm and fuzzy.
An angry, high-pitched screech sounded from underfoot, and Cerdan’s cat Jinx sprang from his spot on the floor, slashing its own claws at the wolf beast’s leg. The monster stumbled back in surprise. The noise roused Bryn from his sleep, and through tired eyes he blinked at the scene before him.
Jinx had bitten the wolf-beast on the ankle, and the creature was now jumping about on one foot, snarling as it attempted to shake the feline away.
Bryn’s eyes snapped open wide, and in three leaps the boy bounced out of the bed, skipped atop a desk, and squirmed out the open window, barefoot, into the open streets.
With a final hard kick, the wolf-creature knocked the cat away, and Jinx scurried off deeper into the house. The beast whirled back to the bed, but saw that it was too late. Letting out another primal roar, the monster charged toward the front doors, still intent on stopping that troublesome kid.
(5:07)
Lorelei watched as the liche placed the silver pendant on the front of its chest. There was a slight flash of light, and the pendant attached itself to Verskul’s rib cage.
“Have the Sigils been secured?” intoned the liche.
“Treysen has acquired one of them. I will receive it from him personally within the hour.”
“What of the other?”
“We do not know what Derrick and Cerdan have done with it. I had them brought here for interrogation until we-”
The liche turned its hollow gaze on the Maiden, “They are here? You were not to reveal this location to anyone.”
“I-”
“I will remind you that I control your soul. You are bound to follow me,” the liche began to walk away from the altar, its bones creaking and grinding with every step, “For the remainder of this day, you will carry out my orders.”
Lorelei nodded, “I am aware of the geas upon me.”
“Then I order you to retrieve the Sigil from Treysen. First, however, I want you to deal with those... things. Have them both killed immediately; I’ll not have my plans ruined by your own need for vengeance,” Verskul made his way to the side of the room, where a set of red necromancer’s robes lay on a table.
(5:11)
Everyone in the prison glanced up as Lorelei returned. The wererat scurried over and looked down at the undead woman, “Well? Does he walk again?”
Both Derrick and Cerdan leaned forward against the bars, hoping to catch some key information.
The Maiden nodded and whispered, “Yes, Verskul has been raised. He has ordered that these two be executed.”
“Excellent,” growled the wererat, “I tire of standing here. I am a warrior rodent, not a watchdog,” he raised his claws and advanced on the cages.
“Hold,” said the Maiden, “Before you do this, I must speak to the one who murdered me.” She approached Derrick’s cell and pressed a grey, decaying finger against the hole-less lock. The steel piece flashed for a moment, then clicked and separated into two panels.
The wizard slid the door aside and stepped in, never taking her eyes off of the thief. Derrick moved to attack his captor, but the wererat suddenly stuck a claw through the bars and gripped Derrick around the side of his neck, holding him back.
“The undead can shed tears,” Lorelei said, slowly pacing around the cell, “Did you know that, Derrick? Out of all the base functions I have lost; eating, resting, intimacy… the only one that I still have is the one I do not want,” she threw her veil back and fixed her corpse-like gaze upon the thief, “Why would I shed tears, when my frozen black heart in filled with nothing but raw hatred?!”
Lorelei leaped forward and thrust an accusing finger at Derrick’s face, her voice reaching a banshee like screech, “Hatred for what you did to me!”
She suddenly moved her hands in the air, and cast a Hand of Death spell. Her palm and fingers became limned in a red glow. Lorelei reached in and held her hand poised just a few centimetres away from his forehead. Breathing heavily, Derrick closed his eyes and swallowed.
Lorelei kept her hand in position for several agonizing moments, then pulled back and traced a counter-spell, dispelling the necromantic magic on her hand, “No. This is too kind a fate for you.”
Derrick opened his eyes. The Maiden leaned away and reached into her robes as she walked over to Rombis’ corpse, “After today, one of us will be dead.”
As she spoke, Derrick’s gaze fell on the tiny sun tattoo on her forehead. There was something out of place with that faded yellow mark, but Derrick couldn’t pinpoint it.
Turning her back to Derrick and the rat, she crouched and started prodding Rombis’ body, “Someone once told me that death is the only lasting justice in this world. I will take great pleasure from yours… and perhaps even your son’s.”
Derrick twitched and tried unsuccessfully to pull away from the wererat’s grip. Lorelei stood and exited the cell. As she passed the wererat she said, “After I’ve gone, kill him… slowly.”
The Maiden drew a wand from her robes and pointed it at a spot on the ground. With a quick incantation, a radiant green portal sprung into being. Sending one final, dead stare in Derrick’s direction, Lorelei pulled her veil down and passed through the gate.
(5:18)
The wererat released the prisoner’s neck and moved inside the cell, claws held out and ready to strike. Derrick rubbed his neck and staggered back. The cage was too small for him to slip around the rat… but if he was fast enough, maybe he could slide under the tall lycanthrope’s legs.
Derrick started forward, but the rat was too quick and simply went into a crouching stance and punched its hairy fist down at the floor in Derrick’s path. The ex-thief jumped away, but tripped over Rombis’ body and fell hard on the floor on his back.
From across the room, Cerdan squinted through the bars of his own cell; was there a glint of light from something in Rombis’ hand?
The elf pointed at the corpse, “Derrick! Check the dwarf!”
Glancing down, Derrick saw a silver dagger clutched tightly in the dead dwarf’s hand. As the wererat advanced, it reached down and scooped Derrick up by the front of his shirt. It pulled Derrick so close that the thief could smell its rank breath, “I do prefer live meat, but it’s too bad you didn’t put up much of a fight. Takes all the sport out of the kill.”
Derrick held up Rombis’ dagger, reversed it in his grip, and thrust it forward, slamming the blade deep into the rat’s chest. The silver burned its way through the lycanthropic hide, finding a path between the creature’s ribs.
The monster choked and faltered, but began to tighten its hold on the prisoner’s shirt. Derrick yanked the dagger out and slashed it upward across his own tunic. The thief hit the ground, followed by the wererat soon after. For a long moment, Derrick simply lay there, staring at the dead mass of fur and unable to believe that he’d defeated it so easily. Something about the dagger…
“Well? Are you going to get me out of here or not?” asked Cerdan.
Derrick remembered the magic locks on the cages and tried touching Cerdan’s cell lock with the wererat’s hand, but nothing happened.
The ex-thief shook his head, “I’ll have to find that Lorelei woman and make her free you,” Derrick turned and looked at the glowing portal through which the Maiden had left, hanging ominously in the air.
Elsewhere in the city, a large crack had appeared over another of the jewels on the Maiden’s black bracelet.
(5:26)
Treysen stood uneasily in the stables behind Greyhelm Tower, anxiously awaiting his co-conspirator’s arrival. He glanced down at the jeweled bracelet on his wrist. Just moments ago, one of the gems had shattered. The paladin wondered if it meant that the Maiden was dead.
His fears were silenced as Lorelei entered the sub-building, her face covered as usual by the opaque green veil. The horses nearby whinnied in fear as she strode past, many of them dipped their heads low behind the stalls to avoid looking at her.
Lorelei indifferently approached Treysen and simply held out her emaciated hand expectantly. The traitorous knight held up the wooden black amulet and presented it to her, “You’d best leave quickly. The envoys may grow suspicious with my absence from the Tower.”
“I am not finished here,” the Maiden darted her hands about in a mystic gesture, and was consumed by white light. In a few seconds, the light cleared and Treysen found himself staring at the spitting image of himself, armour and all.
The knight gaped at Lorelei’s magic disguise, “Wait, you cannot do this! If Verskul has forbidden you from-”
“Verskul ordered me to retrieve the Sigils. I am not defying that command by pursuing my own need for vengeance.” Even Lorelei’s voice now sounded exactly like Treysen’s.
“You may have trouble finding Lord Siron. A number of the envoys are wandering, against my orders.”
“You shall remain here out of sight and allow me to finish what I have started.”
Without waiting for his reply, Lorelei turned on heel and made her way to the Tower entrance. Treysen shifted from one foot to the other, wondering how he was going to deal with this complicated turn of events.
(5:30)
Derrick braced himself as he came out on the other side of the magical gate, shivering at the sudden change in temperature. He was standing just behind the Greyhelm Tower stables, where the portal was concealed among a cluster of dead trees.
He had reversed his shirt so that the hole was on his back, but with the way he was dressed, his chances of sneaking past the guards at the front entrance were probably slim. Before he could make a decision, the large stable door creaked open and he saw a paladin exit and move toward the tower.
Derrick narrowed his eyes as the paladin walked, then slowly crept closer. For some reason, the paladin’s footprints on the ground looked like sandal prints, rather than armoured boots. Rubbing his hands to keep warm, Derrick made his way toward the Tower and began to circle around, hoping to find an alternate entrance.
(5:32)
Krevis entered the jail area of their hideout, rubbing his eyes as he came in, “As usual, my talents were wasted on a mindless and utterly stupid task. When do I–”
He stared at the room; Derrick’s cage was wide open, the wererat lay dead on the ground, and a green portal hung in mid-air at the centre of the room.
“Gah, what is this? Why do I always miss the good parts?!” he drew the kukri and pointed the blade at Cerdan, who was looking rather bored in his own cell, “You, elf! Where is your friend? What happened in my absence?”
Cerdan glanced up at the killer, “Oh, you wouldn’t have believed it! A stampede of giant rabbits came charging through, and–”
“Alright, shut up. If your friend managed to escape from here…” Krevis brought out his wand and dismissed the portal with a wave, “… he won’t be coming back to rescue you.”
(5:34)
“I’m sorry, sir, but I must insist that you remain in your assigned quarters,” said the page.
“Quarters?!” Chancellor Thinder cried, “These accommodations are barely fit for animals, let alone city officials.” He cast a disgusted wave about the dusty room.
“Again, I apologize. I am only acting under orders from Sir Treysen.”
“Ugh, very well. Off with you,” Thinder slammed the door shut after the page left. The politician tugged at the collar of his tunic. For some ungodly reason, the entire building’s interior was sweltering. Not even any temperature regulation, what a pathetic place.
The Chancellor crossed the room and opened a window, peering out across the fields in the north. He suddenly yelped and jumped away from the sill when a figure stepped into view from outside. Derrick and the Chancellor stared at each other for a moment.
“You again!” they both shouted at the same time.
“You are fortunate that I am so indebted to Orwin’s spy services,” the Chancellor began, calming down, “else I would have you strung up for the suffering I’ve endured this eve,” Thinder gestured at the cane at his side.
He doesn’t realize Orwin is dead, Derrick thought. The ex-thief seized the opportunity, “Orwin has learned of another assassination to take place. I must find someone called Siron.”
“Ambassador Siron?” Thinder mused. Derrick was actually referring to Lorelei, but didn’t refute the politician, “Very well, come inside. I’ll show you to his room.”
(5:37)
Lord Siron sat up from his hard, ill-kept mattress as he heard a thump from near the door. The envoy reached over and touched a gem of brightness fixed upon the wall nearby. The room was instantly flooded with magical light, and Siron saw Sir Treysen standing at the entrance.
“What in – why do you bother me, paladin?”
‘Treysen’ simply placed his palms together and uttered a word of dismissal. The armoured form blurred and was replaced with that of the undead mage in green.
“Hello, father,” she said with frost on her voice, “This final meeting between us shall mark your end.”
Lord Siron gaped, his mouth as wide open as it could be, “Impossible… my daughter died years ago.”
“Yes,” Lorelei threw her veil back so he could see the horror of her visage, “And now I have returned so that you might share in that fate.”
Siron recognized the sun tattoo on her forehead, then recoiled and grabbed the bedpost for support, “You… I… when I received your kidnappers’ ransom notice, I sent a band of adventurers to rescue you.”
“Falsehood. You refused to pay the ransom because your precious Sigil was more important to you than your daughter’s life. Those ‘adventurers’ were assassins sent to retrieve the second Sigil from my kidnappers. I was a peripheral concern,” she leaned in, “I take some pleasure knowing that you never recovered the second Sigil from the thieves after all.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“This building nullifies all hand-cast arcane spells. That is why I brought this,” the Maiden withdrew a red, coiled wand in the shape of a serpent with a dragon’s head, “Six years ago, your actions brought about my death. Now, the prodigal daughter returns that act.” She raised the tool at Lord Siron, and the dragon-wand’s mouth began to growl.
The door behind her was suddenly kicked open, and Derrick ran inside, tackling the woman to the floor. The wand flew out of her grasp and the growling ceased.
Thinder and Siron stared in quiet shock as the two enemies grappled on the floor, each trying to gain a hold over the other. Derrick, unaware of the Tower’s anti-magic properties, grabbed at Lorelei’s gashed hands, trying to prevent her from casting.
She slammed an elbow back, hitting Derrick in the nose, and shoved him off. Lorelei crawled forward, grabbed the dragon-wand, and quickly got to her feet. The mage swung around, aimed the weapon at Derrick, and paused a moment.
Then she activated the spell, prompting a loud roar from the dragon-head. Derrick dived to the side as a jet of flame blazed past him toward the door. The magical fire stream struck Chancellor Thinder in the chest, sending him screaming backward into the hallway, clothed in flame.
Derrick closed in and kneed her in the stomach, sending a puff of dust escaping from Lorelei’s mouth and causing the wand to fall from her hand. She balled her hands together and struck him in the face, knocking him away from her.
Lorelei seized the moment to reach into her robes and draw out a second wand, this one plainly shaped without any special design. Derrick stood with his knees bent in a ready position, and his eyes darted toward the dragon-wand on the ground, a metre or two out of reach.
“Go on, Derrick,” said Lorelei, pointing her new wand directly at him, “Try to pick it up.”
Derrick didn’t move, his mind was racing to figure out a way to win this fight.
Ambassador Siron suddenly ran at his daughter from the side and grabbed her on the wrist, yanking the wand out of her hand. The undead woman responded by grabbing at the envoy’s throat. Derrick made his move and rolled across the floor, snatching up the dragon-wand, but now he couldn’t attempt to use it with Siron so close to Lorelei.
The Maiden punched her father in the stomach and shoved him to the floor, “This was a mistake. I should not have wasted my time on a pathetic old wretch like you, father.”
Lorelei turned and stared Derrick in the eyes, “Time to end this.”
Before Derrick could do anything, Siron suddenly pointed the plain wand at Lorelei’s feet and waved it around in the air. A green spark shot out and hit the stone floor near her legs. The spark of light instantly expanded into a green portal of light beneath the Maiden and she fell through, disappearing with a surprised cry.
Derrick stared at Siron for a moment, then hesitantly stepped up to the portal in the floor. He shielded his eyes and squinted into the light, but couldn’t make out what lay on the other side.
“Here, take this,” Lord Siron suddenly called, tossing the plain wand to the ex-thief, “You must kill my daughter.”
Derrick gave the envoy a suspicious look and said nothing.
“I follow a holy religion. We consider the undead to be a blasphemy; aberrations that defy the natural order. Please, end her suffering.” Siron spoke the words convincingly, but in truth he only wanted to prevent others from learning that he refused to pay Lorelei’s bounty when she was kidnapped six years prior.
Derrick nodded silently, then looked out the door and down the hall. Thinder had collapsed on the ground at the end of the corridor. The fire had completely consumed his expensive clothing and flesh, leaving him as a charred husk, lying still atop the stone floor.
The ex-thief clenched his teeth and psyched himself up. It was time to end this madness. He held both wands at the ready, and jumped down into the glowing portal in pursuit of the Maiden.
(5:47)
Bryn’s heart was pounding heavily as he raced into the eastern merchants’ district of Baldur’s Gate. Now that he was back on familiar ground, he had some clue as to where he was going. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t help much if he couldn’t find some way to evade the wolf-beast. The nearest in-city canal or river was an hour’s walk away, and Bryn knew he didn’t have that kind of time or energy.
A monstrous roar from behind shook the boy from his thoughts. Bryn finally spotted a tall building with a lit interior nearby, and made a mad dash for its doors.
(5:50)
The boy slammed through the entrance, and nearly collided with a young waitress serving drinks within.
“Hey!” shouted the bartender as Bryn scooted past, “No children! Get out of here!” The kid didn’t stop and instead dashed up a flight of stairs at the back, “Lousy street urchins, always causing trouble–”
The wolf-beast crashed through the door, then halted in its place and looked around at its surroundings. When the patrons saw the beast, towering at the centre of the room, everything and everyone in the tavern fell silent.
Looking from left to right, the monster saw that it was surrounded by dozens of guards, adventurers, and soldiers, all watching him intently. As one, the men and women all rose from their seats, unsheathed a wide array of swords and other weaponry, and advanced on the wolf-beast.
The creature hesitated – fighting a handful of unarmed wererats was one thing. A squadron of skilled fighters on the other hand… The beast backed up, but a number of patrons had already moved to block the door, weapons held ready.
The bartender, holding a large, notched battleaxe pointed at the monster and shouted, “Don’t let it escape! Slay the wolf-thing!!”
The beast let out a furious roar, and was swarmed by an arsenal of sharp steel and angry humans. As it collapsed at the middle of the enraged crowd, stabbed and slashed at from all sides, it had one final, frustrating thought. So much aggravation and harm… all because of one annoying, troublesome little brat.
(5:55)
Bryn could hear the shouts of battle from below, but kept running up the flights of stairs toward the roof. As he neared the top, Bryn could see a door that he guessed would lead outside. The sounds from below had died down, so the boy stopped for a moment to catch his breath, leaning on the wall for support.
A drop of green slime suddenly dripped down from above and landed on his head. Bryn’s heart skipped a beat, and he slowly – hesitantly – looked up. There, camouflaged on the grey ceiling directly overhead was the second Night Parade monster… the wolf-creature’s spider-like companion.
The spider-beast’s fuzzy hide rippled for a moment and it’s colours shifted to a more visible shade against the ceiling, “Well, you’ve led us on quite a chase, kid.”
Bryn opened his mouth to scream, but the spider creature reared its head back and spat a clump of black webbing that landed on Bryn’s lower face, covering his mouth.
“You can’t escape from me, kid. Now that I have such a spry, clever specimen like you, the rest of the Night Parade is sure to be satisfied.” The spider-thing lowered itself toward Bryn by a long strand of black spider silk, blinking its eight eyes while its mandibles clacked open and shut in laughter.
(5:58)
In the ransacked pawnshop at the corner of the city, Selena lay on the ground, benumbed and dying, staring out at the shrouded window. Though the curtains were closed, the elf could see that the sky beyond was starting to become lighter. A faint tinge of red was seeping across the black horizon.
The cleric focused inwardly and stared at the skies outside, knowing that this might very well be the last sunrise she ever saw. She felt regret seeping into her heart; to die here in failure, forgotten and with no one by her side. A few tears formed at the corner of her eyes and ran down her cheeks.
(6:00)
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 17 Apr 2005 : 06:31:01
Wolf in the Fold
(4:00)
“A terrible waste,” said Cerdan, gesturing at Rombis’ body in the other cell.
“I’ll say, I could be drinking that blood!” Krevis cut in.
“Both of you silence yourselves, lest I cleave off your tongues,” snarled the wererat from near the doorway.
Derrick, meanwhile, was lost in thought about Lorelei. Raised from death by the very people who kidnapped her to begin with, she had said.
“So why is she preoccupied with revenge against me?” he wondered aloud, “And for that matter, what do these Sigils have to do with all this?”
“The Sigils? Why, they’re the source of great power! Ha ha!” Krevis said with excessive flair, answering the prisoner’s question out of boredom, “Our true employer will be using the latent magic of those amulets to dominate this entire city!”
“You won’t find Derrick’s Sigil,” said Cerdan, “it’s so well hidden, even I don’t know where it is.”
“Cerdan, you fool…”
Krevis merely shrugged, “Makes no difference to us. Everyone in the city will be burned alive in a massive shroud of flame, regardless of whether or not we obtain the Sigils, and you fool adventurers will never be able to –”
“Fine, we get it,” muttered Derrick, having heard many a villain’s exposition throughout his life, “So what about this Verskul character… what did he do to your employer that made it so important for him to die?”
“Hm… you’ll be asking him yourself in due time,” Krevis said with a dry grin.
While the others were speaking, Cerdan glanced down at the lock on his cell. There was no keyhole on the metallic block for him to pick; the door didn’t even have hinges that could be removed. They evidently had escape artists in mind when they designed these cages.
“And what of you two?” Derrick continued, “Are you being paid? Maybe we can work something out.”
“Nice try, blighter. I’m in this for sport,” he drew a twisted kukri blade and ran its edge along the wall, “So unless you can offer me a city full of victims to murder, I suggest you seal up.”
“Krevis!” shouted the Maiden as she entered the prison area once more, “Stop talking to them. Come, I have a new task for you.”
“Does it involve bloodshed? Because I haven’t seen nearly enough today.”
“Follow me to the narthex, the lycanthrope can guard the prisoners. At least he doesn't jabber on so much.”
Krevis flipped the kukri weapon in his hand, put it back into his sheath, then went with Lorelei out to the hideout’s main hall.
(4:08)
“I see you’ve been out body-snatching,” Krevis remarked, looking toward the wrapped corpse atop the black, polished altar in the middle of the room, “When will the ritual begin?”
“Within the hour, but only if our agent has acquired the second Sigil. I will not start unless we can be assured our plans have at least met partial success.”
“What about the phylactery?”
“It is safe,” said Lorelei. She held up the silver pendant, which was shaped as a burning angel similar to the image on the Sigils of the Fallen.
Krevis nodded, “Now what’s the new job you have for me? Something violent, I hope?”
“No. I want you to portal into Derrick’s pawn store. They may have hidden the first Sigil there after they overpowered Ayva. The store must be searched again if we are to be certain.”
“Boring, boring. When do I see the action I was promised?”
“Soon enough. Be off, I need to start a spell to contact our agent.”
(4:12)
Treysen rode up to the looming black-stone keep that occupied the northern point of the city. No sooner had he dismounted, than Chancellor Thinder hobbled up on his walking stick.
“Sir Treysen! I must question these security arrangements. This building does not appear safe or hospitable inside, and I have seen very few knights assigned to duty.”
“I assure you, Chancellor,” Treysen began, struggling to keep his tone calm, “There is nothing to fear. This is Greyhelm Tower. Constructed by powerful grand-magi centuries ago, and while it may not have as many amenities as the palace, it does have enchanted walls that nullify all arcane magic within. Divine magic will still work, however, so our clerics should still be able to provide healing if the unlikely case should arise.”
“The foreign envoys fear for their safety, most have already withdrawn from the summit. You’ve already failed us not once, but twice. If this happens again, I will have you stripped of your rank and punished severely.”
“Understood, Chancellor,” Treysen heard an odd buzzing noise like a bee in his mind, “Now please, sir, you need to rest in preparation for tomorrow.”
“Bah! How can anyone sleep with so many assassins running about?” grumbled Thinder as he hobbled back inside the tower.
(4:18)
The knight led his horse around to the stables, then glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. He quickly tethered his steed to a post, then focused inwardly on the buzzing sound in his head. The noise staggered, then gradually formed into coherent words spoken by a woman’s voice in his mind.
‘Treysen, speak to me. Have you acquired the Sigil?’
The paladin reached into his pocket and drew out the black amulet that Lord Siron had dropped earlier, ‘Yes, I have it. Shall I bring it to you now, Maiden?’
‘No, we cannot risk losing it in transit, even over so short a distance. Maintain your cover among the summit attendees for now. I will receive the artifact from you personally in a few hours. I also have a debt to repay with my father...’
Even the through the telepathy spell, the traitorous knight could feel the anger emanating from her words, ‘We cannot be sidetracked by your need for revenge. Our mutual leader expressly forbade you from–‘
‘Enough. Carry out your duty and I will perform mine,’ Lorelei abruptly severed the mental connection, leaving Treysen dazed for a moment.
(4:26)
“Paladin!” The shout roused Treysen from his stupor and he fumbled with the Sigil for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. The knight glanced back and his breath caught in his throat when he saw that it was Lord Siron standing at the entrance of the stables.
Siron gave the paladin a puzzled look, “Were you speaking to someone just now?”
“Uh… I was only saying a few words to my horse here.”
The ambassador nodded but didn’t show any indication of whether he overheard Treysen’s half of the conversation or not, “When I left my quarters at the palace, I believe I dropped a rather valuable relic of mine. It is a large amulet carved from polished black wood. I was hoping you might have seen it?”
“No, sir, I haven’t” Treysen said, quickly ushering the envoy back toward the tower entrance, “If you wish, I could send a paladin back to the Ducal Palace to look for it.”
By Treysen’s count, there were still a dozen knights of staff. He could probably send a few more away to weaken the summit protection while still remaining above suspicion. Most of those around him assumed his lax security measures were due to incompetence.
How little they knew.
(4:32)
“Junk, junk, and more junk,” Krevis shouted out loud as he overturned crates and knocked artifacts off the shelves in Derrick’s pawnshop, “This is all I am to her, a bloody stock-boy!”
The madman kicked one of the upside-down boxes aside and toed through a pile of boots, “They could have sent me to assassinate her father and swipe the Sigil, but noooo! They had to hire out a bunch of idiot Shield Knights to wipe out everyone. ‘Shift the blame’,” Krevis said in a poor, squeaky imitation of the Maiden’s voice, “ ‘If we draw the attention of the Mages’ Guild or the Harpers, they may rise up too quickly and stop us.’ Rubbish. All the Shields did was hire out more two-copper killers.
“Blasted idiots and their multi-layered plans. Misdirection this, and subtlety that. If I had my way, I’d misdirect her blood flow!” he said, unsheathing his kukri and waving the blade about. He paused and spoke down at the weapon, “Well, if she had flowing blood, that is.”
The chimes above the shop’s front door jingled, and Krevis jumped about-face, holding his weapon ready. Standing a few feet inside the doorway was an elven woman draped in a white cloak. Selena stared at the mess, and Krevis noticed something shift underneath her cloak, as if she was reaching for a weapon.
The elf spoke, “Sir, are you the owner of this establishment?”
Damnation, thought Krevis, Say yes, and she’ll have more questions. Say no, and she’ll think I’m a small-time burglar.
“Yes, I am. I’m just, ah, rearranging my inventory… at four in the morning… with a weapon in hand.”
“Sir, please make no sudden movements,” she raised her hands and began to cast a Sanctuary spell on herself.
Krevis assumed the elf was about to cast an offensive spell, so he grabbed the nearest blunt object, a stone Maztican carving of a large moon, and hurled it at the woman. The cleric ducked and the object flew by overhead, but the distraction interrupted her casting and gave Krevis a window of opportunity. He charged forward, seized the elf by the arm with one hand, and slammed the door shut with the other.
“You’ve just happened upon me at the perfect time, missy. I’ve been looking for a fight all day.”
He shoved her a few paces away, though not far enough that she could fire off a spell without him interfering. Having no other choice, Selena brought her mace to bear and waited for him to attack.
Instead of advancing, the madman removed a vial from his patchwork jerkin and calmly poured some green viscous fluid along the blade of his weapon.
Selena’s breathing rate doubled in her anxiety. She was, after all, only a cleric who specialized in temple services and investigative divining. Now she was starting to regret not spending more hours in the temple sparring rooms.
Krevis tucked the bottle back into his colourful jacket, then looked toward his opponent’s stance, “No, no, no. Look at you. Your footing is off, you hold your weapon too high, and you’re standing like a post. One part of me doesn’t even want to bother fighting with you,” he lowered his weapon and Selena stared in confusion.
Then he suddenly made two large strides forward and jabbed his weapon at her abdomen. “The rest of me, on the other hand…”
The cleric wheeled back and the man’s attack missed, barely scraping the woman’s cloak. The elf stumbled, but caught the edge of the counter behind her and steadied herself. As the man continued forward, she swung her mace at him in an overhead arc. Krevis simply raised his arm and parried the blow, releasing a clanging noise into the air and sending the shock of impact down Selena’s arm.
The force caused the elf to lose her grip on the weapon and it fell from her hand. Krevis took the opportunity to flick his wrist around, slashing the back of her hand as she began to move away. The elven woman screamed and fell away, holding her wound. She could no longer move her hand.
“It’s a special blend,” said Krevis, displaying the green poison on his blade, “Ghast Essence. Instantly paralyzes the extremities while quickly parching the body’s water content. In eight hours, you’ll be dead.”
She tried to stand, but Krevis drew his arm back and stabbed her hard in the stomach. The pain felt numb to her, almost as if she was in a dream.
The madman laughed as a steady stream of blood began to flow, “Make that two hours.”
He wiped some of the blood and poison from his blade on his finger, smiling like a child all the while. Flashing an inappropriately pleasant wink and nod to the dying elf, he sheathed his blade and brought out his wand of teleportation.
Selena could still move her eyes, but not her head or neck. Glancing about furtively, she sincerely prayed that whoever owned this store, criminal or not, would return quickly. Her green eyes fell on a large bottle on one of the top shelves. ‘Potion of Poison Curing’.
The only salvation to her affliction, so close to her. The cleric made a valiant effort to will herself into motion, but to no avail. Somewhere in the great beyond, some god of frustration must have been laughing.
(4:47)
Lorelei placed the silver pendant over the wrapped corpse’s chest and moved a few paces away from the altar. She kneeled on the ground and swirled her hands, drawing arcane motions in the air. As she began chanting the first syllables of her spell, faint red light began to glow from the many runes upon the corpse’s altar. The Maiden’s voice became deeper as she channeled her mystic powers upon the body.
Outside the hideout, rats and birds began scurrying away from the building. Even the insects seemed to sense the dark forces gathering within the place.
(4:51)
A growling, oily-skinned monster was rampaging through the streets like a bull, darting its tongue out like a snake, and hunting its prey like a canine. The wolf-beast was bleeding black blood from numerous wounds, but they did nothing to soften its thirst for revenge against the child that had caused it so much trouble that night.
The Night Parade monster glanced at the line of run-down houses along Southside Row. The child’s scent had almost completely faded in the past few hours, but it had managed to track the kid to this sparsely populated neighbourhood.
Creeping around the side of the first house, the wolf-beast caught a strong whiff of Bryn’s scent emanating from an open window. The beast was far too large to fit through, however. The creature stalked back to the front of Cerdan’s house and grasped the doorknob in its claws.
With a quick snap, the beast used its massive strength to break the knob off and force the door open. Despite the noise it made, there was no sound of movement from within the house. The wolf creature grinned and stepped inside.
(4:57)
Cerdan suddenly shivered.
“What’s the matter?” asked Derrick, “This room is warm.”
“Something… threatening. I haven’t felt anything this strong since the war. Intense magic is pervading this place,” the elf glanced at the shadowed doorway, “I have a feeling our day just became much worse than it already was.”
That was an understatement.
(4:58)
The green-veiled woman uttered the final syllable of her spell, and fell silent. For a moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, the runes flared to life with a burning, crimson light.
Lorelei leaped to her feet and slowly stepped back. A pure scarlet flame appeared above the wrapped body, and the sheet caught fire. The fabric quickly became engulfed in red flames and was burned to ash.
Next, the flame touched the corpse within. The body’s skin charred and blackened, and its flesh peeled back and shriveled, exposing the skeleton within. Then, as abruptly as it began, the magical fires vanished. All that remained was the burned skeleton and the silver pendant, glowing slightly atop its chest.
Lorelei approached the altar and stared down at the skull’s empty eye sockets, “Awaken now, master. Awaken… Verskul.”
Two red, burning embers ignited within the darkness of the corpse’s eyes and an aura of crimson mist formed around the skull. The skeleton’s jaw opened and closed, then it sat up from the infernal altar and cast its gaze upon Lorelei.
It spoke with a chilling, echoing voice that emanated from deep within the liche’s skull, “I have returned. At long last, overwhelming power flows through my very being. The time has come to reduce this city to nothing but shadows and memory.”
(5:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 15 Apr 2005 : 02:17:04
Revelations
(3:00)
The rear doors of the burning warehouse burst open, and Derrick stumbled out of the building, backed by a thick plume of grey smoke. The ex-thief staggered away, coughing terribly and collapsed beside the edge of a low pier. He leaned over to splash some water on his face and wash the light layer of soot from his skin.
Derrick sat up again and stared down at his wavering reflection. Greying hair, wrinkles forming… at over forty years he was getting much too old for this. Most thieves didn’t even live beyond their twenties.
The rippling water finally calmed, and Derrick could see his image more clearly, as well as the wererat towering behind him. The ex-thief’s eyes widened and he tried to dodge aside, but he was suffering from exhaustion, and the huge wererat easily seized Derrick by the neck. The beast hoisted him to his feet and sniffed at him.
“Yes… Ayva did well in leaving the scent on you for us to follow,” this particular wererat was the ‘Boss’ of the infestation that Rassa had encountered in the sewers. “The Maiden had best come through in her promises. I lost my entire pack of underlings on this job.”
“Ggghhk!” Derrick gurgled. He tried kicking at the creature, but the beast was holding him beyond reach.
“Quiet, human,” the wererat reached into a pocket on his tattered clothing and pulled out a small wand. Derrick noticed that the rat was wearing a jeweled bracelet that looked strangely out of place on its hairy forearm.
With a brief shake of the wand, the rat summoned up a green, glowing door-sized rectangle that hovered in mid-air before them. The rodent grinned at Derrick, then threw the helpless man into the gate.
(3:06)
Selena pulled herself out of the mud, holding her forehead. She didn’t know how long she had been out, but it was obvious that now she wouldn’t be able to trace the two cloaked rogues. The cleric reached up for her earring and activated the telepathy spell within.
“Inquisitor, I must warn you of a possible threat. There is a man in the city carrying an infernus crystal like the one that destroyed our temple.”
There was no response. Something had already happened at the summit, she thought. The elf made her way north toward the Ducal Palace, praying she wasn’t too late to avert disaster.
(3:08)
“Keep moving, both of you!” shouted Gold as he followed his masked comrades.
Despite the order, silver-mask instead slowed down, “Bah, we had a long enough head start. Even if the blackcloak managed to slay the gnome, he won’t catch up to us. I’m more concerned with what we’re going to tell the Maiden.”
“How are we going to tell her when we cannot even contact her?” asked gold-mask.
“How are you going to tell her after I have cut out your tongues?” asked a voice from the darkness. Dace stepped into the moonlight. “The problem with you wealthy types is that you do not always think practically. Those silk slippers may be comfortable,” he pointed at their feet, “but they are terrible for running. And they do leave a distinctive trail in the mud.”
“What do you want now? Finally going to kill us?” said silver-mask.
“Perhaps. That depends on what you–”
A second figure in black surged from the shadows, slamming Dace in the back and knocking him forward to the ground.
Cerdan planted a boot atop Dace’s back and looked at the three masked men, “Now, which of you creepy-looking chaps knows where I might find this ‘Maiden’ lady I keep hearing about? Sounds like a feisty girl.”
“Wonderful,” shouted silver-mask, “now there are two of them!”
“That’s right, whatever it is you just said,” said the elf, “now answer my question. No one else is going to save you now.”
Dace suddenly shoved back, making Cerdan shift his weight to the other foot. The assassin flipped over, grabbed the elf by the boot, and forcefully twisted Cerdan’s leg to the side, causing the thief to fall in the mud.
The Shield Knights glanced at each other, then bolted away down the alley.
“I still don’t know where we’ll go now,” said gold-mask.
“Then I’ll tell you,” said yet another new voice.
All three Shield Knights came to another stop as one of the Maiden’s associates stepped out from around a corner. The man called Krevis, dressed in a bizarre, multi-coloured suit of patchwork armour, was blocking their way.
Cerdan punched Dace in the jaw, knocking the assassin back a few steps. Both men, covered in grime and mud, stared each other down and circled about.
Dace drew his sword, “You are irrelevant to me, elf.”
The Shadow Thief went for his own weapon, but found the scabbard missing. During their struggle, the weapon had come loose and fallen in the mud.
Cerdan skittered back as Dace lunged in. A ‘cracking’ noise suddenly split through the air, and a thick crossbow bolt pierced Dace in the side. The assassin screamed and fell past the elf into the mud. Cerdan wheeled and saw a lanky, pale-faced man nearby holding a crossbow.
“Well, thank you, my good man,” said the elf, “To whom do I owe my gratitude?”
“You look familiar…” Krevis said.
“Perhaps you’ve heard of Cerdan the dashing rogue?”
“Cerdan?!” grinning madly, Krevis dropped the crossbow and pulled out a black wand.
The elf’s smug look evaporated and he slowly began to back away. Krevis fired a green spark from the wand, which shot toward the elf. Cerdan shielded his eyes and started to run backwards. However, the green spark instead sailed past the elf and expanded into a large, glowing portal behind him. Unable to stop himself, the elf’s momentum carried him through into the green light.
Krevis let out a laugh, then pointed into the shadows at the Shield Knights, “You there, platinum-face, the Maiden wants to speak with you,” he jerked his head toward the portal as he retrieved his crossbow.
The gold and silver-masked Shield Knights relaxed considerably as their comrade uneasily stepped through the portal. Krevis snapped his fingers as if remembering something, and turned to the remaining two Shield Knights.
“Oh, and for you two blinkers…” the pale man aimed his wand at them and made a twisting motion. Two more green sparks fired out and hit the masked men in the chests. A similar set of green portals sprang from the sparks. Unlike the original portal, however, these magic gates opened horizontally, cleanly cleaving through the Shield Knights’ torsos.
Krevis waved his wand and the portals vanished. The top half of each Shield Knight toppled over, staining the mud as they leaked out massive amounts of blood. Krevis cackled gleefully at the macabre sight, then sprinted to the original portal and leaped through.
(3:23)
As the green light vanished, Dace fell away from the shadows by wall, still clutching the crossbow bolt and breathing heavily in pain. Looking down at the bloody shaft, he could see that it was buried too deep to remove and treat the wound himself.
The assassin bit the side of his cloak, summoned up his will to survive, and snapped off part of the outer portion of the bolt. He then lurched toward the bisected Shield Knight corpses and checked them for healing supplies. Nothing. Dace grabbed the shiny gold mask from one of the bodies. If he was going to get a healer’s services, he’d have to be able to pay well.
The assassin winced and clung to his wound, then staggered out of the alley and into the street to look for a temple, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
(3:25)
“Where is the Sigil, Derrick?” demanded the Maiden.
Derrick grabbed the bars of the cell, “Do you expect to scare me into talking?” he glanced back at the corpse of his friend, Rombis the dwarf, lying in the back of the cell.
“You’d be surprised just how much fear we are capable of instilling.”
“Ayva told me you’re planning something for noon today. So all I have to do to stop you is to wait it out. You’ll never find the Sigil in time.”
“Don’t be so vain. Our plans will succeed regardless of whether you give us your Sigil or not,” she leaned closer, but Derrick still couldn’t see through her green veil, “What makes you think your Sigil is one of a kind? In any case, your ally Cerdan has it, doesn’t he?”
“You’ll never find him.”
“Oh?” she snapped her fingers, prompting the huge wererat and Krevis to enter the room, dragging the elf behind them.
“Maiden,” said the wererat, “we searched him, but he does not have the artifact we need.”
Derrick frowned, wondering what Cerdan had done with the black amulet.
“I think I dropped it in the mud with my sword,” the elf mumbled.
They tossed Cerdan into a separate cell in the same room, then assumed positions on either side of the Maiden.
“Why are you doing this?” asked Derrick, “And how do you know so much about the Siron mission? No one but those involved could have–”
“You want to know why?” hissed the green mage, “This is why!”
The Maiden threw back her veil. Derrick gasped and jumped away from the bars. The woman’s face was a rotting image of decay. Her skin was scarred grey and peeling, her eyes were completely white, and a section of her scalp was completely torn away, exposing part of her skull underneath. In the corner of her forehead was the faint remnant of a tattoo of a tiny sun.
“My name is Lorelei Siron. You are the man who murdered me.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Cerdan interrupted from the other side of the room, “that was Orwin’s fault, not Derrick’s. Orwin stabbed Derrick, and he dropped you by accident.”
Derrick was in shocked silence.
Lorelei pulled her veil back down, “Is that what he claimed? Then there are many degrees of truth to what happened. Orwin did stab him, but Derrick didn’t drop me. He pushed Orwin away, then looked down at me coldly and said, ‘You’re supposed to be dead already’. Then he let go, and I fell to my death on the rocks below.”
She thrust a finger at Derrick, “I was later raised from death by the very people who had kidnapped me to begin with. They have given me a chance for revenge, and soon you’ll pay for what you did.”
Derrick’s head was lowered and his eyes were closed.
“What, that’s it?” yelled Cerdan, “That was the most boring story I’ve ever heard! Let me tell you about the time I was beaten up by a dozen skeletons. It all started with a really angry monkey…”
The Maiden pointed a finger at the elf, and a cold beam struck him in the face. After it cleared, there was a thick layer of frost sealed over the elf’s lips.
“The elf must have hidden the artifact somewhere,” she said to her henchmen, “I have already used up my Mental Domination spells, so watch them until I return. Make sure they remain alive for now.”
“What about the second Sigil?” asked Krevis.
“I will check our agent’s acquisition progress later. First I must deal with another matter at the city graveyard.” She moved her hands and cast a teleportation spell.
“Second Sigil? There are two of them?” Derrick shouted as Lorelei disappeared from sight.
“You bet there are,” grinned Krevis as he approached the cage, “But don’t worry, we really only need one of them to destroy the city. Our employer just likes to have a bit of insurance.”
“What is she planning to do with them?”
Krevis wagged a finger, “Now, now, you only get one free answer from me. The next one will cost you an arm or a leg. My associate here,” he gestured at the wererat, “is looking a little hungry.”
Derrick stared acid at the pale man.
Krevis suddenly lashed in and shook the bars, momentarily startling Derrick and making him flinch back. The wererat threw its head back and laughed.
(3:37)
Sir Treysen patrolled the main hall of the Ducal Palace, half-heartedly watching the unsettled envoys being escorted out under guard.
A page tapped the paladin on the shoulder and Treysen turned to see an unshaven member of the City Guard standing behind the lad.
“Sir,” said the page, “this is Captain Atamir. Inquisitor Vellin requested that he assist in the investigation of the assassination attempt.
Atamir waved the page away, then leveled a stern red-eyed gaze at the knight, “I’m told you allowed an assassin carrying a bomb into the Athkatlan envoy’s quarters. Lax security, if I do say so.”
Treysen frowned, “Vellin. He was instructed not to involve any outsider parties.”
“Outside parties?” snapped the Captain, “I am the Captain of the City Guard. I have every right to be involved in this breach. Perhaps you simply lack the experience to handle such a delicate matter, boy. I see you’re moving all the envoys outside with minimal protection. Bad idea. I took the liberty of bringing several dozen guardsmen to assist in the escort.”
“What!” Treysen twitched, then regained his composure, “Do not lecture me on–”
“I already spoke with Chancellor Thinder and several diplomats outside. They are most displeased with your poor security measures. You will accept the aid that I have provided.”
Treysen was about the issue a retort when a red-haired elven cleric approached the pair, “Sir! I am Selena Shademoor from the Church of Tyr. What happened here? And where is Inquisitor Vellin?”
“He is dead,” Treysen said.
“Dead?!” Selena closed her eyes for a moment and said a short prayer.
Atamir was surprised at this news as well, but didn’t show any outward concern.
“If you want to be taken off the summit assignment…” said Treysen.
“No,” she stated, raising her head and taking a breath, “No, if he were here, Vellin would want me to continue with our investigation of the assassination attempts,” the cleric swallowed, and went on, “How… how did the Inquisitor die?”
“He was killed by an explosion from a bomb. Vellin saved the lives of several envoys and myself when he knocked the bomb-carrier over the balcony. The geyser of flame would have incinerated him quickly.”
“Like an infernus crystal…” she mused, “Sir, there may be at least one additional explosive artifact somewhere in the city. I found evidence that the assassins produced four infernus crystals in total; one destroyed the temple of Tyr, one was detonated here, I’ve received reports that one may have been used on a building on the east side of the city, and I encountered an assassin carrying a fourth crystal.”
“You encountered the assassin?” Atamir cut in, “Why did you let him escape?”
“Sir, I am a diviner and a healer, not a fighter. He and one of his accomplices overpowered me.”
The Captain shook his head, “This assassin must be the man who escaped after your Inquisitor captured him at the Silver Spike. Apparently he is a pawnshop merchant in the eastern section of town.”
“If you have no further leads,” said Treysen, “then all we can do is watch the envoys carefully and make sure no danger comes to them as they are moved to our secondary site at Greyhelm Tower.”
“Actually,” said Atamir, “a few of my officers were conducting a store-to-store search yesterday to find the perpetrator of a tavern murder last morning…”
“Inquisitor Vellin ordered you to call off that search,” said Selena.
“My officers know well enough what he said. But they still answer to me. They finished their search this past evening, and I’ve been given a short list of stores and pawnshops whose owners are unaccounted for at the time of the murder. Perhaps this pawnshop owner has retreated to his store for supplies, or left some clues we can follow.”
“The murder of that Athkatlan wizard, Verskul, is still a matter for the Church to investigate,” the cleric said.
“I’ve said this before: I don’t answer to you faith-mongers.”
She raised her head slightly, but didn’t lose face, “Very well, but perhaps you would be willing to work alongside me in investigating the locations on that list.”
Atamir frowned, but knew that most of his men were assigned to escort duty. He would be shorthanded. “Fine,” he tore the list in half and handed one piece to Selena, “you check those places on the southeast portion of the city, I’ll handle the northeast.”
Treysen nodded along as the two left on their respective tasks, and excused himself outside, glancing up at the clock tower in the distance. Time was running short.
(3:50)
Lorelei stood at the edge of the city graveyard on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate. Near the entrance there was a large morgue building that was used to house the corpses that had been brought in throughout the day, pending burial. The Maiden cast a Knock spell on the front door, then let herself inside.
She made her way through the halls, reading the labels attached to each table upon which a body rested.
Flink (no last name found), male halfling, death by stabbing.
Jena Curaten, female human, death by multiple stab wounds.
Scrap (no last name found), male human, death by stabbing.
Verskul (no last name found), male human, death by stabbing.
(No name found), female lycanthrope, death by stabbing.
After finding the correct name, Lorelei spotted the corpse she sought among the tables. With some effort, she wrapped the body in a white cloth, then rested her hand upon it and invoked her Word of Recall spell. There was a brief flash, and the undead woman teleported back to her hideout along with her cold cargo.
(3:56)
In the Temple of Il-Mater in the city’s southwest region, two priests were busy tending to the wounds from a long line of peasant-folk and homeless. Most, unfortunately, suffered from chronic illness and were beyond the divine magic offered by the healers.
A cry sounded from the doorway, and the priests glanced up as a man dressed entirely in black staggered three steps into the room, before collapsing in a heap. As he went still, a black amulet fell loose from a pocket and landed on the ground. Upon it was engraved the image of a burning angel.
The priests quickly rushed to the man’s side, and saw that his face was deathly pale by the massive blood loss from the bolt wound in the side of his chest. One of the Il-Mater priests yelped slightly as Dace’s hand suddenly shot up and gripped the healer by the wrist.
Wheezing heavily, Dace fixed his blurry gaze on the priest and said, emphasizing each word slowly, “I shall not die here.”
His head then fell back and Dace’s world went black.
(4:00)
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 10 Apr 2005 : 05:52:32
Fractured
(2:00)
A huge geyser of flame and magical energy blasted its way up, engulfing the entire balcony and knocking the Athkatlan ambassador several metres back. The fire did little more than singe the solid stone, but the accompanying concussive force breached the walls and caused the bottom of the balcony to quickly crumble and collapse.
Clouds of dust and chunks of brick and stone flew through the air into the room, forcing Korrien and Chancellor Thinder to cover their heads and bolt for the door.
Sir Treysen was still reeling from what Vellin had done, but snapped back to reality when he saw the Athkatlan ambassador’s prone form on the ground. The knight of Torm raced to the man’s side and helped him to his feet. A cleric, attracted by the commotion, appeared at the door and rushed to their side.
Treysen passed the ambassador off to the cleric, “Issue an order to all paladins and clerics in the building, our security has been breached, and all envoys are to be relocated immediately to our secondary site at the Greyhelm Tower,” he then addressed the Athkatlan, “Ambassador Siron, go with him. He’ll guide you to safety.”
The cleric quickly showed Siron out of the room as the remaining flames began to consume their way across the carpet.
Before following, Treysen scanned the floor and noticed the Ambassador’s black amulet lying near the fire. The knight bounded over and quickly snatched it up. Despite the heat and smoke that now filled the room, the amulet felt surprisingly cool to the touch.
Tucking the object away into a pocket, the paladin turned heel and exited the chamber, leaving the room to the wanton flame.
(2:03)
Derrick sullenly stared at the family name that was engraved above the mausoleum door… his family name.
“I hope you’re not going to begin waxing depressing poetry,” Cerdan said, “We should act, not wait.”
“Act or wait?” interrupted Ayva, from her sitting place on the ground, “The end result will be the same for all of you, regardless of what you do.”
“Quiet, you,” said the elf, watching her bound wrists to ensure she didn’t try anything sneaky, “So what’s the call, Derrick?”
“I can’t go inside. I can’t face her again.”
The elf nodded uneasily, “Fine, I’ll retrieve the artifact. But you’d better be correct about this. I don’t care much for grave-robbing… anymore.”
Derrick tossed his family tomb key to Cerdan and aimed his sword down in Ayva’s general direction as the elf disappeared inside.
Ayva spoke up again, “So what’s the story here? You entombed the Sigil for safekeeping?”
“I didn’t even realize what your ‘Sigil’ was until I saw this,” he tapped the hilt of Ayva’s dagger, now held at his side, “I recognized the engraving on your weapon from one of the artifacts I was rewarded with after the Siron job. Orwin took most of the valuable items from the treasure we recovered and distributed the rest to Cerdan, Rombis, and myself. Needless to say, he made sure I received all the junk items.”
“Your boss didn’t know just how important the Sigil is.”
“I don’t even know how important it is. I gave it to the only person who seemed interested in it… Syra, my wife. She began wearing it soon after,” Derrick’s jaw went stiff and he stopped talking for a moment, “Turns out the artifact was cursed, and it slowly weakened her over the next few months. She died soon after, but at the time I had no idea why.
“Want to know the worst part? Orwin knew about the curse. One of the guild mages had told him, so he dumped it off on me. That’s the real reason that I hated him. It wasn’t because of Lorelei Siron’s death… it was because of Syra’s death. I’m damned glad he’s dead now.”
“And you entombed your wife with it?”
“Syra actually liked it, though she had no idea what it truly did. I always thought it was a gaudy piece of wood, so I let her keep it.” He gestured at the mausoleum.
Before Derrick could say another word, Cerdan emerged from the building, “You know, for a former thief, you don’t have much protection around your family tomb. Lucky it looks so shabby on the outside, or grave-robbers might have snatched this before I did,” He held up a black, wooden amulet adorned with the picture of a burning angel, “So, what now?”
“Now,” Derrick forced Ayva to her feet, “we issue an ultimatum.” He shoved Ayva toward the graveyard exit, “You will take us to your employer.”
Like hells I will, Ayva thought. She turned to face Derrick, “If you do this, we can be sure that you’ll never hold your son’s hand again.”
“Wait, are you talking about Bryn?” Cerdan cut in, “He’s presently safe at my house on Southside Row.”
Both Ayva and Derrick were quiet for several seconds.
“What!” cried Derrick, “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“Uh, because you never asked?”
Derrick stared incredulously, “… I truly hate you.”
“I assumed our mutual would-be assassins were a more pressing concern,” said the elf.
“Spike that,” Derrick pushed Ayva toward Cerdan, “it’s your problem now. I just wanted my son back safely.”
“And how long do you think you’ll remain safe until a second ‘Ayva’ shows up to cut you and junior across the throats?” asked the elf, “for that matter, how long until Bryn angers someone enough to get his very own Ayva?”
“I don’t – wait, what did you mean by that last part?”
“Long story, I’ll tell you later. My point is, Bryn is fine, so you should be more focused on removing the head of this conspiracy here and now. Besides,” he gave a sly grin, “you don’t know it yet, but you owe me a favour.”
Derrick frowned and tapped his foot, “Is your house still shrouded from magical scrying?”
The elf nodded.
“Fine. We’ll deal with the conspiracy first, but come sunrise, Bryn and I are catching the first caravan out of the city.”
The elf nudged Ayva, “Your employer wants this amulet? Then take us to her.”
Muttering under her breath, Ayva shuffled off, leading them in the wrong direction.
(2:16)
“What happened? Are they dead?” asked gold-mask.
Melik stared at the crystal ball with uncertainty. The last image they’d seen was of their pawn falling over the balcony for some reason.
Silver-mask snarled, “He has failed us again! We should never have hired this gnome or his psychopathic companion!”
“Dace isn’t a psychopath. Psychopaths kill for irrational reasons. Dace kills for money,” said the wizard, his mind racing to find a way to appease his employers.
“Tell me, gnome,” said platinum, “How much gold would it take for you to turn on your comrade?”
“You want me to betray Dace?”
“The assassin knows too much, and has shown open aggression. He already threatened to kill us. The madman even slew your halfling companion.”
“I am hardly surprised, and I hardly care. But if you can guarantee sufficient reward, I’ll gladly finish him off for you.”
“Well and done,” said platinum, “Once the assassin is dead, we will give you further orders on what to do about the summit situation. Begin your preparations.”
(2:19)
Dace glanced about as he sprinted down the street toward the warehouse. With his head start, the cleric woman probably wouldn’t be able to track him down any time soon. The assassin approached the warehouse, traced the Shield Knight rune to open the door, and stepped inside.
Melik stood on the opposite side of the room, the three Shield Knights lined up behind him. All four were facing the mercenary at the door as if they’d been waiting.
The gnome smiled, “Good of you to join us once again. My employers and I have come to a new business agreement.”
The wizard’s tone of voice put Dace immediately on edge. He could tell that Melik wasn’t experienced in slaying people on his own. Real assassins didn’t waste time goading their target with chitchat.
Dace decided to draw out the conversation while slowly shifting his hand toward his sword, “They are going to stiff you, Melik. Those three do not have any gold in this building. What will they pay you with? Bales of hay?”
“I don’t have any more reason to trust you than I do my employers. At least they’ve been straight with me. They told me what happened to Flink.”
“I see. Then I suppose I have nothing else to say but–” Dace’s arm whipped a throwing knife at the gnome.
Melik didn’t flinch, and the dagger came to a sudden stop in the air about a metre away from the wizard, then bounced off an invisible barrier.
“Ha,” said the gnome, pleased that his spell worked, “I am protected from missile weapons! Any advantage you have, I can take away with a simple spell. Your greatest asset is your speed. What happens if I remove it?” His hands moved, and a small ball of light fired across the room, striking Dace in the chest.
Immediately, Dace’s body felt as if it was trapped in thick mud. Every movement was now an effort, due to the effects of the Slow spell.
“What say you now, blackcloak?” asked silver-mask.
“Time to end our partnership, Dace,” said Melik as he prepared a Firelance spell, “It’s been a displeasure knowing you.”
Dace slowly closed his eyes and focused on his boots.
An orange-red spear of flame erupted from Melik’s hands and blasted toward the assassin. Before it struck, Dace’s eyes snapped open and he felt a sudden jolt of energy that worked its way up his body from his feet. He rolled to the side as the fire streaked past, singeing him across the arm and burning a good deal of armour and flesh. The mercenary howled and swore as he gripped his scalded shoulder.
Melik stared in wonder. Did Dace resist the Slow spell? In truth, Dace had activated the Haste enchantment woven in the new boots from the curio store. The boots’ magic cancelled out the effects of Melik’s spell, returning the mercenary to normal speed.
After grazing Dace, the flame lance struck a stack of hay bales nearby.
The assassin forced himself to his feet and pulled a short sword into his left hand. His shoulder ignited sparks of pain with every movement, but at least the burn wasn’t on his sword-arm. He stalked across the room toward the wizard.
“I have slain greater men for smaller crimes. You have chosen this path, Melik.”
The Shield Knights suddenly scattered, running for the exits, leaving the gnome to face his dangerous opponent.
(2:29)
This is the Maiden’s base,” Ayva lied as she, Derrick, and Cerdan approached the harbour-side building.
“Funny,” remarked the elf, “it doesn’t look like a fortress of doom. Looks more like a warehouse. And it smells like fish.”
The door had been left wide open, and they could hear cries of commotion coming from within.
“You stay out here,” Derrick said to Cerdan, “If this doesn’t work, it will be up to you to keep the Sigil away.”
The elf nodded and went to find a lookout point to watch from. Derrick pushed Ayva ahead of him into the building. The Shield Knights were long gone, but Derrick could still hear Dace and Melik, who had moved their fight toward the stables in the back.
The top of the room was beginning to fill with grey smoke from the burning stacks of hay, but the fire probably wouldn’t spread tot he walls or ceiling for several minutes. Derrick began shouting at whoever was fighting in the back, “Maiden! We possess the Sigil you need. If you–”
Ayva threw herself backward, knocking Derrick to the dirt floor. With much difficulty due to her tied wrists, Ayva rolled over onto her knees, then rose to her feet, and gave a swift kick to Derrick’s head. She spat at his fallen form, “Idiot. I can’t believe you actually trusted me. Hard to believe you were ever a Shadow Thief; life as a pawn merchant must have truly dulled your skill.” She kicked him again as he attempted to rise, “So long, old man. Keep safe out there,” she added sarcastically before walking back toward the door.
As soon as she neared the exit, the ground began to tremble, like they were insects in a jar being shaken up. Ayva lurched for the exit, but tripped and fell. The beams along the ceiling creaked and cracked under the stress. Part of the roofing caved in and came crashing down, burying both Ayva and the bales of hay under a heap of old timbers.
(2:36)
As the ground continued to shake from the Tremor spell Melik had just cast, Dace ducked behind one of the empty horse stalls and peeked around the side. Melik had tried to follow his employers’ retreat, but he evidently knew that his stubby legs wouldn’t outrun the assassin.
Dace looked up at the rafters overhead, wondering if there was some way for him to close the distance to the wizard without entering Melik’s line of sight. Unfortunately, he’d already used up the Haste spell in his boots. A green arrow of magical acid struck the side of the stall and began to eat a hole in the wood.
From across the room, the wizard squinted at the newly formed fist-sized hole. Through it he could see part of Dace’s black cloak. The gnome smiled and began to incant a Hold Person spell.
“I hope you understand,” said Melik, “this is all simply a matter of business. We all seize the most beneficial course to take. You should know that better than anyone.” He muttered the syllables and released the spell. A ball of light shot from his hands and through the hole in the stall, creating a brief flash as it hit the cloak.
Melik waited to hear if Dace would shout a reply. Not a sound. The gnome smiled and came forward, watching the cloak through the hole for any sign of movement. He began to focus on a spell of Lightning Bolt to finish off the assassin.
“Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed working with you and Flink on this job. But like the halfling and Terrence, you’re just another stepping stone between me and my mone–” He stepped around the stall, expecting to see Dace crouched and paralyzed. Instead, he saw just the cloak, pinned by two daggers to the wall over the hole.
Dace jumped down from the rafters above, landing behind Melik. The gnome whirled about and began waving his hands for the spell. The assassin lashed out and snatched him by the wrist. Dace then slammed the gnome’s hand against the wall and drove a dagger into the palm, cutting through tendons and bone. Melik wouldn’t be casting any more spells for the short remainder of his life.
Dace then pressed his dagger against the howling wizard’s neck, “You are correct. I do seize the most beneficial course of action. But if you truly understood that, you should have killed me long ago.”
And he cleaved the blade through the gnome’s throat.
(2:44)
Cerdan had wandered around to the opposite side of the warehouse to scout the area. The elf was about to return to the front when the stable doors swung open. A man dressed in black emerged, and even under the low lighting, Cerdan’s sharp eyes could tell that it wasn’t Derrick.
Whoever it was, he was in an awful hurry to get away. The elf sidled along the nearby walls and tailed the man as he darted into an alleyway nearby.
(2:46)
Derrick was shouting for Cerdan, hoping the elf was still within earshot outside. The collapsed roof had blocked off the doorway, and the burning wood was releasing a cover of smoke into the air. With much effort, the ex-thief shoved aside another plank of wood, and he could see Ayva’s bloody face through the pile at the bottom.
“Ayva!” he shouted down at her. She parted her lips and her left eye opened a crack, “Tell me where the Maiden is hiding and I’ll help you out of there!”
Her lips curved upward, “You’ll never find her,” Ayva rasped, “We’ve planned this for too long…” she coughed and red flecks appeared over her lips.
“Do you really want to die here like this? Burned and forgotten?”
“Die today, die tomorrow… it makes little difference to us. You speak of being burned and forgotten? This entire city will suffer that same fate by high noon today,” she continued to cough blood, and every breath was starting to become a labour, “All that you’ve accomplished… will be for naught…”
Derrick sighed out of disappointment and lowered his head.
Ayva closed her eye, “Verskul…” her voice trailed off, and though there was no visible sign, Derrick knew she was gone.
His eyes were starting to sting and water from the smoke in the air. Unable to climb over the burning blockade, the ex-thief covered his lower face with his sleeve and ran toward the back of the warehouse, hoping to find an alternate way out.
(2:50)
The trail of red dust from the curio store had faded, forcing Selena to wander aimlessly in a westward direction through the side streets. Although it was obvious that the cloaked man had been heading toward one of the harbour district warehouses, she was afraid that continuing the pursuit would simply waste her time.
But now her quarry was running straight toward her from the opposite side of the alley. Dace’s eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark yet, and he didn’t spot the cleric until she was only a few metres away. The assassin halted for a moment and drew his short sword as he attempted to circle around the cleric.
“My name is Selena Shademoor, cleric of Tyr. You are hereby ordered to surr-” she stopped and turned as she heard a second set of footsteps approaching. Cerdan skidded in his place and stared at the cleric in white.
Selena pointed at him, “You there! Identify your–” Dace suddenly shoved her in the back, making her stumble forward and crash into the other elf.
Dace sheathed his blade and ran off through the maze of back-alleys. He didn’t know who the male elf was, but he wasn’t keen on fighting two opponents with his injured right arm.
“Get off me, I don’t have time for harlots right now!” Cerdan pushed Selena away and got up, but she grabbed him by the wrist. His hand shot forth and the heel of his palm struck her in the forehead. The guild thief used the distraction to wrench free, then rushed away in pursuit of Dace.
Selena rubbed her forehead, then rose and chased after both of them. As she approached the intersection at the end of the alley, a thick wooden board came out from around the corner at eye level. The elf ran directly into it, and collapsed like a sack of oranges.
Cerdan tossed the plank aside, “Hm. The pretty ones never want to let me go.” He listened for the faint sounds of Dace’s rapid receding footsteps, and continued his hunt for the mercenary.
(2:55)
Elsewhere in the city, the Maiden was sitting cross-legged before a rune-covered altar of polished onyx. From the shadows at the side of the room, a tall, sickly-faced man emerged.
“What have you to say, Krevis?” muttered the Maiden from behind her green veil.
The man raised his pale arm, displaying a black bracelet adorned with five gemstones of different colours. One of them had a large, distinctive crack through it. The mage in green looked down at a similar bracelet on her own wrist. And identical crack had appeared on one of her gems as well. They both knew what the broken gem signified.
“Ayva has fallen. No matter, she served her purpose.”
Krevis nodded, “Your orders?”
“Arm yourself. There are others who must now die.”
He let out an unsettling guttural laugh that echoed through the hollow halls of the narthex.
(2:57)
The young page pounded on the door of a small stone-built house, “Sir, please open up. I bear a message from the Ducal Palace!”
He let out a small yelp as a scruffy-haired man with bleary, bloodshot eyes finally opened the door.
“Well? What in the hells do you want?” snapped the man, scratching at the stubble growing on his face. He reeked of alcohol, and was no doubt ready to slam the door in the page’s face if the wrong word was spoken.
The page held up a scroll, “Civilian Atamir,” he read aloud, earning a look of contempt from the man, “By order from the Ducal Palace, you are hereby reinstated in name, rank, and duty as Captain of the City Guard. Your presence is demanded at the palace posthaste, once you have been appropriately equipped. Order signed by Inquisitor Vellin Tenmarke, Knight of Tyr.”
Atamir stirred to semblance of attention and squinted at the page, “Bring me a horse. I knew it would come to this.”
(3:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 27 Mar 2005 : 21:18:05
Blind Man’s Run
(1:00)
Cerdan chimed the bell on the counter and Ayva emerged from the backroom, whisking the curtain closed behind her, “How did you get inside? We’re closed!” she snapped.
“The door was unlocked, and I’m sure Derrick would make an exception for me,” he replied with a smile as he leaned an arm on the counter. Unfortunately for the elf, Bryn hadn’t mentioned that Ayva was the threat.
In the backroom, meanwhile, Derrick was dragging himself toward the healing potion Ayva had left on the table.
“Are you a thief?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. The elf nodded and gave a smug grin. A look of tension flicked across Ayva’s face, “You’re Cerdan?”
“Why yes, I am ‘certain’ that I’m a thief. Quite certain, in fact. I’d have to be, or why else would I spend every other Friday night breaking into nobles’ mansions?” He reached over and began toying with the hourglass atop the counter.
Ayva kept her expression neutral and pointed to the backroom, “Derrick’s in there, go ahead.”
Still holding the hourglass in his hands, Cerdan stepped past her, strode through the curtain, and saw Derrick bleeding on the floor, struggling to reach a healing potion on the table.
The elven thief had more years of combat experience than Derrick and Ayva combined, and had reactions that had been painstakingly honed throughout his life. Upon hearing Ayva step close, Cerdan instinctively angled his body toward the left wall and out of the way as Ayva thrust out with her dagger. The blade missed him, but took a thick sliver out of his grey leather armour. The elf kicked out to his side, landing the sole of his boot in her mid-section. She stumbled back, giving Cerdan time to charge forth and crack her upside the jaw with the hourglass.
He followed up by smashing the timekeeping device down over her crown. Ayva saw stars again and fell to the floor amid a downpour of broken glass and falling sands. Cerdan kicked her weapon away and, keeping his eyes on her, called out to Derrick.
“Gllgh…” Derrick replied. He lifted his tunic and poured the healing potion over his wound. It sealed the gash, but he was still terribly weak from the blood loss. He tossed the bottle aside and, holding the wall for support, staggered out into the front of the shop, “They’re after you as well, Cerdan.”
“Oh, don’t worry. If this is the best they have to offer,” he nudged Ayva with his foot and she didn’t stir, “then I’m sure I can handle them. Which leads to my next question: what, praytell, is the reason for this rampant chaos? Today feels a tad more murderous than usual. By the way, you look terrible. And you smell like something that crawled out from a sewer.”
Derrick snatched another potion from one of his shelves and quaffed it down thirstily. “A crazy mage is trying to kill everyone connected to the Siron job. They’ve already killed Orwin, Rombis, some wizard named Verskul, and gods know who else.”
“Oh, petty revenge is it? Eh, nothing new.”
“Actually, they seem obsessed with finding some magic artifact. Wish I knew what it was, exactly.” Derrick yawned from exhaustion, then spotted Ayva’s dagger on the ground and bent down to inspect it more closely.
“Well then, what shall we do now? I should probably check on the guildhouse, but if my informants are correct, there would be little for me to do but stand around and watch the rest of it burn down…”
“The graveyard,” Derrick suddenly said, “We need to go to the city graveyard.”
“And what, praytell, inspired this convenient revelation?”
“A piece of my past,” Derrick held up the dagger, staring intently at the engraved symbol of an angel with burning wings on the hilt, “I think I know what it is they’re looking for…”
(1:10)
“Sir, I must protest! You should be resting now,” wailed the cleric attending to the Chancellor. Even after the healing spell, the Chancellor was still weak from the earlier fight.
Thinder waved a dismissive hand, “You said I’ll be able to move with assistance. Now either bring me a walking stick or help me find the Waterdeep ambassador’s chamber. With all this cacophony tonight, I doubt anyone in the building will be able to get any sleep, anyway.”
“Um, very well, sir. But can this not wait until the morn?”
“No. They are already uneasy about the kidnapping and attempted assassination. If I do not speak to them now, they may leave before first light.” Leaning on the cleric, Thinder began to make his way through the Ducal Palace.
(1:14)
“Sixteen.”
Treysen nodded with false confidence, “I assure you, sir, we can make do with that many men and-”
“Sixteen,” said Vellin.
“I know that may seem like a small number, but they are all fully capable paladins. From your own Order, I might add.”
“How could you possibly expect to fulfill your duty with a skeleton crew? That’s less than four protectors per floor. And no Inquisitors, either!”
“I-”
“If we are to provide adequate protection, then we should have all the envoys moved to our secondary site until the conclusion of the summit.” The backup site Vellin referred to was a former wizard’s tower at the northern peak of the city, “I still cannot comprehend why you would send away all but sixteen of our security force.”
“Please, sit calm, sir. You should be resting, leave the work to me.”
The Inquisitor was quiet for a moment, “If you are not investigating the assassin conspiracy, then perhaps we will require some assistance from outside the Church.”
“Assassin conspiracy? The one you learned about at the Silver Spike? But you were the only field person investigating that case, and you’re in no condition to continue doing so.”
“No… there is another who may be of help. If you are so lax in your duties, then outside aid may be-”
“There is no need for that, Inquisitor, and that is final,” said Treysen, “I sympathize with your condition, but you should leave this matter to those who are more capable.” Vellin’s jaw fell open as Treysen moved to the door, “If you’ll excuse me, I have other things that must be attended.”
Vellin waited a few seconds after Treysen had left, then called for one of the pages that had been assigned to assist him in his blinded state, “I want you to take a message and have it delivered to a civilian living on the east side of town.” The page found a parchment and quill, and prepared to transcribe the Inquisitor’s words.
(1:21)
“And how fortunate it is that I, the lowly Lady Elsina, should be graced with the Chancellor’s divine presence,” Ambassador Elsina was the oft-irritated representative of Waterdeep, “Shall I bow and curtsy for your pleasure?”
The Chancellor turned to his cleric, “Please wait outside until I call for you,” he turned to Lady Elsina, “I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour, but I come to request your approval on the proposal I made earlier this eve.”
“Mmm, I see. Your desire to send a war fleet parading through Waterdeep’s oceanic territory. Apologies, Chancellor, but the last time we signed a formal agreement with you, Baldur’s Gate gained a year’s supply of fine liquors, while Waterdeep ended up with a year’s supply of poisoned iron ore.”
“That was the Iron Throne’s fault, not mine,” Thinder sat down in a nearby chair, “In any case, you would do well to consider my new offer. It would be a tragedy if something unfortunate were to slip.”
“Is that a threat?”
“My word, no! It is a warning. After all, I’m sure you wouldn’t want the Athkatlans or Calimshites to learn about… the Behemoth project.”
The ambassador’s eyes widened slightly, but otherwise she did an admirable job of securing her surprise, “I don’t know what you’re talk-”
“Allow me to refresh your memory, a few of the Lords of Waterdeep have commissioned the creation of a magical beast that could be instantly dispatched to any foreign city along the Sword Coast. An entity that could slay any of Waterdeep’s enemies without leaving any connection to your city Lords. A creature that is clearly a violation of the Caden’s Hill Treaty of 1323.”
Elsina’s face, much like Korrien’s, had become paler and paler with every syllable that left Thinder’s lips. She spoke slowly through grit teeth, “How could you possibly know of this? Our greatest illusionists have ensured that nobody would ever-”
Thinder smiled, “Any spell that can be done, can be undone. Now, unless you wish Waterdeep to become the Zhentil Keep of the Sword Coast, I would suggest that you heed my words…”
(1:32)
“Ouch, blasted stones,” swore Korrien as he and Ponn approached the Ducal Palace, “damn this city for having such rocky, ill-kept roads!”
Ponn said nothing and strode forward to the gatehouse outside the palace. Strangely, there was only a single knight guarding the entrance there. As Ponn moved to pass through, the gatekeeper stepped into his path, “Hold, there. Who are you and wh-”
“Paladin!” shouted the Tethyrian envoy, “I am ambassador Korrien. I was kidnapped earlier this evening – no thanks to your own compatriots, I might add – and this city guard helped me escape. We must speak to whoever is in charge of security.”
The knight of Tyr stirred to attention and nodded, “Please wait here, sir. We must first confirm you are who you claim, and notify Sir Treysen.”
Lieutenant Ponn stood patiently and casually adjusted the front of his tunic.
(1:39)
The blind paladin raised his head as he heard the door open, “Has the message been sent?”
“Message?” asked Treysen, “What message?”
Vellin wondered why he didn’t detect Treysen’s aura through his paladin-sense. The Inquisitor adjusted his white blindfold and shook his head, “My mistake, never mind. What do you require?”
“I was looking for Chancellor Thinder. He was not in his chambers, and one of the pages told me he was seen on the upper floors. I assumed he would have come to see you.”
Inquisitor Tenmarke’s lip twisted into a frown and he stood, “You did not have someone watching him? I still suspect he has some connection with the threat we uncovered at the taverns this past afternoon.”
“Yes, but even if he does, that is a matter that I can look into myself, sir.” Treysen was about to push Vellin back into his chair when there was a knock at the door.
One of the pages put his head through the door, “Sir Treysen! The Chancellor went into the Athkatlan ambassador’s quarters just now. He refused to return to his own room or wait for you to arrive.”
Treysen nodded and dismissed him, “I think I should have a word or three with our esteemed city representative.”
“And I am coming with you,” said the Inquisitor, holding his walking stick.
“Sir, please…”
“This is not a matter for debate. I do not plan to sit idle while there is so much potential danger afoot.”
Treysen sighed in resignation, “Very well, sir. Take my arm and I will lead you on…”
(1:44)
Thinder, meanwhile, was just then outlining his arguments as to why the Athkatlan ambassador should endorse the Chancellor’s navy proposal, “You see, my lord, it is illegal – quite illegal in fact – to poison the Waterdhavian aqueducts in hopes of wiping out their armed forces.”
The elderly ambassador raised his head slightly and leaned forward on the balcony of the fourth-floor room, looking out across the quiet Baldur’s Gate skyline. Not quite the reaction Thinder was aiming for.
“That plan didn’t work, of course,” continued the Chancellor, “but I’d wager the Lords of Waterdeep would be very interested in meeting the man responsible for causing so much heartache for their clerics and priests.”
The Athkatlan noble simply fingered the black amulet around his neck.
“I require an answer, ambassador.”
The man finally replied, “What is your gain from this matter, Chancellor? What stake is so great that it pushes you to such lengths of deception?”
Thinder smiled. There was no real harm in telling the envoy the truth; he and the others would find out later, anyway. “I have certain contacts that wield considerable power over the mechanics of many Sword Coast cities. They desire freedom of movement, freedom of trade through our territories. Our navy will be specially instructed to accommodate certain passengers and cargo that might otherwise be denied travel. In exchange, they have agreed to help me rise to office as a Duke of Baldur’s Gate… in addition to a margin of their profit.”
“Ah,” said the Athkatlan, “Money and power, gold and grandeur. Aren’t those the reasons for all schemes in this world?” He adjusted the collar of his green robe and turned to face the Chancellor with dignified poise, “So be it. I accept your proposal, so long as I am compensated accordingly.”
“Excellent, a most profitable decision. I am certain we-”
The door on the far end of the room suddenly swung open, and Sir Treysen barged in, leading the Inquisitor behind. Thinder stared in surprise at the blindfold that Vellin wore. He heard that Vellin had been hurt, but he didn’t know the knight had been blinded. Much of the Inquisitor’s armour had been removed, allowing him to walk around without the additional burden.
(1:49)
“Chancellor!” called Treysen after showing Vellin to a chair that faced the open balcony, “You were ordered to remain in your quarters until sunrise!”
“I have stated this before,” snapped the Chancellor, deeply upset by their intrusion, “I do not answer to you or your Order.” Thinder stepped away from the balcony and crossed the room, meeting Treysen near the door. As the two began to argue, the Athkatlan ambassador made a disgusted face and turned back to the view of the city outside.
At that point, a page opened the door again, leading ambassador Korrien and Lieutenant Ponn into the room.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Thinder, “This is not open house! Leave now!” Of all the newcomers, only the young page scurried out, closing the door behind him.
Korrien approached Treysen, “Sir, I must complain that the security of this building is abominable. Earlier tonight, I was kidnapped due to the incompetence of one of your knights – yes, that one!” he shouted, pointing at Vellin.
Vellin felt a slight tingling sensation in his fingertips and along the back of his neck.
Treysen turned to both Thinder and Korrien, “Both of you, please calm down, I can’t-”
“I demand that you all leave!”
“I demand an explanation!”
“Gaah,” said Treysen, “I demand that you all be quiet! This is too much…”
The envoy from Athkatla, still standing on the balcony, closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Why couldn’t these fools bicker elsewhere? The Athkatlan turned to look at them, but was surprised to see the guard, Lieutenant Ponn, standing less than two steps away beside him on the balcony. The others were too busy arguing to notice.
“What do you want?” asked the Athkatlan.
The pounding in the lieutenant’s head intensified. Ponn simply stared at the man for a moment, then extended his fists out to the side like a pair of wings. He then swung his fists inward, and there was a brittle ‘crack’ as the Ponn punched himself in the chest.
The Athkatlan envoy stared in confusion, “Why are you just standing there hitting yourself? What’s that glowing underneath your shirt?”
Vellin’s tingling sensation suddenly became much stronger.
(1:57)
The Shield Knights stood in a half-circle around Melik’s crystal ball. In the ball, they could see through the eyes of the mage’s vessel.
“The Chancellor, two paladins, as well as the ambassadors of Athkatla and Tethyr… yes, this will do nicely,” Melik mused.
“I still do not understand,” said Gold, “What was the point of letting our prisoners escape?”
The gnome smirked, “A few drops of iron blight on their cell door hinges, an infernus crystal strapped under the guard’s tunic, an extended ‘mind domination’ spell… and we have the makings of an assassination plot,” the gnome opened his eyes and looked down at the image, “Now all that’s left is to wait.”
(1:58)
The envoys and Treysen were still engaged in their shouting match, but their noise was a mere whisper compared to the danger that Vellin felt screaming at him through his paladin-sense. Something catastrophic was about to happen on the balcony.
The aura of danger surrounding Ponn’s form stood out like an inferno against the darkness in the Inquisitor’s mind. The burning feeling from the knight’s sixth sense was now greater than it had ever been in Vellin’s life. There was no time.
The Inquisitor lurched from his seat, dropping his walking stick, and charged forward at the balcony, guided solely by his paladin-sense.
Treysen glanced past the two ambassadors, “What’s happening over there?” The three stood dumbfounded as Vellin crossed the room.
The infernus crystal’s glow abruptly ceased, and transformed into a veil of black shadow around Ponn’s upper body. The lack of light made no difference to the blind paladin. Vellin Tenmarke tackled Ponn around the chest. The force of impact caused both men to topple over the side of the balcony, and they began falling toward the ground far below.
And then the crystal exploded.
(2:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 13 Mar 2005 : 05:44:05
Midnight
(12:00)
.
In the distance, the bells atop the city’s looming clock tower began to ring their solemn tune. Twelve hours had passed since the first murder of the day. In another twelve hours, the fate of the entire city would be decided. Through either flame or fortune, it would be decided.
(12:01)
Korrien and Ponn were surprised to find that their path to the warehouse door was completely clear. The reason being that the Shield Knights were in the stables, overseeing Melik’s spell-casting ritual. The two kidnap victims pushed through the door, conspicuously unlocked, and out into the cold night’s embrace.
The ambassador had been wearing little more than an evening robe and a pair of slippers when he was kidnapped. That attire, in addition to his preference for travelling by carriage, would certainly impede their progress back to the Ducal Palace. Ponn, his head still pounding, moved ahead and began to guide the foreign ambassador to their destination.
(12:05)
Dace leaned against the wall, carefully dripping a few drops of an alchemical mixture into the lock on the Wizard’s Box. The fluid was called ‘Iron Blight’; an unnatural substance distilled from the city’s poisoned iron crisis a few years back. It had the ability to accelerate the decay process of any ordinary metal, creating years worth of rust in mere minutes.
Across the stables, Melik was kneeling on the ground with a cloudy crystal ball lying on a cloth before him. The Shield Knights were watching the gnome intently. Had the situation been different, Dace would have already killed the employers and be on a boat to Brynnlaw. But the schemer inside him wanted to follow the gold trail; he first had to find out what power was behind this little conspiracy. Then he would exploit the hells out of whatever opportunity he uncovered.
When Dace threatened the Shield Knights with the crystal earlier, he established who was in control of the immediate situation. They were undoubtedly jabbering on behind their masks, even now trying to figure out a way to be rid of the assassin. No matter, Dace thought to himself. After all, he hadn’t reached forty-five years of age through sheer luck.
The Iron Blight finished its work in corroding the clasp, and Dace popped the Wizard Box ajar. He smiled and raised the box’s lid to discover… nothing at all. The box was completely empty and he could only see the container’s black, polished inner casing.
“Melik!” he shouted, disrupting the gnome’s concentration, “What is the meaning of this?” The assassin moved over and shoved it front of the wizard’s face.
Melik’s spell wasn’t lost, but his temper certainly was, “Can’t you busy yourself elsewhere?!” The gnome suddenly stopped and examined the box more closely, running his finger around the casing, eyebrow raised, “That’s odd. The inside of the this container is lined with a thin layer of onyx.”
“How is that relevant?”
“Normally it wouldn’t be, except it is giving off a strong aura of dead magic…”
Gold-mask evidently overheard them, “Stop playing with your necromantic toy and continue with the spell.” Dace had the impression that Gold was trying to avoid eye contact.
“No, I said dead magic, not undead magic.” Melik handed the box back to Dace, “It’s a by-product of the Time of Troubles. Seal any enchanted artifact inside, and its magical charge will be absorbed and negated until the box is reopened.”
Dace nodded to himself and regarded the box with intrigue. Something like this would certainly be valuable. “I will take my leave for now,” he stated, making his way to the exit.
“Hold there, blackcloak,” barked Silver-mask, “you agreed to protect us if the paladins show up.”
“We never established that on contract. I will return when my other business it complete,” he cast a warning eye at them, daring any to oppose.
None of the Shield Knights stirred to challenge, unaware that he no longer held the infernus crystal. After he left, Silver muttered to Melik, “How can you possibly stand to work with that ruffian?”
The gnome had his eyes closed, focusing on some unseen spell pattern, “I’ve only known him for a few months. Even I don’t trust him… but he always sees a task through to the end.”
The trio of masked men considered those words in silence.
(12:16)
When the light had cleared, Derrick found that he had been teleported a distance south, and was now in his own pawnshop. Ayva had regained consciousness and either she or the green-veiled woman had untied the ropes. It was a turnabout now that Derrick was tied to a chair in the middle of his own living quarters at the back. At least the paralysis spell had worn off.
The green-veiled mage took the bag of holding from his side and passed it to Ayva, “Empty its contents and look for the Sigil. I must hunt down his elf friend.”
Ayva had obtained a healing potion from the shelves out front and was splashing the restorative fluid over her head wounds, “What is your current progress, Maiden?”
“Rombis and Orwin are dead, and our infiltrator is in place.”
“What of Verskul?” asked Ayva.
Derrick’s ears perked up, hoping to learn how the dead wizard in Rombis’ tavern was tied to all this. Surely this Maiden didn’t kill him at random. After all the layers of conspiracy and deception Derrick had seen, it didn’t look like something she would do arbitrarily.
“At the moment he is also dead,” the Maiden replied, “Focus on finding Derrick’s Sigil. Use whatever force is required, but try to keep him alive for now.” She stared at Derrick from behind her opaque veil, “We may need him if the elf proves elusive.”
Ayva acknowledged and the green-robed mage left. Derrick’s former assistant set the bag of holding aside for a moment and stepped up to the ex-thief. She landed a hard blow to his stomach, which sent a few drops of spittle shooting from his mouth. The gash in his side started bleeding again.
It was going to be a long night…
(12:20)
Bryn followed Linde into one of the worst run-down neighbourhoods of the city. Even the filthy slums were safer than this place; Southside Row. Bryn was beginning to wonder just what sort of street-kid Linde could be, that she would be so familiar with this area.
They went up to the doorstep of one particularly dilapidated house. The roof looked terribly warped, but the grey-brick foundation looked sturdier than most of the other homes.
Linde gave a rapid, staggering sequence of raps on the front door, followed by two sharp taps on the window. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and Bryn found himself staring up at an elven man wearing a surprisingly elegant fog-grey suit of leather armour. What’s more, Bryn actually recognized the elf.
“Linde?” the elf said aloud while signing, “it’s past midnight, we won’t be collecting your dues until the morning. I have other matters to attend to, go get some sleep.” The girl made a series of complicated hand signs that seemed to catch the elf’s attention. He crouched in front of her and they both conversed in sign language.
Bryn, meanwhile, had his mind full with the elf’s identity. Not too long ago, the boy had secretly gone against his father’s wishes and hooked up with the local branch of the Shadow Thieves. Bryn didn’t the have heart to become some feeble pawn-merchant; he craved excitement and adventure. The boy believed he had the strength of will for it; after all, he’d survived an encounter with the Night Parade without shedding a single tear or sob.
But despite his inherited thieving talent, Bryn was denied entry to the guild. After completing the training jobs, Bryn was shown to Cerdan, one of the branch’s Shadow Thief lieutenants. The elf had taken a single look at Bryn, then ordered that the boy be barred from the guild. That very same elf was now speaking with Linde.
Linde and Cerdan finished their conversation and turned to Bryn. The elf stood, “Hello, Bryn. You already know who I am, so-”
“Linde! You’re a guild thief?!” Bryn exclaimed.
“She’s one of my street pickpockets. I-”
“But we met a Shadow Thief in the sewers! Why didn’t you say something?” Bryn foolishly asked.
“Hey! Be quiet!” shouted Cerdan, waving his arms, “She works for the guild, but she’s never been to our guildhouse. Linde only knows a few other street thieves and myself.”
Bryn suddenly noticed that Cerdan was wearing a rucksack, as if he was already planning to go somewhere. The elf continued, “I thank you for bringing her. I’ll take you to your father’s shop, then we’ll part ways.”
“Wait, I can’t go back there!” cried Bryn, remembering Ayva, “There’s some crazy person trying to kill me! And my father might already have been killed!”
This bit of news certainly put Cerdan on edge. Earlier, he’d assumed Derrick’s claim of a threat to the guild was an exaggeration. That was until twenty minutes ago, when one of Cerdan’s informants reported the destruction of the guildhouse.
“Fine,” said Cerdan, “you can stay here in my house. Linde and I must investigate a… problem at the guild.”
Bryn didn’t like the idea of staying in this sub-slum region, but he was feeling very fatigues from the events of the day. He nodded and Cerdan let him inside.
“There’s an extra bed in the side room,” said Cerdan, “mind the cat.” Bryn peeked in the doorway and saw a black cat curled up atop the sheets.
Cerdan went on, “We’ll be back in the morning.” Bryn nodded and they left.
‘Linde,’ the elf signed as they walked, ‘Go find Seffron, Hand, Nibbis and all the others. Spread the word that I’m assuming control over Orwin’s duties and that they’re to stay in hiding until we straighten out this ordeal.’ He passed her a dagger and sent her away.
Bryn meanwhile went over to the bed and nudged Jinx, the cat. Jinx hissed and made a lazy scratching motion, but jumped off and instead went to sleep on the floor just inside the doorway.
The boy looked about the room, frowning at the open window. It was only wide enough for a small person to wiggle through, but it was letting in a cold and terribly stinky draft. Too bad it didn’t have any shutters.
Letting out a worried sigh, he climbed onto the cot and closed his eyes.
(12:29)
Ayva had completely emptied the bag, leaving several dozen items, many of them damaged in her careless search, strewn across the floor. Gems, trinkets, and tools everywhere, yet all were useless to the backstabbing woman.
“It’s not here,” she spat, “all that time and effort, and it’s not even here!”
Derrick had dozed off during her search; he hadn’t slept for almost eighteen hours, and adrenaline could only take you so for before you burned out. In his younger days he might have been able to push on for two, maybe even three days straight. But now his age was becoming holding him back; time was marching on without him.
Ayva walked over and smacked him a few times, “Wake up. You will tell me where – hey! Stay awake!” Derrick’s head lulled to the side, “You’re lucky the Maiden wants you kept alive a lucid.” Ayva poured some of her healing potion into a cupped hand and ungraciously splashed some into Derrick’s face. The rejuvenating effect healed his bruises and, unfortunately, gave him an energetic boost to keep him alert.
Derrick blinked the blue liquid out of his eyes and glared at Ayva, “You’ll be lucky if you outlive this day without dying by my hand. What have you done with Bryn?!”
She suddenly remembered that Derrick didn’t know of Bryn’s escape. Now she had a bargaining chip, “He is unharmed for now. Your sister Jena proved quite fierce in protecting him. I would have commended her spirit if she wasn’t lying in a pool of blood right now.”
Derrick’s eyes flared with anger and he loosed a colourful litany of threats and curses at Ayva.
“Is that really going to help your son?” Ayva asked, prompting him to grudgingly quiet down, “Now, I have been searching your entire store for weeks, and I never found any record of the Sigil or anything similar to it. I certainly hope you didn’t sell it… no, of course not. You wouldn’t be able to.”
He had no idea what Ayva was talking about. If he was going to get out of this mess, he needed to get a fix on his enemies’ motives, “What’s your stake in this, Ayva? Why are you working for that mage?”
“Oh, I’m not working for her. You haven’t a clue who your true enemy is, through I do believe you’ve met him today,” she tossed the potion bottle on a table, “As for my stake, let’s just say I answer a higher calling. One that promises great rewards to the chosen few.”
Ayva stared him in the eye and leaned close to his face, “Now it’s your turn to answer some of my questions.”
“You murdered my sister! Why in the hells should I help you?!” he raged.
“Because if you don’t I’ll forgo the Maiden’s orders and kill you here and now. Then no one will be able to save your son. If you do help me, you get to live a little longer, and you just might find an opportunity to overpower me in the future and escape.”
Derrick continued glaring.
“We both know what you must do.”
He muttered to himself, then nodded slightly. With Jena dead, his son was his only living family. Derrick sure as hell wasn’t going to stand back and lose Bryn; gods knew that’s how he lost Syra.
“Let’s begin with the Siron job,” Ayva said, “both you and my true employer have mentioned it, but I’ve never been told how you were involved.”
Derrick experimentally twisted his hands to find if he could wiggle them loose. If he was going to escape, he needed to stall. He recited the same story he told to Myrk, all the while sawing at the individual rope fibres with his fingernails. This time, however, he went on to the end of the tale.
“… I managed to limp my way back to our airship after Orwin stabbed me in the leg when we met the golem. Cerdan and Rombis had already found most of the stolen treasure, and were securing it on board when we heard this pitched, screeching noise approaching from the other side of the mountain. A hooded figure atop a wyvern was soaring down at us. Apparently the bandits we’d slain were just the grunts guarding the cave.
“In any case, Rombis was scrambling to take off and Cerdan went above deck with his bow to shoot at the wyvern rider. That was when Orwin came rushing out of the mountain cave, roughly pulling someone along behind him.”
Derrick paused a moment, “Lord Siron, the man who hired us for the mission, believed his daughter was killed in the bandit raid on his caravan. It turns out he was wrong.” The thief shook his head to hide his wincing expression; his wrists were starting to bleed from rubbing against the ropes.
“Orwin found Siron’s daughter, Lorelei, imprisoned below and led her out to the airship just as we were lifting off.”
“I had no idea thieves could be so altruistic,” Ayva remarked sarcastically.
“Not really. I found out later that he was planning to only return her if Siron agreed to let us keep all the treasure, instead of paying us our usual finders’ fee. Orwin pulled the shaken woman aboard as we flew away, and went to check on the treasure.
“Unfortunately, the wyvern breathed a fireball at us and set one of the ballasts aflame. The airship rocked to one side and all the unsecured treasure chests tumbled out of the hold and down to the mountain below before I could even reach the cargo door.
“The ship must have been hit with another attack after that. The entire room quaked and Lorelei nearly fell out the open cargo hatch. I dived toward her and managed to snag her by the wrist, but that left her dangling over the edge.”
“And then something went wrong,” Ayva mused.
“Orwin surprised me from behind and tried to knock both Lorelei and myself overboard. I managed to keep my grip on the side of the hull, but Rombis shouted from the above deck that we had too much weight for the airship to outfly the wyvern. Orwin said to me, ‘Let go, she’s dead already!’ Then he kicked me in the leg, in the very same spot where he’d stabbed me when we faced the golem. That was when I dropped Lorelei, and she fell to her death.
“After that, Rombis somehow managed to keep the ship steady long enough to escape from the wyvern rider, but I couldn’t stop repeating in my mind what had happened. I watched her plummet and crash into some rocks alongside a river running down from the mountain. The rivers ran red with her innocent blood that day, and that was the moment when it all changed for me.”
Ayva was less than sympathetic, “Well, thank you for sharing your long-winded melodrama. Shall I cry now?”
“You’re the one who wanted to know the story.”
“Yes, and it did satisfy my curiosity on a number of things about you… for now. So after all that business, you up and left the guild because you didn’t want to work for Orwin again. But,” she stood up and leaned closer, “now we must discuss matters at hand. Where is the Sigil of the Fallen?”
“I told you, I don’t even know what it-” Behind the chair, Derrick had loosened the ropes enough to pull them off. He threw down the bonds and lurched forward, bashing his own forehead against Ayva’s. They both saw stars for a few moments, then squared off to fight.
Both combatants were still exhausted from what they’d endured so far, but this time Ayva had fully healed her wounds with a few stock potions. Derrick was trying not to aggravate the gash in his side or his bleeding wrists. What’s more, Ayva was wielding a long steel dagger.
Ayva pressed in with her attacks, but Derrick swept up the chair and held it high to block her thrusts. She managed to snatch it by the leg, and they started to turn about in a tug-of-war, with Derrick desperately trying to stay out of her attack range.
Ayva shuffled her footing and before Derrick could react, she released the chair, making him stumble and fall backward against the wall. She stood over him and kicked him in the side, tearing the flesh around the gash even more.
“Face it, Derrick,” she gloated, “Your time has past. The world doesn’t belong to tired, aging fools like you. It belongs to us, the timeless.”
Derrick weakly clutched the wound, trying to stem the rapid blood flow. If he lost too much blood, even magical healing wouldn’t be able to save him.
(12:40)
In a different shop in another part of the city, Dace was once again dealing with the black market storekeeper. The mercenary laid a few thin throwing daggers on the counter, “These blades you sold me are unbalanced. It ended up killing one of my associates this past evening.”
Dace was referring to how he’d accidentally slain Terrence. The assassin didn’t mention the blades earlier when he was here buying the teleportation amulets. Flink was with him at the time, and the halfling likely wouldn’t have gone along quietly if he knew how Terrence had really died.
“Not my problem,” scoffed the shopkeeper, “perhaps your throwing skill is simply not as deadly as you claim.”
Dace picked up one of the knives, took a few strides across the room, and hurled it overhand at the man. The blade bit into the wall, scant centimetres from the sweaty scalp.
“If that blade was balanced, it would have gone into your neck. If you do not believe me, I could try aiming at your groin instead.”
The man swallowed, “What do you want, exactly? Replacements? A new set of throwing blades?”
“No, we have already established that your weapon craftsmanship is sub-par. I require something practical in the form of magic.”
“Oh, perhaps you’d like this?” The storekeeper placed a long-necked blood-red flask on the counter, “It’s a bottle of Imp Dust. Toss some of the contents on a foe, and they’ll be dazed by the ashes of a scamp from the lower planes!”
“I would prefer something that doesn’t rely chiefly on a charlatan’s claims.”
“Er, I keep all defensive artifacts in the room at the back,” he pointed to a door in the rear wall. When you catered to criminals, there were certain appearances that had to be kept. You had to keep the implements of death up front and in plain view.
“I will tell you when I have chosen something appropriate. Try not to cheat me while I look.” Dace spoke the words with such finality that the shopkeep was hesitant to follow him into the stockroom.
(12:44)
Less than a dozen metres away, Selena was gazing up at the stars as she made her way toward the very same curio store. The sky was like a mirror of the world; a plane of near-complete darkness, sprinkled with tiny droplets of light here and there. It reminded her too much of the realm she lived in; it was a world full of evil and misery, where good people were minute, twinkling rarities between vast reaches of the dark.
Baldur’s Gate was a city crowded with over a million people, yet it was only a small fraction of that number whose hearts were good. Truly good.
The elf shook her head. The guard who stole the glowing crystal claimed to have sold it at a rarely known black market shop in this area. Apparently the guard never reported its location, since it was such a great place to sell valuables swiped from the evidence locker at the barracks.
The cleric of Tyr stepped inside and approached the counter, where the shopkeeper was just placing several throwing knives in the sales display case.
“You looking for something, missy?” he gave a sleazy glance at Selena’s chest.
She pulled her cloak closed around her and snapped her fingers at him, prompting the man to stop looking at her upper tunic, “A few hours ago, you purchased a radiant green shard from a guard. Show it to me.”
The shopkeeper’s demeanor suddenly changed, “Absolutely not. I’m saving that piece for one of my special clients. But I’m sure I carry something equally entertaining for a youthful lass like you, missy.” Actually, his demeanor hadn’t changed that much.
The elven cleric was actually older than he was, but she didn’t bother bringing it up, “Perhaps you require some additional persuasion.” She reached into her white cloak and the shopkeeper leaned forward eagerly.
The elf brought out her holy symbol, “I represent the Church of Tyr. If you do not help, I shall have you placed under arrest for trading around illegal merchandise and have you sent to Lancam’s Isle, where the stronger inmates would probably trade you around like merchandise.”
“Uh, okay, okay,” said the shopkeep in appeasement as he slowly retrieved it from a panel in the wall behind him, “I’m just a businessman trying to survive, missy.” He placed the glowing crystal on the countertop.
Selena took it and turned it over in her delicate hands. It looked exactly the same as the one that had exploded in the Temple of Tyr. “Shopkeep, you are fortunate that I am confiscating this item. If my suspicions are correct, it has been laced with infernus fluid. Even the slightest agitation could-”
A noise from the back of the shop caught their attention. Dace stepped through the door looking down at a brand new pair of midnight-blue leather boots on his feet.
“These will be acceptable, shopkeeper. I-” the mercenary looked up and ceased when he saw Selena. Her holy symbol was plainly visible, and Dace’s hand instinctively fell to his side. Even more alarming was that she was holding one of the infernus crystals.
The cleric didn’t even need a Detect Evil spell. The mercenary in black was practically soaked with an aura of frigid evil. No one said or did anything for several agonizing seconds.
Surprisingly enough, the first person to move was the shop owner. Before Dace could act, the shopkeep grabbed the bottle of Imp Dust by the neck and threw it at Selena. His aim was off, however, and the top of the bottle merely clipped the side of her head and smashed on the floor at her feet. Unfortunately, the shock was enough to make her fumble the crystal, which slipped from her fingers and cracked loudly on the wooden floor.
The elf staggered a pace, then whirled to face the now cowering shop owner. She didn’t notice that the crystal’s glow was rapidly increasing. Nor did she notice the cloud of red mist that puffed up from the shards of the broken bottle. As she inhaled some of the red vapours, her eyes glazed over and she stared forward in a blank stupor.
Dace, meanwhile, was focused on something far more important. The infernus crystal was rapidly glowing brighter and brighter, until it became akin to looking into the sun. Then, in an instant, the glowing ceased, and the crystal abruptly went dark to such a degree that it seemed to suck in all light around it, leaving the area surrounding it a muted shadow.
The mercenary closed his eyes for a moment and in his memory, he could see the spot where the crystal had landed. He covered his nose and mouth with his cloak to avoid breathing the Imp Dust, then reached into his leather vest and strode forward to where the crystal lay and brought out the Wizard’s Box.
Box in hand, he plunged his arm into the shadow cloud, scooped up the crystal, and clapped the lid shut. The large shadow instantly winked out and the stench of brimstone began to fade. The mercenary let out a quiet sigh with the knowledge that the magical threat had been – temporarily – neutralized by the inhibiting properties of the Wizard’s Box.
Lacking a key to lock it, he quickly tied a leather strap around the container and tucked the danger away into his vest pocket over his heart. With that done, he walked past the stunned elf toward the door.
“Wait, where are you going? You can’t just leave me to deal with this!” said the shopkeeper, gesturing toward the elf.
“Step aside and let me pass. Now.”
“But my business will be in serious jeopardy if I just let- glllk!” The shopkeeper didn’t have time to react when Dace came forward and stabbed him in the gut. The assassin removed his blade and let the man fall to floor, then stepped over him and strode outside into the open street.
When she heard the door slam, Selena snapped to attention and whirled about, wondering how she could have possibly forgotten about the man in black. She glanced down at the wounded shopkeeper, and was shocked at the damage that had occurred without her realizing.
The cleric quickly cast a healing spell over the fallen man, then dashed outside in pursuit of Dace, but he was nowhere to be seen. She glanced down and noticed a few glittery specks of red dust on the ground, leading off to the west. When the assassin grabbed the crystal, much of the Imp Dust had settled on his boots. The elf set off, following the trail left by the man carrying a particularly volatile weapon.
(12:56)
“I have one question…” Derrick rasped. Ayva was intent on letting his wound bleed, and after the fight, she wasn’t going to take a risk by healing him.
“Well, this ought to be good.”
At this point, Derrick still had one glaring loose end that had been nagging him since the beginning of this fateful day. He met her gaze, “How was that Athkatlan wizard Verskul related to all this?”
Ayva smirked, “For our plans to succeed, it was necessary for him to perish. You might say that his death was the crux of everything that has happened today. And though he was the first die today, you can be sure that he won’t be the last,” she picked up the healing potion from the table and shook it mockingly at Derrick. “Once the Maiden finds that elf friend of yours, all that you’ve accomplished will be for naught but your own destruction.”
“Mighty words. But you’ll find that Cerdan is a cunning serpent. If you can’t see him, he’s already slithered out of your grasp. You’ll never find him.”
(12:59)
Just outside Derrick’s pawnshop, Cerdan was peering in past the display window. Something was going on in there. ‘Oh good,’ he thought to himself, ‘there’s a light on inside. I’ll go see if Derrick’s there.’
The elf passed inside the shop, humming a light tune.
(1:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 04 Mar 2005 : 21:14:05
Convergence
(11:00)
.
It was surprising enough for the three Knights of the Shield to see someone abruptly appear before them in a flash of light in the middle of their hideout. The greater shock came from the fact that the man just happened to be one of the prominent diplomats from the summit. Dace had appeared a few moments later and without saying a word, dragged the stunned diplomat downstairs to secure his hostage.
The assassin finally returned to the main room as the eyeless glares of the masked men bored into his face. Dace casually strolled over to their table and tossed a dagger into the middle. Now it was time to make their lives difficult, “If you want him dead, you can do it yourself.”
“What’s this?” snapped silver-mask, “Have you lost your nerve for killing?”
“Mind your words, I just now killed the halfling, my own comrade. And I have half a mind to kill you three as well for your intended betrayal.” The assassin reached into his vest, pulled out the infernus crystal, and tossed the dangerous object from hand to hand.
The three men stirred slightly. Gold spoke first, “It wouldn’t be wise of you to try that. We three are protected by the magical wards placed upon this building. No harm shall come to us so long as we remain here.”
“You might be protected from the initial fiery explosion, but I doubt your magical wards would save you from suffocating in the smoke. Or from being trapped when the burning ceiling crashes down on top of you. Oh, and you can also expect a visit from the paladins of Tyr.”
“What are you on about?”
“I left my halfling companion dead on the floor of the Ducal Palace. I imagine a cleric of Tyr will soon be divining the location of this building from Flink’s recently departed spirit.” He leaned forward on the table, “So now we find ourselves at an impasse. If you take a single step outside the building, I will kill you for planning to double-cross me. If you stay, we can all go off to prison where one of the local toughs will kill you,” a slight smirk appeared on his lips, “We could have avoided this unpleasantness if we signed a contract like I asked.”
The gold-masked man raised his head, “What do you seek from this? Money? If so, we can provide-”
“The time for that has passed. Now I demand payment by information as well. What are your true plans for the summit, and what did you do with the Shadow Thief dagger that Melik gave you?” Dace was used to reading people’s faces for lies, but these masked men would present a more difficult challenge.
The Shield Knights briefly turned away from the assassin and began to communicate telepathically through the magic of their masks so he wouldn’t hear them.
‘This is ridiculous, we should contact the Maiden and warn her of this ruffian,’ said gold-mask.
Silver replied, ‘In her eyes, we are already in poor favour. If she learns that we hired out an independent group of outsiders for this matter, we might be punished. She explicitly ordered us not to involve anyone else.’
‘Enough of this,’ declared platinum-mask, “There is no harm in revealing what we know to this mercenary. The fact remains that even we do not know what her true plans are. We will bring this mercenary closer as an ally, rather than wasting this opportunity.’ Even though it was only a mental message, the other Shield Knights could hear a tone of finality in his words.
The platinum-masked man aimed his gaze at Dace and spoke aloud for the first time, “We are not the true drivers behind the summit sabotage; our orders came from another to whom we are indebted. She is a powerful wizard, and all that has happened was done at her bidding.”
“What is her name and how can I find her?” demanded Dace.
“We do not know. She has never even revealed her face to us. We only address her as ‘the Maiden’, and she only contacts us every now and then; we have no way of reaching her.” That was a partial lie, but the mercenary didn’t seem to question it. The masked man continued, “As for the dagger, we can only tell you that it was specifically requested by the Maiden. There is nothing else we can tell you.”
Dace stood silently and absorbed all this information… his wisdom didn’t give any sign that Platinum was lying. “Then I will have to wait here.”
“For what?”
“For this ‘Maiden’ to arrive when she learns that none of the diplomats are dead. I want a piece of the action. And I doubt she’ll tolerate your failure to carry out your tasks.”
Silver slammed his fist on the table and shouted furiously, “You’re a fool if you think to toy with such a dangerous person. If you stay, I’ll make sure you receive nothing but death.”
“So be it,” Dace haphazardly tossed the crystal up in the air and turned toward the door.
Gold-mask was the first to react, “Wait! We can work this out!”
The mercenary stuck a hand out behind his back and deftly caught the crystal before it hit the floor, “I am listening.”
“If you are willing to hear us out,” said platinum-mask, “we have an offer for you. No falsehoods or lies this time.”
The assassin cast a forewarning eye toward each of the men in turn and brooded for a few moments, “Tell me.”
(11:10)
“This is a horrendous crime! An affront to all that is humane and just in the world!” Sir Treysen was shouting a little too close to Vellin’s ear.
“Cease your tongue,” snapped Vellin, who was quickly becoming irritated by the Tormite’s ranting, “Where is the Chancellor? I fear he may have been taken by the assassin after he blinded me.” He tugged on the white blindfold around his eyes.
“I’ve sent a few knights to search the building. Rest assured, we have the matter well in hand.”
“Perhaps the diplomats should be relocated to our secondary site. If this building’s security has been breached…”
“No! Uh, no sir. With all respect, only I have the authority to make that decision, and I don’t believe it’s necessary. Right now I’m more concerned with what can be done for you.”
“Nothing! The clerics say my sight is lost forever,” his grip tightened on the walking stick that one of the clerics had brought him, “But I refuse to submit myself to a life of inadequacy and inability. Even in this darkness I can fulfill my duties. I can still detect people or dangers with my paladin-sense. If there is evil nearby, I will ferret it out.”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” said Treysen, somewhat unnerved by the combined defiance and desperation in the Inquisitor’s voice, “Uh, have you given any more thought to your suspicions about the murder at Rombis’ Tavern?”
The Inquisitor pondered a moment, “Yes, I am becoming more and more convinced that someone may have leaked information to these assassins we are facing. First, they knew that the tavern was originally going to be the first stop of the evening tour. It cannot be a coincidence that they also knew exactly where to find the room of the Tethyrian ambassador. There are dozens of chambers in this palace, and it would take uncanny luck for them to accidentally find one of the three most important diplomats in attendance.
“For security reasons,” the Inquisitor continued, “only four people were given the location of the dwarf’s tavern two days in advance; myself, the cleric Selena Shademoor, Chancellor Thinder, and the head of security, you. The Chancellor has been unusually hostile toward our security measures, even for a politician. I suspect he may have some involvement with the security breaches.”
“I’ll assign someone to keep an eye on him. As for you, I think the clerics will-” Treysen stopped as a page raced into the room, “What is it?”
“Sir! The prisoner that was being held in the basement escaped! There was a fight, and someone’s been mortally wounded!”
Inquisitor Vellin began to rise, but Treysen placed a hand on his shoulder and convinced him to remain, “Perhaps you had best leave this matter to me. You should take some time to rest,” the paladin of Torm made his way to the door, “Lead on. Who was injured?”
“Chancellor Thinder.”
(11:14)
In the rank tunnels of the sewers, the absence of light seemed to magnify even the slightest of noises, every drip of water and squeaking pipe, to make them sound acutely terrifying. And the worst sound of all was that of his own heartbeat, like a tiny person was trying to rapidly punch it’s way out of his chest. Bryn could tell from her breathing rate that Linde was feeling even worse, trapped in a place of both silence and darkness as they blindly followed the tunnel wall.
But even against the various background noises, Bryn could just barely hear the faint echo of voices, further ahead in the sewers. “Shh, listen!” he said, momentarily forgetting that Linde couldn’t hear him. When she felt him stop, Linde held perfectly still, trying desperately to calm her breathing.
For a brief moment, Bryn was filled with indecision, unsure whether he should risk moving toward people who dwelled in the underworld. That indecision was quickly flushed away by a succession of heavy footsteps coming from not too far behind.
“I can taste your presence on the air, brats!” growled wolf-beast through the dark, coming closer from somewhere behind the kids.
The tiny person in Bryn’s chest seemed to have switched to a sledgehammer. Bryn tossed all caution to the gutter and bolted down the corridor, yanking Linde behind him with one hand, and running his other against the wall for direction.
(11:16)
“Cleric! Call for a cleric!” shouted Sir Treysen, shoving the page toward the door. A few paladins were already present, standing around the man who claimed to be the Luskan envoy and his dead bodyguard. Weakly propped against the wall with a severe chest wound was the Chancellor, glaring at the ‘Luskan’ with fierce eyes.
“The Chancellor tells us that this Luskan is an imposter,” one of the paladins informed Treysen, “Apparently he is a Zhentish spy, and had the gall to try and assassinate the Chancellor during the commotion.” Treysen noted the blood on the Zhentish spy’s hands.
“What about the prisoner who was being held here?”
“Vanished, sir. But Chancellor Thinder wanted to have a word with you on that matter. He refused to speak to anyone else about it.”
Treysen kneeled down beside the bleeding Chancellor, and carefully lay his hands across the man’s wound. The paladin closed his eyes for a moment, and the spot glowed blue as the divine magic slowed the bleeding and healed some of the damage.
Even so, Thinder still winced at the pain that continued to burn in his chest. He gestured for Treysen to lean in closer, “The prisoner was not an assassin,” Thinder said weakly, “he was a covert informant for me.”
Sir Treysen, lacking Vellin’s truth-divining ability, nodded along, “I already know he wasn’t here to kill anyone. The Inquisitor encountered the real assassins upstairs, but one of them escaped.” A pair of clerics arrived at the door, and Treysen stood back as they prepared to use their magic on the injured Chancellor.
The Knight of Torm pointed at the false envoy, “Take this man away to the nearest prison.”
The paladins glanced at each other, “But sir, we already have assignments from Inquisitor Vellin. If we don’t return to our posts…”
“I’m in charge of security here, and I demand that you move this traitor away from these grounds,” ordered Treysen, “I won’t risk any further damage from this imposter.”
The other knights nodded and obediently carried the Zhents away.
(11:18)
After fleeing the holding room, Derrick escaped by going down what he assumed was a basement garbage shaft. Unfortunately, it was actually the pipe where the Palace chamber pots were emptied. And he’d landed in a steaming pile of dung.
“Damn, damn, damn,” muttered Derrick as he pulled himself to his feet. Even with the heavy bruises on his face and the gash in his side, he had somehow managed to wield his sword against the Zhentish thug without blacking out from the pain. Still, the only reason the thug was now dead was because the Chancellor had stabbed the thug in the back with one of Derrick’s daggers that had been left on the table.
In turn, the Zhent spy had stabbed Thinder in the lower chest. Unfortunately, sounds of approaching knights forced him to grab his belongings and beat a quick escape while the Chancellor struggled against the spy. Looking back at that single moment filled Derrick with a resurgence of regret.
He barely even knew the Chancellor, except by reputation. Yet the pain of Derrick’s own cowardice hurt him even more than the collective abuse he’d received from the Zhents. Throughout his life, many people around him had fallen so that he might survive; Thinder, Myrk, Lorelei, Syra. With each name, he caught a glimpse of their face in his mind’s eye. Escaping his former life was not a matter of simply washing his hands of blood.
Distant voices coming from above shook him from his thoughts.
The thief removed the blackjack from the hidden pocket, then threw off his soiled cloak and checked his surroundings. The only light was coming from the shaft he’d fallen from, but he could sense a draft (a foul, stinking draft) wafting in from down the waste tunnel. Walking near the wall, Derrick sloshed through the mess, wondering what options he had now.
Ayva.
Derrick felt his resolve rising again. Time to finally get some answers to this whole mess.
(11:21)
“Closer, just lean a little closer…” Rassa whispered to herself, eyes locked on the key around the wererat jailer’s waist. The rats were beginning to get bored guarding their prisoner and laxly stood closer to the cage than they should have.
The jailer yawned and stretched his fuzzy arms, bending back slightly. Rassa swiped at the key, but the wererat suddenly stepped away, hissing and pointing at one of the large open pipes overlooking the camp. Two children, a girl and boy, were standing at the opening and staring down at the swarm of man-rats below.
As a band of wererats began to circle below, the kids were about to retreat back the way they came, but halted as a large, shadowed form came up behind him. The boy, still gripping his friend’s hand, took a nervous step away from the grey creature, but slipped and lost his footing. Both children tumbled down and landed with a ‘splut’ in the middle of the ring of wererats.
The rats were about to seize the children when the grey wolf-beast thumped down among the lycanthropes and released a monstrous war cry. Immediately, the rats responded to the beast’s roar with a succession of hisses and curled lips.
Bryn and Linde were barely on their feet when the fur started flying. The wolf-beast was larger than the wererats and, by the way he was throwing the squealing rodents around, Rassa saw that it was much stronger as well.
The grey, hairless monster hurled the wererat jailer across the room, causing the lycanthrope to slam into the ground near the cage. Rassa tried reaching through the bars, but the key was underneath the wererat’s hairy bulk and she couldn’t move it from where she was.
The guild lieutenant looked over to the two children, who were cowering behind one of the trash tents. “Hey, you two! Help me out of here and I can show you out of the sewers!” she shouted over the sounds from the battling beasts.
Bryn glanced over and saw a human woman with a large bruise in the middle of her forehead. He led Linde over to the woman, who pointed at the unconscious wererat, “Kid, turn that rat over and give me the key on his belt.”
Linde nervously glanced over at the wolf-beast while Bryn did as Rassa told him. With much effort, he managed to roll the wererat enough to rip the key from its waist. He held it out to the prisoner, but before she could reach for it, Bryn suddenly pulled it back, “Wait, who are you? How do we know you’re any better than those things?” He cocked his head at the brawling monsters.
“I’m a member of the Shadow Thieves. That’s not the most honest position, but you’ll stand a better chance with me than with the rats.” Another wererat seemed to fly in from nowhere and crashed its head into the cage bars, prompting both humans to jump back. Rassa quickly suppressed her surprise and came forward again, holding out her hand.
Bryn nodded and passed her the key. If she was part of the Shadow Thieves, then maybe this could be his chance to get in with the guild. He’d tried to join before, but even though he passed most of their tests, the final trainer had rejected him outright.
Rassa unlocked her cell and searched the unconscious wererats nearby. She pocketed a few small metal balls, then motioned for the children to follow her. Bryn pulled Linde’s attention away from the wolf-beast’s blood-smeared jaws, and motioned for her to follow as the woman guided them in the opposite direction through the sewers.
(11:28)
Derrick pried his sword and silver fork under the edge of the rusted grating, forcing the long-weakened bolts out of their holes. The pipe grating fell off and Derrick crouched through the low opening to find himself outside once more. The tunnel opened into a river embankment that ran through one of the neighbourhood slums in the north of the city. Typical that the filth of the rich would be emptied out near the homes of the poor.
He took a moment to wash off the remaining muck from his pants and boots, then climbed out of the river to catch his bearings. The route south to the pawnshop would take him past Orwin’s guildhouse. As much as he hated having to constantly ask Orwin for aid, Derrick had a strong feeling he was going to need help to find Bryn and survive this disastrous day. Now that he knew the Chancellor was in Orwin’s pocket, Derrick hoped that Thinder’s recent distress might be the leverage he needed to change Orwin’s disinterest.
The thief ran down the street, wondering why this area of the city seemed so empty.
(11:32)
In a normally quiet alleyway on the east side of the city, a sewer cover clanked loudly as it was shove up off the manhole. Rassa poked her head through and peeked around the pitch-dark alley. The street wasn’t empty, but very few of the beggars and hobos paid much heed to her as she hauled herself out of the underworld.
The guild lieutenant didn’t bother helping the children out, instead she was far more concerned with getting her bearings. There was a quick route to the guild from here, but Rassa would have to scale a few walls and stick to the shadows.
Rassa stretched her arm, then winced at the pain erupting from the shoulder wound. She hoped the guild healer would be on duty.
Bryn struggled out onto the street, then leaned over and pulled Linde up as well, “Hey miss,” he said to Rassa, “since we helped you escape, I’d say you owe–”
“Forget it kid,” she snapped, setting off without paying them another glance, “I have more important things to do than hold the hands of a few runny-nosed street rats. I led you out, and that’s all I’ll do.”
“What?” Bryn began to follow, “You can’t just abandon us–”
Linde suddenly caught his arm, lightly tugging him and pointing in a different direction. Bryn looked back between Rassa and Linde, then moved with the girl, hoping she was leading him somewhere safe.
(11:35)
Melik awakened to the unpleasant sensation of Dace’s boot kicking him in the chest. The spell he was planning to cast would drain his energy, both mentally and physically, so the gnome had taken a quick nap atop a bale of hay.
The wizard struggled up into a sitting position, “What do you want n– will you stop that?!”
Dace finally relented his prodding, “The Shield Knights want you to cast whatever spells you have planned. None of the envoys have been eliminated, and our employers are becoming anxious.”
“You mean my employers.”
“No, we worked out another deal while you were sleeping.” A suspicious look appeared in the gnome’s eye. Dace quickly added, “Nothing that would infringe upon you, of course. Simply a little business on the side. Which reminds me,” the assassin held out the jewelry box he’d taken from the Zhentish spy, “What can you tell me about this?”
The gnome brought the container up to his face, “There are no hinges or openings. Even the ‘lock’ is just drawn on.”
“I am no doubt amazed by your grasp of the obvious. Tell me something I do not see plainly with my own eyes.”
The enchanter glared, “It’s a Wizard’s Box. Even a novice mage can open it, but it is a cipher to those unschooled in the mystic arts,” he smirked darkly, then closed his eyes and uttered a few syllables. The box glowed slightly, and a horizontal crease appeared around the midsection. When the glowing ceased, Dace saw that the picture of the keyhole had become real.
Melik tried to force it open, but the box remained secure, “Of course, even without the wards, you’ll still need the key.”
Dace took the box back and peered into the hole. “It is a simple tumbler set. Even a novice rogue can open it, but it is a cipher to those unschooled in the shadowed arts,” said the assassin, mirroring Melik’s comments.
“Yes, yes, if I wasn’t so busy right now, I’d show you a thing or two with a Knock spell.”
“Indeed,” said Dace, “now hurry with your duties so I can return to mine. Our prisoners, the guard and diplomat in the basement may try to escape.”
“Oh ho,” the wizard’s smirk returned, “I’m sure they will.”
(11:38)
“Yeah, she’s a real beauty, isn’t she?” beamed the guard as he placed the diamond ring on the tavern table for his fellows to see, “We were hauling the corpse carts to the Tyr priests, and we got a little ‘bonus’.”
After selling the crystal they’d taken from Terrence’s corpse, the guards were quick to spend the money on vital supplies like jewels and beer.
“So the Church really gave you a precious crystal?” asked one of his friends, “I’ve never heard of such generosity from those haughty knights.” Captain Atamir’s dislike of the paladins had rubbed off on his officers over his years in command.
“That’s an exquisite gemstone,” spoke a woman from behind the first guard, “I had no idea the City Guard were paid such healthy salaries.”
The guard smirked as he toyed with the ring, “Heh heh. Thanks, girl. Bring us another round of drinks will you, lass?” He turned in his seat, expecting to see a modestly dressed tavern waitress.
Instead he saw the harsh green-eyed glare of a fully cloaked elven cleric. He made a feeble attempt to hide the ring, but Selena grabbed the surprised guard by the wrist and pushed his hand back down on the table. Still pinning the guard’s arm, the cleric casually pulled up a chair and sat down beside the uncomfortable officer.
“Your fellow officers at the barracks told me you’d be here,” the red-haired elf snatched up the guard’s mug, took a sip of his beer, then plucked the ring from his fingers, “Now, let’s discuss where exactly you spent that little ‘bonus’ of yours…”
(11:41)
It was dancing. It looked like a lively jig, mocking those onlookers and peasants trying to extinguish it. The fire was alive in an all-out blaze, rapidly spreading across the neighbourhood to several adjoining wood-and-straw houses.
Derrick had noticed the line of people hauling buckets of water, but wasn’t expecting that anyone would ever try to burn down the guild of all places.
From the whispers he overheard in the gathered crowd, Derrick learned that there had been an explosion in the guildhouse, completely obliterating the outer wall. Unless he was mistaken, that breach was where Orwin’s office used to be.
Derrick thought back to the debacle at Rombis’ tavern; it had been completely empty at peak hours. Mysteriously enough, Rombis himself was nowhere to be seen. And now Orwin was probably dead. Everything that happened today lead back to one thing: the Siron job.
Ayva’s conspirators were, for some reason, targeting the four people who participated in the mission. If that was true, then after Derrick, Cerdan could be the next victim on the enemies’ list.
Derrick retreated into the shadows of a nearby alley and rushed away toward his shop in the south. First he had to get to Ayva, then he’d pay a visit to Cerdan.
(11:45)
Close by, Rassa skulked through the darkened side streets. Seeing her one-time guildhouse in the raging inferno confirmed her fears. The guild had been infiltrated, and judging by the words she overheard from the mage and the wererats, Derrick had been involved somehow.
The lieutenant clenched her teeth as she stalked after Derrick. His presence here couldn’t have been mere coincidence. Except for the metal orbs she took from the wererats, Rassa had no weapons, whereas Derrick was likely armed to the teeth.
A heavy sneer formed over her lip. With every step, her anger toward the ex-thief swelled. Orwin had warned her of treachery from Derrick. Now it was up to her to avenge the all the lives that had been deceitfully snuffed out.
As if sensing her thoughts, Derrick halted in his tracks, listening carefully to his surroundings. In a quick flourish, he whirled about-face and drew his longsword, pointing it ahead.
There was nobody following him. He squinted in the shadows, almost certain that he’d heard footsteps.
“Chilly night to be running about without cloak or coat,” spoke a frigid voice from behind him, “Perhaps you’d care to start a fire?”
Derrick slowly turned back, but saw only shadows. Rassa stepped away from the wall and into the moonlight, “Oh, but of course, you already did. Of course, revenge is best when served cold.” She suddenly became aware of a strange itching sensation coming from her shoulder wound.
“I’m not responsible for the fire,” Derrick recognized her as the lieutenant he’d knocked out at the guild earlier in the afternoon, “And I don’t have time for this.” His impatience was really a cover for his reluctance to fight. With his head still badly bruised and the side-gash widening, Derrick knew he wasn’t combat ready. He slowly began to circle around, but Rassa moved to block his way.
“I won’t let you leave, traitor. Not after what you’ve done–” Rassa’s head suddenly twitched to the side, and the itch from her wound grew into a painful prickling sensation, “What… what’s happening to me?”
She reached up, winced, and tore the bandage from her shoulder. The gaping, bloody gash that greeted her looked ragged and uneven. The wound hadn’t come from a straight blade… it was a bite mark. Rassa had been bitten by a wererat back in the sewers!
She looked up into the night’s sky. Never before had the moon seemed like such a grim portent. The prickling spread out from her shoulder and was now affecting her entire body. Her arms began twitching uncontrollably, and strands of brown hair began to sprout from her skin.
Derrick looked on, frozen in horror as the woman’s furry skin began to swell, ripping through her clothes as new muscles began to form. The additional bulk forced Rassa into a hunching posture, while her facial features stretched and extended to match those of a rodent. Within moments she was no longer Rassa, guild lieutenant of the Shadow Thieves. With her mind shattered and rage flared, she was now a feral wererat with one infuriated thought on her mind: slay the traitor.
(11:49)
The ex-thief looked between his steel sword and the tough-hide of the creature that now stood before him. He’d heard that werecreatures had rapid healing powers, vulnerable only to the pure touch of silver weapons. To Derrick’s credit, he did have one edge on her; she appeared to be almost completely blind. The transformation had caused her eyelids to droop and extend, leaving her with little more than a thin sliver of vision.
The Rassa-rat shrieked, but instead this came out as a snarl. Undergoing a lycanthropic transformation like that was a disorienting experience, leaving the person unable to perform higher functions like forming lucid speech.
Although the world was little more than a dark blur to her eyes, Rassa realized that she could smell her surroundings. The stench from the pile of garbage rotting by the wall was now as prevalent to her as a beacon. Even moreso was Derrick himself. His scent was wafting off him, and Rassa could actually sense his movements by the way that scent drifted through the air.
Derrick tried to quietly sidle past the blind wererat, but she followed his movements and shifted to stop him, sniffing the air warily. He grabbed a fist-sized rock from the ground and pitched it at his opponent, striking Rassa between the eyes. As she stumbled back, Derrick broke into a run and charged for the exit of the alley.
Her dim rodent instincts told Rassa that she needed a new advantage to fight Derrick. Reaching into a pocket, she whipped out one of the metallic spheres and threw it down the street at the running ex-thief. The metal orb bounced past Derrick and burst just two paces ahead of him.
A searing burst of whiteness exploded into Derrick’s vision, causing him to drop his sword, stumbling as he uselessly clutched his hands over his eyes. Everything had turned into a fuzzy wall of white and grey. A moment later, there was a quick scampering behind him, and a huge heavy form jumped on his back, grabbing him by the neck. Rather than try to pull forward against Rassa’s powerful grasp, Derrick slammed his head and shoulders backward, knocking the wererat into the stone wall.
Rassa’s grip slackened, and Derrick pulled away, staggering forward and turning about, fumbling for a weapon; dagger, blackjack, or anything sharp and pointy. Just as his fingers touched a cold metal object, Rassa lunged again, this time latching her claws onto his wrist, hoisting his arm up in the air. The cold object fell from his tunic and clattered to the ground.
The wererat’s lips curled back into what could have been either a smile or a sneer. Derrick fell to his knees as Rassa’s claws clenched, putting even more strain on the bones in his forearm, and drawing a small line of blood. Still blinded and groaning in pain, Derrick’s free hand touched the ground to steady himself.
As his hand made contact with the dirt, Derrick’s thumb grazed something cold and smooth. Hoping it was a dagger (and that it was pointed the right way), he quickly snatched it up and thrust upward to where he guessed the left side of Rassa’s torso would be.
The weapon dug surprisingly deep into her skin, and Derrick’s action was rewarded with a pained gurgle from his assailant. He wrenched free of Rassa’s hold once more and took a few steps back, listening to the rat’s pained cries, thrashing on the ground before him.
The ex-thief fell back, leaning against the wall and clutching his wrist. With his vision still dimmed, it would be foolish to try and run… he’d probably end up wandering into the path of a donkey cart.
For a several long and tense moments, Derrick waited by the wall to find out his opponent’s fate. Rassa released one last, wet breath and fell silent.
(11:54)
Down in the basement below the Shield Knights’ warehouse, below the stable where Melik was casting his arcane spell, a new scheme was about to dawn. The kidnapped Tethyrian envoy was peering through the window in his cell. Lieutenant Ponn of the City Guard was being held in the room on the opposite side of the hall.
Ambassador Korrien had heard the assassin – the dangerous one in black – enter Ponn’s cell a few minutes ago and judging by the sounds had beaten the other prisoner harshly. Still, at least that told Korrien there was a potential ally here who might figure a way out.
“Wake up! You there, I order you to awaken!” shouted the ambassador.
Rubbing his aching temples, Ponn groaned and struggled to hi feet. It felt like someone had set up a Maztican war-drum in his skull and was beating out a steady, painful rhythm. He peeked through his own cell window and stared at the ambassador.
“I am a dignitary from Tethyr, you must help me escape!”
The lieutenant blinked uncertainly, then stupidly his door handle. Naturally, it was locked. The pounding in his head suddenly doubled in tempo. Ponn glanced down at the hinges. The door’s wood panelling and iron handle both looked brand new, yet the hinges were terribly rusted.
The lieutenant hooked a finger under the slightly warped piece of metal and, straining with as much might as he could muster, began to pry it off. After much grunting effort, he sufficiently loosened the hinges’ grasp on the door. Ponn took a few steps back, then charged and slammed it with his shoulder. The door burst open, sending an uncomfortably loud ‘crack’ echoing through the corridor.
Korrien winced. Surely the mercenaries would be rushing down in full force any second now.
No one came. Ponn spotted the cell keys conveniently lying unguarded on a table by the stairs. He quickly unlocked the ambassador’s cell and gestured for him to follow.
Now that he could see Ponn, Korrien noticed that the guard was missing his armour, leaving him in a simple tunic and pants. If they had to fight to escape, unarmed and unarmoured, they would be at a sore disadvantage. Despite these fears, Korrien stepped into line and accompanied Lieutenant Ponn.
Within a few hours, he would be dead.
(11:57)
The edges of Derrick’s field of vision had cleared, but there was still a splotch of light obscuring the centre of his sight. Now he could see Rassa and the blow that killed her. The useless silver fork, the one Derrick had picked up during his earlier battle with Ayva, was now lodged deep in the wererat’s throat. Though Derrick had aimed for her heart, the low hunch of the wererat’s upper body caused him to hit her windpipe instead.
He didn’t bother trying to retrieve the fork, afraid that the fallen rat might spring back to life and bite him. Instead, he grabbed his sword from the ground and staggered south toward his pawnshop.
Unfortunately, he didn’t make it very far. Two shimmering green walls sprung up from the ground behind and in front of him, blocking his way through the alley. He skidded to a stop, and stared stupefied at the magical barriers. He experimentally reached out and tapped one of the barriers.
A stream of electric sparks burst from the field as he made contact. It began to buzz and ripple as it rapidly flowed away from the wall and into his body through his hand. He wanted to pull out, but his arm was frozen with a numbing paralysis that quickly broadened over his whole body, leaving him with a pins-and-needles feeling all over. At least it helped him forget the steady pain wracking him everywhere.
An echo of cold laughter came from behind. Derrick swore in his mind as footsteps approached. Rassa must have recovered somehow!
“This saves me the trouble of having to hunt you down myself,” the speaker had a clear, feminine voice, “That guild woman was meant to lead me to the elf…”
The newcomer stepped into view; it was the green-veiled woman he’d seen earlier at Rombis’ tavern. Even worse, her comment confirmed Derrick’s suspicions… Cerdan was next.
“…But I suppose you’ll do just as well.” She uttered another spell and a glowing disc of yellow light appeared on the ground around Derrick. The light then blazed upward into a wide beam, engulfing the man completely.
When the light finally cleared, Derrick was gone, and only a blackened scorch mark remained where he had been standing.
(12:00) MIDNIGHT |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 15 Feb 2005 : 03:40:27
Foxes and Hounds
(10:00)
.
Derrick’s attempts to warn the knights of the real assassins and the Zhentish spies were muffled by the gag across his mouth and the binds around his wrists. He watched helplessly as the arresting paladin spoke to a knight in officious armour.
“Here is the assassin who attempted to kill the Luskan ambassador,” said the paladin.
Treysen eyed the thief up and down, “Bring him down to the basement and secure him in one of the empty storage rooms. I’ll order Vellin to have all the envoys and their bodyguards sequestered in their rooms.”
He pointed at the Luskan’s bodyguard, “I want you to guard the prisoner and make sure no one but myself is allowed to see him.”
The ‘Luskan’, actually a Zhentish thug, nodded and roughly shoved Derrick toward the stairs.
(10:03)
Zzz-zop, zzz-zop, zzz-zop. Bryn madly zipped the file back and forth along the top of one of the cage bars. Although the metal-on-metal scraping was making a constant loud noise, there was no sign that either of the Night Parade monsters had taken notice. The silence spell apparently also affected the cage itself, not just the children inside it.
Judging by the distance of the bars, Bryn guessed he would need to remove at least two of the skinny iron shafts before he and the other kids could squeeze through. Unfortunately, it would probably take an hour or so before he could make even a single cut all the way through the bar. He hoped the file would last that long.
(10:07)
“All the stuff we found in the back room has been laid out here on the table,” said the patrol officer who was guarding the Silver Spike.
Standing the middle of the mercenaries’ former base, Selena looked over the various items which had been left behind during their hasty escape. Other than the floor plans of the Ducal Palace, there was very little to suggest what the true reasons for the attacks might be or who employed the mercenaries.
Her eyes fell on a collection of four empty vials lying among a few mages’ robes. The elf picked one up for closer inspection and could just make out a drop or two of green residue that remained within the glass tube. Warily wafting the mouth of the vial, the elf’s acute senses could detect the faint scent of brimstone, leading her to believe that the vials had contained infernus fluid.
So Myrk’s involvement had been more serious than she thought; he had, perhaps unknowingly, supplied the mercenaries with enough destructive power to wipe out the summit building four times over.
The cleric quickly deduced that the crystal she found on Terrence had been coated with the explosive fluid… but that would have only taken a single vial of the stuff. Which meant there could be at least three other incendiary shards floating around in the city.
She pocketed one of the vials and made her way back outside to her steed.
(10:11)
Orwin looked up from his desk as cries of battle and clanging steel echoed through the wooden walls of his guildhouse. He snatched a dueling rapier from the office mantlepiece and made for the door to see if the clamour was from guild invaders or if Derrick had returned again… or both.
The guild leader opened the door, but was pushed back inside by someone whose face he recognized as guild lieutenant Rassa.
She closed the door behind her and pointed toward Orwin’s desk. The guild leader obediently sat down, “Blast it all, what in the hells is going on? Are we under attack? Did you find something in the sewers?”
The woman before him began moving her hands and chanting rhythmically.
Orwin stared in confusion. It looked as if she was trying to cast a spell, but he knew that was impossible since Rassa had absolutely no magical talent.
A ball of light shot from her hands, striking Orwin in the forehead. Before he could make the obligatory exclamation, the woman spoke in a frigid tone, “Be silent and remain still until I ask my questions.”
Orwin found that his tongue was frozen; he was being magically compelled to stay quiet.
The woman with Rassa’s face placed her hands together and dispelled the illusion on her appearance. Her form blurred and changed to that of a veiled woman wearing all-green robes.
“Six years ago, you led a group of thieves to recover the treasure belonging to one Lord Siron. You will tell me exactly what happened when you found that treasure.”
The spell forced the words to pour from Orwin’s lips, “I was not the one who found it,” he heard himself say, “Derrick and I discovered a female prisoner in the lower bandits’ caves who was believed to be dead…”
“That is irrelevant to me. Speak of the treasure,” she ordered.
“Rombis and Cerdan recovered the noble’s fortune and secured most of it on our airship by the time we returned. But the bandits and traps we encountered in the caverns weren’t the only threats. A great wyvern came swooping down upon us from one of the higher mountain peaks.
“We were forced to cut away the anchors and take off prematurely. Rombis piloted while Cerdan worked the astern ballast. Still we were too slow; the beast tore across one of the ship’s middle balloons, which slowed down our plans considerably.”
“Your words are slowing down my plans considerably as well. What of the treasure?”
“Derrick wanted to throw the treasure overboard, but I wouldn’t allow that. Instead, I found a better way to lighten our load.”
“Enough of this, tell me what you did with the wealth after you escaped.”
“Most of the gold went to the guild masters in Athkatla. What coin and gems they didn’t take were split between Cerdan and myself. Rombis claimed all the artifacts of value, leaving the cheap curios and tokens for Derrick. Of course, Derrick wasn’t in a position to object at the time…”
“Which of you took the Sigil of the Fallen?” she demanded. Orwin stared at her blankly, and the woman clarified her question, “A pendant with a small angel carving that appears to be made of black wood. It would look like an unremarkable trinket to you.”
“Derrick would probably have taken it.”
The mage nodded, “Indeed.” She reached into her robe, “I have no further questions for you, and I imagine you won’t have any further answers for me. Or anyone else for that matter.” The veiled woman placed a glowing green crystal down in front of the guild leader. She drew an ornate dagger, reversed it, and slammed it down onto the centre of the shard. A crack formed, and the crystal began to flare up, pulsing with an emerald glare.
“You will remain where you sit,” ordered the veiled mage as she left the room, leaving Orwin to stare helplessly at the angry artifact.
The leader of the wererats sniffed the air as the green-veiled woman came forward from down the hall. He bowed in her general direction, “Has it been done?”
She gave a short nod, even though she knew the beast couldn’t see it, “Yes, the pawn merchant carries the Sigil. Order your followers to return to the sewers immediately, or they will be caught in the purging flame with the rest of the scum thieves.”
As the wererat left, the woman closed her eyes and, amid the screams throughout the building, focused on the syllables for a Fireshield spell. At long last, she was close to claiming the Sigils’ power… and even closer to reaching her painfully sought goal…
(10:18)
“I shall tell you once more, knight; I require no escort,” said Chancellor Thinder, “More to the point, what is the meaning of this bedlam?” He waved his hand at the many paladins who were desperately trying to herd all the envoys upstairs to their rooms.
Vellin tugged on the Chancellor’s arm, nudging him along, “A pair of assassins made an attempt on the life of the Luskan ambassador. One has been apprehended, but as a precaution, a knight has been assigned to protect each individual envoy, and you are to be cloistered in your quarters until we have found his accomplice.”
The Inquisitor led Thinder to the third floor living quarters and down the hall toward his room.
“Hold,” said the Chancellor, “Allow me to speak with the Tethyrian envoy, ambassador Korrien. His room is only a few doors down. Wait outside, ” He pulled away from the Inquisitor and knocked on the envoy’s door.
The Tethyrian diplomat looked up from his uneasy pacing as Thinder entered, “Chancellor. What do you require?”
Thinder looked around, “Were you not assigned a knight protector?”
“He is in the bathing chamber in the back. I cannot imagine why he is spending so much time there.” Korrien eyed the Chancellor carefully, “Might I inquire as to the reason for your being here?”
“I wish to discuss the proposal I made earlier, concerning the commission of an elite naval fleet.”
“Ha! We all know the real reason for this navy; you want your own private fleet of warships. I would never endorse such an act. And I expect there is little you can do to change my opinion of it.”
The Chancellor slowly circled around the diplomat, “My reasons are my own for now. As for your opinion, I think you may wish to hold judgment until you see what I have for you here,” he handed the diplomat a small envelope.
Inside was a small blue-white gemstone. Korrien held it up to the light, “A star sapphire. A nice gesture, but it would take many more of these before I would even consider changing my position.”
“Actually, I thought it would make a fitting sign. After all, I believe you once knew the company of a Calimshite courtesan who went by the stage name ‘Star Sapphire’.” The ambassador’s face went frozen and pale, “And I also believe that you left her with an illegitimate child some years ago… Now I’m sure neither your wife nor your fellow nobles would look very kindly upon this kind of action. Especially considering the mystery surrounding the deaths of both Sapphire and the young one.”
Ambassador Korrien struggled to keep his jaw from quivering, “How in the hells could you have learned this?”
“Let’s just say that you aren’t the only one with connections to the underworld. Mine just happen to be more practical than your own. Oh, and if anything tragic were to happen to me, every town crier from here to Shadowdale will learn of your indiscretions. So right now, you should be more concerned with what you can do to become my friend… and my proposal might be a good place to start.”
(10:24)
The Zhentish thug’s fist cracked across Derrick’s head again, this time prompting a thin rivulet of blood to drip from his nose. The bruises on Derrick’s face were much darker and lumpish than they’d been a few hours ago. The goon wasn’t even asking any questions or demands of the thief; this was just mindless revenge and punishment.
“Hear the nightfall?” asked Derrick, fishing around with the key-phrase Orwin gave him.
The thug cocked his head and for a moment, Derrick thought he might have found one of Orwin’s agents. Then the Zhent raised his fists again and continued with his pummeling of Derrick’s face.
After a few more moments, the door of the dimly lit basement room squeaked open, and the ‘Luskan’ ambassador entered. “What have you done with the jewelry box?” he demanded at the first step.
“Mrrgh…” replied the thief through the large welt on his lip.
“‘Mrrgh’ indeed. You won’t believe the dung I’ve had to endure to keep my cover. And then you come along and nearly ruin it all.” The spy stepped forward and got in Derrick’s face, “That jewelry box is extremely valuable to me, and you would do well to return it right now.”
“Why? What’s in it?” Derrick managed to mumble.
“I already searched him,” said the thug, “all he had was a sword and this little bag that I can’t open.” He held up the bag of holding, “But it’s not large enough to hold the box, so that halfling must have taken it.”
“I see. Check his bonds every few minutes… I don’t want him getting out and blabbing our secret to the knights.”
“Hear the nightfall?” Derrick tried, partly out of desperation.
The confused look on the Zhentish spy’s face was answer enough. He gestured at the thief as he made for the door, “Gag him in case someone else comes down. I’ll be back later.”
(10:28)
Bryn’s filing had nearly made an uneven cut through one of the metal bars. Unfortunately, the tool had become rather warped and worn from the work.
“Hey! What are you doing there?!” Bryn’s head snapped up to see the wolf-beast’s hideous gaze upon him, “Why you little wretch…” The monster unlocked the cage and hoisted Bryn out by the arm, causing him to drop the file on the ground outside.
“Think you can escape the Night Parade, brat?” the wolf-beast hissed in the boy’s face. It held Bryn’s wrist in a harsh grip and bent down to retrieve the file.
Linde suddenly burst out through the open cage door and jumped on the creature’s slimy back, knocking it back a few steps. Bryn began kicking the wolf-beast in the shins, hoping to loosen its iron grip on his arm.
The spider-beast, noticing the commotion, reared its head back and sprayed several clumps of sticky black webbing out through its mandibles. The first clump hit the side of the cage door, sealing it shut before the other children could escape. The other web clumps struck Linde and Bryn’s faces with surprising accuracy. Both children fell off the wolf-beast and hit the ground, clawing at the webs that now covered their eyes and noses.
The wolf-beast roared with fury and grabbed each of them by the neck, “That was your final mistake, fools!” He slowly began to tighten his grip on their throats.
“Hold!” hissed the spider-beast, “We can’t bring only two children. If we fall short of our required number again…”
A growl and a puff of smoke came from the wolf-beast’s nostrils. It slowly relaxed its hold on the children and, yanking the web from the door, threw Bryn and Linde back inside the cage. The creature pointed a threatening finger at them and snarled, “If either of you try something like that again, you won’t be saved by the spider. I have a taste for human blood.” It turned away from them and led the spider onward through the streets, throwing a suspicious glance toward the children every few moments.
As they began moving once more, Linde nudged Bryn in the arm and looked down toward her hand. Bryn followed her gaze and saw a tiny metal object in her hand… a key. A smile played across his face as he took it from her, wondering where she learned her pickpocket skills.
Bryn looked up and saw that the wolf-beast hadn’t noticed his key was missing. All he needed now was a distraction so all four of the children could escape…
(10:34)
The Tethyrian ambassador’s protector lay on the floor of the bathing chamber, out cold. Dace and Flink stood nearby with their ears pressed against the door to the ambassador’s room.
“The paladins have learned of our presence quicker than I anticipated,” whispered Dace.
Flink reached for his amulet of teleportation, “Time to escape!”
“No, time to make our move,” the assassin grabbed the halfling’s arm, “after his visitor leaves, we’ll grab the foreigner and use him as a hostage.”
“You mean we’re actually going to kill him?”
“No. Dead people make very poor hostages,” he paused, “but don’t take that as a sign of reluctance. I will do whatever it takes to walk out alive.”
(10:36)
Standing vigilantly outside the ambassador’s room, Inquisitor Vellin strained his ears trying to catch the conversation that Thinder was so eager to have.
The door opened and the Chancellor stepped out, “Just remember what we have discussed, ambassador. We can both benefit, or we can both suffer. I bid you good eve.” He closed the door behind him and faced the paladin, “I should like to parley with some of the other envoys as well.”
“Out of the question. We’ve only apprehended one of the assassins; the building will remain locked down until the accomplice has been located.”
“You expect his accomplice will attempt to carry out his job rather than escape?”
“I cannot say. Sir Treysen tells me our prisoner is a Shadow Thief, so he may be willing to die so long as he finishes his task,” said Vellin.
“A Shadow Thief? Interesting. Where did you say he is being held?” asked Thinder.
“In one of the basement rooms under guard. I assure you, Treysen will have the matter under-” Vellin stopped as a cry sounded from within the envoy’s quarters. The knight instinctively threw the door open and charged through.
The now unattended Chancellor, hearing the sounds of battle from the Inquisitor and some unseen combatant, decided to creep off and made his way to the nearest stairwell.
(10:39)
Dace cursed inwardly at himself for being too slow to incapacitate the ambassador. Now he found himself facing off against a fully armoured paladin of Tyr. As the knight advanced on them, Dace drew his dagger and short sword, and started to circle around him.
“Flink, watch the foreigner and block the door,” the assassin pointed to the halfling while scanning his opponent’s armour for weak points.
“You can’t hide in here forever,” said Vellin, “you will be apprehended by my comrades, if not by myself.”
Dace merely held up his blades and bent his knees slightly. The paladin pulled the sword from his scabbard and swung with both hands down toward the assassin’s side. Dace easily sidestepped the attack and responded with his own blade, blocking the knight’s sword so he couldn’t snap back so quickly.
The mercenary took the opportunity to lunge in, and stabbed his dagger into the narrow, unarmoured joint section just under Vellin’s shoulder. The Inquisitor screamed and pulled away as the steel pierced through layers of chain, skin, and flesh, leaking blood down his side.
Releasing the dagger, Dace seized the opportunity to remove a small red flask from his inner pocket. Flipping it over in his grip, he hurled it at paladin’s face like a throwing knife. The container struck just below the paladin’s helm and smashed open against his brow, splashing a crimson acid across his eyes. The knight dropped his sword and instinctively clutched at his face. Dace kicked the weapon out of reach and shoulder-slammed his enemy, knocking him to the ground.
Leaving the Inquisitor screaming on the floor, Dace turned and advanced on the Tethyrian ambassador, who was standing meekly in the corner. “You will be coming with us,” he said, shouting a little over Vellin’s screams.
“You’ll never make it out the palace gates, scoundrel,” said the ambassador, attempting to sound haughty.
The assassin ignored his comment, “Flink, do you still have the amulet?”
“Yes, but if we’re going to teleport away, we’ll have to leave the diplomat.”
Dace nodded, “You are correct. Check the door, make sure the lock is secure.”
As soon as the halfling turned, Dace whipped a dagger out from his tunic and threw it into Flink’s back. The halfling staggered forward and fell against the wall, but managed to twist himself around to stare incredulously at Dace, “Wh-why?”
The assassin’s eyes reflected his calm indifference, “I warned you before. I told you I would remove any of my allies if they became a liability. You should have known better than to place your trust with a betrayer.”
Flink couldn’t reach the dagger wedged in between his ribs, and quickly fell still amidst a pool of blood. Dace removed the amulet from around Flink’s neck and put it on the fearful ambassador.
Before the envoy could say or do anything, Dace gripped the gemstone in the amulet and concentrated on his memory of the Shield Knights’ harbour warehouse. A flash of light filled the room and the ambassador vanished.
From beyond the door, Dace could hear shouts of alarm as paladins checked the nearby rooms, investigating the cries from the screaming Inquisitor. Smirking to himself, the assassin grasped the amulet around his own neck and focused on the warehouse in his mind’s eye. As the room filled with light and dissolved from his sight, Dace wondered how the Knights of the Shield would react when they found themselves embroiled in a much larger mess than they would ever know how to deal with.
Now it was all just a matter of playing the game…
(10:48)
They could all hear the frenzied shouting coming from nearby. The wolf-beast halted his movements, listening carefully to the clamor. Someone was barking orders, accompanied by the pattering from many pairs of feet.
Glancing back at the cage every few seconds, the wolf-creature warily crept forward to the end of the alley. It peeked around the corner toward the commotion on the other side of the street. There was a long chain of people passing water buckets from a well toward a burning building in the north. Squinting at the blaze in the distance, the creature could see that a large section of the wall had been blown out, as if by an explosion. This was not a good situation; soon the region would be swarming with the town watch.
As the beast spied on the locals, Bryn took the opportunity to quickly slip the prison key into his hand and work it into the latch on the door. The boy shoved the door open and the four children immediately jumped out into the alley.
Hearing the noise, the spider-beast began to turn itself around, but Bryn managed to land a good kick to its underside. The blow rolled the creature over onto its back, where it began flailing its long legs uselessly in the air.
The wolf-creature whirled around as the two younger children scooted past into the open road. Bryn was not quite as swift, and the beast managed to snag the boy as he ran by.
“Hrrr!” it spat, “You piking little-”
Linde jumped onto the creature’s arm, biting hard on its wrist. Howling with pain, the beast threw both children backward into the alley, making them crash into the spider-beast that had just managed to regain its footing.
The surprise of the sudden impact cause the arachnid to spew a large ball of black web from its mouth, which landed on the ground in front of the approaching wolf-beast. The wolf-thing’s roar of anger became a roar of frustration as it tripped on the sticky clump and toppled over, hitting the ground hard.
Bryn grabbed Linde by the arm and they ran deeper into the maze of dark alleys. Unfortunately, they made a wrong turn and found themselves facing a dead end. Bryn was about to double back, but he heard the growl of the wolf-beast coming closer from somewhere nearby. Linde suddenly shook Bryn’s arm and pointed down, directing his gaze to a square metallic sewer trap in the stone ground.
With much effort, the children managed to raise the door high enough for both of them to slip down. As they lowered the trapdoor behind them, Bryn realized that they were stuck in a pitch-dark tunnel. Linde’s breathing became faster, and her grip on his hand suddenly tightened.
Up above, they could hear the unpleasant scuttling sound of the spider-beast on the other side of the sewer door. Bryn pulled Linde along with one hand, feeling the wall with the other, further into the malodorous gutter tunnels. Further into the ever-darkening night.
(10:51)
The basement door opened and the Zhentish thug stirred to attention as he saw the man enter, “Who in the hells are you?”
The man’s eyes bulged at him, “How dare you address me so uncouthly! I am the Chancellor of Baldur’s Gate, commoner, and I will not stand for such harsh questioning,” Thinder eyed the insignia on the thug’s attire, “Luskan, hm? You had best run along to your master before I decide to have your nation ejected from the summit. I must speak with this prisoner.”
The Zhentish thug swallowed, obviously torn between maintaining his cover and leaving Derrick unattended. His cheek twitched, but he grudgingly bowed his head and left the room.
The Chancellor listened as the thug’s footsteps moved away, then approached the badly bruised thief tied up in the centre of the room, “I have been told that you are from the Shadow Thieves. Is there any truth to this claim?”
Derrick stared up at the Chancellor through a bruised eye, wondering why this dignitary was even speaking to him. Perhaps out of delirium, the thief managed to part his lips and mumble, “Hear the nightfall?”
Thinder quietly stared at Derrick for a long moment before speaking, “So you are one of Orwin’s men. Have you any idea how much chaos you have sown? Orwin agreed to help me blackmail some of the major diplomats in exchange for a few special favours. I intend to elevate my position by any means, but I can’t very well scheme now with the knights scrutinizing my every move.”
Hope filled Derrick’s eyes, and he twitched his head toward the ropes holding his wrists. The Chancellor looked back toward the door, then moved forward to untie him, “I will help you escape, but you must be away from here as quickly as possible. If anyone learns of my connection to the guild, my career is over.” When the ropes fell from Derrick’s arms, the thief rubbed his chafed wrists and hobbled to his feet.
Suddenly, the door swung open. The Zhentish spy and his thug were standing in the doorway, glaring at the pair, “Chancellor! Why have you released this assassin?!”
Derrick could feel the hope flooding out of him. He glanced to the table at the side of the room, and made a dive for his sword.
(10:53)
Somewhere deep in the city sewer system, Rassa glanced up as the party of wererats and the mage in green returned. The lieutenant leaned against the bars of her cell, again squinting to read their lips through the dim lights of the camp.
“…tainted?” asked the woman in green.
For the briefest of moments, the wererat leader seemed to twitch his head toward Rassa, “Yes, it will happen under moonlight’s touch.” he turned his head away, obscuring the rest of his lip movements.
“Good. I must investigate the progress of Ayva, and also those fool Shield Knights. You know what to do with her, I’ll be watching.” The green mage then began to move her hands and chant. A glowing blue light enveloped the mysterious woman, and she vanished into thin air.
Rassa glanced over at the wererats guarding her cell. None of the wererats sported any injuries from their invasion. If she did escape, Rassa wondered if there would even be a guildhouse to return to.
(10:55)
“Forget about them, we should be moving now,” hissed the spider-beast, still rubbing the spot where Bryn had kicked him.
The wolf-creature stomped his feet and snarled, “Piking brats! No, forget about the rest of the round-up. I just want a piece of that soddin’ little sneak.” It rounded a corner to find itself facing a blocked-off alley passage.
The arachnid hissed again, “We’ll never find them now. I’m taking the cage back to the lair.”
The other beast was about to resignedly follow his comrade when he caught the faintest scent on the air… the stench of the escaped brat. The child had passed through here…
It glanced down at the sewer grate in the street and bent down, licking its forked tongue against the edge of the metal door to confirm his suspicions. Lifting the sewer door, the beast called out for his comrade to follow. The two children had descended into the sewers… and ideal hunting ground for a beast with keen senses as his.
(10:58)
In one of the upper rooms at the Ducal Palace, a cleric removed hands from Vellin’s eyes. The entire upper half of the paladin’s face had been badly scarred and burned to a red-black disfigurement from the Dace’s acid. It looked as if a war had been waged atop his brow, and he had lost.
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but there is little else that can be done. My magic will stave off most of the pain. And if we bring you to a temple, our magic can repair some of the scarring, but I’m afraid your eyes have been burned beyond repair. While there is much that divine magic can heal, it cannot restore lost organs or restore such a permanent degree of blindness.”
The Inquisitor’s shoulders slumped forward slightly in defeat, and he wondered what this would mean for his service to Tyr. Was this the end of his career? Surely not, for even Tyr himself was known as the ‘Blind God’. But still…
He reached up and lightly touched the rough, leathery patch of skin that used to be his forehead. If his eye ducts had not been burned, he would have shed a tear. “Bring me something to cover my wounds.”
As he heard the cleric scamper off, Vellin let out a sob and began to weep in his own personal darkness.
(11:00)
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 06 Feb 2005 : 05:45:09
Life of the Party
(9:00)
After listening to several excruciatingly long minutes of banal banter from the paladins below, Derrick carefully twisted his head and glanced around as the unaware knights continued to enjoy the night’s breeze. The trellis extended to a closed second floor window, but the thief wouldn’t be able to climb the trellis, let alone open the window, without the guards hearing him.
As the thief moved, a bead of sweat rolled off his chin and landed on one of their helmets. His right arm flinched slightly, causing a sprig of ivy to fall from the trellis. The hanging man grit his teeth and waited for the inevitable exclamation.
“By Tyr! Look at that!” cried one of the knights. Derrick tensed himself, ready to leap down on top of them.
“It’s a Maid’s Blossom!” continued the knight, plucking a colourful flower from a nearby bed, “These things are exceedingly rare, you know? They say they’re a sign of luck, too!”
“I don’t care,” snapped the other one, stepping back into the building, “Let’s go inside already, I’m getting cold.”
His companion shrugged, pocketed the flower, and followed his partner inside. As he closed the door, the paladin heard a slight rustling noise coming from outside, followed by a series of clicks and a short squeak. He stuck his head outside again and looked up, but saw nothing except a worn wooden trellis and a slightly ajar window above.
(9:06)
“I beg your pardon?!” decried the brightly dressed diplomat.
The knight repeated himself, “I’m afraid you are not allowed to go to your room until midnight, for heightened security reasons. For now, you will have to return to the festhall.” He folded his arms and continued to block the diplomat’s access to the stairs.
“Do you know who I am? I am the chief representative of Luskan! Unless you want to risk a diplomatic incident, I would advise you to step aside this instant!” The diplomat looked to his six personal bodyguards standing around him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot make any exceptions without the express approval of the Chancellor or Sir Treysen.”
“Very well, but you can be sure that I won’t forget this indignity.” The Luskan diplomat moved down the corridor and out of sight from the paladin, whispering some quiet instructions to one of his bodyguards.
Dace and Flink were hiding behind two large suits of armour nearby, and overheard the entire affair.
The halfling waved to his companion, “‘Heightened security’? Do they already know we’re here?”
Dace drew a finger across his throat, signaling for Flink to be quiet. One of the Luskan diplomat’s bodyguards returned and approached the paladin, giving him an evil eye as he passed. As he passed by, the bodyguard reached out and casually knocked over the armour stand near Flink.
The halfling suppressed a shriek as the metal pieces tumbled down, burying him in a steel pile.
“Hey, you there! Come back!” shouted the paladin as the bodyguard broke into a run down the hallway. The knight quickly gave chase, not seeing Flink’s arm sticking out from underneath the fallen armour.
With the knight gone, Dace stepped out from his own hiding place and began to shove the pieces of armour out of the way. He suddenly stopped, hearing someone coming from the opposite end of the hall, and rushed back to his hiding place.
The Luskan ambassador soon came back into view with his five remaining protectors and made his way up the unguarded stairs, “Hmph. If they really were concerned about my protection, they wouldn’t have brought in such incompetent paladins. Come,” he said to his bodyguards, “if I’d known about these security arrangements, I would never have left the artifacts sitting in plain sight in my room.”
Dace’s ears perked up at this. While he was first and foremost an assassin, he was no stranger to thievery either. If he could do something about the bodyguards, then Dace might also be able to use the Luskan ambassador to his advantage.
As soon as they passed, the mercenary rushed over to the pile and pulled the stunned halfling out, “Hurry, we may get what we needed sooner than I thought.”
(9:13)
Bryn peered through the bars of the cage at the ugly, talking giant spider, as it pulled the children through the dark side streets. The boy figured they were heading south, toward the slum regions of the city. As they moved, the wolf-beast rummaged through the rucksack that Bryn had carried from his aunt Jena’s house.
It sniffed at an apple with its hairless muzzle, and threw it away. “Nothing but human food and a few travelling supplies,” it muttered, giving the pack a shake.
Bryn heard several metallic objects clinked within, and an idea came to him. He patted himself down, looking for a straight metal object that might be used as a lockpick. He had discreetly spent a few training sessions with the Shadow Thieves over the past year, without his father’s knowledge, and had some very basic lock knowledge.
While the cage lock didn’t look like a complicated brace, Bryn knew it would take him a very long time, as well as much trial and error, before he could pick it. Unfortunately, he didn’t have anything metal that would do the job.
“Hey, kid.” He said, gently trying to get the attention of the urchin over the crying of the others, “I need your help.” With bloodshot eyes, the urchin peeked up past her hands at Bryn, staring silently.
Bryn continued, “If we want to get out of here, I’ll need a skinny little piece of metal. Do you have-”
The urchin made several complicated gestures with her hands, none of which Bryn could understand. Bryn shook his head to show that he couldn’t interpret her signs. He now realized that the child was deaf.
Time for a different approach. Bryn started to trace his name out in the dirt on the floor of the cell, hoping that someone had taught this child how to read. Though her eyes were still full of fear and anguish, the child brought herself to follow Bryn’s finger as he wrote and pointed to himself.
The child stared at Bryn for a moment and, almost reluctantly, reached out and wrote her own name in the dirt, ‘LINDE’.
“Okay, now we have a start.” Bryn said to himself, “I need a lockpick.” He made a key-turning gesture with his hand and pointed toward the padlock. Linde shook her head in worry and looked away, rubbing her eyes. Bryn sighed and returned to the bars, staring as they continued to move deeper into the slums.
(9:18)
Selena was dimly aware that she was still alive and outdoors, but her mind wouldn’t focus on any of the blurry colours or sounds buzzing around her. A massive, jarring burst of pain in her lower chest suddenly snapped everything back to reality. The sensation was enunciated by a sharp scream that she soon realized was her own.
“Hold her steady!” shouted a close voice. The elven woman realized that she was surrounded by her fellow clerics, several of whom were holding their hands over her lower torso.
They all closed their eyes for a moment, and their hands began to glow a light shade of blue. The pain in her chest subsided quickly, and the clerics withdrew as her breathing returned to normal.
“Careful there,” advised one of the clerics as she helped Selena into a sitting position, “you broke two lower ribs. We healed you, but too much physical stress might renew the damage.”
The elf spoke weakly, “What… happened? Where is the High Priest?”
“I’m sorry,” the cleric lowered her head, “he was killed instantly in the explosion. We also lost at least a dozen acolytes and knights when parts of the temple roof collapsed in the blaze. You were fortunate that your page was nearby at the time, or you would have been more badly burned like the others.”
“Burned?” Selena looked down at herself, and only now realized that her formerly yellow robes were shredded and scorched with black. Though she couldn’t see her own face, she guessed that her skin had only been lightly charred, judging by the feel.
“Apparently he had some kind of artifact that created a large explosion. The fire is spreading quickly, but our remaining clerics are organizing a water-bucket chain to combat it.”
Selena took a few moments to clear her head, then her eyes suddenly widened, “What about the corpses I was divining? They may be crucial to finding-”
“That’s hardly important right now. We may need more manpower here to assist the wounded,” she gestured across the field at the rows of wounded priests and knights, many harbouring severe burn injuries.
With some help, Selena hobbled to her feet and pointed to a page, “You there, carry a message to one of the paladins at the Ducal Palace. Inform them of the explosion and fire, and request that they send at least eight clerics with healing abilities.” The page nodded and ran off.
“Are you certain we should be pulling security from there?” asked the other cleric.
Selena shook her head, “No, but it is only important for the combat paladins to remain there. They shouldn’t lose much by sending over a few healers. I only hope events are going better at the summit than they are here.”
(9:28)
“…but we should remember, gentlemen and lady, the founding factor of this entire summit: opportunity,” the Chancellor said as he addressed the three diplomats before him, “the proposal I have made presents ample opportunity for all four of us to seize benefits worthy of our standing.”
These particular ambassadors represented the ‘golden trio’, three of the wealthiest (and currently non-hostile) powerhouse nations of the Sword Coast; Waterdeep, Athkatla, and Tethyr. Of course, the problem with holding so much power was that you stood much to lose. Especially if you lacked the ability to protect yourself from those who would seize it for themselves.
“That is by far the most unfeasible and utterly useless proposition I have ever heard,” remarked the Tethyrian representative, “you want us to simply hand over dominion of our sea territory, and in exchange for what? A few lax trade offers?”
“That is hardly an accurate way of putting it,” replied Thinder, “I am suggesting a united naval force, represented by our respective nations. A group of elite warships, christened to save our cities from the hostile threats that would strike from the waters. In the past few years, invasions from the sahuagin fish-creatures have increased exponentially. You’ve all heard of the destruction they’ve wrought in Calimport? They are making their way north, and unless we are prepared-”
The Athkatlan envoy interrupted, “We have no need of such a force. My country’s navy is still strong enough to defend its waters.”
“And therein lies the keyword: ‘defend’. This navy would not be a reserve patrol group, it would be an active assault armada tasked with hunting down the rampant ocean-beasts and their war parties.”
“That sounds rather aggressive, Chancellor,” observed the Waterdeep ambassador, an elderly refined woman of noble heritage, “I agree with my counterparts; we cannot accept such an outlandish offer. Now if you would forgive me, I believe there are more pertinent trade negotiations to be found elsewhere.” The other diplomats also excused themselves with similarly vague reasons.
The Chancellor smiled darkly to himself. His whole proposal wasn’t actually meant to succeed, it was only a launching point for the rest of his plans. Soon enough, he would have all three of them wrapped around his finger.
(9:33)
From the shadows of a nearby alcove, Dace watched as three of the bodyguards stood side by side before the door to the Luskan ambassador’s room. He raised his hood to hide his face, then turned to Flink, “Stay here.”
Dace left his hiding place and walked with a drunken swagger across the crimson carpeted hall toward the three guards. “You!” he said in a slurred voice, pointing at the shoulder of the guard on the left, “You’re a Lussskan! I really like you,” he began chuckling incoherently and quickly pointed at the guard on his right, “You’re a Lussskan too! I really hate you…”
The guards sighed or rolled their eyes and two of them stepped forward to remove this drunken nuisance. Dace leaned forward and appeared to place a hand atop each man’s shoulder for support. Then, with a flick from each wrist, the killer pulled a pair of daggers from within his sleeves and brought his arms together with two symmetric inward slashes. This rapid motion brought the blades raking side-to-side across each guard’s neck.
The third guard gazed in shock as the ‘drunk’ now stood in a ready position, pointing twin daggers at him. Dace sneered in contempt as he struck forward, wondering how these guards could possibly be the best manpower that Luskan had to offer.
(9:35)
The Luskan diplomat looked up from his desk as he heard several muffled thuds from outside the door. He motioned to the two bodyguards with him in the room, “Go see what they’re doing out there.”
Before his guards took a single step, the door opened and Dace walked in, dragging two dead bodies behind him. Each had a thick red line over their throat that dripped with blood. Every drop vanished into the red carpet as it fell.
The halfling followed directly behind with the third guard, this one bearing numerous stab wounds around his torso.
“By Bane’s black blood!” screamed the diplomat. The two remaining bodyguards came to bear on either side of their employer, arming themselves as Dace calmly turned and closed the door behind him.
Flink stood off to the side while Dace began to cross the room at a leisurely pace. Shouting battlecries to the god of strife, the guards charged forward in unison, one directing his sword high while his partner aimed low.
Dace brought his daggers up as an ‘x’ in salute and quickened his step to meet their attack. The assassin ducked and dodged the first blade, then whirled and blocked the low-aimed blade with his crossed daggers. The guards shifted to opposite sides, trying to divide Dace’s attention.
The Luskan ambassador, meanwhile, considered making a break for the exit, but changed his mind when he saw the halfling draw a short sword and block the door.
Dace spread his arms, pointed a dagger at each opponent as they circled him. They attacked simultaneously, both seeking to cleave the killer’s head. Dace somersaulted forward and rolled across to the other side of the velvet bed. The guards continued to advance, one going around while the other jumped atop the bed.
Dace grabbed the edge of the top sheet and whisked it off, causing the guard to tip over backward. In the same motion, Dace threw the cover out over the second guard, who raised his arms to try and pull it off. Dace tackled the man to the ground, grabbed at the outline of his sword-arm, and stabbed one of his blades through the sheet, pinning the guard’s wrist into the ground. Hearing a sound from behind, Dace immediately pivoted and thrust his other blade upward, impaling the final guard in mid-step.
The Luskan ambassador cowered in the corner as he watched Dace retrieve his weapons and walk over to the desk at the side of the room. The assassin glanced over the many baubles and trinkets that were laid out, then reached for a small, ornately designed jewelry box.
Dace found that the container wouldn’t open. Stranger still was that it had no keyhole or visible means of opening… only a drawing of a keyhole on the side.
“Please,” cried the diplomat, “take whatever you want, just leave me unharmed!”
“How do you open this?” demanded Dace, suspecting that the box’s contents would likely be of far greater value than the items in plain view.
“I don’t know, there’s nothing inside it anyway!”
Dace shook the box and heard nothing. All the same, he slipped the container away into a pocket. The assassin shuffled through some of the Luskan’s travel papers on the desk, then noticed a glaring peculiarity about the documents.
He marched over to the Luskan and with a few slashes of his dagger, cut off the man’s sleeve at the shoulder. Flink saw a grimace appear on Dace’s face as he stared something on the man’s arm.
“On your feet,” Dace ordered, “Flink, help me drag the guards into the closet. Someone will find them eventually, but we’ll be gone before then.” Reversing his dagger, the assassin walked over to the closet and began to scratch a symbol in the wooden frame.
(9:40)
Selena shook her head in regret as she watched the fire continue to consume what parts of the temple still stood, despite their best attempts to douse the flame. Why, oh why, did the Church hire an architect to build the walls from wood rather than stone? While the temple itself could be rebuilt, the innocent lives devoured by the wanton flame would not be as easily replaced.
She turned back to the rows of wounded. Selena had expended most of her healing spells to undo some of the damage, so now there was little she could do without access to more curative supplies. After taking a moment to remove her charred outer robes, she donned a white cloak that had been given to her by a fellow cleric for warmth.
The elf called to one of the clerics overseeing the recovery, “I’ve done all I can here. As much as I wish otherwise, I must return to my investigation of the threats against the summit.”
“But the bodies you were divining are still in the building, and most likely too badly burned to be of any use, magical or otherwise. What will you do?”
Selena set off in the direction of the stables, which were housed separately from the main temple. “Investigate the source of all this. I’m heading out to the Silver Spike.”
(9:45)
“Hsssst! Be quiet!” barked the wolf-creature, signaling for a stop, “I smell someone nearby. Sit here ‘til I’m back.” The wolf tossed Bryn’s backpack atop the spider’s back and wandered ahead of his arachnid comrade.
Bryn sat up and narrowed his eyes. He could see various objects sticking out of the open bag. Apparently the wolf-beast had already tossed away the food, electing to keep the more useful items. Or maybe he just preferred live meat.
Aunt Jena had packed a few colourful potions and some survival tools; a tinderbox, a file, some eating utensils– wait… a file? Bryn leaned against the bars and squinted some more. At least, it looked like a file.
He reached through the bars, but his arm was just a few centimetres too short. The boy took a deep breath and pressed himself against the side of the cage, squashing the rest of his body in the slim hope of gaining that small extra distance. He could just touch the bag, but couldn’t grab anything.
Linde suddenly appeared at Bryn’s side, and also tried reaching through the bars, but her reach was also short by the same distance. Without warning, Bryn heard a revolting ‘popping’ sound from the girl’s shoulder, and he realized with utter disgust that she had disjointed her arm.
The girl’s fingers barely managed to grasp the file tip, but she gripped it well enough to draw it out of the bag and into the cage without the spider-beast realizing. She adjusted her arm to normal with an equally disgusting ‘pop’ and held the tool out to Bryn, avoiding looking at his face. He had an uneasy facial expression from Linde’s unusual ability, but took the file and nodded his thanks.
At that moment, the wolf-beast prowled back into view, licking blood off his clawed hand, “Another beggar. Come on, legs, we still don’t have enough brats.” Bryn quickly tucked the file into his pocket as the wolf cast a leery glare into the cage, “Not to worry, brats, even if we don’t find any more, you’ll all have plenty of fun stalking the frigid night.”
(9:51)
Striding through the second-floor halls of the Ducal Palace was a little easier than Derrick expected, forcing him to wonder why there was such a light guard presence. So far, he’d only seen – and evaded – a handful of patrolmen… hardly an appropriate number for such an important assembly.
He peeked around a corner to see a suspicious cloaked man and a halfling leaving one of the quest quarters. He couldn’t make out the human’s face, but there was a certain… fluidity in his step that led Derrick to believe he was accustomed to moving stealthily. A Shadow Thief perhaps?
The cloaked man gestured to the halfling, “Hurry, Flink. We are not yet finished here.”
Flink! Derrick recalled the name and wondered if he was too late to stop the assassination. He waited until they were gone, then entered the room from which they emerged, hoping to figure out what the mercenaries were up to. As soon as he stepped inside, he heard an angry muffled voice from a closet.
“I am the official representative of Luskan, and you will suffer greatly if I am not released posthaste!” shouted the voice from within.
Good, thought Derrick, the mercenaries hadn’t killed the diplomat after all… but why?
(9:53)
“Why did you leave the Luskan alive?” asked Flink as they made their way up a suspiciously unguarded flight of stairs to the third floor of the palace.
“Because he is an imposter,” stated Dace, “His identification papers are forgeries. I have traveled under enough false identities to recognize counterfeit documents when I see them.” He paused to wipe some blood from his cuff, “And besides, I already told you that I am not going to kill anyone important until I have something we can hold against our Shield employers.”
(9:54)
Hand on sword, the thief threw open the closet, causing the envoy, a bodyguard with a wounded wrist, and four tightly packed corpses to come tumbling out onto the floor. Derrick was moving to help the diplomat up when his eyes fell on the envoy’s sleeveless arm.
Near the shoulder was a black tattoo of a large ‘Z’… marking the man as a citizen of Zhentil Keep, not Luskan as he claimed.
“You! How dare you assault a dignitary and murder his guard!” accused the false envoy, mistaking Derrick’s black cloak for the one Dace was wearing.
Derrick stepped back, measuring his distance to the exit, “Wait, I think-”
The door to the hall suddenly swung open and a paladin entered, pulling with him the bodyguard who had toppled the suit of armour, “Sir, I have placed your emplo– what in Tyr’s blinded eyes is going on here?!”
“Murderer!” cried the imposter, pointing at Derrick, “Arrest this man!”
Before the thief could reach for a sword, the paladin came forth and grabbed one of Derrick's arms while the previously arrested bodyguard seized the other. Fighting likely wouldn't be a wise choice, especially against a paladin.
“Wait, you don’t understand!” Derrick stammered, trying to get out of his second false murder charge of the day, “He’s a Zhent! A Zhentish spy, look at-” The thief’s words were cut short as the bodyguard grabbed the torn sleeve from the ground and forcibly tied it around Derrick’s mouth in a gag.
The false envoy pulled on a robe from the closet to conceal his arm tattoo, “Take this monster from my sight, good sir. And summon the knight in charge of security, he must know of this attempt on my life.”
(9:56)
Vellin patrolled the main festhall, scanning the gathered dignitaries with a hawk-like gaze. The Chancellor was busy pretending to laugh in response to some noble’s poorly told joke. Besides the obvious, there was something… false about Chancellor Thinder that Vellin couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Inquisitor!” called Treysen as he crossed the foyer to join his colleague, “I’ve received some alarming news from the Temple of Tyr! Apparently there was some kind of explosion in the priests’ quarters, and a massive fire ensued, destroying much of the complex. Most of their paladins were either killed or severely injured in the inferno, and they’ve sent a request for a dozen knights as reinforcements.”
“Out of the question. We’re pressed for security ourselves. They were supposed to be reinforcing us.”
An embarrassed look appeared on Treysen’s face, “Er… I’ve already dispatched them. As head of security, I didn’t think I needed your approval.”
The Inquisitor frowned deeply, “You don’t, but I cannot imagine why you would be so negligent.”
“We still have more than enough knights to go around, I’m sure,” the Tormite gave a confident smile, “Do you really think anyone would be fool enough to risk the wrath of the finest paladin order on the continent?”
A messenger appeared from the crowd and addressed Treysen in a hushed voice, “Sir Treysen! A few minutes ago, one of the diplomats was attacked and four of his bodyguards were murdered! We have an assassin in the building!”
Vellin raised a harsh eyebrow at Treysen, “I’m sorry, were you asking me a question just now?”
(9:58)
“This job is the snare,” muttered the thief, “why the bloody ‘ell are we guarding some pit in the ground?” He stared at the wooden trapdoor in the floor.
“It’s not a ‘pit’, it’s the guild’s escape route into the sewers,” replied his fellow guild guard, “One of Orwin’s lieutenants is down there right now, clearing out some nasties. We’re here to ensure none slip by into the building.”
“Eh, I’d still rather be drinking.”
A loud knocking sound from below the trapdoor startled both thieves. They heard Rassa’s voice calling from below, “Open up, you fools! We have a threat approaching!”
They quickly pulled open the door and they saw Rassa climb out, then rush away down the corridor without saying another word to them. The thieves glanced at each other in confusion, and then a small metallic ball flew up out of the hole and bounced on the ground before them.
It suddenly exploded in a brilliant burst of light, and the last thing the thieves heard was some loud scampering and snarling coming up from the sewers below.
The invasion of the Shadow Thieves had begun.
(10:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 01 Feb 2005 : 04:14:40
A Painfully Simple Task
(8:00)
As Derrick moved past Ayva to light a lamp, she reached into her tunic and slowly drew her dagger. If Derrick didn’t even know what the Sigil was, then he was no longer needed…
Derrick suddenly halted in mid-step and turned, “Oh, wait.” Ayva quickly returned her dagger to its sheathe as he continued speaking, “Perhaps this Sigil is one of the things in my hidden stash.” He tossed his cloak on a hook and passed through the curtain to his quarters in the back.
Ayva felt a bolt of frustration pass through her. In the long weeks that she’d spent in his employ, Derrick continually claimed that he didn’t own anything beyond the store’s merchandise. If she’d known about this ‘stash’, she might not have had to waste so much time over the past month poring through his inventory records.
“It’s where I keep the things that shouldn’t end up in the hands of every other person who walks in the door.” Derrick entered his room and kneeled beside the bed, lining his fingers in a barely visible crack in the floor. He lifted the floorboard with some difficulty, revealing a steel chest in a small pit. Ayva watched quietly as he opened the box and removed several small pouches, laying them off to the side. From the sound of their contents, Ayva guessed they held mostly gold and gemstones.
Ayva was confused for a moment when Derrick then pulled the empty metal chest out of the crawlspace and tossed it aside as well. He reached into the hole again and lifted out the wooden base of the floor-space, revealing another crawlspace hidden below the first. Inside was a simple blue bag, no larger than a man’s head.
“That doesn’t look large enough to hold the Sigil.” Ayva remarked.
Derrick snatched up the bag and reached inside, “It’s a enchanted bag of holding… I could probably fit my entire inventory in this thing if I needed to.” Some of the treasure he’d picked up from the Siron job was sitting somewhere in the magical bag.
He stopped rummaging and stared at Ayva for a second. How would she know how large the Sigil would if she’d never seen it? Come to think of it, it was strange that she wasn’t acting more agitated if she had been attacked earlier.
Ayva noticed Derrick’s hesitation and for a brief moment, her left eye twitched.
Derrick suddenly closed the bag and kicked the box and pouches back into the crawlspace, “Whether or not I actually have this artifact is irrelevant. Right now, all I care about is making sure whoever is after me doesn’t harm Bryn or Jena. I’d best make speed to the Friendly Arms, maybe I can catch up before they assume I’m dead.” He stepped around Ayva and moved to the front of the store.
“But if you did have it, it would be in that magic bag of yours?” said Ayva.
“Probably. It’s the only stuff I never bothered to keep on record.”
“Good.” As Ayva followed him through the curtain, she drew her dagger and closed in.
Derrick glanced at the store counter, wondering if he should empty the till before closing the store for good. Then he noticed something glint in the reflection on the side of the hourglass. In the reflected image, he saw Ayva with her arm drawn back, blade in hand.
The thief lunged forward, diving across to the opposite side of the counter. As he rolled to his feet, he grasped the first metallic objects he found nearby… an antique garden spade and a silver salad fork. Damn, he needed to start stocking better inventory.
“Many people will die if you don’t hand over the bag,” warned Ayva as she moved to block his path to the exit, holding her dagger in a ready pose.
“You mean the people at the summit?” asked Derrick, fishing for a connection.
“Yes, among others. If I’m not mistaken, they’ll be dead within the hour. As will you.”
Derrick slipped the fork into a pocket and tried to look ominous as he waved the garden spade in a threatening manner. Bobbing in a brawler’s stance, Ayva slashed at her opponent’s midsection, forcing Derrick to step back toward the stacks of packed boxes at the side of the room.
“There are more cards in play than you know. We will have that artifact and no one will stand in our way. Least of all some disgraced, cowardly Shadow Thief retiree.” Ayva said as she continued to press. Derrick managed to deflect the blows with the spade, though just barely.
“Who are you working for? What does all this have to do with the summit? And the dead mage, Verskul?” he demanded as he continued to move back, bumping into the wall.
“Answers don’t matter to the dead,” she replied, then after a pause, “In most cases, at least.”
She began an overhead strike and Derrick raised the spade to block. But instead on landing the blow, Ayva let the blade fall short of his gardening tool and, twisting her arm in an arc, instead made a quick low strike, jabbing him in the gut.
The thief screamed loudly and with a slight rush of adrenaline, roughly shoved her away, knocking Ayva off her feet and sending her dagger sliding away across the floor. She tried to sit up, but Derrick slammed his spade against a nearby stack of boxes, causing a crate of heavy Thayvian pottery to land on her head and knock her out.
After checking to ensure she was really out, Derrick tossed his spade down, clutched his wound, and stepped past her fallen form, “Needless to say, you’re very much fired.”
(8:14)
“Stop kicking me, kid!” growled the grey beast as he carried the small boy under his arm through the alley.
“Got a live one there, I see,” hissed a second voice from the shadows. A huge furry spider-like creature emerged from the darkness. This new creature had a harness tied around its body and, as it clambered forth, Bryn saw that the spider-thing was pulling a large wheeled cage behind it.
The wolf-beast yanked the cage door open and with much difficulty, shoved Bryn (kicking and screaming the whole while) into the mobile prison. As soon as Bryn hit the floor of the cage, his ears were suddenly struck by the screeching, high-pitched screams of the other small children imprisoned in the cage.
“You can shout and scream all you want, pikers,” snarled the wolf-beast, “the cage has a silence spell on it; nobody’s going to hear you.”
Bryn made an offensive hand gesture at the creature, which simply cackled and led his spider-like companion deeper into the city, “Come on now, we have a quota to fill! If we can’t capture enough of these brats’ heads, we’ll lose our own.”
The boy shook the bars in vain, then pushed away from the cage door in frustration and looked at his fellow captives. The cage’s height was low enough to force all of the small children to crouch. Two of them couldn’t have been older than five or six; both had wet themselves and were bawling their eyes out. The third child, sulking in the corner with her head in her hands, looked closer to Bryn’s age. Judging by her ragged clothes and mussed hair, she had the look of a street urchin.
“Hey, can you speak?” he asked, poking the street kid. The urchin didn’t raise her head, but made an incoherent moaning noise and roughly shoved Bryn away. Well, this was going to be difficult.
(8:18)
The bandage wasn’t going to help for very long… the stab wound wouldn’t leave permanent damage, but it did make Derrick’s movements a little stiff and it felt like there was a burning spike in his gut. Maybe he really was getting old; an injury like this wouldn’t have slowed him down back in his younger days. He made a mental note to find a healer when he was in a less apprehensive situation.
Derrick looked over to his captive and tugged on the rope to make sure the knot was secure. He had tied Ayva’s wrists and ankles to a heavy section of piping in the back of the shop. Hopefully it would hold her after she regained consciousness. Either Ayva wasn’t a very resilient person, or he had struck her with more force than he intended. The size of the bruise around her temple indicated that she would likely be out for at least an hour or so. An hour…
He recalled what she had said about the envoys. It would take him almost half an hour on horseback to reach the Ducal Palace and warn them of the assassination. On the other hand, if he left the store then Ayva might take the opportunity to escape, and he would lose any chance of finding out what happened to Bryn.
No. He couldn’t risk losing his son just to save a few snobbish, foreign strangers. If Ayva was right then they were probably dead already.
Let go, she’s dead already. Those desolate words, spoken to him six years ago, floated up to the surface of his mind. The Siron job… and the terrible crime that followed. A frown appeared on Derrick’s lips as his memories reminded him of what had happened at the mission’s end. A woman died because of him… a foreign stranger whom he’d failed.
He sent one last sneer at Ayva, then went to look for a sword. Bryn was a smart, streetwise kid; he had his old man’s knack for getting out of hairy spots.
Derrick took some gold from the till and fastened a steel long sword to his belt. He had a few snobs to save.
(8:22)
Chancellor. Somehow, he always found that the title sounded better than ‘Duke’. It would be a shame to have to give it up when the time came. Then again, he’d invested too much time and planning to simply settle for an intermediate position in bureaucratic limbo.
“Ah, Chancellor Thinder!” The buoyant voice shook him from his reverie. Two paladins crossed the foyer to greet the official, “Good evening, sir! Sir Treysen and Inquisitor Tenmarke at your service; we’re the senior knights in charge of your protection.”
“Chancellor,” Vellin’s tone was less friendly, rather typical for an Inquisitor, “I don’t think we have enough knights to adequately protect the entire summit meeting. It may be wise to consider sequestering the diplomats to their quarters upstairs until we can arrange for reinforcements.”
Thinder scoffed, “I think our guests deserve better than to be locked up like animals. They’re already upset about the cancellation of the city tour. Any angrier, and we’ll have a riot on our hands. And it’s unlikely that we’ll gain any trade opportunities that way.”
“Sir, I think their safe well-being should take priority.”
“Perhaps we can reach a compromise,” suggested Treysen before the Chancellor could reply, “Currently, most of our knights are patrolling the upper palace floors. We could bring some of them down to the main festhall and prohibit the guests from going upstairs until around midnight. We’ll have enough time for reinforcements to arrive, and the envoys will be able to mingle.” His smile seemed to calm the Chancellor.
Vellin frowned, “I still don’t like the sound of that.”
Chancellor Thinder made a dismissive gesture, “Come now, nobody is going to fly in through a window. Make the necessary arrangements. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find the Waterdeep ambassador.”
“So how many diplomats are in attendance, anyway?” asked Vellin after Thinder had left.
“At least a dozen kingdoms right now. I understand a number of representatives have withdrawn; rumors of an attack are beginning to spread like a Calimshite rash. It is of little consequence, however. The most lucrative opportunities lie with the wealthier states; Waterdeep, Athkatla, maybe even Tethyr.”
“Chancellor Thinder seems more concerned with rubbing elbows,” remarked the Inquisitor, “If he isn’t more mindful of these rumors, he might be rubbing stab wounds before the night is through. Tell me, Treysen, has anyone been keeping track of his movements for the past few days?”
“None but his own personal bodyguards.”
“And he knew that Rombis’ Tavern was one of the first locations for the tour, correct?”
“Uh, you aren’t suggesting that he had something to do with the murder this morning, are you?”
“Corruption reaches all classes of men, no matter how noble or virtuous they may seem.” A pensive look crossed Treysen’s face as the Inquisitor continued to watch the Chancellor.
(8:32)
“I still don’t think this is such a good idea,” complained Flink.
“Just act confident,” said Dace as he led the halfling to one of the gatehouses around the side of the Palace.
“But I’m not confident!”
Dace shoved the council pass into Flink’s hand and nudged him forward, “That’s why I said ‘act’.”
Besides the main gate, there were two other service entrances on the east and west sides of the palace. The front entrance was restricted for the foreign diplomats and city officials. The lesser entrances, however, were being swarmed by many down-on-their-luck merchants, desperately trying to gain entry in the hopes of finding business with the wealthy nobles at the trade summit.
An exasperated group of guards stood at the guardhouse just in front of a locked fence gate, trying to keep their patience over a throng of would-be entrants who were shouting and waving colourful garment samples in the air like a rainbow rabble. Dace pushed his way through the crowd, coldly glaring down anyone who tried to block his way.
“Guard!” Flink feebly shouted, “I have a pass from the city council. My associate and I must be allowed inside the summit.”
One of the gate guards took the proffered scroll and glanced it over before eyeing Flink with equal suspicion, “Sir, you don’t look like someone who could be a city official, I’m afraid I’ll need to see-”
“What?!” exclaimed Flink, “You’re not letting me in just because I’m a halfling?” his voice rose a few octaves, “And here I thought we lived in an equal opportunity society! I suppose you’d only let in tall, chiseled humans like you, eh? Oh no, can’t have any filthy demi-humans running around, they’re no better than animals! One word of this to my superiors, and you’ll be knocked down to outhouse duty so fast…”
Dace suppressed a snicker… Flink was playing the race card rather well.
The guard became visibly flustered, “Uh, please calm down, sir, I was only-”
One of the other guards, frantically trying to hold back a particularly angry rug trader, called out, “Hey, hurry up with them! I need some help here!”
The first guard uncertainly looked between the scroll in his hand and the halfling before him, then quickly let Dace and Flink pass through the gate before locking it behind them, and rushed to help his comrades.
“Well done, Flink,” whispered Dace, “You are not such a wimp after all. With a tongue like that, you should consider going into politics.”
(8:40)
Selena Shademoor, cleric of Tyr, watched patiently as the two guards unceremoniously dumped the two bodies across the platforms in the prayer room.
“Thank you for your service, gentlemen,” she said as they finished their task, “Fortune of Tyr be with you.”
“Heh, well you got the ‘fortune’ part right,” chuckled the guard, earning himself an elbow jab in the ribs from his partner as they left the elven woman alone in the room. She took no notice of the guards’ exchange as she began to search the corpses.
After a quick inspection, she discovered one of the crystal shards that Dace had planted on Terrence. There was a slight, unnatural tingling sensation on her fingers as she held it, feeling the magical energy within the object. But time was crucial right now, and her orders were to perform a divination on the bodies, not marvel at their pretty inventory items.
Selena summoned a page and handed him the shard, “Take this to the High Priest in the next room. Ask him to identify this artifact and determine what it does, if he has the time.”
After the page left, the cleric raised her hands above Myrk’s body and began to chant the first syllables of a spell that would let her speak with the dead man’s spirit. She focused inwardly, and eased herself into a trance as she reached out beyond the mortal realm.
In her mind’s eye, Selena saw herself as a small spark of light blazing past hundreds of smoky-looking, recently deceased souls. The divination spell would help push her toward the spirit of the dead Shadow Thief, but she could only traverse the realms of the dead for a short period of time before her own spirit began to fade back to the material plane.
(8:47)
Derrick winced at the pain in his gut as he jumped down from the fence and lay low among the bushes in the Ducal Palace garden. The other entrances were far too crowded for him to sneak in undetected, but there seemed to be a surprisingly small number of guards patrolling the outer walls of the keep. Gazing across the field, he could just make out the vines of ivy on the wooden crisscrossing trellis that covered much of the wall’s first and second floors.
Ducking low, he began to creep forward toward the building, weaving between the trees for several minutes until he reached the back palace wall. There was a small, wooden door with a heavy lock here, presumably the gardener’s entryway. He suddenly heard a latch click on the other side of the door.
The door creaked open, and two paladins came outside, assuming positions that would block anyone’s path into the building.
“Did you see something move just now?” asked one of the patrollers.
“I don’t sense any evil nearby… probably just a cat or something.”
“No, it was larger than that,” insisted the other, still glancing around but seeing no one.
Derrick struggled to keep himself from shaking as he tightly clung to the thin ivy trellis over the door, his feet no more than a few inches above the paladins’ heads. He hoped they weren’t stargazers.
(8:55)
The High Priest of Tyr picked up the crystal delivered by Selena’s page. As it glowed with a bright green light, he found himself mesmerized by the swirling, almost liquid surface of the shard. He broke his gaze from the obviously magical artifact and tossed it down onto the table, rubbing his eyes from the gleaming light.
As the shard lightly hit the table, it briefly flared up even brighter, then returned to its normal state. The priest paused and examined at the crystal for a moment, catching the barest scent of brimstone.
With curiosity sufficiently piqued, he reached down for his war hammer, adjusted the crystal so it lay flat on the table, and raised his weapon high.
(8:57)
In the next room, Selena had just found her target; a ragged-looking phantom of Myrk’s former self.
“Spirit!” she called, “You are one of the faithless, and are doomed to wander the wastes of oblivion for eternity. If you give me the answers I seek, I will say a blessing over your body to save you from this fate.”
Myrk’s shade nodded sluggishly.
“Why did you go to the Silver Spike earlier today?”
“Was brought there… Derrick’s idea,” he spoke slowly, struggling to recall the details of his former life.
Derrick… that was a name Selena had heard before somewhere, “And who is that?”
“Pawn shop owner… fence… guild traitor.”
“How is he involved in this matter? Is he part of the assassination attempt?”
Before Myrk could reply, Selena felt a strong crawling sensation in the back of her mind… there was terrible danger near her mortal form. The elf abruptly ended her connection to the land of the dead and returned to her physical body. The cleric’s eyes snapped open and she whirled about, expecting an intruder to be standing nearby.
She was alone.
At that moment, the wall she was facing exploded and a roaring blast of flame swept through the room. The concussive force threw Selena off her feet and slammed her back into the opposite wall like a rag doll. The last thing she saw before blacking out was a steady sheet of flame rising over Myrk and Terrence’s bodies.
(9:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 21 Jan 2005 : 01:28:35
Chain Contingency
(7:00)
The trap door swung open and Dace climbed out into the stables, lugging a large form behind him. As he stood, he noticed two guards nearby, each screaming in terror as they were held in place by several wavy black tendrils that magically sprouted from the ground.
“Dace, hurry up and grab the horses,” called Melik, who was sitting with Flink atop a pony. “These guards came around just before you did; it won’t be long before more arrive.”
Flink stared at the vine-like things entangling the guards, “What did you do to them?”
“A simple spell, ‘Evard’s Black Tentacles’.” The gnome squinted past Dace, “Where’s Terrence? And who’s that you’re dragging behind there?”
Dace slung the unconscious body over one of the horses they had stolen earlier in the day and grabbed the reins as he mounted the other steed, “Terrence is dead. He was killed during a struggle with one of the Shadow Thieves.” The assassin didn’t elaborate. “We might need a hostage, so I brought the unconscious guard with me.”
“What about the thieves?”
“Terrence killed Myrk, the other escaped. Believe me, that one would have been too much trouble to make a good hostage. And I doubt the guards would go very far to protect a thief.”
A streak of worry appeared on the gnome’s face, “Without Terrence, the plan is ruined! How will I explain this to my employers? Have you any idea what they will do to me?!”
“Do not worry, gnome, Flink will be here to protect us.” Dace kicked his horse into a quick gallop, “If you want to leave this city unscathed, then I would advise you to lead us to your employers. I still intend to fulfill my contract.”
“I can’t take you to them. They are a very demanding group, and they don’t like uninvited guests.” The gnome and halfling followed, “We’ve already failed the mission! If it’s payment you’re so concerned about, then just take some of my own coin and leave.”
“And what would that say about my work ethic? I do have a reputation to think of,” said Dace, earning him a frown from the gnome, “It is unfortunate you feel that way, Melik. You signed a contract with me, and I plan to see this mission through. Now show me to them.”
(7:05)
Vellin stared at the maps and scribbled notes strewn across the table. In their flight, the mercenaries had left behind several building layouts. His frown intensified as he recognized the address scrawled at the top of one of the floor plans. It was for the summit building where the foreign envoys were conducting the trade talks.
“Inquisitor,” called one of the guards, “what are we do to with the bodies we found in the back room?”
Turning away from the table, Vellin sent an uneasy glance at the two dead men on the ground, “When the corpse carts arrive, have them shipped to the temple of Tyr. We need answers more than ever.” He cast a disdainful look at Atamir, still frozen near the stairs, “And send the Captain to speak with me when he regains movement.”
He stepped back as Myrk and Terrence were hauled off on stretchers, and reached for the magical earring given to him by Selena. Focusing his thoughts, the paladin reached out to his associate telepathically.
‘Selena, I’ve just sent two bodies to the temple; see if you can question their spirits for any information involving today’s summit. Have you found any more information on Verskul, the dead wizard?’
From the temple on the north side of town, the elven woman responded, ‘I contacted members from the Cowled Wizards in Athkatla, but they have no knowledge of him. Which of course means that he is either a closet-wizard or that he was powerful enough to mask himself from their attention throughout his life.’
‘Very well, keep me informed. Once I’ve finished at the Silver Spike, I’ll be heading to the town hall. These mercenaries apparently had maps and detailed notes on how to penetrate the building. This morning’s murder was just a prelude to a grander scheme.’ With that, he ended the mental connection.
(7:07)
The paladin returned upstairs to the main hall and eyed the thugs and criminals that had been apprehended during the raid, now standing in a long line against the wall. In particular, Vellin was getting a suspicious feeling from the thief he had apprehended at the door of the tavern. His paladin-sense was giving him a similar vibe to the one he’d detected back at the prison during the jailbreak.
Leaning back on the wall, Derrick had his eyes locked front and centre, but he could still feel the Inquisitor’s hard glare upon him. He shifted his footing, trying to look as plain as possible among the other arrested patrons. Any hope of anonymity was lost as the paladin pulled Gend the waiter out of the line-up. The waiter almost immediately pointed at Derrick, whispering quietly to the Inquisitor as if he thought no one could tell what he was saying.
The paladin shoved Gend back against the wall and gestured toward Derrick. Two of the guards pulled the thief away from the others and dragged him to a table across the room. Vellin ordered that the remaining suspects be sent to the city jail, then joined Derrick at the table.
“The waiter here tells me you’re a Shadow Thief, and my sixth sense tells me we’ve already crossed paths today.”
“I’m not the man you should be looking for,” Derrick began, “I’m just a-”
He was interrupted by an angry shout from the stairs to the basement, “You were the one responsible for this morning’s murder!” Atamir said as he bounded toward them, “You have much to answer for!”
“Hold, Captain!” called the Inquisitor, blocking the officer’s path, “He isn’t the only one with much to answer for. Tell me, what gave you the right to circumvent my authority on this investigation?”
“I don’t answer to glorified bucket-wearers who-”
“Enough of this. Time and time again you have defied my orders; now you have gone too far.”
“What are you talking about?! Thanks to my initiative, we have a living suspect right here.” Atamir jabbed a finger at Derrick.
“And we have two dead ones in the basement. From what I’ve learned, your men also allowed at least three of the suspects to escape… and with a hostage as well!” Vellin’s face darkened, “Minimal results at the price of obstructing my investigation. I cannot allow you to further impede my work. You are hereby stripped of your command until further notice.”
The Captain’s eyes bugged out, “What? You have no right to-”
“I have every right to do so; I carry the will of the city council and the Dukes of Baldur’s Gate. Guards, please escort this civilian away from the crime scene, and send a page to inform the barracks of the change in command.”
Two nearby guards hesitantly stepped forward, each taking Atamir by the arm. Before they could pull him away, the Captain leaned in, scant inches from the paladin’s face, “Don’t think that you can just dismiss me like a thrall. I’ll be back on the case before you know it.”
“Perhaps.” Vellin replied as he sat down, “But not today.” He made a gesture and Atamir was led away.
Derrick, who had watched the exchange with detached interest, finally spoke as the Inquisitor returned his attention to the matter at hand. “I’m not responsible for this morning’s murder. Someone is trying to frame me, and the mercenaries who escaped from this place are somehow involved.”
The Inquisitor listened carefully but didn’t sense any falsehood in the thief’s words, “I’m actually inclined to believe you. I found it strange that the dwarf’s tavern would be completely empty at lunch hour. Add to that the conveniently disappearing witness and a number of peculiarities about the victim, and I’d wager that it’s all just one facet of a more elaborate scheme.
“But I still wonder about your connection to this entire matter. Did you have any relationship with the wizard Verskul?”
“Who?”
“The Athkatlan wizard who was slain in Rombis’ tavern.”
When Derrick shook his head, the paladin gave a simple nod and stood. The Inquisitor turned to one of the guards, “I must hurry to the summit building. The mercenaries who escaped might still attempt to penetrate the trade talks.”
Derrick stood also, “Well then, if you have nothing else to ask me, I’ll just be on my way then. After all, you’re obviously not going to charge me with murder, so there’s no-”
“Actually, there is still the matter of the incident at the jail this afternoon. And the fact that our prisoner ended up dead in the rooms below. And the fact that you never denied being a member of the Shadow Thieves.” With a casual motion, four more guards appeared at his side, “Take him to the prison and keep him under close observation. I don’t want any more surprises from this one… he has a tendency to attract corpses.”
(7:16)
The air had grown significantly colder as Dace waited stoically, watching the gnome press a finger against the wooden door. Melik had led his associates to a large single-story warehouse alongside the city harbour.
“Hurry up and open the door. Inactivity dulls the senses.” Dace said, watching a nearby seagull picking at a dead fish on the pier.
In the cracks and grooves along the door panel, the wizard quickly traced out a symbol that glowed for a moment. Dace narrowed his eyes at the light within the building, which flooded out as the barrier slid open.
As the mercenaries stepped inside the building, they could feel a slight tingling sensation in the air around them. Despite the sparse, barn-like interior, they could tell that the place was rife with magical wards and protections.
Seated at a round table in the centre of the warehouse were three masked figures, each wearing loose, hooded robes and facemasks that concealed their features. They made no audible comment as the mercenaries approached.
Dace eyed all three of the robed figures with suspicion as he came to a stop a few feet behind Melik. The only differing traits of Melik’s employers were the mask colours; gold, silver, and platinum.
“Have the diplomats been dealt with?” demanded gold-mask.
Melik wiped his forehead, “No sir. We ran into a slight complication with several officers of the city guard…” He glanced at Dace.
“They know of our plans?” growled silver-mask, “If your bungling brings any measure of harm upon us, I swear that all of you will suffer ten-fold!”
“No, wait!” shouted Melik, raising his hands in supplication, “We can still carry out the mission! We have the four explosive crystals, so all we need to do is sneak someone inside.”
“Indeed,” gold-mask said as he stood and began to pace, “What of this prisoner you have brought here?” He pointed at Lt. Ponn, who was still unconscious and had been dragged in by Flink. “And exactly how do you intend to place the crystals when the paladins will now undoubtedly be on full alert?”
“I have a spell that may be of use, but it’s quite complex, so I may need several hours to rest and memorize it.”
“Very well, there are a few cattle stalls in the east wing of the warehouse. You may rest there,” gold-mask said. “As for this prisoner, secure him in one of the wine rooms below. They’re empty and will serve as makeshift holding cells.”
Melik and Flink exchanged worried glances, then moved off on their respective tasks, leaving Dace standing alone before the masked triad. Each side stared at the other for several uncomfortable moments.
Silver broke the silence first, “Are you waiting for something else, or are you simply standing around befuddled?”
“You three should have put more research into the company you hired. Melik is too reliant on planning and order,” Dace began, “A single mistake and he all but collapses. I suppose you do not yet know of the con artist he hired for the mission? That one was too undisciplined… too unruly, and it got him killed.”
“And I suppose you’re the perfect balance between the two of them?” Gold snidely asked.
“I am just here to fulfill a contract, gentlemen. Perhaps we should consider writing out the middle-man?”
“You intend to single-handedly wipe out the entire summit? And here we thought mass murder was a difficult business.”
Dace ignored him, “We can be reasonable here, gentlemen. You only need to disrupt the summit meeting, not necessarily kill all the envoys. Mass murder isn’t the most endearing action to be taken by a group like the Knights of the Shield. That is your group, is it not?”
Another moment of silence. “So you know what we are. I suppose Melik told you.”
“No. I recognized the Shield Knight symbol he traced to open the door to this place.”
“Are you going somewhere with this, or do you just plan to astonish us with your powers of observation?”
“Melik has already failed you. I, on the other hand, always fulfill my contracts. I can infiltrate the summit building and achieve what Melik could not… for the right price, of course.”
Gold leaned forward slightly, “Impede the summit, then we’ll talk. We can scrounge up some gold if you show results.”
Dace glanced over at the platinum-masked man, who had yet to say a word. “May I have that in writing?”
“No,” Gold stated flatly, glancing to the side as Flink came up the stairs from the basement, “we are behind our given schedule as it is, and have little time for formalities.”
“I see. Off I go then.” Dace moved off and motioned for Flink to follow. The assassin was three steps from the door when he abruptly halted and looked back at the employers, “One other thing; Melik tells me that he gave you a Shadow Thief’s dagger the other day. Exactly what did you want it for?”
The masked figures didn’t respond for several long moments. Dace had the feeling they were conversing inaudibly behind their metallic faces. Silver finally gave a forceful reply, “That is none of your concern, mercenary. You would do well to avoid inquiring into our private business.”
All three turned away from the mercenaries and continued to confer amongst themselves in silence.
“Interesting,” the assassin mused as he led Flink back outside, “they intend to betray us.”
“What? How do you know that?” exclaimed the halfling. His questions went unanswered as Dace padded on through the streets.
(7:27)
An owl’s hooting echoed through the nearby alleys, almost like a mocking laugh to Derrick’s ears. The shadowed streets of Southside Row seemed empty, undoubtedly a result of the stronger guard presence from this evening’s events.
There were four guards on horseback surrounding Derrick, escorting him toward the town jail. In his mind, the thief had formulated and rejected about half a dozen different escape plans for his predicament. Unfortunately, none of them would have worked as long as he was shackled at the wrists and ankles.
The hooting suddenly became louder, and seemed to catch in his ears as he recalled something: owls don’t live in dense, coastal cities like Baldur’s Gate. Quieting his movements so he could hear better, the thief could make out a pattern in the ‘bird’ cries; it was a Shadow Thief message code that was saying a single word: Ambush.
Three crossbows ‘twanged’ from the surrounding shadows, and three of the guards fell from their mounts, each sporting a bolt sticking out of their necks. Guard number four took a moment to stare in shock, then drew his sword and yanked on the reins, directing his steed back toward the Silver Spike.
A figure stepped out from a nearby alley and raised a crossbow toward the fleeing guard. Derrick blinked; it was guild leader Orwin. He took a moment to aim his weapon, but the horseman had already rounded a corner and was out of sight.
“Blast it all,” said the guild leader, taking Derrick by the arm, “we cannot stay here. Follow me, guild traitor.”
“No, you’ve yanked me around enough today. Despite what you said before, I think you have agents all over the summit meeting today, and-” Derrick pulled his arm away and took a menacing step toward the guild leader.
On cue, five guild assassins appeared at Orwin’s side. Each of them was holding a long sword to bear, making them comparatively mightier against the single blackjack that Derrick was still carrying.
Orwin smirked, “You can’t even come close to harming me, Derrick. And if you think you can usurp my position in the guild, then you’re a fool.”
“I don’t giving a flaming donkey’s arse about the guild or your paranoid delusions. I’m only trying to figure out who set me up at Rombis’ place. I can already think of one connection between the dwarf and myself: the Siron job.”
The Siron job was the mission that both Derrick and Orwin had narrated to Myrk… the same mission in which Orwin had slashed Derrick’s leg while outrunning a flesh golem. The mere mention of Siron, the minor noble who had commissioned the guild for the task, brought back the stinging discord both men felt for each other.
“That’s foolish. If what you say is true, then why hasn’t anything happened to Cerdan or myself?” Orwin asked.
“The guild house is shielded from magical scrying, isn’t it? Maybe this whole murder set-up was meant so I would lead them to you.”
“And who exactly is ‘them’?”
Derrick shook his head, “I don’t know yet. But I do know that it is directly related to some kind of attack that is going to take place against the foreign envoys today.” A frown crossed his face, “As much as I loathe doing so, I’m going to have to ask for your help again.”
“Oh, of course! You show up at my doorstep out of nowhere, beat up a few guards, start making unfair demands of me, kidnap a guild whisper-man- speaking of which, where is Myrk? Since he wasn’t with you, I take it he either escaped or was killed.” The look in Derrick’s eyes was answer enough. “In my eyes, you are not in a state of grace. So why should I help you?”
“Even if there isn’t a conspiracy against us for the Siron job, we know for certain that something harmful is going to happen at the summit meeting. If those negotiations break down violently, it will put a halt on all open trade and relations with foreign states.”
“So? That would improve the guild’s profit on the black-market and smuggling operations.”
Derrick shook his head, “We both know that the guild’s power doesn’t come from money; it comes from connections and information. If the foreign states like Athkatla or Tethyr become hostile, it could hinder the guild’s activity… especially since someone is trying to implicate the Shadow Thieves in the matter.”
Orwin glared at him in silence. As much as he disliked Derrick, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that there was an active threat to the guild. “I’ll admit there are a few agents working the summit, but they are all under deep cover; I am unable to contact them through normal channels on such short notice. But they’ll be watching the diplomats closely, and I am confident that they can handle any problems that may crop up. If you want to stick your nose into that business, you’ll do so alone. I’m already short on manpower as it is, and we are already facing a possible threat to the guildhouse.”
“Can you at least tell me how I can get inside the building? Or how to recognize your agents?”
“You think you’re such a clever person; get inside yourself. As for the agents, they’ll respond to the phrase ‘hear the nightfall’. Use it sparingly… I don’t want you shouting it from the rooftops.”
“Great. If I didn’t own a store full of artifacts and charms, I might just be worried about my chances.” Derrick glanced at the guild leader’s goons, “You know, you won’t be able to hide among your cronies forever. Eventually, you’re going to face the consequences for the Siron job.”
“I already have; I was given a promotion, control of a guildhouse, and a fat ‘retirement’ fund. What do you have to show for your life? A room full of trinkets and shiny objects? Face it, Derrick, you never had the ambition for a ranking spot in the guild.” He gestured to his thugs, “Move out. Make sure he doesn’t follow.”
The guild leader and his assassins faded into the shadows, leaving Derrick standing in the middle of the muddy street, alone in the cold once again.
(7:38)
Rassa inspected the cell for the hundredth time, looking for something – anything – that could be used to help her escape from the wererat camp. She only hoped their invasion wouldn’t begin until after midnight. By then Orwin would be suspicious enough to either reinforce guildhouse defenses or even send a full-scale assault team to sweep the sewers.
She gingerly poked at the blood-soaked bandage around her shoulder. The injured arm was stinging terribly, and the woman could only hope that the wound hadn’t become infected.
At the far end of the camp, the large wererat leader emerged from his make-shift tent of garbage. Rassa leaned forward with interest as she saw the creature’s companion; a young human woman wearing a green veil and mage’s robes.
Squinting through the encroaching shadows, the guild lieutenant struggled to read the woman’s lips as she appeared to give instructions to the wererat. Rassa could only make out three words through the woman’s veil: ‘crystal’, ‘attack’, and ‘Derrick’.
It was the last word that upset Rassa the most; if Derrick was indeed part of this invasion, then she needed to escape quickly and warn Orwin of his treachery.
The guild lieutenant slumped down and began examining her cell once more.
(7:41)
“Are you sure we should leave Melik out of the loop like this?” asked Flink.
Dace didn’t look away from the display case or the glittering, colourful amulets it contained. The two mercenaries were browsing in a small curio shop whose existence was only known to a few specific elements of the criminal underworld.
“We work in a dangerous business,” he finally responded, “‘honour’ and ‘camaraderie’ are nothing more than hollow words in our line of work.” The assassin tapped the glass and pointed at two amulets of teleportation within.
The bored curio storeowner removed the artifacts, placed them atop the counter, and quoted a price from memory. Dace produced a large sack of gold and handed one of the amulets to Flink as the merchant counted the money.
“And besides, the gnome was fool enough to accept a job from the Shield.”
Flink looked at the amulet for a moment, and putting it around his neck. “Why is it so bad to work for the Knights of the Shield, anyway?”
“Now think about this. They are an organization of power-hungry nobles, merchants, and politicians. They already have connections to criminal expertise, manpower, and money. So why, then, would they stoop to hiring an untested, independent band of mercenaries like us?” Dace paused to put the other amulet around his own neck, “Because they want us to take the fall for the summit murders. That Shadow Thief who came to us, Derrick, wanted to know what we did with Myrk’s dagger… I would wager that the Shield Knights took it with the intention of incriminating us.”
“But if they’re going to betray us, then why are we still carrying out the mission?”
“We are not. They only ordered the summit murders as a diversion for some other crime or they would have struck the envoys long before their arrival. We are going to the summit because I want a little ‘insurance’ against our employers.” He made his way to the door, “By the way, how many of the explosive crystals do we still have?”
The halfling drew out the wrapped shard and held it out, “I’ve got one right here and Melik as another. We have four in total…”
“No. We have two in total,” Dace said as he took the crystal and carefully hid it in a pocket.
“Huh? What happened to the others?”
“Unimportant. I will only say that I arranged a ‘surprise’ for the city’s finest back at the Silver Spike.”
(7:46)
In another part of the city, a pair of guards drove a horse-drawn wagon northward to the Temple of Tyr. In the back of their cart, draped by two thin blankets were the corpses of Myrk and Terrence.
“This isn’t what I joined the watch for,” muttered one guard, “carting bodies around like resurrection-men. They don’t pay us enough for this.” He leaned back and pulled the blanket off one of the bodies, “Wonder if they have anything to make it worth all this effort?”
He checked Terrence’s clothes and found a few items on his person. The guard let out a low whistle and held up two glowing green crystals for his partner to see, “These must be worth a purse or two.”
“The paladins might not appreciate you robbing corpses.”
“Come on, maybe if I just take one of them? I get off duty by eight; I could sell this and we’ll split the gold. No one will know, we’ll say he only had one crystal on him to begin with.”
He tossed the crystal to his partner, who almost fumbled the shard when he let go of the reins to catch it, “Eh, alright. Better to have it in my pocket than in some priest’s.”
The guard smiled and tucked the other crystal back in the corpse’s tunic.
(7:49)
Inquisitor Vellin passed his horse off to one of the stable boys outside the Ducal Palace and made his way inside the building. The Ducal Palace was the closest thing the city had to a castle, but it actually served as a town hall of sorts. It was from here that the three Dukes of Baldur’s Gate, the chosen leaders of the people, commanded the city.
The main foyer was a huge, lavishly adorned festhall. Bright tapestries, expensive antiques, and various forms of decorative art lined the walls, displaying the best works that the city had to offer. Several dozen servants and pages scurried about, desperately trying to get things organized for the envoys’ arrival.
Vellin caught the attention of a young paladin nearby, who trotted over and immediately gave a quick salute and a chipper smile, “Evening, Inquisitor! Good to see you here at last. I’m Sir Treysen, knight of Torm.”
The paladin nodded and returned the gesture, “I must speak with whoever is in charge of security for the summit.”
“Yes, that would be me.”
“You?!” An incredulous look flashed across Vellin’s face. Treysen looked to be barely out of his youth… surely no more than twenty-five winters. He didn’t even have a beard!
Treysen nodded, “Yes, me. Don’t be fooled by my face. I’m much older and more experienced than I look, so I’ll take your facial expression as a compliment.”
“I see. What is the situation currently?”
“We received the warning of a possible assassination from one of your clerics. I already ordered the Dukes evacuated from the building and taken to secure locations under heavy guard.”
“And what of the envoys?”
“Their evening tour of the city has been cancelled. Instead, they will be brought directly to the palace, and the diplomatic talks will continue as planned.”
“Should they not be relocated along with the city Dukes?” asked Vellin.
“No, the Dukes were only attending as a formality, anyway. The city’s interests will be represented by the local chancellor once he arrives.”
The Inquisitor frowned at Treysen’s decisions, “I saw few knights stationed outside, and those I did see were only honour guards… not inquisitors.”
“Most of the inquisitors and cavaliers were dispatched to protect the Dukes,” he held up a hand as Vellin began to protest, “Relax. No need to worry sir, we are still three dozen men strong, and the foreigners will have their own bodyguards, so we likely won’t be want for sword-arms should trouble arise.”
“All the same, I want an evacuation plan ready for the diplomats, in case someone slips past the palace defenses. Without more inquisitors, a magically concealed enemy may enter undetected.”
Sir Treysen nodded, “I suppose there could even be an insurgent in the building right now and nobody would know.” A page raced up and handed the Tormish paladin a message, “Ah, the Chancellor will be here shortly with the foreigners. Come, friend, we’ve much to do.”
(7:56)
Bryn peeked around a corner at his father’s pawnshop down the street. The building’s interior was dark like those around it, and there was still no sign of Ayva, but he wasn’t about to toss away what little wit he had left and brazenly march inside.
He was about to tread a little closer to the building when he heard some heavy galloping on fast approach. A horseman cloaked in black rode past at blinding speed, forcing Bryn to press himself against the wall and hope to remain unseen. The boy frowned as the rider reared his horse to a halt directly in front of the pawnshop’s entrance.
Bryn slowly backed into the dark alley again and squinted through the night’s curtain as a second newcomer, a woman, emerged from down the street, also moving toward the pawnshop. It was Ayva.
(7:57)
Derrick dismounted the steed he’d taken from one of the fallen guards earlier, and gave the animal a chance to rest. The horses used by the city guard were bred for an urban environment; mostly short pursuits against people on foot. Derrick had been resolutely pushing the steed at top speed across the city.
He heard footsteps from behind and instinctively went into a crouched ready position, then relaxed when he saw that it was only his assistant Ayva. He waved to her, “I take it you received my message? Is Bryn safe?”
“Yes, he and Jena are well on their way to the Friendly Arms Inn.” said Ayva, “It’s good that I found you here; someone tried to attack me just now, after Bryn left.”
A mixture of concern and interest crossed Derrick’s face, “What did he look like? Was he human?”
“No, it was a human woman. I couldn’t see her face, but she looked like a mage. She claimed to be hunting for an artifact in your possession… something called the ‘Sigil of the Fallen’. Do you have it?” Ayva winced inwardly. She had asked the question a little more forcefully than she intended.
“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Derrick answered honestly, “Someone has been after me as well.” He glanced around, “We shouldn’t risk letting our words reach any untrustworthy ears that may be lurking about. Come, we’ll continue this inside.”
(7:59)
At the other end of the street, Bryn watched quietly as the cloaked man produced a key and unlocked the pawnshop door. The man followed Ayva as she went inside, and Bryn finally got a clear look at his face. The boy’s eyes widened and he began to step out of the alley to shout a warning to his father.
“Da– mmf!” A massive, oily grey hand clamped over Bryn’s mouth, muffling his cry.
Derrick went inside and closed the door behind him, not noticing his son.
A second hand grasped Bryn by the collar and hauled him several feet up in the air. Turning his head, the kid found himself staring into the hairless face of a hideous, towering creature with the head of a fanged wolf and the many-sored body of a troll.
“Tremble with fear, boy,” the monster growled, “you’re going to join the teeming ranks of the Night Parade.”
(8:00) |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 16 Jan 2005 : 21:08:15
Worst Possible Outcome
(6:00)
Bryn skidded back from the doorframe, almost crashing into the wall behind him. Eyes wide and jaw slack, his thoughts had degenerated into a scramble of shocked and horrified emotions. He had peeked through the crack in the door to see why Aunt Jena was running around the house so much, and he saw… no, it couldn’t be.
The boy leaned forward and looked through the door crack again. There was a large circle of blood staining the wood floor, and more covering Ayva’s arms as she shoved Jena’s body into the closet.
He pulled himself away from the gruesome sight and quietly ran back into his room, slamming his door shut and blocking it with a chair. His father was missing, Jena was stabbed, and now he was standing in a house with a knife-wielder.
His eyes fell on the window above his bed. Scrambling up to the sill, he gazed out to find that the window overlooked a steep decline in the road outside.
There was a banging on his door, “Bryn? It’s Ayva. Please open up, I’d like to have a word with you.”
(6:03)
The bouncers unceremoniously dumped Myrk and Derrick on the hard, stone basement floor. Scrap came down next, followed by the waiter he had sent to check the streets.
“I certainly hope you four are happy!” Scrap shouted, thrusting an accusing finger at the mercenaries.
“You should know by now that we’re never happy,” Terrence grumbled, “Do you see me smiling? No, I didn’t think so.”
“Myrk came back with another thief called ‘Derrick’, claiming they had an army of assassins waiting nearby. I didn’t believe them at the time, but Gend here,” he waved a hand at the confused waiter, “tells me he spotted several people moving in the windows of that abandoned building across the road.”
Dace came down the stairs, carrying a particularly expensive bottle of wine, as Scrap was speaking.
The tavern owner wiped the sweat from his forehead, “I swear, if you lot have brought the wrath of the Shadow Thieves down on my bar-”
“If there were any Shadow Thieves hiding nearby,” Dace spoke as he calmly set the bottle down, “then they would never have been spotted. Certainly not by a lowly tavern worker.” He cocked his head, telling the waiter to leave.
Melik moved near the unconscious thieves, checking them for weapons, “What actually concerns me, Scrap, is why Myrk is still alive when I gave you explicit instructions to kill him.”
Scrap swallowed, but didn’t back down, “The last thing I need is a blood feud with the local guild. If they found out I killed one of their agents…”
The gnome pointed to Dace and Terrence, “You two, take the thieves into the back room, strip their weapons, and interrogate them. Find out if the guild has learned of our plans. We don’t want any more interference from their ilk.”
“Then why the hell did you lure Myrk here in the first place?!” bellowed the tavern owner as the thieves were dragged away.
“As for you, Scrap,” said the gnome, “I would advise you not to disobey my orders any further. Now return to your business upstairs, you may have already brought ruin to my plans.”
(6:08)
Ayva slammed Jena’s mace at the door again, finally breaking an arm-sized hole in the wood. She reached in and knocked the chair out of the way, then burst inside only to find that Bryn had vanished.
Seeing the open window over the bed, the woman swore to herself and climbed through, mace in hand, hoping to catch the kid before he got too far away.
Bryn counted to ten after Ayva went through the window, then rolled out from under the bed. ‘Never do the most obvious thing’ was what he’d been taught. With doubled breath, the boy rushed back to the other room to see if he could help his aunt.
When he pulled the closet door open, he nearly vomited at the sight of the gaping, bloody wounds on her back. Bryn staggered back… watching Ayva stab his aunt was shocking enough. With a close up view, he was just about ready to pass out.
What little training he’d secretly taken with the guild was quickly lost as panic and fear grasped him. With tears flowing, he grabbed the bag of food and supplies that Jena had been packing, and bolted out of the house, running back toward the pawnshop.
(6:11)
Rassa’s pulse quickened in the dark as she heard a set of light footsteps between the steady dripping of the nearby pipes. The thieves’ eyes had adjusted to the low-lit tunnels, and they soon saw their scout step into sight.
“Were-rats,” he whispered, “At least twelve creatures down at the end of the corridor.”
“A dozen of them?” mused Rassa, “Too small to be an infestation, too large to be a hunting party. They must be here with a specific purpose.” That didn’t bode well for the Shadow Thief guild. Rassa had heard rumors of upstart were-rat guilds from the south that occasionally tried to muscle their way into the Baldur’s Gate underworld, both literally and figuratively.
The scout continued, “They didn’t see me come or leave, so we’ll have the surprise advantage.”
“Good. Everyone, let’s move,” she ordered, “five metre spread, no sou-”
She stopped in mid-sentence as a small spherical object, barely visible in the dark, rolled to a stop just in front of her feet. All the thieves looked down, squinting to see what it was. The metal ball suddenly burst open, flooding the corridor in a flash of bright, searing light. The thieves shouted in surprise, instinctively clutching their hands over their temporarily blinded eyes.
Above the confused shouts from all around, Rassa could hear some heavy scampering zip past her, followed by a horrified scream from one of the thieves behind her. There was a loud, mushy thump as someone was knocked over into the mud nearby. Squinting in her gray-white field of vision, Rassa drew a knife and brandished it as something charged toward her.
Before the thing could crash into her, Rassa’s thief instincts told her to roll aside at just the right moment, and she thrust her blade up and forward, managing to cut whatever the creature was as it passed. Getting to her feet, she felt a bony, hairy set of arms grab her across the waist from behind, yanking her to the side and slamming her face against the slimy sewer wall.
Rassa felt a pair of jagged objects tear across her shoulder, ripping through armour and flesh. Growling in pain, she reacted by stabbing backward with her weapon, feeling the satisfying pressure from the blade as it pierced the foe behind her. The creature released her arms and stumbled away with a painful roar.
Just as she began to move, Rassa felt a terrible freezing pain in her lower back, as if she had been stabbed with an icicle. Her movements became sluggish as the cold sensation began to spread, eventually leaving her completely immobile. Two pairs of hands grabbed her by the arms and hoisted her up, carrying her away from the now-silent battle scene.
(6:17)
“Did you check him thoroughly?” Dace asked as he placed Myrk’s dagger on a shelf at the opposite side of the room.
Terrence rolled his eyes, “Yes, oh master, I found several blades on his person. All very sharp. Would you like me to stab you to show how sharp they are?” He held up four ordinary dirks, which he tossed haphazardly at the wall, one by one. The con artist watched as the dagger points got stuck in the middle of a fairly expensive tapestry.
The two unconscious thieves were sitting in separate chairs with their wrists shackled against opposite legs of the large table in the centre of the room. The table was built into the floor, so they couldn’t simply lift it up to escape.
“He’s an ugly scoundrel, isn’t he? By his clothes, I’d think he sees the same tailor as you do,” said Terrence, picking at his teeth with a steel toothpick while pointing at Derrick’s bruised face, “So how should we play this? Should I do all the talking or would you rather be the one to open your mouth for a change?”
“You are the con artist.” Dace pointed out, “We must know for certain that the Shadow Thieves have not become involved in this matter. I am certain you would rather not head off to the manor, only to find a rabble of armed hit-men waiting for you.”
“Hmm, I’m not as poor a fighter as you might think.” He looked at the unconscious pair, “Still, I wonder why I am even bothering with this question round. It wasn’t part of the original arrangement, so maybe I shouldn’t waste my time with this.”
Dace fixed his cold, steady gaze on Terrence, “If we do not get answers, we cannot continue the mission. And if we cannot continue the mission, you do not get paid.”
Terrence’s face became serious, “Get out of my way, I’ll slice them open in a dozen places if I have to.”
(6:20)
Ayva traced her footprints back to the house, finally having given up attempting to track down the missing child. As the woman passed through the alleyway where she had been attacked, she caught sight of a metallic object glinting in the orange light cast by the low sun.
Though it was nearly submerged in the mud, she wiped it clean and was pleased to see that it was the dagger she had lost. A very special dagger, given to her by her ‘other’ employer, and engraved with the image of a flame-winged angel. Secreting it away in her tunic, she returned to the streets to look for any sign of where Bryn might have gone.
As far as Ayva could remember, she hadn’t told Bryn the explicit contents of Derrick’s message, and his aunt seemed to act as though the kid wouldn’t know the way to the Friendly Arms inn. Ayva also ruled out the pawnshop, as he would have to be a complete fool to return there.
She pushed the notion of finding the child out of her mind; all she could do now was return to her employer’s lair and report what had happened. After all, it wasn’t as if Derrick was completely untraceable… especially after she had planted the scented mark on him for the rats to follow.
(6:23)
Rassa’s arms were being held behind her back when movement returned and her vision finally cleared. She was being pushed through the sewer tunnels by several hairy, gray were-rats, presumably the ones who had attacked the previous thief squad as well. She took note that none of her assassins were taken along with her. So why had the creatures had spared her? And further, why had they bandaged her shoulder wound?
One of the rat-men wiggled his long, whiskered nose in her face when he saw her eyes on him, “Boss, I t’ink she’s awake.”
The ‘boss’, a hunched were-rat who seemed to tower over the others, turned around briefly but didn’t slow his pace. “Then gag her if she talks.” He snarled, “We have more important things to do than worry about nurse-maiding her.”
Rassa noticed that all of the were-rats’ eyes were almost completely squinted shut, leaving little more than a thin hairline slit between their eyelids. Blind mice. It would have been droll if they weren’t planning to eat her.
The leader sniffed the air warily, then abruptly changed direction, “This way to the camp. With the number of parties the thieves have sent down, we may have to begin the invasion sooner than planned.”
(6:30)
“Wake up, wake up!” shouted Terrence, nonchalantly tossing a glass of expensive ale into Derrick’s face. “It’s time for you to entertain me.” Derrick glared at the mercenary, who was smiling pleasantly as he woke Myrk in a similar manner.
“Agh, my eyes!” cried the whisper-man as the alcohol stung him.
“Ooh, that’s the problem with me,” said their interrogator, “I’m always making little clumsy mistakes when I get upset. Like this!” He grabbed a broken chair leg from the ground and smashed it against a random bruise on Derrick’s face, prompting a cry of pain. “Now, if you answer our questions, I won’t get upset, and I might not make such clumsy little mistakes… as often.”
Standing behind them with his face hidden in shadow, Dace called out to them, “How much have you told the Shadows Thieves about your arrangement with Scrap?”
Myrk began speaking without even being threatened, “I told our local guildhouse leader, Orwin, but he didn’t seem to care much. He was more concerned that I had brought Der-”
“Shut up, you fool!” Derrick bellowed. Myrk wisely closed his mouth.
“Orwin. Never heard of him,” remarked Terrence, “Do the Shadow Thieves know anything about our plans for this evening?”
Derrick spoke before Myrk could respond, “Why did you kill the wizard at Rombis’ Tavern? Why frame the guild for that?”
Terrence was puzzled for a moment, but didn’t lose stride, “I don’t believe my question was directed at you.” He tore off a long piece of the wall tapestry and forcibly tied it around Derrick’s mouth. The con artist then took a dagger from the shelf and held it against Myrk’s throat, “I’ve gained a reputation down south for being very recklessly violent in interrogations. Are you really willing to help substantiate that claim?”
Myrk was utterly convinced by Terrence’s bluff and started flapping, “The guild doesn’t know anything! Even Derrick and I don’t know what you’re planning, it was all Derrick’s idea to come back here! Ask him, you don’t need me!”
Derrick grimaced in utter disgust.
“Very good,” smiled Terrence, “Now let’s talk about the people in the building across the street.”
(6:37)
“Pox-minded gangly-shoots, all four of them!” hollered the tavern owner as he complained to the random people sitting at the bar. “No amount of money could be worth this! My tavern, my reputation, my safety, all risked for what? A few bags of gold? That won’t help me if I end up in some dark back-alley with a velvet mask stabbed onto my chest!”
One of the bar patrons, wearing a ragged loose-fit tunic, gestured toward his empty shot-glass. Scrap grudgingly poured a few drops in, then returned to his rant, “All these problems brought on by a couple of thieves. Why do I put up with this?” He took a long swig from the bottle, then poured some more into the patron’s glass.
“Ah, well if they’re so much trouble, then I’m sure it wouldn’t kill you to throw them out before they cause any real damage,” said the patron, hoping the angry tavern owner would leave him alone.
“Yes, perhaps I should. They can’t push me around like that in my own house!” Scrap left the bottle on the counter and made his way toward the stairs in the back, not even bothering to demand payment from the patron.
(6:39)
Without touching his drink the patron stood from his seat, walked out the front door of the tavern, and made his way to the supposedly abandoned building across the street. As soon as he stepped inside the entrance, half a dozen armoured guards clanked out from the shadows and stood around the man.
Atamir stepped forward, “Well, lieutenant, what did you learn?”
Ponn tore off the ragged tunic, revealing the City Guard insignia on his ring mail underneath, “The owner is having problems with four mercenaries running some illegal activity out of his basement. I counted six strong-arms in the main room, but there are also at least twenty patrons there who look like the crooked brawling sort. I don’t think many would be willing to surrender peacefully.”
“Good, I’m looking forward to a fight.” Atamir readied a sword and shield, and began barking orders in preparation for the raid.
(6:42)
“I’m getting tired of your intrusions, Scrap. Return to your own business.”
Scrap shoved the gnome aside, “I want all four of you to clear out! Pack your things and don’t return here, or I swear you-”
The halfling rushed into the room and handed a scroll to Melik, “Here’s the pass we took from the City Council representative.”
“City Council?! By the pit, what are you up to?” Scrap snatched the scroll from Flink before they could react.
Dace emerged from the makeshift interrogation room, “What is going on now? We are busy trying to elicit information from our guests.”
“Scrap, I will only tell you this once more; leave this matter to those involved. Give me the pass.”
The tavern owner looked between the scroll and the gnome, “No. If you leave, I might consider returning it, but not until then.”
Dace sprung into motion toward Scrap, almost seeming to slide rather than sprint. Just as Scrap had grabbed the scroll before Flink could react, Dace deftly swiped it from the tavern keeper before anyone could move, and stood behind him, placing the pass on a table out of reach.
Melik held up his hands before the large man could protest, “Scrap, your service has been adequate in aiding our cause, and I am sorry that our arrangement must end now.”
Scrap relaxed his clenched jaw and seemed to calm down.
“Dace,” said the gnome, “please kill him.”
The tip of a red-stained sword burst out through the front of Scrap’s chest, piercing through the man’s heart between his ribs. With a wet gasp, Scrap immediately staggered forward, vainly trying to dislodge Dace’s grip on the weapon as a red stain expanded across both sides of his tunic. After a few more moments of blood loss, the man with the metal teeth collapsed and was gone.
“The thieves don’t seem to know anything about our true plans,” Dace said as he indifferently wiped his blade on the corpse, “If there is anyone watching the building, it will likely be the town guard.”
“Then it’s time for us to begin. Leave the corpse, we’ll be away long before anyone thinks to come down here. Flink, carry our belongings to the stables. As for-”
There were several loud crashing noises from upstairs, followed by a succession of battle cries and swearing. In the bar room above, the guards had stormed the tavern, and were now engaging the seedy clientele in a half-drunken, all-out brawl.
(6:45)
Dace threw open the door to the interrogation room, “Terrence, forget the thieves. We must evacuate the building, now! Hurry and grab the crystals before you leave.”
The con artist looked up from his intimidating work, “What, you want me to just leave them here? They’ve seen our faces!”
“No, they’ve seen your face. That’s why you did all the talking.” Dace’s face had been in the shadows throughout the interrogation.
“Then we should either bring them with us or kill them.”
“Yes.” Dace cryptically stated, then ignored the man’s further protests and left the room.
Bristling with frustration at the situation, the con artist put the metal toothpick between his lips, drew a dagger, and began to unlock Myrk’s shackles, “Now don’t try anything sneaky, I’ve got-”
As soon as the clasps opened, Myrk surged from the chair and head-butted Terrence in the gut, causing the mercenary to drop his blade and spit the spike out across the room. As the two scrambled to their feet and began to trade blows, Derrick leaned to the side, lowering his hands to the floor. Still shackled to the table, he adjusted his position so he could reach the metal toothpick that had landed near the table leg.
Neither of the two men now locked in combat was a competent fighter. But Terrence had the size advantage, and quickly managed to slam the young thief against the wall tapestry. The mercenary grabbed one of the daggers he had left there earlier and slammed it upward into Myrk’s gut. The thief gasped and his eyes bulged as blood began to seep into his lung. Terrence withdrew the weapon and let his victim slump to the ground.
Derrick bent the metal toothpick, then twisted it again in the lock on his shackles and heard a satisfying click as the bonds came undone. He immediately threw them off and charged at the mercenary, tackling the killer just as he was turning around.
They both struck the ground and the dagger in Terrence’s hand skittered across the stone floor.
(6:50)
Melik handed one of the wrapped crystals to Flink. “Be careful or be incinerated,” he warned as the halfling ran to the escape chute at the back of the basement that led into the stables. The gnome grabbed a second crystal and was about to follow when two armoured men charged down the stairs, each wearing the insignia of the city guard.
“Halt! I am Capt. Atamir, and I am hereby placing you under-” The captain’s words were frozen on his lips as Melik fired off a minor Hold Person spell.
Lt. Ponn had jumped aside to avoid the spell’s effect, and now stepped toward the gnomish wizard with his sword held high. But before he could reach the spellcaster, a figure in black appeared from the shadows and smashed a chair over the young guard’s head. Dace then kicked Ponn a few times to ensure he was really out.
Without missing a beat, the gnome continued to give orders, “Grab the remaining two crystals!” He certainly wasn’t going to risk himself further by carrying any more of the dangerous artifacts. “Meet us in the stables.” Dace looked on in silence as the gnome retreated through the back.
(6:52)
Terrence stumbled back against a shelf, clutching his bleeding nose from the many punches he’d received from Myrk and now Derrick. As Derrick came forward again, he grabbed the mercenary by the collar, “When your band first brought Myrk here, you took his dagger. Who did you give it to?” he demanded, hoping to find a connection to the murder at Rombis’ place.
Terrence sneered as he touched a familiar metal object on the shelf behind him. In a quick move, he grabbed the dagger from the shelf and thrust it at Derrick’s chest before the ex-thief could react. As the weapon struck, Derrick felt something shift roughly beneath his tunic. Apparently Terrence hadn’t searched Derrick thoroughly enough, for he had missed the second magical dagger Derrick received from Orwin.
The mercenary’s blade and the magic dagger clashed, both shattering into tiny pieces, leaving both men unarmed. The con artist stared in surprise as the metal bits fell to the floor like glittering sand.
From the corner of his eye, Derrick noticed movement by the door. He ducked down as a throwing knife passed overhead, missing its intended target and instead impaling Terrence in the lower throat.
Dace swore and banged the door shut, darting away as Derrick came forward in pursuit. Shaking the metal pieces out from under his shirt, Derrick bashed the door through into the mercenaries planning room. He saw Scrap’s corpse and the two guards, one frozen in place and the other unconscious on the floor, but beyond that the room appeared to be empty. The sounds of clanging metal and boisterous shouting from upstairs told him that he didn’t have long before other guards came investigating.
Casting a glance back to Myrk, still lying in the room with a bloody wound over his stomach, a wave of shame flooded through Derrick’s heart. The ex-thief lowered his head in guilt and gave a silent prayer in Myrk’s name. It was happening again. Because of his own selfish goals, another innocent person was dead. It was no different than the job six years ago.
But there was little time for him to grieve now. Derrick glanced over some of the maps lying around the room, carefully crept around the Captain, then slowly made his way up the stairs toward the noises coming from the upper level, hoping to catch Dace before it was too late.
Dace stepped out of the shadows after Derrick left, and peeked in the interrogation room where Terrence and Myrk lay dead amidst the shattered metal and wood.
“A painfully simple task…” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust at the mess.
(6:55)
With swearing abound and chairs flying through the air, the tavern’s main hall was a chaotic mess. Dozens of criminals mindlessly threw themselves at the incoming guards, motivated solely by their oblique hatred for authority. Meanwhile the ex-thief cautiously stepped hidden through the shadows along the walls, seeking to avoid being attacked by one of the drunken louts or extremely prejudiced guards. As he made his way around to the door, he cast a final glance at the frenzied fighting patrons, wondering if he should have involved himself with the whole matter in the first place.
He turned and pulled the door open, only to find himself staring into the eyes of a very angry Inquisitor.
“Hold there, criminal!” Vellin boomed, leveling his sword at the man, “I know perfectly well what you are, and I am hereby placing you under arrest.”
(6:56)
In the sewers, the were-rat leader locked the prisoner’s cage and ordered two of his rodent-like minions to watch Rassa carefully, “Do not allow her to move out of that corner until we are ready. She is going to help us bring down the guild…”
(6:57)
Bryn looked up as the sky began to shift from murky orange to somber black. Nightfall was upon the city, and he was single child with nobody to turn to. He continued running through the streets, wondering just what the hell he was going to do now.
(6:58)
Ayva stepped through the shadowed hallway and into the main narthex, “Derrick and his son have escaped into the city. What are your orders?”
The woman in the green veil looked up from the rune-covered altar and smiled grimly.
(6:59)
At the city gates, embossed with long shadows by the setting sun, the foreign diplomats from various cities along the Sword Coast arrived. As the chief representatives gave formal waves from their ornate carriages to the spectators lining the streets, their personal servants and bodyguards trotted along from behind. None could have anticipated the force that was even now orchestrating their destruction.
(7:00)
.
Note: Scrap’s remark about the ‘velvet mask’ refers to fact that Shadow Thief hitmen often leave a velvet mask stabbed by a stiletto dagger at the scene of assassinations.
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 12 Jun 2004 : 00:40:00
[5:00] The Rivers are Red
There was a loud clanging noise as Jena smacked the opponent’s dagger away with her mace. The burglar’s face was a frustrated sneer, as he was expecting to face a victim who couldn’t fight. Jena, however, had been coerced into basic weapons training back when her brother first joined the guild.
As the burglar lunged in again, Jena saw an opening and thrust the mace forward, hitting him in the gut. He dropped his dagger and clutched his belly with one hand, but managed to strike out with the other, catching Jena’s wrist before she could pull out of reach.
Shrieking, she dropped the mace and punched him in the jaw with her free fist, but fell backward while trying to pull away and knocked over the glass equipment from her table. Her attacker angrily shoved the woman to the ground and grabbed his dagger again, poised to finish off his victim.
Suddenly, a large flowerpot smashed against the back of his head, literally soiling his tunic. The knife-wielder twisted around and saw a 10-year-old boy behind him, holding a broken shard of pottery.
“Made the same mistake twice,” Bryn said, shaking his head slightly. Again, his eyes looked toward his aunt; or more precisely, the object in his aunt’s hand.
The burglar turned back just as he felt the heavy ball of a steel mace slam him in the groin. The world went blurry as he crumpled, whimpering in a voice that was now four octaves higher.
Jena stood up, brushed the glass shards and dirt from her clothes, and looked disdainfully at the pottery fragment in her nephew’s hand. “Now what did I tell you about not breaking my things?”
(5:06)
“We’re going to need at least half a dozen more guards to help with the raid on the tavern.” Atamir mused as they rode back toward the guard barracks.
“I think I know what you’re going to say, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to bring a few paladins in on this, sir.” Ponn suggested, “With their evil-detection abilities they might be able to distinguish the criminals from the bystanders.”
Atamir laughed bitterly, “They couldn’t even spot a murderer among their own Order.”
“Is this about that incident in Nashkel again?”
The Captain gave a solemn nod, “Yes, though Nashkel was only the beginning. Remember that paladin who slew the kidnapper? I did some quiet investigating in the weeks following the news of the children’s deaths, and I discovered that he was being paid on bounty to murder the criminal. That blasted knight didn’t even give a care for those missing children. It’s always about money.”
Ponn spoke up, “But surely his Order wouldn’t stand for such a mercenary act?”
“Not exactly. I brought his crime to the attention of the priests at the Temple of Tyr, right here in the city. I expected them to punish him severely; imprisonment or even execution for letting the children die.” The scowl returned to Atamir’s face. “Instead, what did they do? They cast him out of the Order, and that was it. They let him walk out their gates a free man.” He snorted, “Servants of justice indeed.”
The Captain started waving his hand around in anger, “Oh, I summoned hell at this, but all those stuffy priests did was shake their heads and say ‘the shame of banishment is punishment enough’. Load of horse dung. The fallen paladin wasn’t even repentant. As soon as he stepped out of the building, he gave me this cold, mocking smile. He didn’t care that he’d been cast out. He was proud that he’d beaten the system.
“I joined the city guard a few months later; I never wanted to let a murdering bastard like him pass through my city without a taste of real justice.” Atamir patted the sword at his side.
(5:09)
“So was that it? Did you ever bring the fallen paladin to justice?”
The Captain cast his eyes down, “No, I didn’t, but I later learned that he had been-”
He halted as a woman came rushing out of one of the houses up the road, waving her arms at them and calling for help. The guards brought their horses to a stop.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” the woman called, “A burglar broke into my house and attacked me, but we managed to overpower him. He’s tied up in my kitchen right now.”
Atamir glanced over at Ponn, then dismounted, “Show us to him.”
From inside Jena’s house, Bryn peered out the window at the approaching guards, then turned back to the mugger (now sporting several more bruises to the head) who groaned and began to stir. Taking his aunt’s mace from the table, the boy cracked the criminal over the head once more, returning the thug to his bludgeon-induced slumber.
(5:10)
Myrk looked on in silence from across the room as Orwin waved his arms around at several young guild members.
“Check the inner vaults, the armoury, the records hall, and anywhere that might contain something of value.” The guild leader had sweaty beads of anxiety running across his shiny brow, “He must be plotting something. This entire matter with Myrk and Rombis is just a launching point for a coup against me, I just know it…”
Assuming that his audience with the guild leader was at an end, Myrk slinked away as Orwin continued his tirade while barking orders at the other thieves. As soon as Myrk stepped into the hallway, a hand dropped out of the shadows and clamped down on his shoulder, prompting a pitched yelp.
“Quiet, Myrk,” whispered Derrick, “I need you to take me in to see this Flink at the tavern you mentioned.”
“The Silver Spike.”
“How elegantly named. Let’s go.”
“I don’t know if Orwin would be pleased if-”
“Orwin isn’t your concern right now; I am,” snapped Derrick, dragging Myrk toward the exit. “This whole murder-and-smuggling situation is somehow connected between me, Rombis, the diplomats coming to the city, and maybe even the guild itself. I don’t plan to go slack and let whoever’s behind this start dancing me around like a puppet all day.”
“Uh, where did you get that cloak?”
“The owner was tired, so she let me borrow it.”
(5:14)
Meanwhile, Orwin was still ranting at nobody in particular, “… and I swear that my superiors will hear about this indiscretion! After six years, he has held- what is it?” One of the guild assassins had just rushed over to him, “Aren’t you supposed to be with Rassa’s team?”
The assassin pointed in the direction of the armoury, “Sir, someone has attacked Rassa! She didn’t meet us down in the sewers, and I found her unconscious in the armoury. I don’t-”
“Blast it all! You two,” he pointed at a random pair of thieves, “Check the street entrances, don’t let anyone leave!” He went back to the assassin, “Find a healer if her wounds are severe, I need to speak to Rassa immediately.”
(5:16)
Derrick gave Myrk a shove as he heard the fast approach of footsteps, “Hurry outside and round up a pair of unmarked horses; steal them if you have to. I’ll meet you two blocks south of here.”
The younger thief nodded with some uncertainty and rushed down the hall just as another thief set upon Derrick from behind.
“Hold it there, Derrick,” he ordered, grabbing the ex-thief by the shoulder, “Orwin has demanded that you remain within the building.”
“I assure you,” Derrick looked the thief in the face, “I had no intention of leaving…” For a brief instant, he let his eyes dart to the side, as if he was looking at something over his captor’s shoulder.
“Then you’ll have to come with me.”
Again, Derrick let his eyes focus on the empty air behind the thief, and this time widening his eyes and giving a slight nod at nothing in particular.
“Who are you looking at?” the thief demanded, twisting his head slightly to the side.
Immediately, Derrick hooked his foot behind the thief’s ankle and abruptly pulled in, tripping the thief down on one leg. Knocking the thief’s other hand away from his shoulder, Derrick grabbed his captor by the hair and dashed his head against the wood-paneled wall three times, rendering the poor thief unconscious.
Checking to ensure he was really out, Derrick dragged the thief’s body down the hall and stuffed him inside a supply closet.
Derrick sighed wearily, and proceeded toward the street. Orwin’s wrath was going to grow tenfold when the guild leader learned of these actions, and Derrick still wasn’t any closer to uncovering the reasons behind his frame-up.
When he was still working for the guild, there had been dozens of lowlifes and underworld scum that would have had ample reason to seek his head in a box, but most of those foes were now either dead or in prison. And if he was being targeted by someone he’d crossed in the past, why would they go to the trouble of framing him for a murder, rather than killing him outright? Entrapment like this tended to take patience and strategy, neither of which was the forte of the type of people he’d faced.
It was time to get some answers. The stakes were becoming higher with each passing hour.
(5:22)
“No worries, miss, we’ll take care of this ruffian,” Ponn assured Jena as he and Atamir mounted the shackled criminal atop one of the horses. She nodded and thanked them again before they rode away toward the city barracks.
Jena returned to the house and frowned at all the shattered debris on the floor. Sitting amidst Jena’s cutlery and the glass fragments was the burglar’s dagger, which had apparently gone unnoticed by the young guard.
Gingerly picking the weapon out of the mess, Jena turned to Bryn, who was busy sweeping the pottery shards on the other side of the room.
“When you’ve finished cleaning up, go to your room and finish unpacking your things. I’ll go and revive Ayva now, but you can speak with her after dinner. Even with this potion, she’ll need more rest; I’d say we’ve all had enough excitement to last the rest of our lives.” She looked Bryn in the eyes, which so-reminded her of Derrick when he first joined the guild. “Or the rest of my life, at least.”
She moved to Ayva’s room and removed the blue healing potion from her pocket. Turning the vial over in her hands, Jena was glad to see that the container had gone undamaged throughout her fight with the mugger.
Taking a cloth from the nightstand, Jena carefully soaked it with the healing fluid, and pressed it against the wound on Ayva’s head. It immediately seeped into her skin and began to shrink the bruise. Bryn’s aunt then gently opened Ayva’s mouth and carefully poured the remainder of the restorative down her throat.
After a few minutes, Ayva’s eyes flicked and she gradually came back to the waking world. She started grabbing for something at her chest.
Jena patted Ayva on the shoulder, “Relax, the mugger is gone now. He tried to stab both of us with this,” she held up the thug’s dagger, and placed it down on the nightstand. “I’m Bryn’s aunt, Jena. I take it Derrick has some kind of problem going on at the shop?”
Ayva blinked and slowly sat up in the bed, rubbing at the healing cloth atop her head. “No, not at the shop. He’s fallen in some sort of trouble with a few old friends.” She paused and brushed her auburn hair out of her eyes as she looked about the room, “Wait, where’s Bryn?”
“Oh, he’s in his room, unpacking. I suppose he’ll be staying here for a few days? What did Derrick say, anyway?”
The store assistant rubbed her eyes as she struggled to remember what had happened before, “He gave me a message to deliver to you: ‘The rivers are red.’ Does that have any significance to you?”
As soon as Ayva said the words, Jena’s eyes began to fill with worry and dread. “Oh dear. That is not a good sign at all.” She immediately turned her back to Ayva and began searching through a closet at the other side of the room.
“What is it? What does that mean?”
Jena pulled out a large empty rucksack and made her way to the door. Her voice was full of unease, “Don’t worry about anything, you just rest for now. I’ll need to pack a few things in the kitchen.”
As she closed the door behind her, Ayva patted at her chest again, only to find that something was missing. The woman lay down and stared with worry at the ceiling, wondering what happened to the weapon she had been carrying.
(5:32)
Terrence held up the short, skinny steel spike and stared at it under the light, “What kind of nut uses metal needles as toothpicks?!”
“A man with metal teeth. No wonder Scrap’s smile was so shiny clean. It must go over nicely with the ladies,” Dace deadpanned as he glanced at the clock. “The envoys will be at the city gates in about an hour and a half. It’s time to gear up.”
The con artist shrugged, “We could stand to wait a bit longer, so let me finish my drink. Besides, I don’t want to arrive at the manor house too early, or the staff might grow suspicious. It would only give them more time to inspect my belongings.”
A grumble emerged from the other side of the room as Melik emerged from the back, “Well I don’t share your blissful indifference. I want you equipped and ready to leave within the hour. Dace, head around back and check on the horses you stole earlier; make sure they’re clean enough to pass Terrence off as a noble.” The gnome turned to the halfling, “You there, go bring us the council pass. It’s time to start pulling the strings of our act together.”
(5:35)
Myrk pointed down the road, “We’re coming close to the tavern, it’s just down at the end of this street.”
The ‘street’ was little more than an ill-kept muddy margin between the local dives and ‘escort residences’ crammed along Southside Row. This section of the city’s underbelly was probably the least patrolled area in all of Baldur’s Gate; those few guards who did make their rounds here were undoubtedly carried in the pockets of the city’s wealthier crime lords.
“If there’s anything you haven’t told me about the place, you’d best voice your mind now,” said Derrick.
An embarrassed look crossed the lanky thief’s face, “Well, uh, remember when I said there were eight guys who attacked me? It was probably more like three or four.” He scratched his head as he tried to recall details about the tavern, “The owner of the Spike, a large fellow called Scrap, will probably be the one to watch. You can’t miss him; he has metal teeth. But be careful, he’ll give these really subtle hand signals to his goons if he wants you taken down. Speaking of that, how exactly will we fight two-to-one odds if things go downhill?”
“It won’t come to that as long as you stick with our bluff. But if it does, then just try to keep your head low and make for the door while I keep them busy. If something happens to me, you’ll have to take the matter directly to Cerdan, not Orwin or any other guild agents.”
“That’s not very reassuring…” Myrk murmured.
“Good. It wasn’t supposed to be. Slow down a moment.”
They brought their horses to a stop just outside a different tavern, about a block away from the Silver Spike. Derrick reined his steed toward a post and dismounted, “We’ll tether the horses here and continue on foot. I hope you didn’t wear yourself out in prison; we may have to do a lot of running when the meeting is over.”
(5:40)
Deep below the streets, seven Shadow Thieves mucked through the stench and squalor of the city’s sewer system. The tunnel complex had been hewn of stone decades (perhaps even centuries) ago. An historical testament to the modernization of the city, though it was quite unlikely they’d run into any schoolchildren on a field trip down here.
“Are you certain you don’t need to see a healer?” asked one of the assassins.
Rassa, her forehead branded with a large maroon-coloured bruise, simply snarled in reply and pointed her torch down the dark corridor. Knocked out with her own weapon… how humiliating. As much as she wanted to hunt down Derrick to repay him for the slight, she had a duty to complete.
The creatures that slaughtered the first group of thieves down here had left a trail of bloody footprints, which fortunately hadn’t been completely washed away in the mud. Rassa took some comfort in the fact that the monsters bled, and therefore weren’t skilled enough to escape the battle unscathed. Further, the tracks looked as though there were only about four or five of them, all humanoid.
Rassa raised a fist to the trailing assassins, signaling a halt as she heard some faint noises from deeper in the sewers. To her trained ears, it sounded as though there were several creatures, growling and fighting further down the corridor.
Flashing a series of silent hand gestures, she motioned for one of her assassins to scout ahead. To the rest, she signed to stop where they were and form a defensive cover. The team leader held up five fingers and slowly began to count down.
The remaining assassins crouched down and closed their eyes, giving them time to adjust for darkness as she doused her torch in the wet mud, plunging the area into near-total blackness. They opened their eyes as soon as the flame went out, and sat in the shadows of the underground, waiting in stoic silence for their scout to return.
(5:46)
“You’d better let me do the talking,” Myrk said as he rapped on the door. Derrick stood out of view to the side as a slot in the door slid open and a pair of eyes squinted down at the skinny thief.
Myrk nodded to the bouncer, “Hello, I’m here from-” The slot slammed shut. Myrk glanced over at Derrick, “Uh, I think he might have recognized me.”
The eye-slot opened again, only this time, the pair of eyes was accompanied by a hand-held crossbow, which was pointed out the slot and aimed at Myrk’s forehead. The bouncer growled, “What’s your business here, Myrk?”
“I-I’m her to speak with Scrap. We need to find Flink.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” The eyes twisted to the side, trying to see who Myrk’s companion was.
Derrick lashed out and grabbed the underside of the crossbow, angling it up and out of the way as the bolt fired. He yanked the weapon away from the doorman’s hand through the slot. Reaching into the slot, Derrick quickly snatched the bouncer roughly by the nostrils and yanked his head forward so his face was squashed against the door.
Holding the slot open with his other hand, Derrick locked eyes with the man, “Open the door and let us speak with Scrap. I think you should avoid further angering a representative of the Shadow Thieves. You’d be surprised how much of your head I can fit through this slot.”
Still pressed against the eye-slot, the bouncer made a muffled reply and fumbled for the door latch. As it creaked open, Derrick released his hold on the bouncer’s face and kicked the door open all the way, knocking the doorman off to the side.
The smoke and alcohol fumes in the air couldn’t mask the stench of criminal activity in the room. There were probably enough crooks in the bar-hall for every guard in the city. Myrk subtly pointed toward a stocky bald man eating a steak at a table off to the side of the room. As they approached Scrap’s table, the door-bouncer, still holding his nose in pain, curried ahead of them and over to the tavern owner’s side, whispering something in the man’s ear.
(5:49)
“So, Myrk the whisper-man returns,” Scrap announced with exaggerated flair, not bothering to put his fork and knife down, “and with some muscle, no less.” He cast an unconcerned glance at Derrick.
Including the door-man, there were three goons standing around the owner of the tavern; one rubbing his nose in anger, two with their muscular arms folded in front of their chests in a stance of defiance.
Scrap gestured at a vacant chair across from him, “And here I thought you wouldn’t have the spine to return, after the beating we gave you.” Myrk sat down, glaring as Scrap continued, “Perhaps you or your muscle would care for a drink? Tethyrian ale?”
One of the goons pushed a bottle of green liquid across the table toward them, which Myrk began to reach for. Derrick moved to stand beside the seated Shadow Thief, lightly tapping Myrk’s chair with his foot, shaking his head slightly.
Myrk wisely withdrew from the bottle and focused on Scrap, “That wasn’t the smartest thing to do, beating up a member of the local thieves’ guild. Right, Derrick?”
Derrick frowned at Myrk’s sloppily casual mention of his name.
Scrap smiled, displaying his metal teeth, “Come now, we let you live, didn’t we? Besides, your quarrel is with Flink and his associates, not me. If you truly want the money you were promised, I suppose I could spare-”
“We don’t care about the money, this is a debt of honour.” Derrick interrupted.
The tavern owner kept his eyes on Myrk, “I’m sorry, but Flink is no longer here. If you want to claim a few halfling scalps, you’ll have to look elsewhere. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my meal without being bothered by a couple of creepy-cloaked sneaks.”
This time, Derrick leaned in, his head hovering just above the bottle, “What if I told you there were a dozen assassins waiting nearby outside the building?”
“I’d say you were lying. There is no way Orwin would send twelve agents as revenge for beating up a single whelp.” At that point, a waiter came over to Scrap, mug of ale in hand, “Ah, thank you, Gend.” Before Gend could return to the bar, Scrap put his fork and knife down and caught the waiter by the arm, “Gend, please go outside and take a look around the neighbourhood. Then come back and tell me if you see any unusual figures lingering about.”
When he turned back to the thieves, Derrick saw the tavern owner make a subtle tapping gesture toward someone behind them. “Now if you are really this eager to find Flink…”
Derrick sensed movement from behind, and in a fluid motion, snatched up the ale bottle from the table and swung it around in a half-circle at the goon approaching them. The bottle broke against the strong-arm’s head, sending him keeling to the floor.
Spinning back to the table, Derrick swung the neck of the broken bottle at the other three goons advancing on him, “Go, get out of here!” he shouted, kicking Myrk out of the chair. Myrk scrambled to his feet and raced for the door.
As one of the bouncers turned to seize the whisper-man, Derrick grabbed the chair from the ground and hurled it into the goon’s path, sending another strong-arm tripping to the floor. The ex-thief slashed at a third bouncer, cutting the man across the arm as he grabbed Derrick by the wrist. At that point, rather than patiently wait for their struggle to finish, the fourth remaining bouncer tackled Derrick to the floor, mercilessly pummeling him into submission.
Myrk yanked the door open and stepped outside… to crash into a taller, narrow-faced man in leather armour. Dace aimed a dagger at the whisper-man and pointed inside the tavern. Resigned, Myrk turned around and stepped back in. Rather than let him walk all the way, Dace grabbed a plank of wood from outside and slammed it down against the back of Myrk’s skull.
Scrap gave a dismissive gesture, and the thugs backed away from the fallen ex-thief. Hovering over Derrick’s unconscious form, Scrap nodded to Dace as he dragged Myrk closer. “Bring them downstairs,” Dace ordered as he dropped Myrk down, “Melik will want to deal with this.”
(5:56)
Ayva sat up as Jena came back in, her knapsack partially filled with foodstuffs and clothing. Setting the bag down beside the closet, Jena leaned over and started shuffling through the boxes within.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on? What does ‘the rivers are red’ mean?” demanded Ayva.
“It’s a key-phrase Derrick made me memorize about five years ago. If he ever gave me that message, it meant that he was in danger, and that I was to get Bryn out of the city as soon as possible.”
Ayva glanced at the mugger’s dagger on the nightstand, “Fine, so when do you think Derrick will meet us?”
Jena shook her head as she leaned further into the closet, “He won’t be. I’m going to get Bryn to the Friendly Arms Inn; from there we’ll probably hear if anything happened to Derrick.”
“Wait, do you mean Derrick isn’t going to come here or join us along the way?” Ayva swung her feet out of the bed and stepped toward Jena.
“That’s right. Could you go to the kitchen and-”
Ayva swiped the dagger from the stand and stabbed Jena in the back, cupping a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. After quickly stabbing her three more times, Ayva finally let go once Jena had stopped struggling.
Letting the dead woman fall to the floor, Ayva tossed the weapon aside and frowned to herself. Derrick was still out there, and now she had no leads to find him… but she still had his son. Dragging the body into the closet, Ayva hoped it wasn’t too late to find her target…
[6:00]
|
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 12 Jun 2004 : 00:28:25
[4:00] Many Degrees of Truth
Bryn stared at the boiling liquid, “Is it done yet?”
Jena shook her head, keeping an eye on the glass apparatus covering her table, “No, and stop asking that. Alchemy is a very fine art. One mistake and she’ll be throwing up for a week.” She adjusted the beaker over the small flame, watching the blue tonic bubble.
Bryn peeked in the bedroom where Ayva lay unconscious, an irritated furrow etched on her brow.
“So, Bryn,” his aunt asked, “you said that your father hired her to mind the store? I wasn’t aware business was doing so well.”
“Some adventurer recently sold him a large collection of artifacts that they had found on their past adventures. I guess dad needed an extra hand to keep track of it all.”
Jena placed a vial beneath a dropper, “Does Ayva know about your father’s old occupation?”
“Nope! Dad has been pretty firm about keeping his time as a thief under lock and key. Ayva doesn’t know a thing.”
“Good.” She mumbled, “the last thing he needs is a yapper from off the street digging up dirt on him.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure dad’s doing just fine. Nothing can bother him.”
(4:05)
There was a slight, unsettling chill as Derrick walked past a woman in the hallway to Orwin’s office. He wasn’t looking directly at her, but Derrick’s instincts told him that there was frigid contempt in her eyes.
Derrick shoved the door open and entered without knocking, “Alright Orwin, I’ve busted your agent out of jail. Now I want some help from the guild.”
Orwin grunted in acknowledgement as he looked from Derrick to Myrk, “While I am glad that you saved me the trouble of having Myrk sprung, I don’t recall agreeing to any reward for your trouble.”
“There’s a bigger plan going on here. The murder at Rombis’ tavern and Myrk’s shipment of explosives both tie in to something significant, and I’m willing to bet it’s the foreign envoys visiting the city!”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Orwin waved his hand in dismissal, hoping that Derrick would leave.
“Then you must be a particularly incompetent guild leader, because I would have expected you to be all over the diplomats’ meeting.”
“My hands are full right now. I have dead thieves popping up at every turn, and I can’t spare any resources for your little crusade,” the guild leader sighed, “If you’re so desperate for help, you can bring Myrk after I’ve had a word with him.”
With some reluctance, Derrick stepped outside. He couldn’t listen at the door since someone had apparently placed a warding symbol upon the frame that magically prevented all sound from escaping the room.
Derrick knew he was going to need some better equipment if he wanted to face this ‘Flink’ character. Stepping softly, he made his way through the complex toward the guild armoury.
(4:13)
Vellin looked at the scrap of paper in his hand to confirm the building. He was standing outside a shipping company warehouse near the docks. According to the notes that Myrk had written for Derrick, the sea trader that owned the building was the one who brought the shipment of infernus fluid into Baldur’s Gate.
Stacks of crates decorated the interior of the building, making the place look like a huge wooden labyrinth.
“Hello?” the Inquisitor shouted, “Step forward in the name of the Church of Tyr!”
He was met with silence for a few moments, then heard a slight scraping noise as a middle-aged man with a poor shave stepped into view.
“Aye? What ye be needing, sir knight?” the sea trader asked.
Vellin sensed a definite aura of deception from the man, “I’m told that you have conducted business with a person called ‘Myrk’.”
“Nay sir, never heard of him. Self-respecting merchants like me don’t associate with thieves.” He spat on the ground.
“I never said he was a thief.”
“Aye? Well, I figure I might’ve heard a word or two, but knowing someone isn’t the same as knowing of someone.”
“Indeed,” Vellin said as they began to walk through the warehouse. He pointed at a few shipping labels as they passed, “Your clients are certainly far-reaching. Lantan, Luskan, Calimport… lots of criminal activity in Calimport if I’m not mistaken.”
“Just a simple merchant, sir. “ The trader was doing a poor job of acting nonchalant. Vellin could see his face and neck starting to redden.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about a recent cargo of infernus fluid, would you?” The trader shook his head a little too quickly. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I search through your business records. Where is your office?”
“Ah, it’s right over there.” The merchant pointed past the paladin. As soon as Vellin turned to look, he felt a heavy blow across his head, knocking him to the floor.
The trader threw the small crate back down and bolted off. The paladin pulled himself up and touched the back of his helmet. Great, now he’d have to have that dent repaired.
The sea trader slammed at the door with his shoulder, only to find that someone had barred it shut from the outside. Swearing under his breath, the suspect darted between a series of crates, running through the maze toward the exit at the opposite side of the building.
Vellin could hear the trader’s footsteps echoing behind the boxes, but the paladin knew that his quarry had the familiar advantage in this place.
(4:20)
Atamir was busy rifling through the papers atop the sea merchant’s desk as he heard the commotion just outside the office. He’d arrived just in time to hear most of the paladin’s conversation, and had ordered Ponn to block the exit doors from the outside.
One advantage that the guard captain had over the paladin was that he knew the layout of this building. Atamir had investigated and arrested the sea merchant several times before on smuggling charges.
“Ah, here’s something of note.” He found a delivery order with a very rough map drawn on it. ‘Bring infernus fluid to Shadow Myrk at sundown. Collect payment from him after he’s sold the stuff at the Silver Spike.’
Atamir smirked at his find. The Silver Spike was one of several disreputable taverns down on Southside Row. The Captain couldn’t wait to start cracking heads.
(4:23)
The sea merchant moved carefully, listening for the telltale clanking sounds of the paladin’s approach. Silence. The trader sighed in relief as he reached the other exit. A stack of crates toppled over, blocking his path. The Inquisitor had removed all his armour, save his helmet, and stepped into view through the newly made gap.
The suspect skidded to a stop and tried to scramble up a tower of crates. Vellin managed to snatch the suspect by the ankle and yanked him down. As he fell backward, the merchant’s head struck the floor and a box clonked on the brow, putting him out cold.
“Blast,” muttered the Inquisitor as he tried to wake the man. He hoisted the merchant up and dragged the unconscious suspect to the door just in time to see a familiar plume-helmed Captain riding away toward the city’s south district.
Vellin grit his teeth. The Captain was severely overstepping his bounds, and there would be hell to pay… as soon as he dealt with his current suspect.
(4:29)
Orwin, looking very agitated, led Myrk out of his office, “You’ll receive no sympathy from me. Truth be known, I probably would have let you rot in prison for a few more days, had I been fully informed of your actions.”
Myrk shrugged, “Well, you of all people should know that underhanded deeds are sometimes worth the risk.”
The guild leader halted, “And what is that supposed to mean, whisper-man?”
“Derrick told me about that golem encounter you had on some job a while back.”
Orwin’s sneer returned, “So he’s bringing out the dead now, is he?”
“What?”
“Did he tell you the pressure I was under to complete that job? Did he tell you why we were doing it in the first place?” His tone had become cold.
“He only said that the two of you and some others were trying to recover some treasure.”
“Hm. I won’t stand for him releasing burnt words about me. Listen carefully to my side of the story.” They resumed their pace as Orwin spoke, “I had been contracted by a once-rich noble from Waterdeep to search for a group of bandits. Several weeks earlier they had attacked his travelling entourage on the road and made off with the last remnants of his declining wealth. What really pushed him, however, was the fact that his only daughter had apparently been killed during the fight; they found part of a bloodied dress on a nearby shore.
“This noble promised me a large cut of the treasure and his eternal support for the guild if we could successfully recover it and kill the bandits in retribution. There were four of us; I was new to this particular guildhouse at the time, so I brought Cerdan and Derrick since they were two of the best thieves here. The fourth party member was Rombis, a dwarf from up north. He had possession of this gnomish airship that we used to reach the mountain lair.”
Myrk raised his hand slightly, “Uh, Derrick already told me this part.”
“Well, in any case, as we were searching the caves, Derrick accidentally set off an alarm of some kind that activated the golem. While we fled, I had pulled out my dagger to cut the ropes on this old bridge we were crossing. Derrick thought I was going to attack him and tried to shove me over the side. Instead I tripped, accidentally slashing his leg in the process. Luckily, we still made it to the other side ahead of the golem. I cut the suspension ropes, sending the golem down into the pit below.
The young thief scratched his head, “So all this bad blood was caused by a little misunderstanding?” Myrk asked.
“Did he tell you anything else?”
“Uh, no. I don’t think so.”
“Then yes, that was exactly the cause.” Orwin looked about as they continued to pass through the guildhouse, “Where is Derrick anyway? That blighter had best not be causing trouble…”
(4:39)
Derrick was crouched in the shadows, listening to the voices coming from within the armoury. The woman he’d seen in the hallways a short while ago was busy gearing up along with half a dozen other thieves.
“…And be sure to keep a sharp eye out for any odd behaviour, should we meet someone down there. We may be dealing with a were-creature of some kind.” The woman said.
“Rassa, we’ve heard rumors that an ex-guild member is trying to usurp Orwin’s leadership in the guildhouse.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Rassa replied, “Orwin’s superiors wouldn’t allow that to happen. That doesn’t mean that Derrick isn’t a threat, however.” Derrick leaned closer to the door at the mention of his name.
“In fact,” she continued, “Orwin told me that we may be called upon later tonight if Derrick tries to make any more hostile moves against the boss.”
More hostile moves? Derrick wondered if Orwin loved that wooden desk a little more than he thought. Either that, or the guild leader was spreading lies again.
“Do we have enough silver blades?” Rassa was answered by several ‘ayes’, “Good. Let’s move out.”
Derrick flattened himself against the wall as the seven heavily armed killers filed out of the room. As the last one passed the threshold, Derrick quickly put his foot out to catch the armoury door before it slammed shut.
He went inside, closed the door behind him, and was utterly disappointed at the room’s paltry selection of weapons. Besides a few skimpy daggers and an unwieldy longbow, there was nothing he could easily conceal. Maybe Orwin wasn’t kidding about having so few resources available.
Fortunately, there were several sets of lockpicks, grappling hooks, and rope coils sitting nearby on a table. Derrick took a few dirks and one each of the tools, as well as a hooded black cloak that had been hanging on the wall above the table. As he draped it over his shoulders, he was pleased to discover a small blackjack concealed in a hidden pouch on the inner lining.
Just as he’d finished securing the rope to his belt, he heard a key being inserted into the lock on the door. Hiding beside the doorframe, Derrick held his breath as Rassa walked back into the room.
The woman didn’t see him as she went over to the wall where her cloak had been hanging. She came to a stop for a moment, then bent down and looked under the table. Rassa stood and turned to see Derrick slam her own blackjack down between her eyes.
(4:50)
The final drop splashed into the bottle. “Okay! Let’s go give it to her!” Bryn shouted a little too close to Jena’s ear.
“Sit down and be quiet, Bryn. I’ll give it to her, you go and unpack your things in your room. If your father wants you to stay in my house, you’ll have to stay by my rules.”
“Okay.” He started off, then snapped his fingers and turned back, “Oh, I think Ayva was supposed to give you a message of some kind. She didn’t actually tell me what it was, but I got the impression it was important.” He shrugged, “Or something.”
Jena turned toward the alchemy equipment and gingerly picked up the bottle, stopping it with a cork. There was a huge banging sound from down the hall, nearly causing her to drop the potion on the ground.
“Bryn,” she called, stepping into the hall, “Try not to break or knock over any of my things. I-”
She stopped in mid-step. Her door had been kicked open, and the mugger from outside was standing in the middle of the hall, dripping mud on her expensive carpet.
“’Ello, love.” He growled, “Nice place ye got ‘ere.” He rubbed the bruise on his head, “But I’m afraid I owe ye a little something ‘ere.” He drew his dagger, and advanced on her.
Jena pulled out her mace, and stood her ground.
(4:57)
Rombis let out a displeased growl as he raised his head from the stone floor. “Rrrrr… where am I?”
“You are in a holding cell. Against your will, I imagine,” came a cold reply from nearby.
The dwarf looked up and squinted through bruised eyes to see the dim image of a green-veiled woman standing over him. “What am I doing here?”
“I’m afraid that question is moot. You are no longer required. I’ve already searched your tavern; you don’t have what we seek. And I doubt you would be of any possible value to us in the future. I could use a spell to fog your memory, but I am unwilling to take such a foolish risk.” She closed her eyes and made a complicated gesture with her hand, mumbling incoherently under her breath.
Her hand began to glow an angry red, and she lightly touched the groggy dwarf on the forehead with one finger. Rombis’ eyes went stark wide, his face went pale, his breathing stopped, and the dwarf fell backward.
“Death is the only real justice in the world.” The woman adjusted her green veil, and walked away, leaving yet another corpse in her wake.
[5:00]
|
| Hymn |
Posted - 06 Jun 2004 : 02:48:08
Oh our own 24 here at Candlekeep Sorry Couldn't resist. Great so far, btw you forgot to mention if the familiars of the wizards where harmed in any way? |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 06 Jun 2004 : 01:59:58
No rogues were harmed (much) in the making of this story.
[3:00] Whispers and Lies
In the single second that it took for the bolt to fly toward them, Derrick felt a strong tingling coming from the dagger in his hand. Almost moving on its own accord, the weapon angled itself to the right, twisting Derrick’s hand around as the bolt struck.
But instead of striking him in the face, the missile was deflected by the blade and crashed into the wall. Both Atamir and Derrick stared in amazement as the magical dagger, its power now spent, shattered into millions of tiny glass-like bits. Maybe it wasn’t so useless after all.
Derrick was the first to recover from the surprise and managed to bring out Myrk’s dagger before Atamir could prepare a second shot.
“For that, I ought to kill this one here and now,” Derrick tried to make the threat sound as genuine as possible, “Drop your crossbow, now!”
Left with no other alternative, the Captain reluctantly obeyed, “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one behind the tavern murder!”
Derrick didn’t answer. He kept the weapon pointed at the hapless Lieutenant’s throat as he moved them backward to the entrance of the alley. When they rounded the corner, Derrick suddenly kicked Ponn in the back of the knees, knocking the guard forward onto his face. The thief bolted out into the street, frantically looking around for an escape.
“Derrick!” Myrk came into sight, riding a horse that wore the insignia of the Church of Tyr.
“Go, ride!!” Derrick hollered as he practically jumped on the back of the large steed. Myrk kicked the horse up to speed and they rode off into the crowd as Atamir and Ponn emerged from the alley.
“Halt!” Atamir shouted ineffectually. He fired another bolt at the escaping pair, but it missed as Derrick shouted for Myrk to keep his head low. The Captain swore to himself, it was too crowded for a good hit.
(3:05)
Vellin ran out of the jailhouse in time to see Atamir recklessly shooting a bolt into the crowd.
“Captain!!” he bellowed, not seeing the thieves as they vanished down the street, “I order you to put your weapon away! You should be court-martialed for such irresponsibility!”
Atamir lowered the crossbow, but kept it in his hands. “I think the finger of irresponsibility points squarely at you, Inquisitor. How could you let those murderers escape?”
“We have no evidence at this time to suggest that they were the murderers, I was simply gathering-”
The Captain turned to Ponn, “The second dagger that he held to your neck… it matched the description of the murder weapon, didn’t it?”
“You… you shot at me.” Ponn managed to get out.
“Relax, I’m a crack-shot with a crossbow. I can put out an eye from a block away, as long as the way is clear. Now, about that dagger the thief was-”
“I’ll handle all the leads for this investigation, Captain,” interrupted the Inquisitor, “You were ordered to leave this matter to the Church. Which begs the question, why in Tyr’s name are you here?”
“I’m here because as the Captain of the Guard, I have the authority to take part in any murder inquiry that occurs in my city. And there is no way that I’ll allow some holy usurper to violate my precinct.”
Vellin’s frustration was beginning to surface, “You’re delusional. I’m here to ensure the diplomats’ safety.”
“If they’re in such danger, why don’t you just have a messenger tell them to turn back before they get here?”
“Preposterous. You expect an entire convoy of foreign emissaries to pack up and turn around after weeks of laborious travel, mere hours from their destination? We’re trying to forge better relations with other Sword Coast kingdoms, and that will never happen if we are scared off by a few sneak-thieves.”
Atamir noticed that Vellin was holding a scrap of parchment in his hand. It was the note that Myrk had scribbled for Derrick.
“Now,” the paladin regained his composure, “since the thieves have stolen my horse, I am going to have to borrow one of yours.” Before Atamir could protest, Vellin held up a hand, “I don’t care if you’re angry, you shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”
Atamir stared at him as the paladin rode off, “Ponn, go find another horse. Our work today isn’t finished.”
(3:12)
Melik paced across the room, mumbling to himself incoherently while Flink fidgeted at the table. The gnome was seriously reconsidering Terrence’s involvement in the job. The con artist was reckless, and likely to split from their plan at the drop of a hat. Still, it was too late to change anything, and losing a member of their team at this point would not create the best outcome. Melik had set out his plans… now all he could do was hope for competence.
Flink peeked inside one of the packages, “Ooh! What’s this thing?” he started poking at the shiny green crystal inside.
“Don’t touch that!!” Melik screamed, yanking the curious halfling away.
“Why? What’s so important about these gems?” he asked, still fascinated by the crystal’s glow.
The gnomish wizard grunted. Flink had only been hired as a general goon, a go-to guy for the menial tasks. Then again, it probably wouldn’t hurt to let him in on the details… besides, Melik needed something to keep his mind off Terrence.
He pointed a bony finger at the table, “These crystals have been magically infused with infernus fluid, a particularly volatile alchemical substance. They will ensure that the diplomats suffer a fiery death.” He carefully wrapped the artifact again, “Ever heard of infernus fluid? Dangerous stuff. Makes a huge explosion if you just shake it up. Fortunately, with the right magic, it can be sealed on these Lantan crystals so Terrence can carry them undetected… and without killing himself at every step.”
“But they’ll still blow up?”
“Yes. If you hit it sharply, it begins a reaction that will release the energy within. Enough force to destroy an entire room. The only problem is that it’s hard to portion out the fluid with the size of each crystal, so it takes anywhere from one to five minutes before the shard goes off.”
“That doesn’t leave Terrence much time to escape.” Flink remarked.
“That’s why he needs to have the plan memorized perfectly.”
The halfling foolishly reached out for the crystal again. Melik smacked his hand away, “If you try touching those again, I will burn your arm off.” Flink withdrew. “Good. Now go fetch Terrence and Dace for me. After the mission is over, you can go ahead and blow yourself up as many times as you like.”
(3:19)
“Mmm. You really should try their steak. Needs a little salt, but it’s not that bad. By the way, find me a shaker.” Terrence said with a mouthful, smacking loudly.
Dace simply sat quietly, a lone glass of water untouched before him. He cast his gaze out across the tavern. It was a typical underworld dive; shady dealings going on at every table, gambling and debauchery everywhere. His kind of place.
“You seem awfully relaxed. I question whether you are focused on the gravity of this matter.”
“Eh, you all need to relax some.” Terrence put his fork down and leaned over to poke Dace on the chest. “Even a board isn’t as stiff as you.”
Dace didn’t answer, as he was watching a drunk half-orc barbarian arguing with a waitress nearby.
“What you mean you not take this money?!” the warrior threw a shiny bead at her. “Me kill half of tribe for this!” He shoved her roughly and roared. The tavern owner was nowhere in sight, which meant the waitress was left to deal with the unhappy customer on her own.
“Hmph. Can’t even eat a meal in peace these days.” Terrence muttered, sipping some ale and ignoring the scene.
The half-orc felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Dace standing before him. The warrior looked down, “Go away, little man. Me busy.” He faced the waitress again, but felt a slight sting in his lower back.
Whirling, he sent a chunky fist into the area where Dace’s head was supposed to be, but the mercenary was already on the move, dodging under the arm and pricking the half-orc in the side a few more times with a plain short sword.
The savage chuckled, “What? Little man with little knife think he can beat me?”
Dace spoke evenly, “I was not trying to beat you. I was distracting you from this rope I was looping around your legs.” He held up an end of cord.
The half-orc looked down with a puzzled grunt and saw that the cord was entwined about his ankles. Dace yanked on the end of the rope with surprising force, toppling the half-orc backward onto the table.
The assassin hoisted the barbarian by the collar and half-led, half-dragged the stunned half-orc out the door, where he left the drunk reacquainted with the taste of pavement. The rest of the tavern watched for a moment as Dace returned to his table, then went back to their own conversations.
He sat back down and continued to stare at Terrence in silence as if nothing had happened.
“Eh, I could have done that myself if I didn’t have an ale mug in my hand,” remarked Terrence, as his companion returned. “Now where’s that salt shaker?”
Flink, who had been waiting patiently in the shadows, stepped out and tapped Terrence on the shoulder, “Melik wants to see you two downstairs.”
Terrence snorted. “What? Did he slip in the bathtub again? I’ll be down when I finish my meal.”
Dace slowly came around to the other side of the table, leaned over Terrence’s plate, and spat on the steak. He stood straight and gave the offended Terrence an uncaring look, “You are finished. Business takes priority.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to pick up the tab.”
(3:27)
“Come on now, not too far from ‘ere,” said the thief as he led his friend through the dank sewer tunnels.
“You sure it’s safe for us to be leavin’ our posts for a drink?”
“Pshaw! ‘Course it is! The boss is too caught up right now with some former rival who paid ‘im a visit a little while ago. Real upset about it. No one will notice we’re gone.”
“Why’s he so upset?”
The thief came to a stop near an intersection and pried up one of the floor plates, revealing a stash of liquor beneath. “Don’t rightly know, except for the rumors.” He passed his friend a bottle, “Some say that Derrick holds a grudge because Orwin once cheated him out of a cut on a rich job. Others say that he’s bitter for Orwin being promoted to guildhouse leader instead of him.”
“Heh, well I’d-” The other thief peered into the shadows at the other end of the tunnel, “Wait, did you see something move over there?”
Drawing his weapon, he motioned for his friend to stay put, and creeped forward into the darkness. When he peeked around the corner, his body went still and dropped his sword in shock.
“What is it? What’s the pr-” his friend also halted when he saw the gruesome scene. At least six fresh corpses were strewn about the corridor, throats bloody and bodies covered with large bite marks. Red entrails coated the walls of the tunnel in messy patterns.
They stared for a few moments until one thief regained his voice, “Uh, maybe I should put my drink back into the floor.”
“I think I already did,” said the other as a pool of liquid formed around his feet.
(3:37)
Derrick smacked the horse with the prison guard’s sword, sending the animal on an aimless trot through the crowded streets. Two low-class commoners riding a knight of Tyr’s steed would probably attract attention. The thieves were close enough to the guild to continue on foot now that they were safe from the city guard, for the moment at least.
He led Myrk down an alleyway, constantly glancing about for anyone who might be following, “Now that we have the time to chat, perhaps you’d care to tell me how your dagger ended up at a murder scene several hours ago.” Derrick held out Myrk’s dagger.
The younger thief gingerly took the weapon, “My blade! I thought I’d lost it to Flink the other day! Well, thanks, guvnah!”
“Stop calling me that. And Flink? Who’s that?”
Myrk tucked the dagger into his tunic, “He was this halfling lad who wanted me to acquire a few vials of black market goods for him. Chipper fellow, smelled a bit like fish.”
“Wait, is that why you were arrested? For dealing in contraband?”
“Yep! I just happened to know a guy who knew another guy who had a few vials of some stuff called ‘infernus fluid’ for sale.” Myrk suddenly paused, a look of worry crossing his face, “Uh, please don’t tell Orwin or any of the guild lieutenants. They won’t be very happy if they found out I was making illegal deals on the side.” He leaned in conspiratorially, “I’m only supposed to trade information, but I was looking to make a little extra clink on the side, know what I mean?”
From his experience as a pawnshop owner, Derrick knew precisely what infernus fluid was… and it didn’t spell anything pleasant on his ever-growing list of problems. “Alright fine, so what exactly happened when you tried to sell the vials to this halfling?”
“He snitched me! I brought five vials to our meeting place, and there must have been four- no, EIGHT huge, muscle-bound guys waiting there with him! I bravely tried to fight them off,” Derrick snorted at this, “but one of them got a lucky hit and cracked me upside the head. When I came to, I was in an alley somewhere, but I found I still had one of those vials… and a few paladins hovering over me. I guess you know the rest, guvnah.”
Derrick frowned, “As much as I’d prefer not to, we’re going to have to tell Orwin about this. This ‘Flink’ must be trying to pin the guild for a crime… and I don’t just mean the murder or the infernus fluid.”
“What’s your problem with the boss, anyway? Did he cheat you on a deal, or what?”
“He didn’t just cheat me. It was much worse.” Derrick saw Myrk’s expectant look, “In a nutshell, Orwin had been hired to do a job for some noble by the name of Siron. I don’t know all the details except that he was from some place down south. Anyway, Orwin pulled in a few of us to help him search for a large treasure hoard that had been stolen from the noble by a group of bandits. They were hiding out in a mountain range nearby, so we had to hire out this gnomish airship to get the jump on them.” Derrick absently tapped the hilt of his sword, “Fighting them wasn’t hard at all. They were amateurs… probably working for someone else.
“Anyway, Orwin and I had broken off from the rest of the group to explore the deeper caverns, but one of us must have tripped a magical ward… which activated a flesh golem to stop us. We tried running from it, but it kept gaining… and that’s when Orwin stabbed me in the leg with his dagger.” He traced a finger across his thigh, “Left a deep gash right here.”
“Did the golem kill you?” Myrk asked stupidly.
“I’m here, aren’t I? Orwin had stabbed me while we were crossing a rope bridge across a pit. He figured the golem would stop to crush me, but I managed to limp to the other side. I had to yank Orwin’s dagger out of my leg and used it to slash the ropes, dropping the golem into the pit.”
“And that’s why you hate him?”
“No, that wasn’t even the worst part of the story. But enough of that, we’re here.” He stepped around a corner and saw that the two thieves that he’d given a thrashing were still at their posts. Derrick called out to them, “No need to get up this time, we’ll be letting ourselves in.”
(3:50)
“We don’t know exactly which rooms the targets will be staying in, so make a few inquiries inside. Now, do you know what this is for?” Melik asked, holding the hammer up.
“Pounding bossy, fat gnomes into tiny, flat ones?” Terrence responded.
Melik was just about ready to bash the con artist in the groin when someone came down the stairs. It was Scrap, the heavyset owner of the seedy tavern.
“You!” he thrust a hairy finger at Dace, who was lounging calmly at a card table, “I don’t appreciate you throwing my customers onto the street!” He prodded Dace in the chest.
The mercenary slowly stood and met scrap’s eyes, “And I do not appreciate tavern-keepers who are too stupid to know the difference between ‘customers’ and ‘drunken riffraff’. We are paying you well enough. Do not expect us to bend over backward to improve your business service.”
Scrap snarled slightly at the smaller man, but backed off and headed for the stairs.
“And Scrap,” Dace called, “if you ever touch me again, I will chop off your hand.” Scrap pretended not to hear as he vanished into the tavern.
Terrence looked at Melik, “Now why can’t you and I have that kind of loving relationship?”
The gnome made a disgusted face. He couldn’t wait for this to be over.
(3:54)
The constant sound of his heels clacking on the wooden floor was becoming irritating. Orwin stopped his noisy pacing and looked at Rassa, the guild agent seated in his office. She was one of the three lieutenants in Orwin’s guildhouse; her specialty was murder and assassination.
“Are you certain this report is accurate?”
“Yes, sir, it came from two of our best scouts,” said the guild assassin, “And shouldn’t the other lieutenants be here for this?”
“Cerdan has already left for the day, and I’ve sent Tomar out of the city on assignment.” Orwin slumped in his chair. He’d just learned that a team of his best thieves was found slain in the sewers, in a position dangerously close to the guildhouse. “So what was it? Mercenaries? Sewer trolls?”
“Judging by the teeth marks,” Orwin winced as she mentioned this, “it looked like they were attacked by some kind of feral creatures. Could have been werewolves, gnolls, or even rakshasa. Difficult to say without a ranger or druid at hand.”
“Well, this is just what I need. Between the sewer killings, Derrick’s return, the tavern murder, and today’s summit gathering, it’s a wonder that my head doesn’t just explode right now.”
“I wish to bring a squad of assassins into the sewers to hunt down whatever is responsible for this massacre.”
“Do so. But get back here before midnight. I may require your aid to take care of a certain problem called ‘Derrick’.” The guild leader toyed with a knife in his hand before planting it in the same groove that Derrick had made in his desk.
[4:00] |
| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 31 May 2004 : 17:15:13
No clerics or paladins were harmed in the making of this story.
[2:00] Jailbreak
If he’d known Myrk was being held in this particular jail, he wouldn’t have needed the map from Cerdan. Staring up at the worn sign above the front doors brought back memories of the nights Derrick had spent languishing in cells on the rare occasion he got sloppy on a thieving run. Baldur’s Gate city jail… a crumbling brown stone building where the rats ate cleaner meals than the inmates. The place hadn’t changed at all.
Of course, that would make the task easier, since Derrick remembered the basic layout from all those years ago. The isolation prisoners were kept on the opposite wing of the prison, well away from the common convicts. Unfortunately, no one was allowed on that side of the jail without armed guard escorts; a single thief, even a particularly skilled one, couldn’t possibly penetrate that side without an arsenal of tools.
Since he couldn’t smuggle Myrk away without anyone noticing, Derrick chose a more direct approach. He confidently marched inside, approaching the officer at the main desk. “Guard! I have been sent by the Church of Tyr to speak with the Shadow Thief held in solitary confinement.”
The bored guard glanced up and down at Derrick, “You don’t look like a paladin.”
Derrick kept his chin up and tried to keep his tone steady and forceful, “That’s because I am a covert operative, skilled in the workings of the criminal underground. If I wore my armour then the thieves would spot me from a mile away and seal their lips.”
The ex-thief’s bluff seemed to catch the dense guard’s attention, but didn’t completely win him over, “I see. I’ll have to take a look at your holy symbol then-”
“Aren’t you listening?” Derrick said in mock frustration, “Why would I ruin my disguise by carrying around a symbol of Tyr? Look, I only want to speak with the prisoner. I am not asking to have him set free.”
The guard frowned, “Hm, well, two of our guards will have to be present to monitor your interrogation.”
“Good. Show me to him.” A pair of guards were summoned and led the way to Myrk’s cell. (2:06)
They escorted Derrick through several hallways to the very end of the building. There were no windows in this prison wing, the wall were lined with only a scant handful of torches that did a poor job of staving off the shadows. The guards ushered Derrick into one of the few occupied cells, and assumed positions on either side of the door.
Lounging atop the straw ‘carpet’ covering the floor was a young, skinny man… Myrk the Shadow Thief. There was nothing else in the cell, save for a bucket of unclean water and a hungry-looking rat in the corner. Derrick removed a torch from the wall outside and stepped closer, nudging the guild member with his foot. “Awake thief, surely a whisper-man like yourself would have something I might want to hear.”
Myrk gazed up with scorn in his eyes as Derrick continued with his charade. “The Church of Tyr demands your cooperation.” With his left hand, Derrick made an exaggerated sweeping gesture with the torch, meant to distract the guards from his right hand, which was subtly gesturing out the thieves’ sign to Myrk.
The prisoner took notice and sat up slowly, “Might be willing to help you, guvnah, if it means I’ll be getting out of here sooner.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Derrick began to pace the cell, stealing glances at the guards’ swords, “Firstly, you were carrying illegal materials. Give me the names of the people with whom you were trading these artifacts.” With his back to the guards, Derrick pressed his finger to his lips and handed Myrk a scrap of parchment with a piece of charcoal.
The guards, though curious, did not break from their positions. As Myrk began writing, Derrick moved between the two guards by cell door and leaned on the bars, send a wary glance down the darkened corridor.
(2:15)
Ayva struggled to keep up as Bryn mantled over a wooden fence in a nameless alleyway, somewhere in the southeastern district of the city.
“You sure you don’t know why dad’s in trouble?” asked the 10-year-old as he patiently waited for the store assistant to finish climbing the fence.
She shook her head, “No,” Ayva said between breaths, “I only know that he wants to meet us at your aunt’s house. The last time I saw him, he said he was going to visit an old friend, Rombis, at the tavern down the street… who knows what danger he might have encountered.” She leaped down to the ground and muttered under her breath, “Though it’s no surprise, considering his former lifestyle with the guild.”
Bryn didn’t hear her last sentence, “Come on, it won’t take too much time from here as long as we make a few more shortcuts. Though you may get a little muddy along the way…” The streetwise boy smirked and zipped down the alley, forcing Ayva to race after him in frustration.
(2:18)
Inquisitor Vellin rode up to the prison entrance and tethered his horse to a wooden post outside. The desk guard within gave a short salute as the paladin approached, “Good day, sir knight. One of your men is currently inside, questioning the prisoner in isolation.”
The paladin’s eyebrows went up, “What do you mean ‘one of my men’? No one was supposed to see the prisoner except for me!”
“Er, he claimed that he was an undercover operative and-”
Vellin drew his sword, “Alert all the prison g-” He stopped as he felt a slight stirring in the back of his mind.
He heard Selena’s voice in his head, ‘Vellin, the clerics here at the Church have performed their divination, but for some reason they cannot commune with the wizard’s spirit. Strange, considering he has only been dead for a few hours.’
‘Did you or anyone else at the Church send someone to speak with the Shadow Thief we arrested yesterday?’ Vellin asked mentally.
‘No, it was made clear that he was your own responsibility. Do you want me to send someone?’
Vellin thought back a negative reply, ‘No, I’ll handle this myself. Did you find out anything at all about the victim?’
‘Yes, but not much. Only that he was an Athkatlan wizard by the name of Verskul who came to the city very recently. We’re having an unusual amount of difficulty divining anything else about him, however.’
‘Understood. Keep me apprised of what you find.’ Vellin felt the stirring stop as the telepathic spell was ended. The magical earring wouldn’t be able to activate for several hours, so he wouldn’t be hearing from her for a while.
During the exchange, the desk guard had been waiting uneasily as Vellin seemed to stare silently at the wall. When the paladin came out of the momentary trance, he turned back to the guard and continued speaking as if nothing had happened, “Round up a squad of guards and take me to the Shadow Thief’s cell. I don’t think this ‘interrogator’ should be speaking with him. And let no one exit the building without my leave.”
The paladin suddenly became aware of a very slight tingling along the back of his spine and on his fingertips; the telltale signs for any paladin (especially Inquisitors) that some kind of deception was near.
(2:26)
Derrick held the notes scribbled by Myrk in his hand, pretending to take a long time reading it over and over. In fact, he was listening carefully to the soft echoes against the stone halls that were coming from elsewhere in the building. It sounded like steady, disciplined marching.
“Here, hold this.” He passed the parchment to one of the guards, who took it in his hands with a bit of confusion.
Derrick suddenly lowered his other arm, letting the torch he held smack against the guard’s legs. A small flame quickly caught on his pants and the guard yelped, jumping away and smacking madly at his legs.
The second guard tore his gaze away from Myrk just in time to see the same heavy torch clobber him directly between the eyes. As the guard fell to the ground, Derrick yanked the sword from the guard’s belt and pointed it at the chin of the first guard, who had just beaten out the flame on his pants.
“Myrk, grab his weapon and the key-ring. We’re leaving.”
The skinny thief did so, and Derrick struck the guard over the head with the pommel, sending him into a not-so-pleasant slumber. He grabbed the keys and unlocked the door, “I think the other guards have figured out that I’m not supposed to be here. Quickly, grab all the torches from the walls and bring them to me.” As Myrk dashed along the hallway, Derrick snatched the bucket of stale water from the corner and began about his task…
(2:29)
“Out of the way! Make way for the city guard!” Ponn shouted as he and Captain Atamir made their way through the crowded streets toward the Baldur’s Gate jailhouse. Now fitted with complete arms and armour, they were ready to take on anyone fool enough to commit a crime in their jurisdiction.
Ponn turned to his superior, “Sir, I still don’t think it’s very wise of us to be defying the paladin’s orders… we should probably be hunting down the murderer from Rombis’ tavern.”
A slow frown crossed Atamir’s face, “We are hunting the murderer. The paladin must be holding someone who’s involved in this little conspiracy. If we can get a few minutes alone with this prisoner…”
“But shouldn’t we let the Inquisitor handle the questioning? His Order has a sixth sense for detecting lies and trickery.”
“I have a sixth sense too; the sense not to trust one of those cliché-spouting bucket heads.” The Captain noticed Ponn’s uneasy stare and sighed, “Let me tell you a little story, Lieutenant. I mentioned earlier that there was an ‘incident’ that changed my views on paladins…
“I used to be an adventurer. That’s how all these stories tend to get started. You know the type, zero experience, wandering the wild, killing rats for five gold apiece. I had a few friends who would join me on a quest every now and then… their names aren’t important. What’s important is the last job we ever did as a group.
“There’s a town a short ride to the south of here, Nashkel. My friends and I were passing through when we met up with a paladin of Torm who was hunting a criminal that was kidnapping children in the area. We struck out with the Tormite and tracked the man down, but he wouldn’t tell us where the kids were hidden. I was about to question the man further when the paladin intervened and shooed us off, placing the scoundrel under arrest.”
“Is that why you hate paladins? One of them hogged your glory?”
“No, that’s not why.” Atamir growled, “I heard later that the Tormite slew the criminal just after we left. Never even tried to interrogate him.” The Captain shook his head slightly, “They didn’t find the children until a year later… stranded in a cave pit and starved to death.”
The Captain fell silent as he watched a pair of street kids playing on the road, racing around a wagon.
Ponn waited a few moments, then spoke as gently as he could, “Well, you can hardly blame the entire Order if one of their number became a little overzealous in his duty. Even you tend to be like that sometimes.” As that last sentence came out, Ponn wished he could have stuffed those words back in.
“No. He was nothing like me.” Atamir’s words were soaked with venom, and his eyes bored into the Lieutenant, “And that wasn’t the end of the story. There was more to follow… but I don’t want to discuss it any further. Look, we’re almost at the jail.”
Ponn wisely kept his mouth shut.
(2:33)
The torches hissed as Myrk doused them in the bucket of water, causing the shadows in the hall to creep closer. “So, now what should we do?”
“Now for a little diversion.” Derrick turned and tossed the torch he was holding into Myrk’s cell, setting the straw carpet aflame. The fire was spreading slowly across the floor, but would quickly reach the two unconscious guards in a matter of minutes. Derrick pulled Myrk into the shadows near the door leading out of the isolation wing.
Vellin and the squad of guards crashed through the door and immediately saw the fire in the cell at the far end of the darkened room. Without pausing to consider the situation, the paladin rushed forward and spotted the two guards lying dangerously close to the flame.
“Quickly,” he barked at the other guards, “get those two out of the cell. You there, find some water and tell the desk guard-”
The door at the exit slammed shut. Derrick twisted the guard’s key, locking the paladin and his other guards in near-total darkness.
The thieves rushed down the hallway toward the lobby. Derrick peeked around the corner and saw the desk guard standing in the middle of the room, pacing around uncomfortably. Derrick sheathed his sword and beckoned to Myrk, dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’ll distract the guard. There was a dark alley across the street from here. Hide there and wait for me. But if you don’t see me within fifteen minutes, head back to the guild and tell them that Derrick sends his regards.”
“Wait. You’re Derrick?” Myrk looked puzzled, “The guild traitor? Orwin said that you-”
“I don’t give a donkey’s arse what Orwin says. And he isn’t the great leader he pretends to be. It’s a long story… maybe I’ll tell you later if we have time.” Derrick motioned for Myrk to stay down, then sprinted out across the room while the guard’s back was turned. He was already at the door when the dim guard finally noticed.
“Catch me if you can.” The ex-thief goaded as the guard started after him.
Derrick zipped out the door, confident that Myrk would be out shortly after. Fortune was working in his favour for a change, as the afternoon streets were thick with crowds of people.
(2:43)
Ayva caught Bryn rather roughly by the collar, “Stop… running so… quickly,” she panted.
“Hey, relax!” he grinned, not showing any fatigue at all, “My aunt’s house is just down there at the end of the alley.” He gestured toward the other side, “See? That little trip wasn’t too bad, we’re perfectly safe.”
At that moment, Ayva felt a heavy arm wrap itself around her neck and violently yank her backward into the shadows near the wall.
“Back off, kid, or she gets a taste o’ this!” hissed the street mugger, placing a dagger against the woman’s neck. Bryn, who had moved forward to punch the attacker in the groin, wisely lowered his fist and stepped back.
While the mugger was focused on Bryn, Ayva carefully reached into her tunic and grasped the concealed weapon she was carrying. She was suddenly slammed into the wall, banging her head with a disturbing ‘cracking’ sound against stone.
The mugger was about to search the woman’s pockets when he noticed that Bryn’s eyes weren’t directed at him or his victim. They were staring at something in the shadows behind them. The mugger turned in time to see a steel mace pitch forward, striking him on his crown.
Bryn smiled as the mugger fell like a bag of lead and waved to the mace-wielding newcomer, “Oh, hi aunt Jena!”
“Bryn?” his aunt lowered her mace, “What are you doing here? Where’s your father?” Jena looked down at his unconscious companion, “And who is this woman?”
“Her name’s Ayva, dad hired her a month ago to help around the shop.” He waited, expecting Ayva to respond, “Uh, she’s not waking up.”
“Well don’t just stand there, help me bring her inside. I’ll have to brew a healing potion.”
As they moved Ayva out of the alley, neither aunt nor nephew noticed the weapon that had fallen from Ayva’s robe into the mud nearby.
(2:48)
A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that he had lost the guard. Well, that seemed easy enough. Derrick quickly doubled back, weaving through the street toward the jail. He stepped into the alley where Myrk was supposed to be hiding. (2:55)
“Hey, Myrk? Where are you?” whispered Derrick, peering about the decently lit alleyway.
“Over here,” came a muffled reply from around a corner.
Moving around the bend, Derrick froze in his place. Standing about five metres away were two men wearing the official insignia of the City Guard. They both had full suits of ring mail armour, helmets, and one of them was aiming a crossbow at Derrick’s face. That one had a small red plume atop his helm, marking him as the captain.
“I’m sure a thieving rat like yourself knows this routine,” said Captain Atamir, peering down the length of the crossbow.
Derrick knew he wouldn’t have enough time to dodge the bolt. With slow, exaggerated movements, he unsheathed his sword and dropped it on the ground beside his feet, then spread his hands slightly and turned his back to the guards.
Atamir tilted his head at Ponn, “Lieutenant, go grab his weapon and bind his hands.”
The younger guard warily stepped forward holding a length of rope and began to edge closer. Derrick tilted his own head slightly, carefully gauging the distance of Ponn’s approaching footsteps. His eyes flicked down toward the sword. He had purposely dropped it at an angle so that he could vaguely see the area behind him in the blade’s reflection.
When Ponn came within arm’s reach, Derrick spun about to the side, positioning himself so Ponn was blocking the Captain’s shot. He quickly struck Ponn in the face followed by a slug to the gut, causing the surprised guard to pitch forward slightly.
The ex-thief grabbed the winded guard by the neck and flipped him around. In a flash, Derrick had whipped out a dagger, which he pressed hard against Ponn’s throat. The exchange occurred so fast that Atamir didn’t have enough time to shift to a better position.
Derrick met Atamir’s gaze over the hostage’s shoulder. There was a cold glare in the thief’s eyes… Derrick the Blade was back.
“And I’m sure a badge-monkey like yourself knows this routine. Drop the crossbow and step away.”
Atamir didn’t flinch or blink. For a brief moment, all breathing, all movement, all sounds seemed to come to a hanging stop.
“No deal.” He triggered the release and the crossbow bolt shot out at them.
[3:00]
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| Deverien Valandil |
Posted - 31 May 2004 : 17:00:57
No fighters were harmed in the making of this story either.
[1:00] Seeds of Discontent
Derrick folded his arms and stood his ground, unperturbed by the impending attack. “Very well. You’ve chosen this recourse.” His hand lashed the dagger out from within his jerkin, parrying the first thief’s attack.
Ducking low, he slammed his shoulder into the ruffian’s jaw, sending the thief crashing into his partner toward the ground. Kicking the short sword away from one of the attackers, Derrick jabbed his dagger into the sleeve of the other, pinning his arm down. Amateurs.
Grabbing one of the thieves by the collar, Derrick yanked the young man to his feet and glared into his eyes, “I don’t have time for this; I stopped playing these foolhardy games years ago.” Derrick smacked the thief twice, then pointed at the building, “Go inside and deliver a message to your guild leader. Tell him that ‘Derrick the Blade’ has returned and demands to see him.”
(1:01)
Capt. Atamir smiled to himself, holding up an unguarded bottle of ale hidden beneath the bar. Pouring his prize into a glass, he waved over the guard who was the first on the scene after the killer escaped. The guard, a lieutenant named Ponn, stood quietly before him.
“Has the woman been sent on her way?”
“Yes sir,” Ponn replied as the Captain raised the glass, “one of our men is escorting her home. I’ve sent word to the rest of the city guard to do a store-by-store check of all pawn shops and general stores in the area-”
Atamir abruptly banged the glass down, “No, that won’t work. We don’t even have a clear description; average height, average build, brown hair, grey clothing. That probably describes about half the people in town. You’re sure our own men on the scene didn’t have anything to add?”
“They don’t, sir. They claim the light from the back window made it difficult to see the killer when they arrived. Strangely enough, they all gave surprisingly accurate descriptions of the dagger he was holding… Something odd, though, they all started complaining of dizziness when I got here.”
The Captain frowned, “It will take hours to do a check of every store owner in the district. See what you can find about the murder victim, he-” Atamir’s voice caught in his throat as he saw a heavily-armoured knight march into the tavern, followed by a slender red-haired elven woman in a yellow robe. The guard captain muttered, “What the hell is this?”
The elven woman whispered something into her companion’s ear. The knight stiffly tramped up to Atamir and his lieutenant, giving each a short nod before speaking, “My name is Vellin Tenmarke, paladin of Tyr, and this is cleric Selena Shademoor, also from the Church of Tyr. I am hereby taking control of this murder investigation. I would ask that you provide my companion here with any information you-”
“What in the hells are you talking about?!” barked Capt. Atamir, slamming his drink down again. “This barroom death is a matter for the city guard, not some high-minded altar boy!”
Vellin glared, “The Church of Tyr has been tasked with the protection of the diplomatic envoys who will be arriving in the city later today…”
Atamir nodded impatiently, “Yes, yes, I know that. But what does it have to do with this?”
“…and this tavern was the first establishment that the envoys would visit on their evening tour of the city. This murder is obviously a message to us, and I intend to find the person or people responsible. As an inquisitor paladin, I am better suited to find the killer than you or your guards.” He held out a rolled parchment, “These are orders from the city council to give the bearers complete cooperation.”
Captain Atamir clenched his teeth and grudgingly snatched the scroll, handing it to Ponn without looking at it. “Fine. There was a murder here about an hour ago; a local pawnshop owner stabbed a currently unidentified foreign wizard. It doesn’t sound like anything more than a common killing, if you ask me. And I’m afraid the only witness has already gone home.”
The elven woman narrowed her gaze at him, “Where does this witness live, Captain?”
“Er, I’m not sure. One of my guards was escorting her. When he comes back he’ll tell you- oh, there he is now.” He stepped away and briefly spoke with the guard. After a few moments Atamir returned with an even deeper frown on his face, “Ah, it seems the woman told her escort that she could make it on her own, so he let her go and came back here.”
Now it was Inquisitor Tenmarke’s turn to frown, “So in other words you have no witnesses, no accurate description, and no idea exactly why this murder occurred?”
Atamir held his head high, “I’ll have you know that my guards are currently conducting a store-by-store search of all shops in the district, and they’re sure to track down the killer.”
“Unacceptable,” frowned the paladin, “Other knights from my order will be around shortly. For the rest of this day, this investigation will be carried out as I see fit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I would like to examine the corpse before it is taken to the graveyard.”
Lieutenant Ponn waited until the paladin and his elven companion were out of earshot, “Captain, if I might ask, why were you acting so hostile toward the inquisitor?”
Atamir grit his teeth, “It’s a long story. Let’s just say that there was an ‘incident’ a while back that gave me a different perspective on paladins and their ilk.” He downed his drink and slammed the glass back on the bar.
(1:14)
The four bodyguards standing in the corners of the guild leader’s office were trying to avoid direct eye contact. Derrick didn’t particularly care whether it was out of fear or contempt, but at least the guild members hadn’t forgotten who he was.
Sitting on the desk in the middle of the room was a half-empty bottle of cheap ale. Evidently, the guild leader’s tastes hadn’t improved in the years since Derrick was last there. Behind him, he heard a latch click. He didn’t stir as the door opened and an elf entered.
“Derrick. I wasn’t expecting to see you here again. It’s been, what, six years?” said the elf, a guild lieutenant called Cerdan. His dirt-smeared face and wrinkled clothing revealed that he hadn’t received much rest the previous night. “The boss will be along shortly, but I felt that I should come down here and get wind of what was happening.”
Derrick shrugged, “Well, I thought I’d just drop by and reminisce about happy times with my good friends. Maybe sing a few campfire songs and roast a marshmallow or two…”
“Right. More likely you’re planning to smash that ale bottle over Orwin’s head the moment he steps through the door.”
“Nonsense. That would be a waste of ale,” replied Derrick.
The elf leaned against the wall as guildhouse leader Orwin entered. The guild leader slowly paced around Derrick’s chair, eyeing the ex-thief as he spoke with sarcasm, “Ah, look at this; all three of us are here now. Brings back old memories, doesn’t it?” He moved behind the desk and sat down, “I understand you made a stir with two of our guards outside.”
Derrick snorted bitterly, “Perhaps you should teach them the difference between thievery and thuggery. And they could stand a few days of combat training. Look, I didn’t come here to discuss the incompetence of your agents.”
Derrick reached into his tunic and pulled out the stiletto he took from the murder scene in Rombis’ bar. Reversing the weapon, he slammed it blade-first into the edge of Orwin’s desk. The bodyguards came to attention and lurched forward before Cerdan whistled sharply and motioned them to stay put.
“I hope you didn’t just come down here to criticize my thieves and assault my furniture. That’s genuine Tethyrian wood, you know.”
“That is a Shadow Thief dagger.” Derrick pointed out, “I found it lying beside a body over at Rombis’ place a short while ago, and somehow the town guard believe that I’m responsible.”
“I care not. I ordered no such murder today.” Orwin was indifferently staring at his fingernails.
Cerdan examined the markings on the base of the dagger, “That’s interesting. This belongs to Myrk, one of our local whisper-men. But, as I understand it, the guards arrested him yesterday for trading black market artifacts or some such.”
“So he’s been in jail since then?” Derrick scratched his chin, “I thought whisper-men only dealt in the information trade?”
Cerdan nodded, “Yes, and that’s why I’m a little curious about the charges against him. Unfortunately, he’s been placed under close guard by the Church of Tyr for some reason, so we can’t break him out through the regular channels.”
The guild leader looked up at the pair, “Well, then, I have an idea!”
Derrick shot him a glare, “Normally whenever you say that I would tune you out and start daydreaming about beer, but since my neck is being hunted by the law right now…”
“I want you to go and spring Myrk from prison. Then you can ask him about the dagger and this murder of yours if you like.”
“Good.” Derrick stood and began counting items on his hand, “I’ll need two sets of lockpicks, four coils of rope, two of your acrobats, one of your best con artists—”
“No.” Orwin interrupted, “You are no longer a member of our guild. Make due with your own resources.”
The elf glanced between Derrick and Orwin, “Wait, you can’t expect him to go empty-handed! If someone is trying to pin the guild for this murder, then we should at least give Derrick as—”
Orwin waved at Cerdan to be silent, “Very well, since I want you away as soon as possible, I’ll give you these.” He rummaged through a drawer and placed two skinny daggers on the desk. “Here, these will serve you well, I’m sure.”
Derrick picked one up, held it for a moment, and then slammed its blade into the desk. The weapon didn’t leave a mark. It didn’t even scratch the finish.
The guild leader went on, “These daggers have a powerful enchantment woven into their blades…”
“Really, and what might that be? ‘Power Word: Useless?’”
“…they have the ability to magically intercept any weapon strike against the one who wields them. Once you have used it to parry the blow, both the dagger and your opponent’s weapon will shatter like glass.”
“That’s still pretty useless if it leaves me empty-handed.” Derrick murmured.
Orwin yanked out Myrk’s dagger that Derrick had brought in, “Then take Myrk’s dagger as well. That’s all you get. Cerdan can give you directions to the jail where Myrk is held. Now get out of here. I’ve wasted enough time already, so don’t come back for at least another six years.”
Derrick grabbed all three daggers from the desk, and brought out the parchment he had written on earlier, “I also have a message that must be delivered to my pawn shop.”
Cerdan plucked the sheet away, “I’ll take care of it. I’m heading home to rest, and I can pass your shop on the way.”
“Thanks,” Derrick said as he and the elf stepped out of the office, “I take it Orwin still hasn’t told anyone about the ‘job’ six years ago?”
The elf shook his head, “No. And you should stop thinking about that. That was years ago, and we’ve all moved on.”
“That doesn’t mean he should get away with it.”
“Let it go already. We each have obligations to fulfill,” Cerdan pulled out a blank scroll and sketched a map showing the route to the jail, “Here is the quickest way to the prison. Try to avoid bloodshed; the guild has enough trouble with the city guard these days, and we don’t need them to start hunting us down on false charges of murder.”
“Yes, I should know that better than anyone.”
(1:30)
Dace looked up from their card game as the halfling Flink bumbled down the stairs into their cold, grey-walled planning room. He returned his attention to the game with Terrence, “As I was saying, Melik is good on his word. If you do your part competently, he will ensure you receive your share of the gold. If you do not, well, you will be far too dead to collect on it.”
On the opposite side of the room, Melik snorted but didn’t turn from the maps he was reading. Flink clomped up and peered over his shoulder, “What’cha doing there, boss?”
Rather than address the halfling directly, Melik called to Terrence, “I don’t think you could have possibly memorized all these building layouts in so short a time. You must re-”
Terrence threw his cards down and stood, “Oh, be quiet, Melik. There is only so much bellyaching I can stand before I feel like a round of gnome tossing.” The assassin made his way up the stairs, “All this discontent is making me thirsty for a drink.”
“Bah,” Melik mumbled to himself as he vanished into his quarters at the back, leaving only Dace and Flink in the planning room.
Dace peeked at Terrence’s cards and smirked, “He should not have folded.” The assassin scraped the wooden betting chips toward him.
Flink was having a more difficult time finding a reason to smile, “Why are you so calm when our allies are ready to tear each other’s eyes out?!”
The older assassin waved a dismissing hand, “Nonsense. The gnome is not tall enough to reach Terrence’s eyes.” He gathered the cards and shuffled them casually, “Do not worry about anything. Although I know from experience that Melik is not above betrayal or the occasional backstab, I assure you,” He drew his short sword and began carving slivers from the table’s edge, “I will be ready to remove him, or even Terrence, if either becomes a liability.”
Satisfied with his answer, Flink took a seat at Melik’s table, waiting restlessly as he flicked at the corners of the building maps.
(1:44)
Inquisitor Vellin furrowed his brow as he inspected the victim. Beneath the robe, on the wizard’s chest was a red tattoo that looked like an angel with wings made of fire. The paladin stood and moved away from the corpse, for he sensed an unusually strong evil aura emanating from the victim, forcing him to wonder if there was more behind this ‘simple murder’ than Atamir believed.
He turned to the elven cleric, “Selena, I wonder if this murder might be related to that Shadow Thief we arrested yesterday.”
“The one carrying the vials of infernus fluid? What makes you say that?”
“I spoke with guards here who pursued the killer, and the dagger they described sounds like a type commonly used by Shadow Thieves. It can’t be a coincidence that these crimes have occurred just before the foreign envoys’ arrival. I’m heading to the jail to question that thief about the infernus fluid and whatever else his guild may be up to.” He carefully cut a few strands of the corpse’s dusty grey hair and passed them to the elf, “In the meantime, take this to the temple of Tyr and perform a divination. We need to know who this man was and what connection he had to the envoys or the Shadow Thieves.”
Selena put the sample in a pouch, then removed one of her crystal earrings and handed it to the paladin, “I might not be able to find you if I learn anything, so attach this to the holy symbol around your neck. My earrings have a minor telepathy spell, so wearers can communicate once every few hours.”
“Understood. And have someone keep an eye on the Captain’s progress. I doubt we’ve seen the last of him.” The paladin and cleric made their way outside, all the while watched under Atamir’s cold gaze.
(1:51)
Terrence smiled lewdly at the waitress, admiring her shapely figure. Tipping back another glass of ale, the assassin gestured for her to leave the bottle and flipped a coin toward her.
A black gloved hand lashed out, seemingly from nowhere, and snatched the gold before it landed in her palm. Dace pushed the disappointed woman aside and grabbed the bottle, “Unwise. You will need to be sober for the mission.”
“Pff. How hard can it possibly be?” Terrence had a smug look, “Stick one of those glowing crystals on a wall, smack ‘em with a hammer, slip outside, and the room explodes in a fiery blaze. A painfully simple task.”
“You will understand the ‘painful’ part a little too well if you stumble and accidentally crack one of them on the floor.”
“Relax. I have the grace of a fox, and twice the cunning. What could possibly go wrong?”
(1:53)
Lt. Ponn approached Atamir, worry etched on his face, “Captain, an officer overheard that Inquisitor Vellin is on his way to the jail. Apparently they have a prisoner who is somehow connected with this murder.”
“So the paladin was holding out on me. Hardly a surprise.” Atamir paused, “The murderer knew this was the first place the diplomats would be visiting. So either the dwarf who owns this bar has a loose tongue… or someone in the church of Tyr has been consorting with people they shouldn’t be.”
Ponn hesitated, “What are you orders, sir?”
“Wrap up the body, send it to the morgue, and meet me at the guard barracks. Despite what those glory-hound paladins say, I’ve no intention of backing down from this investigation.”
(1:55)
Ayva carefully placed the last antidote potion on an upper shelf in the pawnshop, then climbed back down the ladder. She stepped back and gazed at her organizational efforts with some small measure of pride. None of it would really matter at day’s end, but she was a person who always finished the job, no matter how crucial or insignificant.
A noise from the entrance caught her attention, and she turned to see a parchment pushed underneath the door. The message was short, but she could recognize the handscript: ‘Ayva, I’m in danger. Take my son to my sister’s house on the east end of the city. He knows the way. Tell her ‘the rivers are red’. She’ll understand. –Derrick’.
She shouted into the back room, “Bryn!” A young sandy-haired boy poked his head through the curtain, “Something’s happened to your father. Grab whatever belongings you’ll need, I’ve a feeling we’re going to be away from the shop for a while.”
(1:57)
Confident that Ayva and Derrick’s son took the message seriously, Cerdan moved away from the store window to continue on his way home. As he turned, he accidentally bumped into a woman who was also standing at the window, presumably looking at some displayed item.
“Pardon me, miss.” He flashed his charming elven smile, then glided off into the crowd.
The woman adjusted the green veil over her face and returned her gaze to the window, staring coldly at Bryn as he raced about the shop, grabbing travelling provisions and some of the more valuable items in the store. The veiled woman reached into her robe and fingered an amulet around her neck, marked with the image of an angel with burning wings…
[2:00] |
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