PCs:
Gren, level 3 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 2 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Fresh off their amazing victory over the Tharbrian Recovery League, the heroes set to the looting with gusto. The Tharbrians’ camp site featured several areas of interest. The long house, in which had dwelled the majority of the warriors, produced some copper coins, a pair of bone dice, a fine lute, and a handsome wolfskin. The corpse of the rebels’ leader, Wulfric, was more lucrative: it produced an enchanted battleaxe, with the name “Strigona’s Avenger” incised on the hilt. The stronghouse, however, offered the juiciest rewards: a quarter talent of silver coins, two valuable rugs, six bottles of fine brandy, six enchanted arrows, Amelie’s red-calfskin spellbook, a locked iron chest, and … a bound and gagged human! The human proved to be a battle-cleric of Werrab who had rashly challenged several of the Tharbrians to combat before being overwhelmed. He gave his name as Drogden, and volunteered to accompany the heroes. Already concerned at the loss of their companion Galafrey, the heroes were quick to welcome Drogden to their party. And as for the iron box? Its valuables came in the form of intelligence rather than wealth: a set of the gold tokens stamped with TRL on the obverse and Remember! on the reverse; a small codex with the names of local farmers, with dates and notes about attacks; a cache of iron pins shaped like feathers; a jeweled eye, blue with a yellow pupil (identified by Drogden as a symbol of the Tharbrian deity, Ils), two parchment letters; and a sketch map, apparently drawn by Wulfric himself. The enormity of the letters’ content is such that this scribe will reproduce them below, but once again Drogden was able to point out that the sketch map indicated a section of Tharb-town in Narsileon.
But the letters indicated serious conspiracies! The first read as follows:
Wulfric - We have the Archon on the run. Continue your mission, using whatever means necessary to disrupt the Empire’s grasp on our homeland. You may find an imperial messenger traveling to the Keep shortly. He is loaded with what we need. Take him! Give our best to Amelie, and our thanks for her support. Yours, Aelfgar.
For Eadred Strigona!
Much discussion was had concerning this letter. It appeared to reveal that the Tharbrian Recovery League was more extensive than previously surmised; in fact, it felt as if their recent triumph was but the first step in a much more elaborate dance. All agreed that this mysterious Aelfgar would need to be located … and dealt with! The second letter was more personal:
Dearest Wulf - of course I am yours forever. Our cause is just, and I am pleased to be able to offer whatever advantage my outer skin provides me in its furtherance. Once I’ve gathered the supplies from the usual source in Narsileon I shall rejoin you. The game is proving entertaining! Much love, A.
Again, more discussion ensued, as the heroes discussed the apparent treachery of this Amelie Ligareon, member of one of the Five Families! How could she be supporting rebels against the empire? Was it politics, or ‘merely’ love? What seemed more pertinent, however, was the letter’s intimation that a regular source in Narsileon was supplying Wulfric … and others? Could the sketch map have been related to the supply situation? It was time to find out.
The heroes returned to the Red Keep bearing the bodies of Sergeant Bledsoe and the two troopers. The residents were simultaneously saddened by the losses, but delighted by the news that they might finally be safe from attacks, whether humanoid or Tharbrian. Healing, resting, boasting, and plotting ensued before finally, after a few days, the party set out for Narsileon.
The road was relatively peaceful, as it traveled through farmlands under Imperial protection. The second day out, however, they were met by torrential rains which might have caused flooding had they not been traveling the imperial highway. Amid the torrents they did espy a strange sight: a band of mercenaries some 40 strong was engaged in mortal (but soggy) combat with a trio of manticores. Cara scouted the scene, reported back to her friends, and the heroes decided not to get involved. And so taking a detour through the rain, they passed on to Narsileon.
Lo, Narsileon! Shining jewel of the Empire! Bastion of civilization among the heathen! Who would not wish to return to the womb of culture and learning? And so, as a bee drawn to sweet nectar, the heroes drew close to the home of the Exarch. The shining walls were visible from leagues away, as were the enormous Hippodrome, the three sorcerers’ spires, and the shining compounds of Imperial Row. The heroes passed the cantonments of the imperial legions and moved through the extramural districts, honing in on the War Gate. There they paid their toll and, after some testy dialogue with the watch commander, allowed their weapons to be bound with red silk ribbons in accordance with Imperial Law and the Exarch’s peace. Once the grumbling was over, the heroes moved into the city. “And now, boys,” grinned Cleopatra, “it’s time to shop!”
First a pied-à-terre was needed. Gren reminded his friends that, well, he enjoyed a ‘certain reputation’ at the Grey Minstrel, located just around the corner in the Collegium district. Without other obvious options, they made their way to the Minstrel. There the patron, Edgar Flatnose, was delighted to greet Gren, whose legendary one-night performance some months back was, Edgar assured him, still the talk of the tavern. Edgar and his wife looked a bit more suspiciously at Godfrey, recalling a bar fight from the same era, but as Godfrey seemed to have abandoned his seedy, ugly companion (Lakontios, RIP!), they eventually warmed to the group and offered lodgings at a reasonable weekly rate. Cleopatra demurred, however, as she was certain that she could stay at her Collegium; Godfrey, moreover, thought he should seeking lodgings with the Azure Shield. The rest happily took up lodging at the Minstrel, where Gren was immediately pressed into service in the common room. Edgar actually had a message to relate: “That fellow who dresses all in red, Rudigar is it? Yes, well, he asked me to tell you that he has an important message for you, and will deliver it in a day or two. I guess you know what that means, for I surely do not!”
As heroic deeds, not bartering with vendors, is the proper source for epic songs, we shall pass over the mundane (if necessary) activities which occupied the heroes over the next few days. Needless to say, Cleopatra renewed her membership in the Collegium of Macrina, which allowed her the opportunity to consult the spell books owned by the Collegium and the recipes of the Collegium’s alchemical laboratory. Cleopatra also sought out Philemon’s Emporium of Rare Goods, where she sold some knick-knacks and admired Philemon’s merchandise.
It must be noted, however, that Flavius Stilicho chose to divert himself in other ways. The warrior, so fierce in combat, so loyal to comrades, so unflinching in the face of adversity, was, after all, human. As is so often the case, the temptations of the civilized world proved too much for the simple soldier. With his bulging purse just screaming to be lightened, Stilicho set out to sample the pleasures of the big city [Ed.: he decided to carouse for XP. Thank you, Jeff Rients!] Accompanied by his new friend Drogden, Stilicho commenced with several rounds of congratulatory beverages at the Minstrel before moving on to the Diamond Spider in the Docks district. There, amid the longshoremen and sailors, Stilicho was introduced to the delights of Heseltine’s Lotus Powder; several hours later, with a new group of friends and with Drogden abandoned, Stilicho moved to the lowest den of iniquity in the worst district of city, the Sign of the Rampant Monkey in the Wall district. Alas for lost virtue! For the sake of modesty we pass over the legions of doxies, pimps, actors, rogues, and other undesirables who frequent this foul dive! Needless to say, a full purse made Stilicho a popular man. Before his mind succumbed fully to the pleasures of Heseltine’s Powder and his memory abandoned him, Stilicho recalled a delightful young lady named Freidel, whose experience with the 51st Way of Opening the Lotus is without comparison; a new boon companion named Gregor, who was fully acquainted with all the ‘best people’; a pair of twins named Thora and Thorel, about whom nothing more need be said; and even a donkey of a temperament most sweet. At some point in the long evening, however, Stilicho found himself alone, his purse empty, and subject to the most cruel of beatings. When he awoke, lying in a circle of his own effluvia, naked save for a loincloth, he could not recall exactly where and when the good times ended. Needless to say, he had lost all his money, all his equipment, and a good portion of his vitality. Wiser (at least to an extent), but much poorer, Stilicho trudged all the way back to the Minstrel, where a relieved Drogden hurried him upstairs before Edgar could register his dismay.
When the heroes reconvened in the common room after a day of recovery, the first order of business was moral instruction! Godfrey and Cleopatra clucked at the warrior, offering him much useful advice concerning urban behavior. Stilicho was in no mood to listen: “Let be!,” he roared as he cradled his aching head, “I have learned my lesson. Haseltine’s is not the best Lotus powder!” As his friends snickered or frowned (depending on their own proclivities), a shaggy, disreputable fellow who smelled strongly of fish approached their table. He was practically dancing from foot to foot, as if impatient or uncertain of his surroundings. At first all assumed he was one of Stilicho’s new ‘friends’, but he addressed the entire group: “I am Hesteon.” Pause. “Some call me the Fish [aha! The odor!]” Pause. “Right, well your man Rudigar wanted to pass on some information to you. Said it was right urgent, he did. Said you’d reward me handsomely, he did [with a glint in his eye]. He said to tell you this [and he adopted a sing-song voice, as if reciting from memory]: ‘I have found an informant who knows who took the Eastern Star [a diamond]. It is imperative that we secure this source before Other Powers locate him. Please act without me. I will return as quickly as is possible.’” Pause. “So that’s it, then. Rudigar, he asked me to lead you to this bloke, the one in the message. You ready?” The party conferred. Stilicho was without any equipment, and so they begged a two hour delay. The Fish looked uncomfortable and hopped back and forth: “Well, you knows your business, doncha? Two hours, then. But don’t be late! This here is important! I’ll meet you at the edge of the Hippodrome, on the Street of Veils. Two hours!” Pocketing a few silvers which Cleopatra threw at him, Hesteon - and his stench - sidled into the street.
The heroes took another look at Stilicho. “No equipment, eh?” said Godfrey. “Not another word,” replied Stilicho, “Let’s go to the armorer.” It took the full two hours, but eventually the band located a good weaponsmith and armorer, and agreed on a price. Sadly, Stilicho had NO MONEY [ed. Insert maniacal DM laughter here], so he was forced to beg from his comrades. Cleopatra pursed her lips and shook her pretty head, “Stilicho, you poor fool. I will loan you the money for armor [650 gp]. But you will pay it all back, or I will take it out of your hide!” Godfrey kindly fronted Stilicho the money for a new greatsword (40 gp). Thus indebted and amused, the heroes set off for their meeting with Hesteon.
They found the Fish hopping from foot to foot. “Haste, me hearties! Haste! We can’t let this bird run, can we now? Let’s move!” And thus commenced a bewildering journey into the heart of that foul district known as the Wall, for it brooded under two shadows, that of the Slope, where the palaces of the rich loomed just out of reach, and a fragment of the old City Wall, now mostly decrepit and home to cutpurses, rats, and worse. Hesteon made great haste, as the heroes moved between ramshackle tenements, rotting warehouses, mansions now fallen on hard times and divided into apartments, and worse. After about 20 minutes, Hesteon turned a corner and shouted “This way! He’s right up ahead.” As the party followed him down a narrow alley, flanked by two- and three-story buildings, Hesteon darted ahead, dropped down a manhole, and pulled the lid shut, muttering “So long, suckers!” as he disappeared. Hardly before their disbelief had been registered, a shrill, mocking, and utterly familiar voice drifted down from the rooftops: “Heh heh heh. Sooo, Stilicho. You and Cleopatra and your treacherous friends thought you could betray Doffy, did you? Well we shall see about that! At them boys!” It was the goblin rogue Doffy, their nemesis, last seen escaping from Cleopatra’s fiery assault in the forest outside the Red Keep!
The trap, for so it was, was well-planned, and better executed. Archers appeared on the rooftops and began peppering the heroes with arrows. As Doffy shrieked hysterically, one other threat emerged - straight out of the pavement at the mouth of the alleyway. It was an 8’ tall, vaguely human-shaped being apparently carved out of solid rock, and it was able to move through the earth and stone like a fish through water! It was, of course, an earth elemental. Cleopatra looked around desperately - most of the doors were barricaded, but one to the right seemed still useable. Stilicho called to her “Use your spells, dammit!” “I prepared for negotiation, not a street-fight,” she retorted, “I fear I will not be of much help!” Stilicho, Godfrey, Ragnar and Drogden stood tall, even as Cara and Cleopatra sprinted for the doorway. As Drogden took an arrow to the shoulder, he grinned and shouted “Ahh, the battle lust rises.” Stilicho strode forth and delivered a massive blow from his greatsword, but the sword left no more than a slight ‘ding’ on the ponderous elemental. The elemental delivered two massive blows to Drogden, who went down like a sack of potatoes … bleeding but not quite dead yet. Godfrey the knight took command: “Ragnar and Stilicho, you drag the cleric back into the building - I’ll hold him off.” Godfrey shouted his battle cry, inspiring confidence in all around him, and charged forward with his blade held high: calling on his higher power, he unleashed a wicked slash at the monster - to no avail! [He rolled the d30, got a total of 23, but failed to impact the elemental!] Cleopatra had gained the room inside the building, where she was dodging arrows: “Come on boys!,” she shouted, “What are you waiting for?” “We are in deeeep trouble,” came Godfrey’s reply, “I think we need enchanted weapons to hit it.” As the elemental battered the knight with its massive fists, Godfrey turned and ran for cover.
The party gasped for breath, and Stilicho sized up the situation - a stairway led to the second storey, but the dwelling was almost entirely empty, as the slum-dwellers had pillaged it for anything useless. Just then came a massive crash and the sound of snapping and splintering wood followed: the elemental lurched into the room. “Up we go,” shouted Stilicho, “Ladies first!” Cleopatra and Cara raced up the stairs as the warriors argued briefly for the honor of being the rear guard. As their dispute had some negative consequences - namely the massive fists of the elemental which hammered at Stilicho - they, too, turned and ran. On the second floor Cara spotted a ladder leading to the roof. “I’ll check out the roof,” she muttered. As she emerged gingerly onto the roof, fully expecting to take arrows and worse, she found that Doffy and his allies had already fled. Calling this news down the ladder, she scouted the perimeter of the roof. Once again the warriors argued tactics; aware that their mundane weapons were inflicting no damage on the elemental, and equally aware that Cleopatra had only a couple of magic missiles left, they wasted time debating whether it was honorable to run. Godfrey switched to the enchanted mace given him by the archon, Gedeon. Meanwhile, the elemental inexorably climbed the stairs. Stilicho finally threw himself at the thing - “Climb the ladder, you fools!” Ragnar took him at his word, and climbed up. Drogden, now conscious due to the application of healing herbs, followed suit. Godfrey lingered in the rear, uncertain whether his knightly code would permit him to leave. He, too, took a mighty swing at the elemental, but apparently the enchantment on his mace was still insufficient to harm the stoney monster. He turned towards the ladder. But where was Cleopatra? She had simply … vanished. As Godfrey ran for the ladder, he saw Stilicho fall beneath the elemental’s fists. “No!,” shouted Godfrey, and he turned back towards his fallen comrade. “What are you doing, fool?” barked Drogden, and he and Ragnar leaned down and bodily lifted the struggling knight up the hatchway to safety. “It won’t help if you go down, too!” From the relative safety of the roof the shaken heroes heard the sounds of more splintering wood as the elemental destroyed the ladder and much of the structure before clomping back down the stairs. All the while Stilicho lay there, bleeding out ….
As the elemental turned the corner, however, a voice emerged from the emptiness: “What’s that idiot Stilicho doing bleeding out his lifeforce on the floor? Doesn’t he remember that he still owes me money?” It was Cleopatra, who had turned invisible and had been lurking, quiet as a mouse, in the corner as the elemental completed its destruction. Quickly applying her last healing salve, she halted the bleeding and called up to her comrades: “Boys, help me get this debtor up to the roof!” And so it was done. Stilicho was revived by Cara’s potion of healing, and as his eyes opened he took stock of the situation: “Thank the Gods! I’m still clothed!”
Chastened, the heroes clambered over the rooftops, encountering no small number of illicit groups doing any number of illegal activities. But, perhaps humbled by their experiences, they adopted a ‘See no evil’ approach, and eventually made their way back to the Minstrel, where they all collapsed in exhaustion. “It’s city living,” observed Cara, “I always knew it wasn’t very healthy.”
Hard Times in Narsileon
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
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Omote
- Battle Stag
- Posts: 11560
- Joined: Wed May 03, 2006 7:00 am
- Location: The fairest view in the park, Ohio.
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Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
You guys don't play often enough. 
~O
~O
@-Duke Omote Landwehr, Holy Order of the FPQ ~ Prince of the Castles & Crusades Society-@
VAE VICTUS!
>> Omote's Advanced C&C stuff <<
VAE VICTUS!
>> Omote's Advanced C&C stuff <<
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
Omote - I appreciate it! I have to say that I never laughed as hard at a rpg session as I did this past time - Stilicho's misadventures with carousing nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Just finished another session tonight, and I will try to get it down while the memories are still fresh. Another classic Stilicho moment: jumping out of a third story building that was on fire (due to his own rashness), clutching the strongbox they needed to find, and shouting "Son of a biiiiitttch".
But everybody had a chance to shine tonight. Hopefully the write-up will reflect that ....
Just finished another session tonight, and I will try to get it down while the memories are still fresh. Another classic Stilicho moment: jumping out of a third story building that was on fire (due to his own rashness), clutching the strongbox they needed to find, and shouting "Son of a biiiiitttch".
But everybody had a chance to shine tonight. Hopefully the write-up will reflect that ....
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
PCs:
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Out of the frying pan ...
Sobered by their brush with disaster, the friends rested for the next several days at the Grey Minstrel (or in their alternate accomodations, as Cara and Cleopatra were residing at the Collegium, and Godfrey with his fellow-knights). Such relaxation was welcome, if unusual, and allowed the more contemplative to muse about a number of pressing matters. Cara wondered, for instance, about Doffy’s rapid appearance and his ability to mobilize such formidable forces on short notice; “How come I cannot summon such allies? she complained. Gren was contemplating the fleetingness of fame, and was planning how best to ensure his continued popularity as the new resident bard at the Minstrel; he was delighted, moreover, to find that his adventures had improved his skills! Godfrey and Drogden had more prosaic matters on their minds, as they worried that the quality of their equipment did not quite match their exploits; both took their earnings off to the weaponsmiths of the Crafters’ Square, where each ended up as the owner of a weapon of renown. Godfrey purchased a Nine-Ring Sword that had spent six generations in the Hopkile family, where it had been wielded by the famous knight Theodore Hopkile; what is more, the Hopkiles swore that the blade had originally belonged to the legendary Larel One-Eye, he who features in so many instructive and amusing folk-tales. Drogden sought out a battle-axe whose pedigree was more recent, if no less illustrious; handing over his coins to the Skandik smith, he became the proud owner of Keeldring, the axe wielded by the famous skandik chieftain Eirik White-throat during his epic voyages along the Crimson Coast. Cara felt keenly the press of the urban bustle, and spent her time in the relative quiet of the Collegium’s halls. Ah, but what of Stilicho? Fame mattered nought to him, and more to the point he still possessed no coin with which to procure it. Indeed, he was more concerned with sorting through the stream of ‘new friends’ who came to greet him, some recalling half-remembered games of chance from his epic binge, others demanding the return of promised coin, powder, or worse. He sent them all packing, vowing that no unremembered jackal could bind him with word or smile!
The band was paid a visit by Rudigar the Red, finally. Rudigar was able to shed some light on a few of their perplexing mysteries. Sharp-minded Gren asked an obvious question: “Wasn’t that Amelie girl that we fought in the forest from the same house, House Ligareon, as Gedeon, archon of the Red Keep?” Rudigar nodded at the clever question, and confirmed the sad coincidence. Amelie was indeed known to Rudigar, and to Gedeon, whose second cousin she was; she was daughter of Theodoric, head of the third lineage, whereas Gedeon was son of Larmesol, head of the eldest lineage. Amelie was considered a black sheep, disavowed (at least publicly) by the more prominent members of her kindred. Still, Rudigar felt there was more to her story than met the eye: laying his finger aside his nose, he commented “There are circles within circles, you know.”
Rudigar also offered his opinion on Doffy: “That goblin is well-connected with the Brotherhood.” Ragnar, Doffy’s former employer, concurred: “Sure, and that little rascal came well-recommended. Some fellows I know in Narsileon, they told me he was one of the best. And despite his yapping, he sure was a good little rogue.” The Benevolent Brotherhood is, of course, the empire-wide organization of ‘gentlemen of the night’, whose official (and public) guildhouse in Narsileon was located only blocks from Stilicho’s new favorite drinking establishment, the Rampant Monkey.
Sensing the group’s strong desire for vengeance against Doffy, Rudigar shook his head. “It will take more than charging into the Slope and knocking on doors to shake that nut out of the tree,” he noted wryly, “you just can’t confront the Brotherhood directly, or you’ll all be swimming in the harbor. You’ll need to perform some serious - and quiet - reconnaissance work and, preferably, get into the good graces of the Priors of the Brotherhood. Then, and only then, might you be able to take on Doffy without retribution.” Stilicho grinned, and the sweat broke out on his brow: “Oh well,” he said, “it’s nothing. We’ve got lots of better things to do.”
As they enjoyed a few of Edgar’s fine ales, Rudigar broached a few subjects of his own. “What about the Tharbrian Recovery League?” he asked. “Don’t worry about them,” said Godfrey. “We took care of them already.” Rudigar puffed his pipe: “All of them? Surely you don’t imagine that the one cell you eliminated near the Keep constituted the entirety of the TRL? I took you for more clever folk than that.” Cleopatra did not appreciate ‘her boys’ being belittled by an outsider, as she considered such work to fall solely under her purview. Thinking hard and quickly, she replied with a touch of asperity: “Well, of course we know that. We have some good leads, including a letter from a certain Aelfgar and a sketch-map, both of which we took from that thug, Wulfric.” Rudigar nodded, impressed: “Ahh, so it’s Aelfgar again, eh? The name is a code name for one of the main political and financial backers of the TRL; some think he’s one of the dispossessed Tharbrian nobles, others dare whisper - treasonously, I might add, that he is actually an Archontean. But what about this map?” Stilicho produced the sketch and all gathered around to examine it; it showed what seemed to be a road called Thufir’s Row, above which was an establishment called ‘Othir’s’, an unnamed temple, and a three-story house marked with an X. To most of the party, the map meant nothing. But Rudigar, Gren, and Drogden took sharp breaths, and Drogden muttered “Aha, it all points back to Tharb-town.” He meant of course, that district of Narsileon to which the bulk of the Tharbrian natives had been pushed upon the return of the Empire some century ago; Thufir’s Run was one of the main streets running through the district. Rudigar again adopted an ironic smile: “Hmmm … After your encounter with Amelie Ligareon, I wonder how well you will be treated by our fellow-citizens in Tharb-town? She will undoubtedly have spread the word of your involvement in the destruction of one of the TRL’s cells.” “Still,” he continued, “this is vital information, and we musn’t let it grow too cold. Gedeon and his friends would be most appreciative to be able to inform the Exarch that the TRL had suffered an even greater blow, and at hands other than those of the officers of the Drome. Perhaps at your hands?” He shrugged and left the question hanging.
But Rudigar was not finished. “I bear news of other pressing business. Political business,” he said with some disdain. “The Exarch is exercised because one of the members of the Dwarven embassy to Narsileon has gone missing in the Slope district. You know, of course, that Dwarves keep mostly to themselves, rarely leaving their fastness of Kazildor. It was quite a coup for the Exarch when he was approached by a small group wishing to set up a trade mission between the two cities. The dwarves elected to build their embassy not on Imperial Row, but at the edge of the slums, just down the slope from the Exarch’s palace. At any rate, one of their ambassadors, a certain Durtal the Tapper, went missing, and the Exarch wants him found. Keko’s got agents of the Drome crawling all over that area, but the Drome is pretty well known. Once again, Gedeon feels that if you could find this missing dwarf before the Drome does, it would be a feather in the cap of House Ligareon. I am able to provide an initial introduction to the dwarves, if you like. Finally, there is also the matter of the Eastern Star, still missing even though the Exarch’s wedding to that witch of a Basileon is fast approaching.”
Gren and Cleopatra looked at each other. “We will need to consult amongst ourselves,” said the bard. Rudigar graciously moved to another table, and the debate commenced in earnest. Some were in favor of tracking the missing dwarven diplomat, while others wished to pursue the TRL. Finally a vote was called by Stilicho, and the majority’s will prevailed: they would follow the hot lead from the sketch-map and hope to knock out the TRL supplier. Of course, how to accomplish this goal provoked just as much argument as the question of which task to undertake. After much bickering, and several reminders that they would all stand out like sore thumbs in Tharb-town, the heroes decided to gather at Ophir’s, the tavern marked on the map. Most eschewed their armor, and Godfrey reluctantly put aside his new blade. All ensured that the peace-knots which bound their weapons were tight and evident.
And so, hoping to allay the suspicions of any watchers, they drifted into Tharb-town in twos and threes. All but Cleopatra and Cara made for Othir’s, while those two worthies sought out the temple that had been marked on the map. Othir’s proved to be a two-storey, traditional and unassuming tavern, one which clearly catered to the local Tharbrian workingmen. As the heroes entered, the buzzing common room first quieted, and then went completely silent. Drogden, unafraid of any fight, marched up to the bar and ordered a drink. The barman looked at him and said, in a thick Tharbrian accent “Don’t you think you’d better find somewhere else to drink, friend?” The emphasis on the last word made it clear that the party had no friends there! Godfrey took a corner seat. Gren tried the univeral language: music. “Good barkeep,” he began, “how would you like to double your clientele? I am available and willing to entertain your friends with any number of popular songs!” The bartender looked unconvinced. Stilicho, tired of mincing words, tried the direct approach: “You heard of Aelfgar? Or Eadric Strigona?” The bar quieted again, and huge man rose from his table. “Who wants to know? Eadric is great hero … to us! Your kind can go suck eggs!” Laughter welled up from the common room, and several shouts of “You tell ‘em, Byrtnoth” could be heard. Gren laid his arm on the warrior: “Now is not the time, Stilicho.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stilicho spied a small, weaselly man slip out the front door with a nervous look on his face. Adopting a cunning look, Stilicho grinned and said “Okay. I don’t want any trouble. I was just leaving.” The giant Byrtnoth snorted, and sat back down amid a cacophony of hoots and jeers. Stilicho rushed out the door and, keeping the weaselly man in his view, followed him up the street as best he could.
Meanwhile, Cleopatra and Cara had located the temple indicated on the map and had discovered it to be the temple of Meshpri, the Tharbrian goddess of healing and nurture. The temple was a large bungalow, with a wide porch running around the outside; within was the home of the God and the dwellings of her priests. Crammed along the porch were dozens of sick, diseased, and crippled persons of every age and creed; some were being tended to by a cadre of kindly Aides, while a few of the senior priests moved slowly among them. Cleopatra had an idea: “I will pretend to be ill, Cara. You will be my tender. We shall see what we can learn from these priests.” And so another desperate soul joined those on the porch of Meshpri, hoping for mercy from the goddess. The fine clothing of Cara and Cleopatra quickly drew a ranking priest, who asked solicitously of Cleopatra’s woes. She groaned convincingly, and asked if she might be conveyed into the temple proper for healing. The priest smiled benignly, and replied smoothly: “That all depends on the will of Mesphri! She is only able to help so many people per day.” Pointedly ignoring the elderly and impoverished man to her left, a man who had clearly been languishing on the porch for a matter of months, Cara wondered how likely it was for Meshpri to grant her blessings to a specific individual. The plump priest smiled again, and repeated that it was entirely up to Mesphri’s will. Cleopatra, a bit more savvy in such matters than Cara, reached out and dropped 5 gold coins in the priest’s hand; he palmed them quickly, and his smile turned thin: “Well, we shall see how you fare. Meshpri’s favor is difficult to gauge.” One of the younger Aides, looking tired, shook her head and apologized: “This is the way it works, my friend. I’m sorry your donation did not put you higher on the list.” Cleopatra grimaced in mock pain, and cried out piteously: “No matter. I’m sure Meshpri will visit me soon! Besides, I wonder if you can tell me what is going on? Why so many sick?” A conversation sprang up, and Cleopatra quickly divined that the new high priestess, Relowena, was responsible for the blatant favoritism evident at the temple; more significantly, Cleopatra learned that the temple staff had no love of the TRL, since they considered them nothing but troublemakers. “Those ruffians?,” spat the Aide, “they bring false dreams to the poor, and end up letting the poor take the short end of a spear. If we could run them out of the quarter, we would. And now, my lady, I hope you feel better soon.” As the Aide moved down the line, Cleopatra sprang out of her litter and spoke to Cara: “Why I believe I do feel better. Let’s go find the boys.”
Back at Ophir’s, tempers were starting to flare. Gren’s songs were greeted with some mild approval, but thus far none of the Tharbrians had deigned to speak with the heroes. Drogden decided to take matters into his own hand. The fiery cleric marched over to Byrtnoth’s table and sat down at an empty chair: “Hey. What’s going on?” Byrtnoth turned slowly and said “We don’t like imperials in our tavern. Go away, little man.” “Me? Little? What rubbish is that?” replied the priest. Sighing heavily, Byrtnoth rose and pushed back his shirt: “I see I’m going to have to teach you what I mean. Let’s do it, little man!” Drogden took a long drink of his ale, and then stood up. “Fine! Let’s go,” he said, fingering his axe. But Byrtnoth looked at him with contempt: “Weapons? You wanna bring the watch? What, are you afraid to prove yourself with your fists?” Within moments the fists were flying. Byrtnoth was a heavy man, and well-versed in brawling; quickly Drogden was reeling. Still, he had gotten in one massive clout to the giant’s head, a blow which drew a slow nod from the Tharbrian. “Ya, that was a good one, little man,” he said as he spat out a tooth. But soon the Tharbrian’s brawling skills began to tell, and with one final swing Drogden toppled over. As he fell, silence reigned in the bar. But Byrtnoth, who was himself staggering rather woozily, spoke up; “Now that was a fight. The little man has got the right stuff. Henrik, get me an ale.” Splashing it over the unconscious cleric, Byrtnoth helped him to his feet, clapped him on the shoulder, and proclaimed “You can drink and fight with me any time, little man!” And with that, the bar burst into conversation. The heroes had won some grudging acceptance!
More usefully, they learned from their new drinking companions that the weaselly man was a newcomer, one not well-known or -liked by the regulars. He was richer than the rest, and occasionally disdainful of their working-class ways. Drogden and Gren soon learned that the Tharbrians were generally proud of their heritage, but most were not interested in treason or rebellion, and had little truck with those who did. Finally Byrtnoth tipped them off that the ‘bad apples’ of the neighborhood had taken over the third floor of a triple-decker just up the alley.
Meanwhile, Stilicho had been exercising every ounce of stealth and restraint that existed in his huge frame. Given that he was not particularly stealthy or restrained, this was more difficult than he had imagined. Still, the busy streets helped conceal him as he followed the weaselly man up the street to a row of three-story houses. Most had a retail space on the first floor, and apartments - some abandoned or decrepit - reached by external stairs on the 2nd and 3rd floors. Stilicho watched the weaselly man mount one of the external stairs, knock at a new-looking door, and enter. The gallowglass, pleased with his stalking, decided to creep up the stairs and see if he could eavesdrop on whoever was inside. Grateful he had left his armor (for which he was still in debt to Cleopatra!) back at the Minstrel, Stilicho climbed the stair and stood on the stoop, listening carefully. He heard only snatches of conversation, but enough to confirm that this was one of the TRL’s hideouts. Indeed, the weaselly man was reporting to another the arrival of the heroes at Ophir’s, and the fact that they had been inquiring about Aelfgar. The warrior heard these ominous words “Well, we’re going to have to take care of these meddlers.” Delighted with his results, Stilicho rushed down the stairs to find his colleagues. To his amazement, he encountered all of his friends rushing towards the very same building that he had just left, for Cleopatra and Cara had caught up with Gren, Godfrey and Drogden just as the three were leaving Ophir’s. Stilicho quickly filled them in on what he had learned.
A hasty and sotto-voce discussion ensued on the street about what to do. Some were in favor of placing the apartment under surveillance. But Stilicho argued forcefully for direct action, since, as he put it, “We’ve got them cornered like rats!” Gren and Cara climbed the outside stairs of a neighboring triple-decker, and the elf nimbly pulled herself onto the roof; Gren followed suit. The rest climbed - as quietly as possible - the stairs of the house in question. The rickety stairs creaked and groaned, but few spared the heroes a second glance. Untying their weapons, Stilicho whispered, “We take them on ‘three.’ One, two, and … three!” With that he threw himself at the door, smashing it into fragments. Sadly, neither he nor his more scholarly friends had elected to inspect the door, and as his shoulder impacted it, Stilicho ignited a set of Explosive Runes that had been placed there by the agents of the TRL. KA-BOOM! A fiery explosion rocked the quarter, as flames blew back against all the party on the stairs and inward into the building. What was worse, the tindertrap three-decker immediately began to burn with a vengeance. Drogden, still bruised from his fisticuffs, went down scorched and bleeding. Cleopatra was badly wounded, but managed to dodge the main force of the explosion. Godfrey and Stilicho took the brunt of it, and stood in the doorway.
Events unfolded rapidly. Stilicho called for magical support from Cleopatra, who replied acidly that she had not expected combat, and was ill prepared for street-to-street fighting. Godfrey took a glance at Drogden and saw that the cleric was in dire straits; hoisting him onto his shoulder, Godfrey dragged him down one flight of stairs, applied first aid, and then dragged him to the street. Inside the apartment were four thugs; one had been killed instantly, and other three, desperately afraid of burning to death, threw themselves at the doorway. But the mighty warrior Stilicho stood in the doorway and barred the way. One tried to grapple with the gallowglass, but Stilicho, grinning wildly, ducked under his rush and, using the man’s momentum, hurled him backward off the staircase. He plunged three stories to his death. Within the room a fifth man was scrabbling for some papers as the fire began to roar around him; he ran to the wall opposite the door, coughing amid the smoke, and pulled open a hidden panel. He tossed a rope out the hidden exit and started to climb away. Stilicho quickly despatched the remaining thugs, but was growing nervous about the flames. Gren and Cara began to fire arrows as the climbing thief, and their cries alerted Cleopatra, who raced to the other side of the building; seeing the thief on his rope, she chanted some arcane words and a mass of webs appeared below the fleeing thief. He dropped from the rope, miraculously bounced off the web and was about to flee when he was struck with a second spell - he was asleep amid the webs!
Up on the blazing staircase, Stilicho was faced with a difficult dilemma. Godfrey had helped all the inhabitants of the lower floors to flee, and the thugs were either dead or incapacitated. But the evidence! Where was the evidence of TRL activity? Taking a huge gasp of fresh air, and ignoring the scorches the fire was already inflicting on his skin, the warrior rushed into the roaring inferno. Spying a lockbox on the now burning desk, he grabbed it, even as he stumbled and was scorched again. Desperate, he looked across the chamber and spied the secret exit. Racing as if his life depended on it [DM note: it did!] Stilicho threw himself headfirst out the narrow opening. As Gren and Cleopatra looked on in disbelief they saw their flaming companion come flying out of the third story window, shouting “Son of a biiiiiitch” as he fell. He dropped like a stone, landing without further mishap in the webs, just beside the snoring thief. Clambering to his feet, he avoided the sticky webs, and dropped to the pavement. “F***K YEAH!” shouted the grinning, and still-smoldering warrior. Gren looked on wryly: “At least he stuck the landing.”
Still, even if Stilicho was safe, the group was still in trouble. Most of the inhabitants of the district were out in the street, as smoke and flames poured from the triple-decker. Godfrey knew that in an instant the entire quarter might be reduced to ashes. Grabbing a wailing cobbler by the collar, he shouted at him “You! Stop sniveling! Where’s the nearest well? We need a bucket chain and we need it NOW!” Exerting all of his knightly authority, Godfrey soon transformed the rabble into a willing, if still frightened, fire brigade. Meanwhile, Cleopatra had Clara secure the thief, while she applied a curative potion to the unconscious Drogden. Watching Godfrey organize the crowd, the sorceress shook her head: “That fool is going to drag us all down with his nobility. We have to get out of here!” At her gesture, Stilicho ran to Godfrey, and physically drew him away. Bruised, scorched, and hobbled, the six - with their captive - began to struggle away through the side streets. “At least we avoided the watch,” observed Cleopatra. But she had spoken too soon! Just around the corner came the watch, rushing towards the flames, still visible on the horizon. Cleopatra leaped into action: “Officers, thank Mesphri! We are aiding this wounded man [indicating the prisoner]. There’s a terrible fire! You are badly needed.” And as the Watch raced toward the conflagration, the heroes slunk back to the Grey Minstrel.
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Out of the frying pan ...
Sobered by their brush with disaster, the friends rested for the next several days at the Grey Minstrel (or in their alternate accomodations, as Cara and Cleopatra were residing at the Collegium, and Godfrey with his fellow-knights). Such relaxation was welcome, if unusual, and allowed the more contemplative to muse about a number of pressing matters. Cara wondered, for instance, about Doffy’s rapid appearance and his ability to mobilize such formidable forces on short notice; “How come I cannot summon such allies? she complained. Gren was contemplating the fleetingness of fame, and was planning how best to ensure his continued popularity as the new resident bard at the Minstrel; he was delighted, moreover, to find that his adventures had improved his skills! Godfrey and Drogden had more prosaic matters on their minds, as they worried that the quality of their equipment did not quite match their exploits; both took their earnings off to the weaponsmiths of the Crafters’ Square, where each ended up as the owner of a weapon of renown. Godfrey purchased a Nine-Ring Sword that had spent six generations in the Hopkile family, where it had been wielded by the famous knight Theodore Hopkile; what is more, the Hopkiles swore that the blade had originally belonged to the legendary Larel One-Eye, he who features in so many instructive and amusing folk-tales. Drogden sought out a battle-axe whose pedigree was more recent, if no less illustrious; handing over his coins to the Skandik smith, he became the proud owner of Keeldring, the axe wielded by the famous skandik chieftain Eirik White-throat during his epic voyages along the Crimson Coast. Cara felt keenly the press of the urban bustle, and spent her time in the relative quiet of the Collegium’s halls. Ah, but what of Stilicho? Fame mattered nought to him, and more to the point he still possessed no coin with which to procure it. Indeed, he was more concerned with sorting through the stream of ‘new friends’ who came to greet him, some recalling half-remembered games of chance from his epic binge, others demanding the return of promised coin, powder, or worse. He sent them all packing, vowing that no unremembered jackal could bind him with word or smile!
The band was paid a visit by Rudigar the Red, finally. Rudigar was able to shed some light on a few of their perplexing mysteries. Sharp-minded Gren asked an obvious question: “Wasn’t that Amelie girl that we fought in the forest from the same house, House Ligareon, as Gedeon, archon of the Red Keep?” Rudigar nodded at the clever question, and confirmed the sad coincidence. Amelie was indeed known to Rudigar, and to Gedeon, whose second cousin she was; she was daughter of Theodoric, head of the third lineage, whereas Gedeon was son of Larmesol, head of the eldest lineage. Amelie was considered a black sheep, disavowed (at least publicly) by the more prominent members of her kindred. Still, Rudigar felt there was more to her story than met the eye: laying his finger aside his nose, he commented “There are circles within circles, you know.”
Rudigar also offered his opinion on Doffy: “That goblin is well-connected with the Brotherhood.” Ragnar, Doffy’s former employer, concurred: “Sure, and that little rascal came well-recommended. Some fellows I know in Narsileon, they told me he was one of the best. And despite his yapping, he sure was a good little rogue.” The Benevolent Brotherhood is, of course, the empire-wide organization of ‘gentlemen of the night’, whose official (and public) guildhouse in Narsileon was located only blocks from Stilicho’s new favorite drinking establishment, the Rampant Monkey.
Sensing the group’s strong desire for vengeance against Doffy, Rudigar shook his head. “It will take more than charging into the Slope and knocking on doors to shake that nut out of the tree,” he noted wryly, “you just can’t confront the Brotherhood directly, or you’ll all be swimming in the harbor. You’ll need to perform some serious - and quiet - reconnaissance work and, preferably, get into the good graces of the Priors of the Brotherhood. Then, and only then, might you be able to take on Doffy without retribution.” Stilicho grinned, and the sweat broke out on his brow: “Oh well,” he said, “it’s nothing. We’ve got lots of better things to do.”
As they enjoyed a few of Edgar’s fine ales, Rudigar broached a few subjects of his own. “What about the Tharbrian Recovery League?” he asked. “Don’t worry about them,” said Godfrey. “We took care of them already.” Rudigar puffed his pipe: “All of them? Surely you don’t imagine that the one cell you eliminated near the Keep constituted the entirety of the TRL? I took you for more clever folk than that.” Cleopatra did not appreciate ‘her boys’ being belittled by an outsider, as she considered such work to fall solely under her purview. Thinking hard and quickly, she replied with a touch of asperity: “Well, of course we know that. We have some good leads, including a letter from a certain Aelfgar and a sketch-map, both of which we took from that thug, Wulfric.” Rudigar nodded, impressed: “Ahh, so it’s Aelfgar again, eh? The name is a code name for one of the main political and financial backers of the TRL; some think he’s one of the dispossessed Tharbrian nobles, others dare whisper - treasonously, I might add, that he is actually an Archontean. But what about this map?” Stilicho produced the sketch and all gathered around to examine it; it showed what seemed to be a road called Thufir’s Row, above which was an establishment called ‘Othir’s’, an unnamed temple, and a three-story house marked with an X. To most of the party, the map meant nothing. But Rudigar, Gren, and Drogden took sharp breaths, and Drogden muttered “Aha, it all points back to Tharb-town.” He meant of course, that district of Narsileon to which the bulk of the Tharbrian natives had been pushed upon the return of the Empire some century ago; Thufir’s Run was one of the main streets running through the district. Rudigar again adopted an ironic smile: “Hmmm … After your encounter with Amelie Ligareon, I wonder how well you will be treated by our fellow-citizens in Tharb-town? She will undoubtedly have spread the word of your involvement in the destruction of one of the TRL’s cells.” “Still,” he continued, “this is vital information, and we musn’t let it grow too cold. Gedeon and his friends would be most appreciative to be able to inform the Exarch that the TRL had suffered an even greater blow, and at hands other than those of the officers of the Drome. Perhaps at your hands?” He shrugged and left the question hanging.
But Rudigar was not finished. “I bear news of other pressing business. Political business,” he said with some disdain. “The Exarch is exercised because one of the members of the Dwarven embassy to Narsileon has gone missing in the Slope district. You know, of course, that Dwarves keep mostly to themselves, rarely leaving their fastness of Kazildor. It was quite a coup for the Exarch when he was approached by a small group wishing to set up a trade mission between the two cities. The dwarves elected to build their embassy not on Imperial Row, but at the edge of the slums, just down the slope from the Exarch’s palace. At any rate, one of their ambassadors, a certain Durtal the Tapper, went missing, and the Exarch wants him found. Keko’s got agents of the Drome crawling all over that area, but the Drome is pretty well known. Once again, Gedeon feels that if you could find this missing dwarf before the Drome does, it would be a feather in the cap of House Ligareon. I am able to provide an initial introduction to the dwarves, if you like. Finally, there is also the matter of the Eastern Star, still missing even though the Exarch’s wedding to that witch of a Basileon is fast approaching.”
Gren and Cleopatra looked at each other. “We will need to consult amongst ourselves,” said the bard. Rudigar graciously moved to another table, and the debate commenced in earnest. Some were in favor of tracking the missing dwarven diplomat, while others wished to pursue the TRL. Finally a vote was called by Stilicho, and the majority’s will prevailed: they would follow the hot lead from the sketch-map and hope to knock out the TRL supplier. Of course, how to accomplish this goal provoked just as much argument as the question of which task to undertake. After much bickering, and several reminders that they would all stand out like sore thumbs in Tharb-town, the heroes decided to gather at Ophir’s, the tavern marked on the map. Most eschewed their armor, and Godfrey reluctantly put aside his new blade. All ensured that the peace-knots which bound their weapons were tight and evident.
And so, hoping to allay the suspicions of any watchers, they drifted into Tharb-town in twos and threes. All but Cleopatra and Cara made for Othir’s, while those two worthies sought out the temple that had been marked on the map. Othir’s proved to be a two-storey, traditional and unassuming tavern, one which clearly catered to the local Tharbrian workingmen. As the heroes entered, the buzzing common room first quieted, and then went completely silent. Drogden, unafraid of any fight, marched up to the bar and ordered a drink. The barman looked at him and said, in a thick Tharbrian accent “Don’t you think you’d better find somewhere else to drink, friend?” The emphasis on the last word made it clear that the party had no friends there! Godfrey took a corner seat. Gren tried the univeral language: music. “Good barkeep,” he began, “how would you like to double your clientele? I am available and willing to entertain your friends with any number of popular songs!” The bartender looked unconvinced. Stilicho, tired of mincing words, tried the direct approach: “You heard of Aelfgar? Or Eadric Strigona?” The bar quieted again, and huge man rose from his table. “Who wants to know? Eadric is great hero … to us! Your kind can go suck eggs!” Laughter welled up from the common room, and several shouts of “You tell ‘em, Byrtnoth” could be heard. Gren laid his arm on the warrior: “Now is not the time, Stilicho.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stilicho spied a small, weaselly man slip out the front door with a nervous look on his face. Adopting a cunning look, Stilicho grinned and said “Okay. I don’t want any trouble. I was just leaving.” The giant Byrtnoth snorted, and sat back down amid a cacophony of hoots and jeers. Stilicho rushed out the door and, keeping the weaselly man in his view, followed him up the street as best he could.
Meanwhile, Cleopatra and Cara had located the temple indicated on the map and had discovered it to be the temple of Meshpri, the Tharbrian goddess of healing and nurture. The temple was a large bungalow, with a wide porch running around the outside; within was the home of the God and the dwellings of her priests. Crammed along the porch were dozens of sick, diseased, and crippled persons of every age and creed; some were being tended to by a cadre of kindly Aides, while a few of the senior priests moved slowly among them. Cleopatra had an idea: “I will pretend to be ill, Cara. You will be my tender. We shall see what we can learn from these priests.” And so another desperate soul joined those on the porch of Meshpri, hoping for mercy from the goddess. The fine clothing of Cara and Cleopatra quickly drew a ranking priest, who asked solicitously of Cleopatra’s woes. She groaned convincingly, and asked if she might be conveyed into the temple proper for healing. The priest smiled benignly, and replied smoothly: “That all depends on the will of Mesphri! She is only able to help so many people per day.” Pointedly ignoring the elderly and impoverished man to her left, a man who had clearly been languishing on the porch for a matter of months, Cara wondered how likely it was for Meshpri to grant her blessings to a specific individual. The plump priest smiled again, and repeated that it was entirely up to Mesphri’s will. Cleopatra, a bit more savvy in such matters than Cara, reached out and dropped 5 gold coins in the priest’s hand; he palmed them quickly, and his smile turned thin: “Well, we shall see how you fare. Meshpri’s favor is difficult to gauge.” One of the younger Aides, looking tired, shook her head and apologized: “This is the way it works, my friend. I’m sorry your donation did not put you higher on the list.” Cleopatra grimaced in mock pain, and cried out piteously: “No matter. I’m sure Meshpri will visit me soon! Besides, I wonder if you can tell me what is going on? Why so many sick?” A conversation sprang up, and Cleopatra quickly divined that the new high priestess, Relowena, was responsible for the blatant favoritism evident at the temple; more significantly, Cleopatra learned that the temple staff had no love of the TRL, since they considered them nothing but troublemakers. “Those ruffians?,” spat the Aide, “they bring false dreams to the poor, and end up letting the poor take the short end of a spear. If we could run them out of the quarter, we would. And now, my lady, I hope you feel better soon.” As the Aide moved down the line, Cleopatra sprang out of her litter and spoke to Cara: “Why I believe I do feel better. Let’s go find the boys.”
Back at Ophir’s, tempers were starting to flare. Gren’s songs were greeted with some mild approval, but thus far none of the Tharbrians had deigned to speak with the heroes. Drogden decided to take matters into his own hand. The fiery cleric marched over to Byrtnoth’s table and sat down at an empty chair: “Hey. What’s going on?” Byrtnoth turned slowly and said “We don’t like imperials in our tavern. Go away, little man.” “Me? Little? What rubbish is that?” replied the priest. Sighing heavily, Byrtnoth rose and pushed back his shirt: “I see I’m going to have to teach you what I mean. Let’s do it, little man!” Drogden took a long drink of his ale, and then stood up. “Fine! Let’s go,” he said, fingering his axe. But Byrtnoth looked at him with contempt: “Weapons? You wanna bring the watch? What, are you afraid to prove yourself with your fists?” Within moments the fists were flying. Byrtnoth was a heavy man, and well-versed in brawling; quickly Drogden was reeling. Still, he had gotten in one massive clout to the giant’s head, a blow which drew a slow nod from the Tharbrian. “Ya, that was a good one, little man,” he said as he spat out a tooth. But soon the Tharbrian’s brawling skills began to tell, and with one final swing Drogden toppled over. As he fell, silence reigned in the bar. But Byrtnoth, who was himself staggering rather woozily, spoke up; “Now that was a fight. The little man has got the right stuff. Henrik, get me an ale.” Splashing it over the unconscious cleric, Byrtnoth helped him to his feet, clapped him on the shoulder, and proclaimed “You can drink and fight with me any time, little man!” And with that, the bar burst into conversation. The heroes had won some grudging acceptance!
More usefully, they learned from their new drinking companions that the weaselly man was a newcomer, one not well-known or -liked by the regulars. He was richer than the rest, and occasionally disdainful of their working-class ways. Drogden and Gren soon learned that the Tharbrians were generally proud of their heritage, but most were not interested in treason or rebellion, and had little truck with those who did. Finally Byrtnoth tipped them off that the ‘bad apples’ of the neighborhood had taken over the third floor of a triple-decker just up the alley.
Meanwhile, Stilicho had been exercising every ounce of stealth and restraint that existed in his huge frame. Given that he was not particularly stealthy or restrained, this was more difficult than he had imagined. Still, the busy streets helped conceal him as he followed the weaselly man up the street to a row of three-story houses. Most had a retail space on the first floor, and apartments - some abandoned or decrepit - reached by external stairs on the 2nd and 3rd floors. Stilicho watched the weaselly man mount one of the external stairs, knock at a new-looking door, and enter. The gallowglass, pleased with his stalking, decided to creep up the stairs and see if he could eavesdrop on whoever was inside. Grateful he had left his armor (for which he was still in debt to Cleopatra!) back at the Minstrel, Stilicho climbed the stair and stood on the stoop, listening carefully. He heard only snatches of conversation, but enough to confirm that this was one of the TRL’s hideouts. Indeed, the weaselly man was reporting to another the arrival of the heroes at Ophir’s, and the fact that they had been inquiring about Aelfgar. The warrior heard these ominous words “Well, we’re going to have to take care of these meddlers.” Delighted with his results, Stilicho rushed down the stairs to find his colleagues. To his amazement, he encountered all of his friends rushing towards the very same building that he had just left, for Cleopatra and Cara had caught up with Gren, Godfrey and Drogden just as the three were leaving Ophir’s. Stilicho quickly filled them in on what he had learned.
A hasty and sotto-voce discussion ensued on the street about what to do. Some were in favor of placing the apartment under surveillance. But Stilicho argued forcefully for direct action, since, as he put it, “We’ve got them cornered like rats!” Gren and Cara climbed the outside stairs of a neighboring triple-decker, and the elf nimbly pulled herself onto the roof; Gren followed suit. The rest climbed - as quietly as possible - the stairs of the house in question. The rickety stairs creaked and groaned, but few spared the heroes a second glance. Untying their weapons, Stilicho whispered, “We take them on ‘three.’ One, two, and … three!” With that he threw himself at the door, smashing it into fragments. Sadly, neither he nor his more scholarly friends had elected to inspect the door, and as his shoulder impacted it, Stilicho ignited a set of Explosive Runes that had been placed there by the agents of the TRL. KA-BOOM! A fiery explosion rocked the quarter, as flames blew back against all the party on the stairs and inward into the building. What was worse, the tindertrap three-decker immediately began to burn with a vengeance. Drogden, still bruised from his fisticuffs, went down scorched and bleeding. Cleopatra was badly wounded, but managed to dodge the main force of the explosion. Godfrey and Stilicho took the brunt of it, and stood in the doorway.
Events unfolded rapidly. Stilicho called for magical support from Cleopatra, who replied acidly that she had not expected combat, and was ill prepared for street-to-street fighting. Godfrey took a glance at Drogden and saw that the cleric was in dire straits; hoisting him onto his shoulder, Godfrey dragged him down one flight of stairs, applied first aid, and then dragged him to the street. Inside the apartment were four thugs; one had been killed instantly, and other three, desperately afraid of burning to death, threw themselves at the doorway. But the mighty warrior Stilicho stood in the doorway and barred the way. One tried to grapple with the gallowglass, but Stilicho, grinning wildly, ducked under his rush and, using the man’s momentum, hurled him backward off the staircase. He plunged three stories to his death. Within the room a fifth man was scrabbling for some papers as the fire began to roar around him; he ran to the wall opposite the door, coughing amid the smoke, and pulled open a hidden panel. He tossed a rope out the hidden exit and started to climb away. Stilicho quickly despatched the remaining thugs, but was growing nervous about the flames. Gren and Cara began to fire arrows as the climbing thief, and their cries alerted Cleopatra, who raced to the other side of the building; seeing the thief on his rope, she chanted some arcane words and a mass of webs appeared below the fleeing thief. He dropped from the rope, miraculously bounced off the web and was about to flee when he was struck with a second spell - he was asleep amid the webs!
Up on the blazing staircase, Stilicho was faced with a difficult dilemma. Godfrey had helped all the inhabitants of the lower floors to flee, and the thugs were either dead or incapacitated. But the evidence! Where was the evidence of TRL activity? Taking a huge gasp of fresh air, and ignoring the scorches the fire was already inflicting on his skin, the warrior rushed into the roaring inferno. Spying a lockbox on the now burning desk, he grabbed it, even as he stumbled and was scorched again. Desperate, he looked across the chamber and spied the secret exit. Racing as if his life depended on it [DM note: it did!] Stilicho threw himself headfirst out the narrow opening. As Gren and Cleopatra looked on in disbelief they saw their flaming companion come flying out of the third story window, shouting “Son of a biiiiiitch” as he fell. He dropped like a stone, landing without further mishap in the webs, just beside the snoring thief. Clambering to his feet, he avoided the sticky webs, and dropped to the pavement. “F***K YEAH!” shouted the grinning, and still-smoldering warrior. Gren looked on wryly: “At least he stuck the landing.”
Still, even if Stilicho was safe, the group was still in trouble. Most of the inhabitants of the district were out in the street, as smoke and flames poured from the triple-decker. Godfrey knew that in an instant the entire quarter might be reduced to ashes. Grabbing a wailing cobbler by the collar, he shouted at him “You! Stop sniveling! Where’s the nearest well? We need a bucket chain and we need it NOW!” Exerting all of his knightly authority, Godfrey soon transformed the rabble into a willing, if still frightened, fire brigade. Meanwhile, Cleopatra had Clara secure the thief, while she applied a curative potion to the unconscious Drogden. Watching Godfrey organize the crowd, the sorceress shook her head: “That fool is going to drag us all down with his nobility. We have to get out of here!” At her gesture, Stilicho ran to Godfrey, and physically drew him away. Bruised, scorched, and hobbled, the six - with their captive - began to struggle away through the side streets. “At least we avoided the watch,” observed Cleopatra. But she had spoken too soon! Just around the corner came the watch, rushing towards the flames, still visible on the horizon. Cleopatra leaped into action: “Officers, thank Mesphri! We are aiding this wounded man [indicating the prisoner]. There’s a terrible fire! You are badly needed.” And as the Watch raced toward the conflagration, the heroes slunk back to the Grey Minstrel.
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
I dropped by to look up some facts in this thread for the reboot of this campaign (last night), and was shocked to see how many hits it had. Thanks, folks.
I do feel sorry I haven't updated in over 6 months. For anyone still interested, I have two sessions from the summer that have not yet been written up (and will probably receive a short write-up in the near future). But the better news is that we reconvened yesterday and are committed to a once-every-three-weeks schedule until May. A few changes will be noticed, but much of the gang is still together: Stilicho, fearless as ever; Drogden the battle-mad cleric; and the lovely and arrogant Cleopatra (who sprang her own surprise on the DM last night). A new face has joined the group, Ceras the Knave!
Some teasers:
- a summons by an imperial chartoularios to stand trial in the court of the Exarch on charges of arson
- a desperate defense of their "safe-house" from an assault led by thugs from the Benevolent Brotherhood.
- a search through the slums for a missing dwarven diplomat, culminating in savage fighting in the sewers of Narsileon
- pitilessly tracking down the remaining known members of the Tharbrian Recovery League and subjecting them to enhanced interrogation (alignment? ahem!)
- a cunningly-laid trap, and the seizure of an old enemy
- gratifying rewards from on high
I hope to get the story going again this weekend ...
I do feel sorry I haven't updated in over 6 months. For anyone still interested, I have two sessions from the summer that have not yet been written up (and will probably receive a short write-up in the near future). But the better news is that we reconvened yesterday and are committed to a once-every-three-weeks schedule until May. A few changes will be noticed, but much of the gang is still together: Stilicho, fearless as ever; Drogden the battle-mad cleric; and the lovely and arrogant Cleopatra (who sprang her own surprise on the DM last night). A new face has joined the group, Ceras the Knave!
Some teasers:
- a summons by an imperial chartoularios to stand trial in the court of the Exarch on charges of arson
- a desperate defense of their "safe-house" from an assault led by thugs from the Benevolent Brotherhood.
- a search through the slums for a missing dwarven diplomat, culminating in savage fighting in the sewers of Narsileon
- pitilessly tracking down the remaining known members of the Tharbrian Recovery League and subjecting them to enhanced interrogation (alignment? ahem!)
- a cunningly-laid trap, and the seizure of an old enemy
- gratifying rewards from on high
I hope to get the story going again this weekend ...
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
PCs:
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Seventeenth and Eighteenth Laisses
Ed.: the quires containing these entries appear to be lost, and the story of the heroes’ actions subsequent to the Great Fire of the 8th year of the Exarchate of Valerian must be pieced together from the writings of later compilers, particularly the Vita Stilichonis (VS); the quasi-apocrophyal Interviews with a Great Arch-Mage, by Cleopatra of Archontos (IGA); the oral ‘Battle-Memoirs of Drogden’, as recorded in Oronius’ famous Histories of the Pagan Cults (HPC); the Song of the Azure Knights (SAK); and the Grenaead, the one surviving epic from the great Bard of Narsileon (G). The following fragments provide the general gist of what happened. The source of each paragraph is indicated by the relevant abbreviation found in brackets at the end of the paragraph.
… amid great bellows of laughter, the Warrior smiled benignly through the pain of his burns at those whose lives he had saved. Great Stilicho was certain that the Tharbrian Recovery League was destroyed, and that rewards would be forthcoming from appropriate authorities. He turned to Gren and slapped him on the back, saying “Now, little Bard, it is time to drink! Then we shall interrogate that ruffian” … [VS]
The tiresome mundanity of dealing with public authorities is well-known to all those versed in the arcane arts. There is nothing more annoying than to have to endure the prattling of such bureaucrats. Why, you can imagine the shock when some minor chartoularios presented himself at our door shortly after our great victory along Thufir’s Row. The fellow had the effrontery to issue a summons to me! To me! And for what? Some minor infraction, of course. A student of the art has no time to bandy legal niceties with functionaries! And to accuse such a potent mage of intentional arson, and to hint at severe punishment? Why, it is nearly impossible to bear. Were not the demands of practical magical training so great, it is a wonder that any of us would leave our towers. I myself had to spend valuable time interviewing snivelling advocates. The most highly recommended did not suit, as her looks would have competed with my own, and we ended up with a most unfortunate fellow named Herbert, who by all account was nonetheless a practiced pleader. [IGA]
Once the red haze of battle is lifted from the acolyte’s eyes, it is all the more important to give thanks to Werrab and to praise his mighty battle-thews. I recall how, after one blood-rimmed and flame-darkened slaughter, which took place in the district they used to call Tharb-Town, this priest had to tamp down the battle-lust, sheath his hammer, and practice the breathing techniques of the lord of carnage. This priest knew, however, that the interval between battles would be short, as it always is. And so, despite a maddeningly boring lull as some shopped, wrote, and drank, this priest bided his time. And not in vain, for Lo!, as his companions strove craftily to hide away the prisoner taken in battle, and to force his speech with torments and persuasions, Werrab showed his mighty face to this priest once more. There were at least six of them. Some came in through the front door, others through the second-floor window. As the elf tried to protect the spoils of previous battle, and the singer nervously questioned our tactics, the warriors smiled and the low snick of the blade loosed from its sheath was heard once more! Although this priest has seen numerous mighty battles, that one had its moments. Werrab smiled that day, as this priest took down two of the foe single-handedly and the mighty gallowglass’s blade became wet with blood. That comrade [ed., he means Stilicho] knew the favor of Werrab on that day! Finally, throwing down his greatsword, that warrior threw himself onto the fleeing enemy, bringing him down in the very street outside the alleged safe-house! And so Werrab teaches battle in all its forms. [HPC]
Bright was the moon on that day,
‘Ere the enemy entered the fray!
Thru window and door came they,
Looking to snatch the captive away.
The hands of the warriors flew,
And the intruders dropped in the dew.
The werrab-priest sought aid from above,
So the singer dropped down the flue like a dove,
As the mouths of the warriors gaped
The singer carved the ogre a new nape.
And so thanks to wile the battle was won,
And brave Gren wrote it down in a song.
The warriors gave him thanks once again,
For granting sweet victory to the men. [G]
Once the miserable thugs and their ogre companion had been defeated after their dishonorable attack on Sir Godfrey’s friends, a new captive joined Gothort. He, too, sang a tale of treachery at the hand of the Brotherhood, albeit one linked to those gadflies in the TRL. The knight sighed, for his work was not yet done. Traipsing about the city following the whiff of the TRL and the thieves who supported them was hardly exciting work, but at least it was honorable. The trail led to a noted den of iniquity just outside the city limits, the notorious Jubal’s Place. [SAK]
The Warrior was eager for action, as it seemed that enemies of the secretive and dangerous sort were accumulating like flies on a corpse. Cutting through the dithering of bards and wizards, the Warrior slammed his fist on the table. “You go to Jubal’s Place, to ferret out the rats. Let them start singing before I have to start swinging! I will guard the captives while you pull secrets from the little men!” [VS]
Another crucial lesson, my apprentices, is to avoid committing incriminating details to paper. The wise mage memorizes details and destroys all records. Why, in the early days when I was engaged in forming the reputation which I now enjoy, we dealt with some surly villains who had foolishly committed the names of their troupe to writing. Once we had shaken the tree in Tharb Town, and disposed of a band of ill-fated intruders, it was easy for anyone as intelligent as I to pull on the threads and unravel the conspiracy. One captive gave us the next link, a certain Devlitt, resident in a most unsalubrious bar. Pay attention! Here again, wiles may complement wit. I posed as a beautiful and eager potential companion, and that fool of a Tharbrian followed me outside, where the boys subdued him. Under threat and awed by the glamor of my person, Devlitt spilled all. He explained that he was merely a contact for the Brotherhood, who had been approached by a ‘cove’ who gave his name as Aelfgar (note well my use of the vernacular word, ‘cove’! Impressive, eh?) seeking to engage the Brotherhood on behalf of himself. Even Devlitt knew this was TRL business, but the poor ‘cove’ (again! My cleverness knows no bounds!) revealed that “Aelfgar” was not Tharbrian, but rather Archontean, and a mighty posh one at that! “Not-Aelfgar” wore a ring with an opal and a carving of a horse, and had a hidden tattoo on his forearm in the form of a snake twined about a sword. Before we left him tied - but living -on the gibbet, Devlitt revealed that “Not-Aelfgar” came from Imperial Row, and frequented the Belt. As we left I sowed more disinformation, calling cheerfully to him: “Doffy sent us! Be sure to let him know we thank you.” And that is how it is done - one moves swiftly to capitalize on the stupidity of the lesser, all the while keeping one’s own status hidden. [IGA]
The Battle-Lord offers many paths to glory. Even as this priest pursued the foolish rebels of the TRL, a new opportunity presented itself. A skulker in red appeared, and distracted the others with tales of potential favor to be earned by locating a missing dwarf. Although the blood of the TRL was still singing in this Priest’s ears, his fellows chose to follow the way of influence rather than that of battle! But great Werrab did not abandon his devoted follower. A new struggle emerged! The missing dwarf had been abducted by skin-changers, who lurked like thieves beneath the streets, preying on the weak and helpless. If only these unfortunates had known Werrab! Then might they have resisted on their own. Still, their ignorance once again provided opportunity. This Priest followed the mage, the elf, and the singer into the sewers, where glorious battle again awaited. The skin-changers fought ferociously, but were no match for the Hammer of Werrab. Once despatched, the dwarf was found and glory obtained. So it is with battle. [HPC]
Of rats I say nought,
‘Though plenty have I fought.
Skin-changers were those,
Who were found by my nose.
When battle drew near,
And some moaned in fear,
Brave Gren led the way,
Through the slime and the spray.
In sewers most foul,
Back to back ‘gainst the wall,
The priest led the way,
But Gren had his say,
And when bodies lay cooling,
The songs came un-spooling. [G]
Heed me, young ones! Another lesson on the varieties of fauna that may be observed even in the midst of the great cities. Once, as my reputation was being made, I encountered a tribe of skin-changers, or were-rats as they are commonly known. These foul beasts are most dangerous, as puissant magicks - of the sort I possess - are required to bring them down. They are most crafty as well, and are logically difficult for all but the most well-trained to discern. On that occasion, we had been asked by Rudigar the Red - you know of him, right? - to boost our standing (as if mine needed boosting!? I ask you!) with the mundane authorities by solving a most unusual disappearance. A young dwarf - a fellow named Durtal the Tapper - had disappeared from the dwarven embassy in the Down Slope district. Dwarves are most secretive and dour, and entirely no fun. Their leader at that time - a certain Frantin the Speaker - was immune even to my impressive charms! I myself had little interest in this task, but I agreed to help so as to lift the reputations of my less able companions. And so we followed the path of this missing dwarf through the most pitiful slums, asking here and there amongst the brothels, taverns, and abandoned buildings for signs of his passing. His people had called him ‘frivolous’ and ‘immature’, and claimed he wasted his time in investigating ‘all manner of carving in all manner of substances.’ It appeared they felt he should have stuck to the stone work for which his people are famed. Still, this was helpful, as it allowed me to deduce that he had left the embassy to speak with a certain scrivener named Lod, one whose skill belied the squalor of his location. But I digress! The subject is skin-changers. Once this scrivener’s shop was located, it was childishly easy for me to infer that multiple abductions had taken place in that pitiful square, and eventually to locate an abandoned well leading into an older section of the sewers. Sending the boys ahead, we descended into the filth. There we were ambushed by the skin-changers and their rodentine allies. I must impress upon you the difficulty of discerning mere rat from were rat, especially in darkened sewers. My magicks were mighty, however, once targeted on the ‘changers. And despite some whining by the boys, the business was quickly brought to an end. I procured samples of the were-beasts’ ichor and viscera, of course, but it was the wealth of their lair that was most impressive. Indeed, it paid for a most fetching robe and several new spells! The dwarf? Oh, yes, he was found and returned unharmed. But that robe! Ahh, that was quite a beauty. [IGA]
While the Warrior loyally guarded the captive, his comrades engaged in lighthearted interaction with the low-lives of the city. Thieves were interrogated, were-rats slain, and witnesses sought for the upcoming trial. Indeed, mighty Cleopatra even sought the aid of a Theora, one of the Burning Mages [ed., he means ‘Collegium of Cinders’] to prove that the fire could not have been the product of offensive magic. At least while performing his task so faithfully, the others were able to win the favor of the Archon Gedeon once more by recovering a missing dwarf. And such is the fate of the Warrior! Forced to wait, while the chattering classes pursue their insignificant tasks! Yet loyalty and fidelity were once more rewarded, as the efforts of all - even the chatterers - helped to demonstrate the fidelity of all. [VS]
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Seventeenth and Eighteenth Laisses
Ed.: the quires containing these entries appear to be lost, and the story of the heroes’ actions subsequent to the Great Fire of the 8th year of the Exarchate of Valerian must be pieced together from the writings of later compilers, particularly the Vita Stilichonis (VS); the quasi-apocrophyal Interviews with a Great Arch-Mage, by Cleopatra of Archontos (IGA); the oral ‘Battle-Memoirs of Drogden’, as recorded in Oronius’ famous Histories of the Pagan Cults (HPC); the Song of the Azure Knights (SAK); and the Grenaead, the one surviving epic from the great Bard of Narsileon (G). The following fragments provide the general gist of what happened. The source of each paragraph is indicated by the relevant abbreviation found in brackets at the end of the paragraph.
… amid great bellows of laughter, the Warrior smiled benignly through the pain of his burns at those whose lives he had saved. Great Stilicho was certain that the Tharbrian Recovery League was destroyed, and that rewards would be forthcoming from appropriate authorities. He turned to Gren and slapped him on the back, saying “Now, little Bard, it is time to drink! Then we shall interrogate that ruffian” … [VS]
The tiresome mundanity of dealing with public authorities is well-known to all those versed in the arcane arts. There is nothing more annoying than to have to endure the prattling of such bureaucrats. Why, you can imagine the shock when some minor chartoularios presented himself at our door shortly after our great victory along Thufir’s Row. The fellow had the effrontery to issue a summons to me! To me! And for what? Some minor infraction, of course. A student of the art has no time to bandy legal niceties with functionaries! And to accuse such a potent mage of intentional arson, and to hint at severe punishment? Why, it is nearly impossible to bear. Were not the demands of practical magical training so great, it is a wonder that any of us would leave our towers. I myself had to spend valuable time interviewing snivelling advocates. The most highly recommended did not suit, as her looks would have competed with my own, and we ended up with a most unfortunate fellow named Herbert, who by all account was nonetheless a practiced pleader. [IGA]
Once the red haze of battle is lifted from the acolyte’s eyes, it is all the more important to give thanks to Werrab and to praise his mighty battle-thews. I recall how, after one blood-rimmed and flame-darkened slaughter, which took place in the district they used to call Tharb-Town, this priest had to tamp down the battle-lust, sheath his hammer, and practice the breathing techniques of the lord of carnage. This priest knew, however, that the interval between battles would be short, as it always is. And so, despite a maddeningly boring lull as some shopped, wrote, and drank, this priest bided his time. And not in vain, for Lo!, as his companions strove craftily to hide away the prisoner taken in battle, and to force his speech with torments and persuasions, Werrab showed his mighty face to this priest once more. There were at least six of them. Some came in through the front door, others through the second-floor window. As the elf tried to protect the spoils of previous battle, and the singer nervously questioned our tactics, the warriors smiled and the low snick of the blade loosed from its sheath was heard once more! Although this priest has seen numerous mighty battles, that one had its moments. Werrab smiled that day, as this priest took down two of the foe single-handedly and the mighty gallowglass’s blade became wet with blood. That comrade [ed., he means Stilicho] knew the favor of Werrab on that day! Finally, throwing down his greatsword, that warrior threw himself onto the fleeing enemy, bringing him down in the very street outside the alleged safe-house! And so Werrab teaches battle in all its forms. [HPC]
Bright was the moon on that day,
‘Ere the enemy entered the fray!
Thru window and door came they,
Looking to snatch the captive away.
The hands of the warriors flew,
And the intruders dropped in the dew.
The werrab-priest sought aid from above,
So the singer dropped down the flue like a dove,
As the mouths of the warriors gaped
The singer carved the ogre a new nape.
And so thanks to wile the battle was won,
And brave Gren wrote it down in a song.
The warriors gave him thanks once again,
For granting sweet victory to the men. [G]
Once the miserable thugs and their ogre companion had been defeated after their dishonorable attack on Sir Godfrey’s friends, a new captive joined Gothort. He, too, sang a tale of treachery at the hand of the Brotherhood, albeit one linked to those gadflies in the TRL. The knight sighed, for his work was not yet done. Traipsing about the city following the whiff of the TRL and the thieves who supported them was hardly exciting work, but at least it was honorable. The trail led to a noted den of iniquity just outside the city limits, the notorious Jubal’s Place. [SAK]
The Warrior was eager for action, as it seemed that enemies of the secretive and dangerous sort were accumulating like flies on a corpse. Cutting through the dithering of bards and wizards, the Warrior slammed his fist on the table. “You go to Jubal’s Place, to ferret out the rats. Let them start singing before I have to start swinging! I will guard the captives while you pull secrets from the little men!” [VS]
Another crucial lesson, my apprentices, is to avoid committing incriminating details to paper. The wise mage memorizes details and destroys all records. Why, in the early days when I was engaged in forming the reputation which I now enjoy, we dealt with some surly villains who had foolishly committed the names of their troupe to writing. Once we had shaken the tree in Tharb Town, and disposed of a band of ill-fated intruders, it was easy for anyone as intelligent as I to pull on the threads and unravel the conspiracy. One captive gave us the next link, a certain Devlitt, resident in a most unsalubrious bar. Pay attention! Here again, wiles may complement wit. I posed as a beautiful and eager potential companion, and that fool of a Tharbrian followed me outside, where the boys subdued him. Under threat and awed by the glamor of my person, Devlitt spilled all. He explained that he was merely a contact for the Brotherhood, who had been approached by a ‘cove’ who gave his name as Aelfgar (note well my use of the vernacular word, ‘cove’! Impressive, eh?) seeking to engage the Brotherhood on behalf of himself. Even Devlitt knew this was TRL business, but the poor ‘cove’ (again! My cleverness knows no bounds!) revealed that “Aelfgar” was not Tharbrian, but rather Archontean, and a mighty posh one at that! “Not-Aelfgar” wore a ring with an opal and a carving of a horse, and had a hidden tattoo on his forearm in the form of a snake twined about a sword. Before we left him tied - but living -on the gibbet, Devlitt revealed that “Not-Aelfgar” came from Imperial Row, and frequented the Belt. As we left I sowed more disinformation, calling cheerfully to him: “Doffy sent us! Be sure to let him know we thank you.” And that is how it is done - one moves swiftly to capitalize on the stupidity of the lesser, all the while keeping one’s own status hidden. [IGA]
The Battle-Lord offers many paths to glory. Even as this priest pursued the foolish rebels of the TRL, a new opportunity presented itself. A skulker in red appeared, and distracted the others with tales of potential favor to be earned by locating a missing dwarf. Although the blood of the TRL was still singing in this Priest’s ears, his fellows chose to follow the way of influence rather than that of battle! But great Werrab did not abandon his devoted follower. A new struggle emerged! The missing dwarf had been abducted by skin-changers, who lurked like thieves beneath the streets, preying on the weak and helpless. If only these unfortunates had known Werrab! Then might they have resisted on their own. Still, their ignorance once again provided opportunity. This Priest followed the mage, the elf, and the singer into the sewers, where glorious battle again awaited. The skin-changers fought ferociously, but were no match for the Hammer of Werrab. Once despatched, the dwarf was found and glory obtained. So it is with battle. [HPC]
Of rats I say nought,
‘Though plenty have I fought.
Skin-changers were those,
Who were found by my nose.
When battle drew near,
And some moaned in fear,
Brave Gren led the way,
Through the slime and the spray.
In sewers most foul,
Back to back ‘gainst the wall,
The priest led the way,
But Gren had his say,
And when bodies lay cooling,
The songs came un-spooling. [G]
Heed me, young ones! Another lesson on the varieties of fauna that may be observed even in the midst of the great cities. Once, as my reputation was being made, I encountered a tribe of skin-changers, or were-rats as they are commonly known. These foul beasts are most dangerous, as puissant magicks - of the sort I possess - are required to bring them down. They are most crafty as well, and are logically difficult for all but the most well-trained to discern. On that occasion, we had been asked by Rudigar the Red - you know of him, right? - to boost our standing (as if mine needed boosting!? I ask you!) with the mundane authorities by solving a most unusual disappearance. A young dwarf - a fellow named Durtal the Tapper - had disappeared from the dwarven embassy in the Down Slope district. Dwarves are most secretive and dour, and entirely no fun. Their leader at that time - a certain Frantin the Speaker - was immune even to my impressive charms! I myself had little interest in this task, but I agreed to help so as to lift the reputations of my less able companions. And so we followed the path of this missing dwarf through the most pitiful slums, asking here and there amongst the brothels, taverns, and abandoned buildings for signs of his passing. His people had called him ‘frivolous’ and ‘immature’, and claimed he wasted his time in investigating ‘all manner of carving in all manner of substances.’ It appeared they felt he should have stuck to the stone work for which his people are famed. Still, this was helpful, as it allowed me to deduce that he had left the embassy to speak with a certain scrivener named Lod, one whose skill belied the squalor of his location. But I digress! The subject is skin-changers. Once this scrivener’s shop was located, it was childishly easy for me to infer that multiple abductions had taken place in that pitiful square, and eventually to locate an abandoned well leading into an older section of the sewers. Sending the boys ahead, we descended into the filth. There we were ambushed by the skin-changers and their rodentine allies. I must impress upon you the difficulty of discerning mere rat from were rat, especially in darkened sewers. My magicks were mighty, however, once targeted on the ‘changers. And despite some whining by the boys, the business was quickly brought to an end. I procured samples of the were-beasts’ ichor and viscera, of course, but it was the wealth of their lair that was most impressive. Indeed, it paid for a most fetching robe and several new spells! The dwarf? Oh, yes, he was found and returned unharmed. But that robe! Ahh, that was quite a beauty. [IGA]
While the Warrior loyally guarded the captive, his comrades engaged in lighthearted interaction with the low-lives of the city. Thieves were interrogated, were-rats slain, and witnesses sought for the upcoming trial. Indeed, mighty Cleopatra even sought the aid of a Theora, one of the Burning Mages [ed., he means ‘Collegium of Cinders’] to prove that the fire could not have been the product of offensive magic. At least while performing his task so faithfully, the others were able to win the favor of the Archon Gedeon once more by recovering a missing dwarf. And such is the fate of the Warrior! Forced to wait, while the chattering classes pursue their insignificant tasks! Yet loyalty and fidelity were once more rewarded, as the efforts of all - even the chatterers - helped to demonstrate the fidelity of all. [VS]
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
some explanation on the last entry. The events described took place in sessions held in May and June 2012, for which I have only scanty notes. Instead of skipping the entries for those sessions, I decided I should try to fill in the gaps. My first thought was to just add a few lines according to the conceit that the accounts of those events had been lost from the manuscript containing the overall set of session reports and needed to be filled in from later, and less trustworthy, sources. That grew into a slightly more ambitious post than I had imagined. Still, it was fun to write in the voice of some of the characters ... Next post (up later today) will resume the main style and story.
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
PCs:
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
Ceras the Knave, level 2 knave (Rogue variant)
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Old Threats and New Beginnings
A week had passed since the great victory over the were-rats, and the heroes were anxious. Sir Godfrey had been recalled to active duty in his sept of the Azure Knights. Bidding his fellows a gruff, but fond farewell, the veteran, one-eyed knight offered a quiet word to Stilicho: “Keep an eye on them, brother. Don’t let Cleo’s vanity drag you down the wrong path.” Gren, too, was offering farewells. “I’ve got enough material for my epic tale. Time to settle down and pursue the muse. And the landlord here at the Grey Minstrel has offered me a permanent position! Good luck to you all, and don’t forget your waitresses!” Offering but a wan smile, Cleopatra was clearly not pleased. “The Boys are dropping like flies,” she complained, “I shall have to take matters into my own hands - again! - and find some new defenders.” Stilicho didn’t rise to the bait. “Let’s just see what Rudigar the Red wants this time,” he replied agreeably.
Just then the red-clad factotum arrived, bearing with him a companion in sober, unobtrusive clothing. As the right-hand man, particularly for ‘private’ dealings, of Archon Gedeon Ligareon, Rudigar was well known to the group, even if the near-catastrophic incident at his alleged ‘safe-house’ still rankled with some. The Red Rogue had grave news indeed: it appeared that the heroes’s trial for high treason had been abruptly moved forward, to a date only 10 days hence. “I believe the Exarch’s exact words in this matter,” said Rudigar, “were these: ‘I shall be much, much too busy as a newlywed to engage in any judicial nonsense, particularly concerning arson.’” As Stilicho’s eyes glazed over with talk of more legal matters, Cleopatra took charge. “You should know,” she said, “that we have procured an advocate with a decent, if unspectacular reputation. All eyes shall be on me, however, and I have prepared numerous statements designed to demonstrate our superior intellect and character. We shall have no problem.” “Ahh, then you are indeed fortunate,” replied Rudigar, “for the judge assigned to assist the Exarch in this matter of High Justice is none other than Georgios Basmil, who is well-known for his preference for emotional testimony from the accused.” Drodgen spoke up with impatience, “Surely this is all a waste of time? We have better things to be doing, like cracking the skulls of the TRL. We believe there is no evidence against us, and that the entire affair should be dismissed.” Rudigar grimaced, and explained gently the legal procedure of the empire, according to which witnesses as to character were as important as witnesses as to fact. “Furthermore,” said the red rogue, “it appears that you have garnered some formidable foes, several of whom are said to be planning to offer character testimony against you. Chief among them are Iskarion Xenarcheon, of the 21st Cataphracts, and none other than Lady Ysabet Basileon herself, the Exarch’s bride-to-be! You had best plan on using more than Cleopatra’s pretty face in your defense!” Stilicho snorted at the name of their old enemy: “That ponce, Iskarion? What a joke. I’ll just challenge him to manly combat.” Rudigar ignored the threat and went on to list another half-dozen individuals said to be ready to testify against the heroes, including handful of low-lives who claimed personal knowledge of Flavius Stilicho’s predilections. “One,” Rudigar noted archly, “a certain Gregor, is said to be most talkative and forthcoming about narcotic powders and other, more intimate, matters. And whom have you found to speak on your behalf?”
Cleopatra batted her eyes and replied smoothly, “Why you, of course, Rudigar. And Lord Gedeon. And I believe that lovely dwarven fellow, Durtal the Tapper, may be persuaded to thank us for saving him from a terrible fate. Moreover, I have many friends at the Collegium of Macrina, and Sir Godfrey is in good standing with the Azure Knights.” “Let us hope it is enough,” Rudigar sighed, before moving on to other business. It appeared that the Archon Gedeon was concerned about his allies, and had sent Rudigar to encourage the group to perform some sort of public service that might stand them in good stead with the Exarch. To that end, Rudigar had brought along a new recruit to join the heroes; this fellow, named Ceras, was the one accompanying Rudigar. “Ceras is adept at all those matters which seem so elusive to some of you,” said Rudigar, looking pointedly at Stilicho. “Stealth is his middle name, and he has more than a few surprises hidden under that drab exterior.” After introductions were made, Rudigar continued: “So how can you help the empire today?” After much thought, the heroes boiled it down to two main options. The first was to see if the Tharbrian Recovery League could be crippled for good, while the second was to attempt to locate the Exarch’s missing wedding gift, the infamous Eastern Star diamond. Although Stilicho grumbled for a while about avenging themselves instead on their nemesis, Doffy, the rest felt that they were close on the heels of the TRL and that this path was more likely to lead to success. “Let’s take another look at that list of names we took off of Amelie and her lover back in the woods near the Keep,” said Cleopatra.
And so the heroes buckled down to some serious investigation. From their list of eleven names, a few were known and a smaller few eliminated. They knew that Eadric Strigona, at the top of the list, was either the mastermind or a symbolic figurehead representing a long-lost Tharbrian hero. The second name, “Aelfgar - Imperial Row”, remained their top target. But how to get at him? Gothort was their prisoner, taken in the fiery assault in Tharb-town. Wulfric had been slain near the Red Keep. With her neat lettering, Cleopatra annotated the list as follows:
Eadric Strigona - ? Top Dog? Or Symbolic figurehead?
Aelfgar - Imperial Row All signs point to him. Archontean. Noble.
Eadwine - ?? ??
Teodor - friend of Cyneric Cyneric will tell us. Heh!
Cyneric - brotherhood; monkey One of our first targets. Stilicho will lead ...
Wulfric - northern sept Died Screaming
Amelie - w/ Wulfric - but loyalty? Archontean, of clan Ligareon. B**ch
Gothort - DUH! Our captive. Squeeze him ...
Leofric - 3rd shift at the mint A likely source. Let’s get him!
Godiva - priestess Vague. Maybe those Meshpri folks will know
Ebba - stupid pissant! Servants
cannot be trusted Need more info. Servant to whom?
Looking at their notes, the heroes decided on two plans. First, they would attempt to locate Leofric at the mint and get him to talk. Then, since it was well understood that Stilicho was an expert on the seedy underbelly of Narsileon, they would attempt to locate Cyneric. Hopefully one of these two would direct them to Amelie Ligareon and/or to “Aelfgar”.
As they prepared to leave, Cleopatra withdrew, saying mysteriously that she had business that needed her attention. So Cara, Stilicho, Drogden and Ceras made their way to the Mint just as the night was falling. As one of the largest structures in Narsileon, and the home of all the myriad offices of the House of Coin as well as the kritai and the halls of justice, it was difficult to know how to proceed. Drogden made it easy, and approached the guards at the gate. Instead of a city guardsman, though, these were tough veterans from the 2nd Cohort of the Imperial Tagmata. “Hello, officers, a friend of ours who works here is a bit late on returning some monies he borrowed from us. Do you think we could come in and talk to him?” “Bugger off,” came the reply. “Wait! Who is this bloke? One of the Tagma?” “No, mate,” chimed in Stilicho, “he’s a tharbrian who works within.” “Oh, a Tharbrian, eh? Well that’s a different story.” The trooper proceeded to utter a string of ethnic stereotypes and implausible scenarios so foul that Cara’s ears turned red. “Oy,” said the trooper, “Let’s have a bit of fun, eh? Meet us at the Dock Gate just after midnight, and we’ll bring this Leofric bloke along.” Saddened at the racism, but heartened at the unanticipated aid, the heroes lounged around the Mint for a couple of hours, keeping their eyes on the small doorway which gave way from the north side of the massive structure. At precisely 12:05, the door opened and a small man peered forth. Then he lurched forward, kicked by a hobnailed sandal, and the door slammed shut. Stilicho and Drogden moved in swiftly. “Why, hello Leofric,” said the Gallowglass. “We have some things to chat about.” The frightened man looked at the massive warrior and shook his head: “I don’t know you, and have nothing to say to you.” Drogden loosed his dagger, and returned a hard look: “Oh, yes you do.” As the two moved in, they heard the soft slap of sandals on stone; it was a band of twenty-some legionaries from the 2nd Cohort of the Tagmata, there to watch the fun. “Don’t mind us,” whispered one of the troopers, “just do what you have to do to this Tharbrian scum.” Leofric tried to flee, but there was nowhere to go. Although he tried to feign ignorance, proper application of incentives soon had him singing. He revealed that Amelie was in Narsileon, but moving around from place to place. He was sure that Cyneric at the Rampant Monkey, or Teodor at Jubal’s Place, might now of her whereabouts. He confirmed that Aelfgar was Archontean, and provided information that ‘Godiva’ was a priestess of Father Ils, bringing comfort to the oppressed in her peripatetic wanderings. As for Ebba the servant, Leofric knew only that he served in the household of some powerful Archontean clan. Pleased with their information, the heroes turned to leave. Julianus, a legionary from the 2nd Cohort, stepped forward. “We’ll take it from here, boys. I’m sure this traitorous scum has lots more to tell us.” The four friends hurried away as the sound of screams rose over the square. Only Cara, with her sharp hearing, heard the eventual sound of a splash into the river. “So much for Leofric,” muttered the elf.
Slightly ill at ease, the four returned to their usual haunts, in part to let Cleopatra what had transpired. Despite all their useful information, the mage was short of both attention and temper. “Stop bothering me, boys,” she snapped, “Can’t you see I’m not feeling well?” And she staggered off towards the privies. “What did she eat?” wondered Stilicho, “whatever it was, remind me to give it a pass.” It was time to move. When confronted by his friends, Stilicho agreed that on the night of his great debauch he had visited a low dive known as the Rampant Monkey. Sadly, though, he couldn’t recall the exact route he had taken to that establishment. What he did remember, though, was that this Gregor fellow, who it appeared was about to testify against him at trial, was also based at the Rampant Monkey. So the four set out into the night, delving deeper and deeper into the slum district known as the Wall. Although the path was not known to them, the sight of the well-armed band helped the denizens of the district to provide directions to that infamous hole. Finally they arrived at the Monkey, a low bungalow sprawling across several city blocks, with a battered sign of a monkey swinging outside the main door. Noticing the sign’s rather lewd imagery, Ceras noted drily “So that’s why it’s called the Rampant Monkey.”
Inside, the common room offered a smoky whirl of activity around the bar and central tables, while rows of more private booths lined the two ells of the building. Stilicho began peering through the sweet-smelling haze. “Aha!” he proclaimed, “and there he is! At least I think that’s the one …” “You’ve spotted Cyneric?” whispered Cara. “No, lass,” boomed the warrior, “but I’ve spied Gregor, my erstwhile partner in debauchery.” Striding past the craps tables, Stilicho walked confidently up to a gaudily-dressed fellow of saturnine countenance, whose arms embraced two ladies of questionable virtue. “Err, is that you, Gregor?” stammered the warrior. “Stilicho! So good to see you! Have you brought another fat purse? I am feeling lucky at dice tonight? Let us play again, for old times’ sake!” Stilicho showed him his empty purse. “Oho, looking for a free handout of Haseltine’s Lotus Powder, eh?” The reeking fellow grinned conspiratorially: “Well, I don’t see why not. Maybe one of my friends here will help you out, eh ladies?” The two women in question, who upon closer inspection seemed rather heavily caked with paste and powder, and rather more wrinkled than they had initially appeared, simpered coyly. “Ahh, that sounds nice, Gregor, my, uhhh, friend,” replied Stilicho, “but in truth I need some private conversation with you.” “You old rogue!,” came the cheery reply, “I do all my business here, in the open. It’s much safer. Don’t you agree?” Stilicho came to the point: “Err, Gregor, I need to ask you as a, uhhh, errr, ‘friend’, to help me out with a bit of a legal spot. You see, I heard from a little birdie that you might be planning to testify against me in a certain trial. I was hoping to persuade you to act otherwise.” “You old sea-dog, you!,” wheezed Gregor, his irises glowing with the tell-tale of chemical stimulants, “How could I turn against my companion on the 51st Path of the Lotus? He who introduced me to the Sutra of Love? The friend whose generosity is now legend in the district? Don’t you remember that donkey? Such fun! Why, I have been living on your generosity this past tenday! I wouldn’t dream of speaking a word against you.” Only Cara caught his less blustery aside: “At least not at the price they offered, I won’t.” Stilicho blushed beet-red and grinned. “Oh, well, thank you. I think I can guarantee you future considerations if you were to keep away. And - uhh, did you say ‘donkey’? One more thing: do you know a Tharbrian named Cyneric who is said to work here?” “Ha ha ha! Stilicho, you old lecher. Donkeys, twins, powders, fine brandies! They are all part of your palette!,” shouted Gregor, “and yes, I know the fellow. That’s him in the blue tunic, cheating at craps over there.”
And so the group sidled over to the craps table, where a fellow in a crusted and filthy blue tunic was holding forth with the dice. Drogden walked right up to him and grabbed his arm in mid throw. When the fellow tried to complain, Drogden merely said “Leofric sent us. We’ve got important business to discuss.” Grumbling at the interruption, Cyneric - for it was he - took them to a side booth and sat down. Drogden sat next to him, but Stilicho crowded in next to the Tharbrian. As the latter began to complain, Drogden poked him with a dagger. “Quiet, you! And start singing about your pitiful organization.” Stilicho glared at him and Cyneric crumpled. Quickly the information started spilling out: he didn’t know the identity of Aelfric, only that he was an ‘important Archontean’; he did know Amelie, and in fact knew that she was holed up at Jubal’s Place with Teodor, looking for vengeance. Ebba was a servant in the Imperial Palace. The two heroes looked most pleased with this information, and were content to let the frightened Cyneric flee into the night. “Back to Juhbal’s place,” said Cara.
So the foursome trooped from one sleazy tavern to another. On the way, they discussed how best to proceed, especially since Amelie would be sure to recognize Cara, Drogden and Stilicho. “But she doesn’t know me,” said Ceras, “I’m willing to go in and ingratiate myself with her.” The others quickly agreed, but when they came to fetch Cleopatra, the wizard was again having serious problems with her stomach, and declined to join them with some asperity. Outside Jubal’s Place, the plan was hatched: Cara, Drogden, Stilicho, and their henchman Ragnar, would prepare a campsite in a copse of trees two miles outside of town. Ceras would enter the inn, talk to Teodor, and convince him to take him to Amelie, where Ceras would drop hints of the location of the irascible Archontean’s enemies. If allowed to leave, Ceras would join the heroes as quickly as he could; if not, he would accompany Amelie and betray her as needed.
As Stilicho boasted afterwards, the plan “worked like a bleeding charm!” Ceras, armed with a description of Teodor extorted from Cyneric, entered the crowded inn, avoided the illegal but well-known fighting pit, and found his man. Sounding breathless, the knave spoke quickly: “Teodor, I need to see Amelie, and quickly. Cyneric has sent me to inform her of some danger to her person. Quick!” The tone and specificity of his information took Teodor by surprise, and he led Ceras to a hidden cellar, below the sub-cellar devoted to spear-throwing contests. There, in a cramped and narrow chamber sat Amelie Ligareon, her red tresses contrasting with her pale beauty. “You fool, Teodor,” came the sharp retort, “I told you never to bring anyone here. You’ll ruin everything!” Teodor stammered and explained that Ceras was ‘one of us’ and had dire news from Cyneric. Clearly suspicious, Amelie led the pair to a barn, where Ceras was swiftly grabbed by a group of young toughs. “Now, talk!,” spat the mage. Ceras quickly explained that he was part of Cyneric’s cell, that he hated the Archonteans - “No offense to you, Milady!” - And that, most importantly he had come to warn Amelie that she was being hunted by some thugs. Grunting “None taken”, Amelie quickly demanded a description of the ‘thugs’. “One of them,” began Ceras, “is a big hulking brute of a man, who wields a fearsome great sword as if it were straw. Another is an elf with a penchant for bows. A third is the priest of some obscure deity.” “Enough!” shouted Amelie, “it is they! The murderers of my Wulfric! And they dare to hunt me? We shall see who is the hunted this day! You! [Pointing at Ceras] You will take us to their camp immediately, and I will finish this once and for all.” Pulling convincingly at his forelock, Ceras shrank before her rage and murmured “Your will is my command.” Then he smiled secretly.
Six Tharbrian toughs accompanied Amelie and Ceras down the road to what they imagined to be the campsite of Stilicho and company. As they drew near and saw the remains of a fire, with five bedrolls surrounding it, Amelie gave orders to her men: “We will creep up and stab them as they sleep, like the dogs they are. You, Ceras, will come with me.” The hunters crept through the night to the camp and soon were poised on the edge of the fading firelight. “Now!” whispered Amelie, and her six friends rushed forward with spears, jabbing and striking at the sleeping companions. As Amelie crowed with glee, one of her men turned and held up what his spear had caught - not flesh, but rags! Just then came the bellow of Drogden as he leapt from the low grass surrounding the copse. Cara, perched in a tree, began peppering the Tharbrians with well aimed shafts. Drogden ran at one of the toughs, while Stilicho, rushing forward with blade drawn, shouted “Aim for the sorceress! We have to take her out quickly. And … try to take her alive!” As Amelie turned in fury, one last bit of treachery erupted as Ceras swung at her with his ready dagger. Screaming in outrage, she dodged nimbly but was still unable to find the correct material components for her spells [ed.: she was surprised for 2 rounds]. Stilicho sprang forward and attempted to knock her out with the pommel of his great sword, but once again the lithe Archontean dodged away. Drogden paused, set his feet and demonstrated the might of Werrab with a mighty shake of his axe “Glory to the AXEMEN!” This time the words shook the toughs with divine fury. Stilicho followed up with a more mundane “Stand still, you stupid bitch!” Indeed, Amelie, roused from her surprise, was attempting to flee, but Ceras, having dropped his dagger in the melee launched himself at her in a desperate attempt to tackle her. The forward roll worked, and he had her quickly in a headlock. Stilicho came running up and applied a sound ‘knock’ to the skull that rendered her unconscious. Meanwhile, Drogden, Rudigar and Cara had accounted for four of the six toughs. As two turned to flee, Stilicho clove one in twain with an enormous swing of his mighty blade, but the sixth managed to escape into the night. “Oho!,” chuckled the warrior, “that plan worked rather well. Let’s see Cleopatra top this one? Eh?” “What’s important,” said Cara archly, “is that we have Amelie, and that she is alive. Let’s get her up to Imperial Row and to Lord Gedeon before anything else happens.” “Not before we relieve her of some excess items,” muttered Stilicho, who liberated a nice selection of coins, potions, and an unusual chime. “Werrab has blessed us this night,” observed Drogden, and the heroes set off for the city.
Somewhat unsure of the political repercussions of all this, the heroes stopped just outside the city and sent Cara to fetch Rudigar. He arrived some hours later with a platoon of men in the livery of House Ligareon: “Well done!,” said the rogue, “This is most welcome news!” And with that Rudigar took Amelie off to her ancestral clanhouse to meet her fate. The heroes decamped to the Grey Minstrel for wine and song, and to let Cleopatra know of their successes. Amidst the tale-telling, Stilicho craftily traded the items liberated from Amelie to Cleopatra in return for the cancellation of his previous debts. “Finally!,” he sighed, “I hate owing money to wizards, even if they are the friendly sort.” Amidst the celebration, a messenger arrived from Lord Gedeon, who required their attendance immediately. And so, stopping merely to prettify their appearance, the band trooped up Imperial Row, passing through the Imperial Gate, and reached the clanhouse of the Ligareons. There they were welcomed like brothers, and ushered into the finest solar, where they found Gedeon Ligareon awaiting them alone. As they entered, the great Archon rose and bowed as deeply as they had ever seen a noble bow: “My friends,” he stated slowly, “You do me and my kinsmen a great honor. We are forever in your debt. Not only have you saved the empire much trouble with the TRL, but in bringing my cousin Amelie back into our … errr, ‘care’ … you have ensured the removal of a significant blot on the lineage’s honor. No longer will the Ligareon be laughing stocks amongst the Five Families! For that, and much more, I honor you!” And the Archon bowed thrice more. Looking uncomfortable at this display, Cara took a seat and the others followed. Cleopatra, whose face look pale and pinched, spoke up. “We are pleased to have been of assistance, Lord Gedeon, but allow us some curiosity. Has your cousin been able to provide the name of this elusive ‘Aelfric’ fellow?” Gedeon smiled, and said merely “I thought it inappropriate to interrogate her before you arrived. She has been cooling her heels in one of our less salubrious cells. Let us summon her, and thus gain some answers.” Amelie was fetched while the heroes enjoyed some excellent wines, and the sorceress was soon seated sullenly in their presence. Although she tried bravely to deny everything, and even let loose some choice epithets about Gedeon and his side of the clan, she began talking after the Archon walked over and slapped her face with his silken glove, saying “Do not try my patience, Cousin. Your bravado is at an end. Your choice is to talk willingly or to suffer unbearably in the third sub-basement.” Shuddering visibly, she decided to talk willingly, spilling details about the entire operation of the TRL in and around Narsileon. Gedeon practically shone with pleasure as he took notes: “This will ensure the complete demise of the local rebellion!” But Stilicho was not satisfied: “This is all well and good. But who is Aelfric?” Silence ensued, broken only by the Archon’s slow display of his glove. Amelie quickly spoke: “He is Stavros Basileon, prince of the 2nd lineage of the Basileons and brother to Ysabet Basileon.” Audible gasps were heard from all, since Ysabet Basileon was due to marry the Exarch in only two weeks! Gedeon spoke slowly, “While I cannot say the news that a prince of the Basileons is a traitor to the Empire is welcome, it is nonetheless useful and valuable. Lord Keko and my old friend Valerian [ed. Valerian is the Exarch] must be told.” Turning to the heroes, Gedeon bowed once more. “Your services are even greater than I had first imagined. There is no way now that Valerian can marry Ysabet, and for that fact alone patriots will be grateful. Whatever spell she has cast over him will be instantly broken, and the wedding cancelled. What is more, I am certain that the Exarch will be grateful to those who procured such important - if troublesome - news. I can guarantee that the charge of arson hanging over you all will be dropped. Finally, I humbly wish to make you an offer. I would - and I hope you will accept - adopt you as kinsmen, so as to join your honor and fortunes to those of clan Ligareon. Your services and your discretion have certainly proven your worth, and I can think of none better to be added to the clan. What say you?” The heroes looked with surprise at each other, and then nodded in acquiescence. Gedeon clapped his hands, and a servant appeared bearing a pillow on which rested six gold rings mounted with an enormous green tourmaline. Kneeling in turn before each of them, Gedeon slipped the ring on their fingers and exchanged oaths with each of the heroes. They were now legally members of the Ligareon clan, one of the oldest in the Empire! Although Gedeon offered them apartments in the clan house, they preferred to return to their lodgings in the city. With the Archon’s words ringing in their ears (“Then go forth, and bring glory and honor to house Ligareon!”) they walked slowly down Imperial Row, fingering their new rings. “Well, that was an unexpected turn of events,” said Drogden. “Yes,” grinned Stilicho, but you know what it means, don’t you? We are now free to do whatever we want!” Cleopatra tried to grin, but a queasy look came over her. “I guess it’s time to let you know, boys,” sad the mage, “I’m pregnant.”
Cleopatra, level 4 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
Ceras the Knave, level 2 knave (Rogue variant)
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Old Threats and New Beginnings
A week had passed since the great victory over the were-rats, and the heroes were anxious. Sir Godfrey had been recalled to active duty in his sept of the Azure Knights. Bidding his fellows a gruff, but fond farewell, the veteran, one-eyed knight offered a quiet word to Stilicho: “Keep an eye on them, brother. Don’t let Cleo’s vanity drag you down the wrong path.” Gren, too, was offering farewells. “I’ve got enough material for my epic tale. Time to settle down and pursue the muse. And the landlord here at the Grey Minstrel has offered me a permanent position! Good luck to you all, and don’t forget your waitresses!” Offering but a wan smile, Cleopatra was clearly not pleased. “The Boys are dropping like flies,” she complained, “I shall have to take matters into my own hands - again! - and find some new defenders.” Stilicho didn’t rise to the bait. “Let’s just see what Rudigar the Red wants this time,” he replied agreeably.
Just then the red-clad factotum arrived, bearing with him a companion in sober, unobtrusive clothing. As the right-hand man, particularly for ‘private’ dealings, of Archon Gedeon Ligareon, Rudigar was well known to the group, even if the near-catastrophic incident at his alleged ‘safe-house’ still rankled with some. The Red Rogue had grave news indeed: it appeared that the heroes’s trial for high treason had been abruptly moved forward, to a date only 10 days hence. “I believe the Exarch’s exact words in this matter,” said Rudigar, “were these: ‘I shall be much, much too busy as a newlywed to engage in any judicial nonsense, particularly concerning arson.’” As Stilicho’s eyes glazed over with talk of more legal matters, Cleopatra took charge. “You should know,” she said, “that we have procured an advocate with a decent, if unspectacular reputation. All eyes shall be on me, however, and I have prepared numerous statements designed to demonstrate our superior intellect and character. We shall have no problem.” “Ahh, then you are indeed fortunate,” replied Rudigar, “for the judge assigned to assist the Exarch in this matter of High Justice is none other than Georgios Basmil, who is well-known for his preference for emotional testimony from the accused.” Drodgen spoke up with impatience, “Surely this is all a waste of time? We have better things to be doing, like cracking the skulls of the TRL. We believe there is no evidence against us, and that the entire affair should be dismissed.” Rudigar grimaced, and explained gently the legal procedure of the empire, according to which witnesses as to character were as important as witnesses as to fact. “Furthermore,” said the red rogue, “it appears that you have garnered some formidable foes, several of whom are said to be planning to offer character testimony against you. Chief among them are Iskarion Xenarcheon, of the 21st Cataphracts, and none other than Lady Ysabet Basileon herself, the Exarch’s bride-to-be! You had best plan on using more than Cleopatra’s pretty face in your defense!” Stilicho snorted at the name of their old enemy: “That ponce, Iskarion? What a joke. I’ll just challenge him to manly combat.” Rudigar ignored the threat and went on to list another half-dozen individuals said to be ready to testify against the heroes, including handful of low-lives who claimed personal knowledge of Flavius Stilicho’s predilections. “One,” Rudigar noted archly, “a certain Gregor, is said to be most talkative and forthcoming about narcotic powders and other, more intimate, matters. And whom have you found to speak on your behalf?”
Cleopatra batted her eyes and replied smoothly, “Why you, of course, Rudigar. And Lord Gedeon. And I believe that lovely dwarven fellow, Durtal the Tapper, may be persuaded to thank us for saving him from a terrible fate. Moreover, I have many friends at the Collegium of Macrina, and Sir Godfrey is in good standing with the Azure Knights.” “Let us hope it is enough,” Rudigar sighed, before moving on to other business. It appeared that the Archon Gedeon was concerned about his allies, and had sent Rudigar to encourage the group to perform some sort of public service that might stand them in good stead with the Exarch. To that end, Rudigar had brought along a new recruit to join the heroes; this fellow, named Ceras, was the one accompanying Rudigar. “Ceras is adept at all those matters which seem so elusive to some of you,” said Rudigar, looking pointedly at Stilicho. “Stealth is his middle name, and he has more than a few surprises hidden under that drab exterior.” After introductions were made, Rudigar continued: “So how can you help the empire today?” After much thought, the heroes boiled it down to two main options. The first was to see if the Tharbrian Recovery League could be crippled for good, while the second was to attempt to locate the Exarch’s missing wedding gift, the infamous Eastern Star diamond. Although Stilicho grumbled for a while about avenging themselves instead on their nemesis, Doffy, the rest felt that they were close on the heels of the TRL and that this path was more likely to lead to success. “Let’s take another look at that list of names we took off of Amelie and her lover back in the woods near the Keep,” said Cleopatra.
And so the heroes buckled down to some serious investigation. From their list of eleven names, a few were known and a smaller few eliminated. They knew that Eadric Strigona, at the top of the list, was either the mastermind or a symbolic figurehead representing a long-lost Tharbrian hero. The second name, “Aelfgar - Imperial Row”, remained their top target. But how to get at him? Gothort was their prisoner, taken in the fiery assault in Tharb-town. Wulfric had been slain near the Red Keep. With her neat lettering, Cleopatra annotated the list as follows:
Eadric Strigona - ? Top Dog? Or Symbolic figurehead?
Aelfgar - Imperial Row All signs point to him. Archontean. Noble.
Eadwine - ?? ??
Teodor - friend of Cyneric Cyneric will tell us. Heh!
Cyneric - brotherhood; monkey One of our first targets. Stilicho will lead ...
Wulfric - northern sept Died Screaming
Amelie - w/ Wulfric - but loyalty? Archontean, of clan Ligareon. B**ch
Gothort - DUH! Our captive. Squeeze him ...
Leofric - 3rd shift at the mint A likely source. Let’s get him!
Godiva - priestess Vague. Maybe those Meshpri folks will know
Ebba - stupid pissant! Servants
cannot be trusted Need more info. Servant to whom?
Looking at their notes, the heroes decided on two plans. First, they would attempt to locate Leofric at the mint and get him to talk. Then, since it was well understood that Stilicho was an expert on the seedy underbelly of Narsileon, they would attempt to locate Cyneric. Hopefully one of these two would direct them to Amelie Ligareon and/or to “Aelfgar”.
As they prepared to leave, Cleopatra withdrew, saying mysteriously that she had business that needed her attention. So Cara, Stilicho, Drogden and Ceras made their way to the Mint just as the night was falling. As one of the largest structures in Narsileon, and the home of all the myriad offices of the House of Coin as well as the kritai and the halls of justice, it was difficult to know how to proceed. Drogden made it easy, and approached the guards at the gate. Instead of a city guardsman, though, these were tough veterans from the 2nd Cohort of the Imperial Tagmata. “Hello, officers, a friend of ours who works here is a bit late on returning some monies he borrowed from us. Do you think we could come in and talk to him?” “Bugger off,” came the reply. “Wait! Who is this bloke? One of the Tagma?” “No, mate,” chimed in Stilicho, “he’s a tharbrian who works within.” “Oh, a Tharbrian, eh? Well that’s a different story.” The trooper proceeded to utter a string of ethnic stereotypes and implausible scenarios so foul that Cara’s ears turned red. “Oy,” said the trooper, “Let’s have a bit of fun, eh? Meet us at the Dock Gate just after midnight, and we’ll bring this Leofric bloke along.” Saddened at the racism, but heartened at the unanticipated aid, the heroes lounged around the Mint for a couple of hours, keeping their eyes on the small doorway which gave way from the north side of the massive structure. At precisely 12:05, the door opened and a small man peered forth. Then he lurched forward, kicked by a hobnailed sandal, and the door slammed shut. Stilicho and Drogden moved in swiftly. “Why, hello Leofric,” said the Gallowglass. “We have some things to chat about.” The frightened man looked at the massive warrior and shook his head: “I don’t know you, and have nothing to say to you.” Drogden loosed his dagger, and returned a hard look: “Oh, yes you do.” As the two moved in, they heard the soft slap of sandals on stone; it was a band of twenty-some legionaries from the 2nd Cohort of the Tagmata, there to watch the fun. “Don’t mind us,” whispered one of the troopers, “just do what you have to do to this Tharbrian scum.” Leofric tried to flee, but there was nowhere to go. Although he tried to feign ignorance, proper application of incentives soon had him singing. He revealed that Amelie was in Narsileon, but moving around from place to place. He was sure that Cyneric at the Rampant Monkey, or Teodor at Jubal’s Place, might now of her whereabouts. He confirmed that Aelfgar was Archontean, and provided information that ‘Godiva’ was a priestess of Father Ils, bringing comfort to the oppressed in her peripatetic wanderings. As for Ebba the servant, Leofric knew only that he served in the household of some powerful Archontean clan. Pleased with their information, the heroes turned to leave. Julianus, a legionary from the 2nd Cohort, stepped forward. “We’ll take it from here, boys. I’m sure this traitorous scum has lots more to tell us.” The four friends hurried away as the sound of screams rose over the square. Only Cara, with her sharp hearing, heard the eventual sound of a splash into the river. “So much for Leofric,” muttered the elf.
Slightly ill at ease, the four returned to their usual haunts, in part to let Cleopatra what had transpired. Despite all their useful information, the mage was short of both attention and temper. “Stop bothering me, boys,” she snapped, “Can’t you see I’m not feeling well?” And she staggered off towards the privies. “What did she eat?” wondered Stilicho, “whatever it was, remind me to give it a pass.” It was time to move. When confronted by his friends, Stilicho agreed that on the night of his great debauch he had visited a low dive known as the Rampant Monkey. Sadly, though, he couldn’t recall the exact route he had taken to that establishment. What he did remember, though, was that this Gregor fellow, who it appeared was about to testify against him at trial, was also based at the Rampant Monkey. So the four set out into the night, delving deeper and deeper into the slum district known as the Wall. Although the path was not known to them, the sight of the well-armed band helped the denizens of the district to provide directions to that infamous hole. Finally they arrived at the Monkey, a low bungalow sprawling across several city blocks, with a battered sign of a monkey swinging outside the main door. Noticing the sign’s rather lewd imagery, Ceras noted drily “So that’s why it’s called the Rampant Monkey.”
Inside, the common room offered a smoky whirl of activity around the bar and central tables, while rows of more private booths lined the two ells of the building. Stilicho began peering through the sweet-smelling haze. “Aha!” he proclaimed, “and there he is! At least I think that’s the one …” “You’ve spotted Cyneric?” whispered Cara. “No, lass,” boomed the warrior, “but I’ve spied Gregor, my erstwhile partner in debauchery.” Striding past the craps tables, Stilicho walked confidently up to a gaudily-dressed fellow of saturnine countenance, whose arms embraced two ladies of questionable virtue. “Err, is that you, Gregor?” stammered the warrior. “Stilicho! So good to see you! Have you brought another fat purse? I am feeling lucky at dice tonight? Let us play again, for old times’ sake!” Stilicho showed him his empty purse. “Oho, looking for a free handout of Haseltine’s Lotus Powder, eh?” The reeking fellow grinned conspiratorially: “Well, I don’t see why not. Maybe one of my friends here will help you out, eh ladies?” The two women in question, who upon closer inspection seemed rather heavily caked with paste and powder, and rather more wrinkled than they had initially appeared, simpered coyly. “Ahh, that sounds nice, Gregor, my, uhhh, friend,” replied Stilicho, “but in truth I need some private conversation with you.” “You old rogue!,” came the cheery reply, “I do all my business here, in the open. It’s much safer. Don’t you agree?” Stilicho came to the point: “Err, Gregor, I need to ask you as a, uhhh, errr, ‘friend’, to help me out with a bit of a legal spot. You see, I heard from a little birdie that you might be planning to testify against me in a certain trial. I was hoping to persuade you to act otherwise.” “You old sea-dog, you!,” wheezed Gregor, his irises glowing with the tell-tale of chemical stimulants, “How could I turn against my companion on the 51st Path of the Lotus? He who introduced me to the Sutra of Love? The friend whose generosity is now legend in the district? Don’t you remember that donkey? Such fun! Why, I have been living on your generosity this past tenday! I wouldn’t dream of speaking a word against you.” Only Cara caught his less blustery aside: “At least not at the price they offered, I won’t.” Stilicho blushed beet-red and grinned. “Oh, well, thank you. I think I can guarantee you future considerations if you were to keep away. And - uhh, did you say ‘donkey’? One more thing: do you know a Tharbrian named Cyneric who is said to work here?” “Ha ha ha! Stilicho, you old lecher. Donkeys, twins, powders, fine brandies! They are all part of your palette!,” shouted Gregor, “and yes, I know the fellow. That’s him in the blue tunic, cheating at craps over there.”
And so the group sidled over to the craps table, where a fellow in a crusted and filthy blue tunic was holding forth with the dice. Drogden walked right up to him and grabbed his arm in mid throw. When the fellow tried to complain, Drogden merely said “Leofric sent us. We’ve got important business to discuss.” Grumbling at the interruption, Cyneric - for it was he - took them to a side booth and sat down. Drogden sat next to him, but Stilicho crowded in next to the Tharbrian. As the latter began to complain, Drogden poked him with a dagger. “Quiet, you! And start singing about your pitiful organization.” Stilicho glared at him and Cyneric crumpled. Quickly the information started spilling out: he didn’t know the identity of Aelfric, only that he was an ‘important Archontean’; he did know Amelie, and in fact knew that she was holed up at Jubal’s Place with Teodor, looking for vengeance. Ebba was a servant in the Imperial Palace. The two heroes looked most pleased with this information, and were content to let the frightened Cyneric flee into the night. “Back to Juhbal’s place,” said Cara.
So the foursome trooped from one sleazy tavern to another. On the way, they discussed how best to proceed, especially since Amelie would be sure to recognize Cara, Drogden and Stilicho. “But she doesn’t know me,” said Ceras, “I’m willing to go in and ingratiate myself with her.” The others quickly agreed, but when they came to fetch Cleopatra, the wizard was again having serious problems with her stomach, and declined to join them with some asperity. Outside Jubal’s Place, the plan was hatched: Cara, Drogden, Stilicho, and their henchman Ragnar, would prepare a campsite in a copse of trees two miles outside of town. Ceras would enter the inn, talk to Teodor, and convince him to take him to Amelie, where Ceras would drop hints of the location of the irascible Archontean’s enemies. If allowed to leave, Ceras would join the heroes as quickly as he could; if not, he would accompany Amelie and betray her as needed.
As Stilicho boasted afterwards, the plan “worked like a bleeding charm!” Ceras, armed with a description of Teodor extorted from Cyneric, entered the crowded inn, avoided the illegal but well-known fighting pit, and found his man. Sounding breathless, the knave spoke quickly: “Teodor, I need to see Amelie, and quickly. Cyneric has sent me to inform her of some danger to her person. Quick!” The tone and specificity of his information took Teodor by surprise, and he led Ceras to a hidden cellar, below the sub-cellar devoted to spear-throwing contests. There, in a cramped and narrow chamber sat Amelie Ligareon, her red tresses contrasting with her pale beauty. “You fool, Teodor,” came the sharp retort, “I told you never to bring anyone here. You’ll ruin everything!” Teodor stammered and explained that Ceras was ‘one of us’ and had dire news from Cyneric. Clearly suspicious, Amelie led the pair to a barn, where Ceras was swiftly grabbed by a group of young toughs. “Now, talk!,” spat the mage. Ceras quickly explained that he was part of Cyneric’s cell, that he hated the Archonteans - “No offense to you, Milady!” - And that, most importantly he had come to warn Amelie that she was being hunted by some thugs. Grunting “None taken”, Amelie quickly demanded a description of the ‘thugs’. “One of them,” began Ceras, “is a big hulking brute of a man, who wields a fearsome great sword as if it were straw. Another is an elf with a penchant for bows. A third is the priest of some obscure deity.” “Enough!” shouted Amelie, “it is they! The murderers of my Wulfric! And they dare to hunt me? We shall see who is the hunted this day! You! [Pointing at Ceras] You will take us to their camp immediately, and I will finish this once and for all.” Pulling convincingly at his forelock, Ceras shrank before her rage and murmured “Your will is my command.” Then he smiled secretly.
Six Tharbrian toughs accompanied Amelie and Ceras down the road to what they imagined to be the campsite of Stilicho and company. As they drew near and saw the remains of a fire, with five bedrolls surrounding it, Amelie gave orders to her men: “We will creep up and stab them as they sleep, like the dogs they are. You, Ceras, will come with me.” The hunters crept through the night to the camp and soon were poised on the edge of the fading firelight. “Now!” whispered Amelie, and her six friends rushed forward with spears, jabbing and striking at the sleeping companions. As Amelie crowed with glee, one of her men turned and held up what his spear had caught - not flesh, but rags! Just then came the bellow of Drogden as he leapt from the low grass surrounding the copse. Cara, perched in a tree, began peppering the Tharbrians with well aimed shafts. Drogden ran at one of the toughs, while Stilicho, rushing forward with blade drawn, shouted “Aim for the sorceress! We have to take her out quickly. And … try to take her alive!” As Amelie turned in fury, one last bit of treachery erupted as Ceras swung at her with his ready dagger. Screaming in outrage, she dodged nimbly but was still unable to find the correct material components for her spells [ed.: she was surprised for 2 rounds]. Stilicho sprang forward and attempted to knock her out with the pommel of his great sword, but once again the lithe Archontean dodged away. Drogden paused, set his feet and demonstrated the might of Werrab with a mighty shake of his axe “Glory to the AXEMEN!” This time the words shook the toughs with divine fury. Stilicho followed up with a more mundane “Stand still, you stupid bitch!” Indeed, Amelie, roused from her surprise, was attempting to flee, but Ceras, having dropped his dagger in the melee launched himself at her in a desperate attempt to tackle her. The forward roll worked, and he had her quickly in a headlock. Stilicho came running up and applied a sound ‘knock’ to the skull that rendered her unconscious. Meanwhile, Drogden, Rudigar and Cara had accounted for four of the six toughs. As two turned to flee, Stilicho clove one in twain with an enormous swing of his mighty blade, but the sixth managed to escape into the night. “Oho!,” chuckled the warrior, “that plan worked rather well. Let’s see Cleopatra top this one? Eh?” “What’s important,” said Cara archly, “is that we have Amelie, and that she is alive. Let’s get her up to Imperial Row and to Lord Gedeon before anything else happens.” “Not before we relieve her of some excess items,” muttered Stilicho, who liberated a nice selection of coins, potions, and an unusual chime. “Werrab has blessed us this night,” observed Drogden, and the heroes set off for the city.
Somewhat unsure of the political repercussions of all this, the heroes stopped just outside the city and sent Cara to fetch Rudigar. He arrived some hours later with a platoon of men in the livery of House Ligareon: “Well done!,” said the rogue, “This is most welcome news!” And with that Rudigar took Amelie off to her ancestral clanhouse to meet her fate. The heroes decamped to the Grey Minstrel for wine and song, and to let Cleopatra know of their successes. Amidst the tale-telling, Stilicho craftily traded the items liberated from Amelie to Cleopatra in return for the cancellation of his previous debts. “Finally!,” he sighed, “I hate owing money to wizards, even if they are the friendly sort.” Amidst the celebration, a messenger arrived from Lord Gedeon, who required their attendance immediately. And so, stopping merely to prettify their appearance, the band trooped up Imperial Row, passing through the Imperial Gate, and reached the clanhouse of the Ligareons. There they were welcomed like brothers, and ushered into the finest solar, where they found Gedeon Ligareon awaiting them alone. As they entered, the great Archon rose and bowed as deeply as they had ever seen a noble bow: “My friends,” he stated slowly, “You do me and my kinsmen a great honor. We are forever in your debt. Not only have you saved the empire much trouble with the TRL, but in bringing my cousin Amelie back into our … errr, ‘care’ … you have ensured the removal of a significant blot on the lineage’s honor. No longer will the Ligareon be laughing stocks amongst the Five Families! For that, and much more, I honor you!” And the Archon bowed thrice more. Looking uncomfortable at this display, Cara took a seat and the others followed. Cleopatra, whose face look pale and pinched, spoke up. “We are pleased to have been of assistance, Lord Gedeon, but allow us some curiosity. Has your cousin been able to provide the name of this elusive ‘Aelfric’ fellow?” Gedeon smiled, and said merely “I thought it inappropriate to interrogate her before you arrived. She has been cooling her heels in one of our less salubrious cells. Let us summon her, and thus gain some answers.” Amelie was fetched while the heroes enjoyed some excellent wines, and the sorceress was soon seated sullenly in their presence. Although she tried bravely to deny everything, and even let loose some choice epithets about Gedeon and his side of the clan, she began talking after the Archon walked over and slapped her face with his silken glove, saying “Do not try my patience, Cousin. Your bravado is at an end. Your choice is to talk willingly or to suffer unbearably in the third sub-basement.” Shuddering visibly, she decided to talk willingly, spilling details about the entire operation of the TRL in and around Narsileon. Gedeon practically shone with pleasure as he took notes: “This will ensure the complete demise of the local rebellion!” But Stilicho was not satisfied: “This is all well and good. But who is Aelfric?” Silence ensued, broken only by the Archon’s slow display of his glove. Amelie quickly spoke: “He is Stavros Basileon, prince of the 2nd lineage of the Basileons and brother to Ysabet Basileon.” Audible gasps were heard from all, since Ysabet Basileon was due to marry the Exarch in only two weeks! Gedeon spoke slowly, “While I cannot say the news that a prince of the Basileons is a traitor to the Empire is welcome, it is nonetheless useful and valuable. Lord Keko and my old friend Valerian [ed. Valerian is the Exarch] must be told.” Turning to the heroes, Gedeon bowed once more. “Your services are even greater than I had first imagined. There is no way now that Valerian can marry Ysabet, and for that fact alone patriots will be grateful. Whatever spell she has cast over him will be instantly broken, and the wedding cancelled. What is more, I am certain that the Exarch will be grateful to those who procured such important - if troublesome - news. I can guarantee that the charge of arson hanging over you all will be dropped. Finally, I humbly wish to make you an offer. I would - and I hope you will accept - adopt you as kinsmen, so as to join your honor and fortunes to those of clan Ligareon. Your services and your discretion have certainly proven your worth, and I can think of none better to be added to the clan. What say you?” The heroes looked with surprise at each other, and then nodded in acquiescence. Gedeon clapped his hands, and a servant appeared bearing a pillow on which rested six gold rings mounted with an enormous green tourmaline. Kneeling in turn before each of them, Gedeon slipped the ring on their fingers and exchanged oaths with each of the heroes. They were now legally members of the Ligareon clan, one of the oldest in the Empire! Although Gedeon offered them apartments in the clan house, they preferred to return to their lodgings in the city. With the Archon’s words ringing in their ears (“Then go forth, and bring glory and honor to house Ligareon!”) they walked slowly down Imperial Row, fingering their new rings. “Well, that was an unexpected turn of events,” said Drogden. “Yes,” grinned Stilicho, but you know what it means, don’t you? We are now free to do whatever we want!” Cleopatra tried to grin, but a queasy look came over her. “I guess it’s time to let you know, boys,” sad the mage, “I’m pregnant.”
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
Re: Hard Times in Narsileon
PCs:
Cleopatra, level 5 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
Ceras the Knave, level 2 rogue
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Chapter 2: Plots are Hatched, and Rugs Acquired
“In fact,” continued lovely Cleopatra, “I think my water has just broken. I am going to give birth!” Stilicho stood there, with his mouth agape, looking as if he had been hit by a poleaxe. It was Cara who bustled about, and ensured that Cleopatra was quickly borne by the ‘boys’ to her college, where some hours later she gave birth to a son. As the friends crowded into the birthing-room, some excited and others nervous, all eager to hear from Cleopatra how it was possible for her to bear a child without their knowledge, the raven-haired mage waved a tired hand. “Stop! No questions. I shall inform you merely that I enjoyed a pleasant liaison with a fellow while you were busy carousing, Stilicho. It turns out, however, that he was not as he originally seemed. I have reason to believe he was a prince of the Fey, which would explain the rapid gestation of my darling Amphiax. I was as surprised as you by the swift term of the pregnancy.” Watching their faces fall, she continued: “But you needn’t worry. I know you cannot make a move without my careful wisdom and potent spells, so be at peace - motherhood will not stop me from joining you in further adventures. Indeed, Lord Gedeon has agreed to provide a wetnurse for so long as it will be necessary, and the clanhouse will be a perfect spot for Amphiax to learn swordsmanship.” Shaking his huge head, Silicho merely muttered, sotto voce to Drogden, “As if she needed some other pretext for pride! Really!”
Yet amid the surprised celebration came another message from the Archon, Gedeon. He invited them to join him immediately at the Exarch’s palace, in order to attend an interview with none other than Keko the Lame, Master of the House of Sight, or, as it was more commonly known, the Drome. “Aren’t those the spies?” asked Drogden rather loudly. “Shhhh,” replied Cara, “don’t be impolite. Keko’s ears are everywhere. We had better go see what he wants.” And so all - including Cleopatra! - headed off to the Exarch’s Palace to speak with the high and mighty. “All this talk is making my blade rusty,” grumbled Stilicho, but he perked up as the legionaries at the Palace gate bowed humbly at their passing. Inside, they found themselves in the First Solar, where a slim man of about sixty years, with grey, close-cropped hair, sat sipping tea in a severe straight-backed chair. “Forgive me, my friends,” he slowly declaimed in a commanding voice, “if I do not rise, but, as you no doubt know, I have had some misfortune with my legs. Please seat yourselves and take some of this excellent tea. I have summoned you and my friend Gedeon [the Archon smiled thinly at the exaggerated compliment] to thank you for your loyal service to the empire in rooting out the weeds of rebellion in our vineyard. Truly, although the news of the treachery of the Basileon clan was a great blow to the Exarch, he has empowered me to show his gratitude to you for drawing forth that poison from the wound in which it has festered.” And Keko waved a lazy arm, in response to which a young secretary brought in heavy purses filled with coins. “A small reward for such loyal children of Archontos, all of whom are - at least now - also siblings in the noble clan of Ligareon. Now let us speak of how you may aid the glorious Basileus, Constans XXV, and his local agent, the Exarch Valerian. For you seem well adept to move forward in the service of the Emperor. While perhaps hasty and vengeful, as are all young men, your hardiness and tenacity appear to be sufficient to overcome your mistakes. I thus offer you the following proposal. Serve me! Serve the Exarch! Serve, even, the Basileus himself! We have need of agents of your ruthlessness and tenacity. I extend my hand to you. Take it! Take it!” Catching a microscopic shake of the head on the part of Gedeon, the heroes looked flummoxed, and hemmed and hawed. Indeed, while it is not often wise to refuse the largesse of the great, it is equally proverbial that the affairs of the great are no affairs of the honest. Silken-voiced Cleopatra tried to sidestep the offer: “We would be eager to offer what assistance we can, Lord Keko, but our affairs are such that we cannot, as yet, commit to your service. Rest assured, though, that we will be happy to aid you, and to send news to you, as best we can.” Keko adopted a pained look, and laid his hand on his thigh: “I was afraid of as much. I do not withdraw my hand. Return to me, if you like, and when you like, and you shall find me a kind and generous lord. But even if you will not join my service, hear me out. The needs of the empire are great, and you could accomplish much, even as you pursue your own agenda.”
Keko went on to sketch the outlines of an affair so shocking in its evil that even Drogden produced his holy symbol of Werrab to ward off ill omens. For Keko spoke of the return of Set and his priests to the lands of the Empire. Keko was quick to remind the heroes - or at least those who were paying attention, for the attention of certain warriors was drifting! - that the temple of Set had been one of the cornerstones of the ancient empire, tolerated for its practices so long as its priests supported the expansion of the empire, But when the dark days of the Great War between the Sortians and the Theosophs broke out, it became clear that the Temples of Set cared only for Set, and not for the Basileus. And so the Temples of Set were thrown down in Archontos, and in the great exarchal cities of Narsileon and Arcturuos. The main temple of Set, located in lost Arden Vul to the west of Narsileon, was also destroyed - or so it was thought. Keko paused to sip his tea and then continued, “But now the reports of my many friends [pause for effect] gives me reason to believe that certain priests have revived the worship of the Red-Headed God, the Desert Storm, the Sower of Deceits, and that they intend no less than the overthrow of the Exarch and of the Emperor himself. My friends report that a certain Stephania, late of Archontos itself, has reoccupied the old cult centers in Arden Vul, and there seeks for the lost artifacts from the golden age of the Empire. Should she find them, she would be in a position to challenge the legions for dominance on this continent!” Cleopatra’s ears perked up at the thought of artifacts, and she politely inquired as to the specifics of such artifacts. Keko described a variety of them, including general artifacts of the golden age of Archontos, but more particularly some artifacts of the legendary Rudishva civilization, which were said to lie unclaimed behind the Obsidian Gates within Arden Vul. Among the Rudishva objects were reputedly a sky-sled, various wands or orbs of power, and some powerful enchanted weapons. Then Keko paused, as if considering how far to go, and then went on: “But the chief artifact which cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the Set cult is the so-called Compact of Ennius, said to be a gold- and ivory tablet on which are inscribed the ritual phrases and oaths which bound the first Archontean Emperors to the Elder Allies, of whom nothing more is known. Along with the Compact is the the Torc of Ennius, made of gold and studded with gems, which has some sort of powerful connection to the ritual words inscribed on the Compact. Imperial scholars have determined that the Compact and Torc were stolen from Archontos by the arch-traitor and head Sortian, Priscus Pulcher, during the early months of the war between the Sortians and Theosophs. He is thought to have delivered the Compact and Torc to a group of Sortians at Arden Vul, who used it to undermine the defenses of the city, thereby ensuring the destruction of the great Temples of Thoth, Horus and Set at Arden Vul. We think that this Stephania hopes to find the Compact and Torc, and to use them to summon again the Elder Allies in a bid to seize the Shining City of Archontos. This cannot happen!”
Drogden gently prodded Stilicho, who had begun nodding, and the priest declared in a most satisfying way: “As long as it involves crushing the skulls of Set priests, I’m all for it!” Stilicho shouted “Hear! Hear!” and stood as if to leave. The others nodded their agreement. But Cleopatra was not ready to depart. Hearing the name Arden Vul from the spymaster made her think of her own brief expeditions - both planned and unplanned - into that dangerous venue, and she wanted more information. She knew from experience that Arden Vul was vast - “How,” she asked politely, but sharply, “are we to find such artifacts amid monsters, traps, and strange mushrooms? It is like the proverbial needle in the haystack! We require a map of the halls. Can you provide one, good Keko?” As Cara gasped at her familiar tone, Keko smiled. “No,” he replied, “but I believe that your own Collegium, Cleopatra, may be able to help. Look to Rixos-who-Laughs, and tell him that I have asked - politely - that he assist you.” “And what about a strange wizard called Kerbog Khan,” continued the pert mage, “Have you heard of this one? We had some extremely strange encounters with him and his automata amid the caverns of Arden Vul.” Keko thought and then nodded: “Yes, the name is familiar. He was a potent wizard from the Imperial College, whom many thought might rise to the 23 Circle and thus move into the Basileus’ counsel. Then, abruptly, he left. You would do well to direct your enquires to Julian of Archontos, at our local chapter of that august collegium.” “And how are we to enter Arden Vul, sweet Keko?” purred the mage? “Ahh,” replied Keko, “I have this worked out. It appears that Stephania has a small network of merchants who are buying up grain, alcohol, dried meat and dried fruits from the surrounding towns and villages of Burdock’s Valley. These merchants enter Arden Vul to supply that bitch of a priest and her followers. I propose that you join one of those supply missions - a specially chosen one, led by one of my ‘friends’ - and infiltrate the so-called Forum of Set in that guise.” “Excellent,” replied Cleopatra, as she rose to leave, “for two days of motherhood have proven almost as much as I can bear! I am ready to depart.”
Despite the mage’s eagerness, other matters needed settling. First Cleopatra paid a visit to her friendly rivals at the Imperial College. There, Julian of Archontos confirmed Keko’s account of the strange departure of Kerbog Khan. The aged Julian nodded slowly, and described Kerbog Khan as having grown increasingly interested in techno-sorcery and particularly in the properties of blood magic. Cleopatra frowned to herself, and thought of the vial of her own blood that the odd sorcerer had collected. “But worst of all,” continued Julian, was Kerbog Khan’s theft of six unique volumes of sorcerous lore and practice from our library in Archontos. Even though 200 years have passed, there is still a standing reward of 10,000 gp and 20 spell levels for anyone who returns the six tomes.” Cleopatra’s eyes perked up as she thought of the finery that such a sum might bring, but she was wise enough to ask whether a lesser reward might be forthcoming for information as to Kerbog Khan’s location and residence. Julian apprised her thoughtfully and then smiled. “Yes, I would be willing to pay 5000 imperial solidi for an accurate - accurate! - map to Kerbog Khan’s lair.” Cleopatra smiled back at him and stated “Consider it done!”
Next Cleopatra paid a visit to her own collegium, where she tried to find Rixos-who-Laughs. Although the mighty master of the 7th Circle and thus not usually accessible to tiros like Cleopatra, the name of Keko the Lame opened all doors. Rixos-who-Laughs met with Cleopatra and promised that within a week he would have news and perhaps a map of the Archontean regions of Arden Vul. Returning to her companions, and to her baby, Cleopatra passed on this news and informed them that they could leave in a week.
Drogden rubbed his hands together. “Excellent news,” he stated shortly, “for Werrab’s word needs to be better disseminated in this town. I intend to start a newer, grander temple to honor the Battle Lord!” Drogden returned to the House of Sight, where a second interview with Keko the Lame produced a document most valuable - a charter deeding a city block in the Wall district - indeed, a block nestled up against the ruins of the Old Wall itself - to the cleric. Drogden, taking his recruit, Byrhtnoth, with him, made his way to the Old Wall, in the heart of the terrible slums, and, mounting the Wall itself, summoned the Voice of Werrab: “I claim this territory for mighty Werrab, Lord of Battles, the Blood-Drenched One, Cleanser of Wrongs, the Axe-Wielder!!!” As this Voice boomed across the slums, a few of the desperate poor looked up, and an even smaller few came over to see what was going on. Freely distributing his coin, Werrab soon had a small band of 10 new recruits hard at work, clearing away the ruined tenements, expelling squatters, and planning the new temple. Recognizing that he needed money to erect a proper temple, in which Battle Lore could be taught and practiced by all, Drogden decided to pay a visit to the existing - and in his view, pitiful - temple of Werrab, tucked into a tiny overhang on Imperial Row. There he found a lazy, older priest named Ervil. Drogden greeted him “The Axe-lord be with you, Brother Ervil. I have been called by Werrab to build a new, and glorious temple to the Battle Lord. Come and join my efforts!” Ervil seemed most unwilling to give up his meager rights, however, and so Drogden stood and looked scornfully at him. “Well, if you refuse, then I challenge you to combat. Let the Battle-Lord judge who shall prevail in Narsileon!” Ervil rose to his feet, found his battle axe and shield, and adopted the position: “Young pup, you have much to learn if you think you can defeat me. Taste my axe!” “Old Man,” replied Drogden, “You’ll have to hit me first. And by the way, shields are for pansies!” Swinging his enormous bearded axe, Drogden began to hammer the older, but more experienced priest. A crowd swiftly grew, but the acolytes assured them this was a ‘religious rite’ and not an infringement of the peace laws, and so quickly the crowd began to shout encouragement and lay bets. Drogden tried to pull his blows enough that he could defeat Ervil without killing him, but it did not appear that the other man was following suit. After a long, and tiring exchange of blows, though, Drodgen laid Ervil out with an enormous blow from his axe. Lying insensate on the pavement, Ervil was only brought back to life by a bucket of water, after which he sullenly agreed to come to the Wall District and supervise the training of the new recruits. “And now,” grinned the bloody but not beaten Drogden, “we need only to find a nice chunk of money to fund the new temple. Arden Vul, here I come!”
After a week of preparations, the heroes regrouped at the College of Macrina to hear Rixos-who-Laughs’ results. He produced an ancient tome, which, he explained, contained a description of a lesser shrine of Thoth which contained a map room. Rixos-who-Laughs was almost certain that the map room contained schematic maps of the Archontean levels of subterranean Arden Vul. He had also located this shrine, known as “Ibis’ Roost”, and provided clear directions to it. So the companions set out from Narsileon. As they exited the Grain Gate, a messenger from Keko the Lame arrived, directing them to their ‘fake’ merchant contact. This person, a certain Cedric Swinesfoot, was waiting with his four mules and 3 horses in the caravanserai and was eager to meet them. Cedric spoke slowly, with a thick rural accent, and seemed perpetually to be tugging his forelock. Still, something about him looked familiar, but it was not until he leaned over and pinched Cleopatra’s cheek, saying “It is I, Rudigar! I see I’ve fooled you” that they recognized their old friend. “Are you ready to depart?” asked Cedric/ Rudigar, “or shall we meet up somewhere en route?” “We’ll catch up with you,” said Drogden, “since we have some Ibises to roust.” Smiling at his own pun, the priest led the part off into the countryside.
The shrine known as Ibis’ Roost proved to be a circular cleft in a steep hillside, which, although open to the skies, was almost entirely enclosed on all sides by rock. Only a narrow, 10’ entranceway led to the shrine. Ceras peered in past the broken doors, and reported a courtyard in which a forest of broken columns lay in pieces on the pavement. Ceras decided to scale the cliff so as to get a better view. This he did, and in so doing noticed a large flock of ibises as well as a huge cult statue of an ibis-headed man in a niche at the far end of the open plaza. Several doors in the circular rock walls led to side rooms. More alarmingly, at least three fresh corpses lay moldering among the broken columns. Returning to his friends, Ceras reported all this, but confessed that he saw no signs of movement. Since Werrab favors the bold, Drogden took charge - bidding Stilicho to ‘watch and learn’ - and strode within. As they poked among the pillars and approached the corpses, a tremendous roar emerged from one of the doorways to the left. Four gangly, skinny, green-and-grey-skinned bipeds came bumbling forth. The heroes smartly jumped into battle formation. Drogden invoked the Battle-Lord’s aid, and three of the four creatures were halted in their tracks, momentarily stunned. Cleopatra, smiling a rather vicious smile, pushed her fists together, shouted a word of power, and pulled them apart: there in her palm, lay a pulsing ball of flame. Reaching back, she hurled it at the creatures, and with a tremendous “WHOMP” it exploded. One was slain instantly, and the other three were grievously wounded. The crazed creatures ran forward, gangly arms practically dragging on the ground as their long pointy noses dripped foul fluids. Drogden and Stilicho ran to confront them, as Cara pumped arrows into them and Ceras disappeared into the shadows. As the two friends hewed and hacked, two more went down. Stilicho showed his teeth, and noted “This is entirely too easy!”
The warrior had spoken too soon, for another door opened and a lithe young man dressed in red robes emerged. Chuckling loudly, he shouted “Thanks for the diversion, chumps. They had us cornered. Now I think it’s time for me to depart.” And with that he hurled his own ball of fire into the midst of the party. Drogden collapsed, Stilicho was badly wounded, and Cleopatra only barely managed to avoid the worst of the blast. Cara ran forward with a healing elixir for Drogden, as Stilicho tried to fend off the remaining creature. The enemy mage - for so it was - whipped out a small bit of carpet and, as it hovered in mid air, he jumped on. Abandoning the two men at arms who had followed him, the cowardly wizard prepared to flee. Her eyes wide with greed, Cleopatra shouted advice to her friends: “He’s got a MAGIC CARPET! Don’t let him escape!” Ceras, hearing this, launched himself forward in a sprint. The dextrous rogue leaped on to the top of one of the fallen pillars and launched himself towards the Carpet. Before the wizard could zoom away, Ceras was upon him, dagger drawn! Although his leap was true, his arm was not, and a quick struggle took place on the carpet, which ended, Alas!, with the enemy mage kicking Ceras from the carpet. Just as it appeared that he would plummet 20’ to the pavement, Cleopatra’s magicks came into effect. She had used the delay won by the brave Ceras to conjure a mass of webs, into which both the carpet-riding wizard and the fortunate Ceras fell. As Cleopatra, Ceras, and Cara desperately attempted to bring down the enemy mage with arrows, magic missiles, and anything else, Stilicho and Drogden kept fencing with the last creature. Or was it the last? Suddenly one of the creatures laid low by Stilicho’s mightly blade leaped up, its wounds miraculously healed (in part). “Trolls?!,” shouted the warrior, “I didn’t know that trolls could regenerate! Help!” Drogden applied fire to the one remaining corpse, while Stilicho fought off the two trolls [ed. Once again the Dm’s dice were stone cold]. Eventually the pair brought down the remaining trolls, and burned their bodies beyond recognition. Panting, they turned to see Cara fire an arrow into the mage on the carpet, who had managed to navigate his way through the webs: just as it appeared the mage might escape at last, the elf’s arrow hit its mark, and the foe was dead. The carpet rolled up and dropped to the ground. “Well done, boys!,” Shouted Cleopatra, “I’ve always wanted one of these! I count this mission a success.” “I thought we were here to find a map room,” retorted Stilicho. “Bah! Map rooms are dime a dozen! It’s not every day you get your hands on one of these babies!” And Cleopatra ran her hands over the silk threads of the carpet, her eyes positively aglow with avarice. “Sometimes you scare me, Cleopatra,” said Cara quietly.
Cleopatra, level 5 human wizard
Flavius Stilicho, level 3 human gallowglass
Cara Long-Arrow, level 3 elf ranger
Drogden, level 2 cleric
Ceras the Knave, level 2 rogue
the Deceased
Lakontios, level 1 part-human sorcerer
Hadhod, level 1 halfling rogue
The departed:
Naluvya, level 1 human cleric
Gallafrey, level 2 human cleric
Astra, level 2 rogue (probably departed ...)
Gren, level 4 human Bard
Godfrey, level 3 human knight
Chapter 2: Plots are Hatched, and Rugs Acquired
“In fact,” continued lovely Cleopatra, “I think my water has just broken. I am going to give birth!” Stilicho stood there, with his mouth agape, looking as if he had been hit by a poleaxe. It was Cara who bustled about, and ensured that Cleopatra was quickly borne by the ‘boys’ to her college, where some hours later she gave birth to a son. As the friends crowded into the birthing-room, some excited and others nervous, all eager to hear from Cleopatra how it was possible for her to bear a child without their knowledge, the raven-haired mage waved a tired hand. “Stop! No questions. I shall inform you merely that I enjoyed a pleasant liaison with a fellow while you were busy carousing, Stilicho. It turns out, however, that he was not as he originally seemed. I have reason to believe he was a prince of the Fey, which would explain the rapid gestation of my darling Amphiax. I was as surprised as you by the swift term of the pregnancy.” Watching their faces fall, she continued: “But you needn’t worry. I know you cannot make a move without my careful wisdom and potent spells, so be at peace - motherhood will not stop me from joining you in further adventures. Indeed, Lord Gedeon has agreed to provide a wetnurse for so long as it will be necessary, and the clanhouse will be a perfect spot for Amphiax to learn swordsmanship.” Shaking his huge head, Silicho merely muttered, sotto voce to Drogden, “As if she needed some other pretext for pride! Really!”
Yet amid the surprised celebration came another message from the Archon, Gedeon. He invited them to join him immediately at the Exarch’s palace, in order to attend an interview with none other than Keko the Lame, Master of the House of Sight, or, as it was more commonly known, the Drome. “Aren’t those the spies?” asked Drogden rather loudly. “Shhhh,” replied Cara, “don’t be impolite. Keko’s ears are everywhere. We had better go see what he wants.” And so all - including Cleopatra! - headed off to the Exarch’s Palace to speak with the high and mighty. “All this talk is making my blade rusty,” grumbled Stilicho, but he perked up as the legionaries at the Palace gate bowed humbly at their passing. Inside, they found themselves in the First Solar, where a slim man of about sixty years, with grey, close-cropped hair, sat sipping tea in a severe straight-backed chair. “Forgive me, my friends,” he slowly declaimed in a commanding voice, “if I do not rise, but, as you no doubt know, I have had some misfortune with my legs. Please seat yourselves and take some of this excellent tea. I have summoned you and my friend Gedeon [the Archon smiled thinly at the exaggerated compliment] to thank you for your loyal service to the empire in rooting out the weeds of rebellion in our vineyard. Truly, although the news of the treachery of the Basileon clan was a great blow to the Exarch, he has empowered me to show his gratitude to you for drawing forth that poison from the wound in which it has festered.” And Keko waved a lazy arm, in response to which a young secretary brought in heavy purses filled with coins. “A small reward for such loyal children of Archontos, all of whom are - at least now - also siblings in the noble clan of Ligareon. Now let us speak of how you may aid the glorious Basileus, Constans XXV, and his local agent, the Exarch Valerian. For you seem well adept to move forward in the service of the Emperor. While perhaps hasty and vengeful, as are all young men, your hardiness and tenacity appear to be sufficient to overcome your mistakes. I thus offer you the following proposal. Serve me! Serve the Exarch! Serve, even, the Basileus himself! We have need of agents of your ruthlessness and tenacity. I extend my hand to you. Take it! Take it!” Catching a microscopic shake of the head on the part of Gedeon, the heroes looked flummoxed, and hemmed and hawed. Indeed, while it is not often wise to refuse the largesse of the great, it is equally proverbial that the affairs of the great are no affairs of the honest. Silken-voiced Cleopatra tried to sidestep the offer: “We would be eager to offer what assistance we can, Lord Keko, but our affairs are such that we cannot, as yet, commit to your service. Rest assured, though, that we will be happy to aid you, and to send news to you, as best we can.” Keko adopted a pained look, and laid his hand on his thigh: “I was afraid of as much. I do not withdraw my hand. Return to me, if you like, and when you like, and you shall find me a kind and generous lord. But even if you will not join my service, hear me out. The needs of the empire are great, and you could accomplish much, even as you pursue your own agenda.”
Keko went on to sketch the outlines of an affair so shocking in its evil that even Drogden produced his holy symbol of Werrab to ward off ill omens. For Keko spoke of the return of Set and his priests to the lands of the Empire. Keko was quick to remind the heroes - or at least those who were paying attention, for the attention of certain warriors was drifting! - that the temple of Set had been one of the cornerstones of the ancient empire, tolerated for its practices so long as its priests supported the expansion of the empire, But when the dark days of the Great War between the Sortians and the Theosophs broke out, it became clear that the Temples of Set cared only for Set, and not for the Basileus. And so the Temples of Set were thrown down in Archontos, and in the great exarchal cities of Narsileon and Arcturuos. The main temple of Set, located in lost Arden Vul to the west of Narsileon, was also destroyed - or so it was thought. Keko paused to sip his tea and then continued, “But now the reports of my many friends [pause for effect] gives me reason to believe that certain priests have revived the worship of the Red-Headed God, the Desert Storm, the Sower of Deceits, and that they intend no less than the overthrow of the Exarch and of the Emperor himself. My friends report that a certain Stephania, late of Archontos itself, has reoccupied the old cult centers in Arden Vul, and there seeks for the lost artifacts from the golden age of the Empire. Should she find them, she would be in a position to challenge the legions for dominance on this continent!” Cleopatra’s ears perked up at the thought of artifacts, and she politely inquired as to the specifics of such artifacts. Keko described a variety of them, including general artifacts of the golden age of Archontos, but more particularly some artifacts of the legendary Rudishva civilization, which were said to lie unclaimed behind the Obsidian Gates within Arden Vul. Among the Rudishva objects were reputedly a sky-sled, various wands or orbs of power, and some powerful enchanted weapons. Then Keko paused, as if considering how far to go, and then went on: “But the chief artifact which cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the Set cult is the so-called Compact of Ennius, said to be a gold- and ivory tablet on which are inscribed the ritual phrases and oaths which bound the first Archontean Emperors to the Elder Allies, of whom nothing more is known. Along with the Compact is the the Torc of Ennius, made of gold and studded with gems, which has some sort of powerful connection to the ritual words inscribed on the Compact. Imperial scholars have determined that the Compact and Torc were stolen from Archontos by the arch-traitor and head Sortian, Priscus Pulcher, during the early months of the war between the Sortians and Theosophs. He is thought to have delivered the Compact and Torc to a group of Sortians at Arden Vul, who used it to undermine the defenses of the city, thereby ensuring the destruction of the great Temples of Thoth, Horus and Set at Arden Vul. We think that this Stephania hopes to find the Compact and Torc, and to use them to summon again the Elder Allies in a bid to seize the Shining City of Archontos. This cannot happen!”
Drogden gently prodded Stilicho, who had begun nodding, and the priest declared in a most satisfying way: “As long as it involves crushing the skulls of Set priests, I’m all for it!” Stilicho shouted “Hear! Hear!” and stood as if to leave. The others nodded their agreement. But Cleopatra was not ready to depart. Hearing the name Arden Vul from the spymaster made her think of her own brief expeditions - both planned and unplanned - into that dangerous venue, and she wanted more information. She knew from experience that Arden Vul was vast - “How,” she asked politely, but sharply, “are we to find such artifacts amid monsters, traps, and strange mushrooms? It is like the proverbial needle in the haystack! We require a map of the halls. Can you provide one, good Keko?” As Cara gasped at her familiar tone, Keko smiled. “No,” he replied, “but I believe that your own Collegium, Cleopatra, may be able to help. Look to Rixos-who-Laughs, and tell him that I have asked - politely - that he assist you.” “And what about a strange wizard called Kerbog Khan,” continued the pert mage, “Have you heard of this one? We had some extremely strange encounters with him and his automata amid the caverns of Arden Vul.” Keko thought and then nodded: “Yes, the name is familiar. He was a potent wizard from the Imperial College, whom many thought might rise to the 23 Circle and thus move into the Basileus’ counsel. Then, abruptly, he left. You would do well to direct your enquires to Julian of Archontos, at our local chapter of that august collegium.” “And how are we to enter Arden Vul, sweet Keko?” purred the mage? “Ahh,” replied Keko, “I have this worked out. It appears that Stephania has a small network of merchants who are buying up grain, alcohol, dried meat and dried fruits from the surrounding towns and villages of Burdock’s Valley. These merchants enter Arden Vul to supply that bitch of a priest and her followers. I propose that you join one of those supply missions - a specially chosen one, led by one of my ‘friends’ - and infiltrate the so-called Forum of Set in that guise.” “Excellent,” replied Cleopatra, as she rose to leave, “for two days of motherhood have proven almost as much as I can bear! I am ready to depart.”
Despite the mage’s eagerness, other matters needed settling. First Cleopatra paid a visit to her friendly rivals at the Imperial College. There, Julian of Archontos confirmed Keko’s account of the strange departure of Kerbog Khan. The aged Julian nodded slowly, and described Kerbog Khan as having grown increasingly interested in techno-sorcery and particularly in the properties of blood magic. Cleopatra frowned to herself, and thought of the vial of her own blood that the odd sorcerer had collected. “But worst of all,” continued Julian, was Kerbog Khan’s theft of six unique volumes of sorcerous lore and practice from our library in Archontos. Even though 200 years have passed, there is still a standing reward of 10,000 gp and 20 spell levels for anyone who returns the six tomes.” Cleopatra’s eyes perked up as she thought of the finery that such a sum might bring, but she was wise enough to ask whether a lesser reward might be forthcoming for information as to Kerbog Khan’s location and residence. Julian apprised her thoughtfully and then smiled. “Yes, I would be willing to pay 5000 imperial solidi for an accurate - accurate! - map to Kerbog Khan’s lair.” Cleopatra smiled back at him and stated “Consider it done!”
Next Cleopatra paid a visit to her own collegium, where she tried to find Rixos-who-Laughs. Although the mighty master of the 7th Circle and thus not usually accessible to tiros like Cleopatra, the name of Keko the Lame opened all doors. Rixos-who-Laughs met with Cleopatra and promised that within a week he would have news and perhaps a map of the Archontean regions of Arden Vul. Returning to her companions, and to her baby, Cleopatra passed on this news and informed them that they could leave in a week.
Drogden rubbed his hands together. “Excellent news,” he stated shortly, “for Werrab’s word needs to be better disseminated in this town. I intend to start a newer, grander temple to honor the Battle Lord!” Drogden returned to the House of Sight, where a second interview with Keko the Lame produced a document most valuable - a charter deeding a city block in the Wall district - indeed, a block nestled up against the ruins of the Old Wall itself - to the cleric. Drogden, taking his recruit, Byrhtnoth, with him, made his way to the Old Wall, in the heart of the terrible slums, and, mounting the Wall itself, summoned the Voice of Werrab: “I claim this territory for mighty Werrab, Lord of Battles, the Blood-Drenched One, Cleanser of Wrongs, the Axe-Wielder!!!” As this Voice boomed across the slums, a few of the desperate poor looked up, and an even smaller few came over to see what was going on. Freely distributing his coin, Werrab soon had a small band of 10 new recruits hard at work, clearing away the ruined tenements, expelling squatters, and planning the new temple. Recognizing that he needed money to erect a proper temple, in which Battle Lore could be taught and practiced by all, Drogden decided to pay a visit to the existing - and in his view, pitiful - temple of Werrab, tucked into a tiny overhang on Imperial Row. There he found a lazy, older priest named Ervil. Drogden greeted him “The Axe-lord be with you, Brother Ervil. I have been called by Werrab to build a new, and glorious temple to the Battle Lord. Come and join my efforts!” Ervil seemed most unwilling to give up his meager rights, however, and so Drogden stood and looked scornfully at him. “Well, if you refuse, then I challenge you to combat. Let the Battle-Lord judge who shall prevail in Narsileon!” Ervil rose to his feet, found his battle axe and shield, and adopted the position: “Young pup, you have much to learn if you think you can defeat me. Taste my axe!” “Old Man,” replied Drogden, “You’ll have to hit me first. And by the way, shields are for pansies!” Swinging his enormous bearded axe, Drogden began to hammer the older, but more experienced priest. A crowd swiftly grew, but the acolytes assured them this was a ‘religious rite’ and not an infringement of the peace laws, and so quickly the crowd began to shout encouragement and lay bets. Drogden tried to pull his blows enough that he could defeat Ervil without killing him, but it did not appear that the other man was following suit. After a long, and tiring exchange of blows, though, Drodgen laid Ervil out with an enormous blow from his axe. Lying insensate on the pavement, Ervil was only brought back to life by a bucket of water, after which he sullenly agreed to come to the Wall District and supervise the training of the new recruits. “And now,” grinned the bloody but not beaten Drogden, “we need only to find a nice chunk of money to fund the new temple. Arden Vul, here I come!”
After a week of preparations, the heroes regrouped at the College of Macrina to hear Rixos-who-Laughs’ results. He produced an ancient tome, which, he explained, contained a description of a lesser shrine of Thoth which contained a map room. Rixos-who-Laughs was almost certain that the map room contained schematic maps of the Archontean levels of subterranean Arden Vul. He had also located this shrine, known as “Ibis’ Roost”, and provided clear directions to it. So the companions set out from Narsileon. As they exited the Grain Gate, a messenger from Keko the Lame arrived, directing them to their ‘fake’ merchant contact. This person, a certain Cedric Swinesfoot, was waiting with his four mules and 3 horses in the caravanserai and was eager to meet them. Cedric spoke slowly, with a thick rural accent, and seemed perpetually to be tugging his forelock. Still, something about him looked familiar, but it was not until he leaned over and pinched Cleopatra’s cheek, saying “It is I, Rudigar! I see I’ve fooled you” that they recognized their old friend. “Are you ready to depart?” asked Cedric/ Rudigar, “or shall we meet up somewhere en route?” “We’ll catch up with you,” said Drogden, “since we have some Ibises to roust.” Smiling at his own pun, the priest led the part off into the countryside.
The shrine known as Ibis’ Roost proved to be a circular cleft in a steep hillside, which, although open to the skies, was almost entirely enclosed on all sides by rock. Only a narrow, 10’ entranceway led to the shrine. Ceras peered in past the broken doors, and reported a courtyard in which a forest of broken columns lay in pieces on the pavement. Ceras decided to scale the cliff so as to get a better view. This he did, and in so doing noticed a large flock of ibises as well as a huge cult statue of an ibis-headed man in a niche at the far end of the open plaza. Several doors in the circular rock walls led to side rooms. More alarmingly, at least three fresh corpses lay moldering among the broken columns. Returning to his friends, Ceras reported all this, but confessed that he saw no signs of movement. Since Werrab favors the bold, Drogden took charge - bidding Stilicho to ‘watch and learn’ - and strode within. As they poked among the pillars and approached the corpses, a tremendous roar emerged from one of the doorways to the left. Four gangly, skinny, green-and-grey-skinned bipeds came bumbling forth. The heroes smartly jumped into battle formation. Drogden invoked the Battle-Lord’s aid, and three of the four creatures were halted in their tracks, momentarily stunned. Cleopatra, smiling a rather vicious smile, pushed her fists together, shouted a word of power, and pulled them apart: there in her palm, lay a pulsing ball of flame. Reaching back, she hurled it at the creatures, and with a tremendous “WHOMP” it exploded. One was slain instantly, and the other three were grievously wounded. The crazed creatures ran forward, gangly arms practically dragging on the ground as their long pointy noses dripped foul fluids. Drogden and Stilicho ran to confront them, as Cara pumped arrows into them and Ceras disappeared into the shadows. As the two friends hewed and hacked, two more went down. Stilicho showed his teeth, and noted “This is entirely too easy!”
The warrior had spoken too soon, for another door opened and a lithe young man dressed in red robes emerged. Chuckling loudly, he shouted “Thanks for the diversion, chumps. They had us cornered. Now I think it’s time for me to depart.” And with that he hurled his own ball of fire into the midst of the party. Drogden collapsed, Stilicho was badly wounded, and Cleopatra only barely managed to avoid the worst of the blast. Cara ran forward with a healing elixir for Drogden, as Stilicho tried to fend off the remaining creature. The enemy mage - for so it was - whipped out a small bit of carpet and, as it hovered in mid air, he jumped on. Abandoning the two men at arms who had followed him, the cowardly wizard prepared to flee. Her eyes wide with greed, Cleopatra shouted advice to her friends: “He’s got a MAGIC CARPET! Don’t let him escape!” Ceras, hearing this, launched himself forward in a sprint. The dextrous rogue leaped on to the top of one of the fallen pillars and launched himself towards the Carpet. Before the wizard could zoom away, Ceras was upon him, dagger drawn! Although his leap was true, his arm was not, and a quick struggle took place on the carpet, which ended, Alas!, with the enemy mage kicking Ceras from the carpet. Just as it appeared that he would plummet 20’ to the pavement, Cleopatra’s magicks came into effect. She had used the delay won by the brave Ceras to conjure a mass of webs, into which both the carpet-riding wizard and the fortunate Ceras fell. As Cleopatra, Ceras, and Cara desperately attempted to bring down the enemy mage with arrows, magic missiles, and anything else, Stilicho and Drogden kept fencing with the last creature. Or was it the last? Suddenly one of the creatures laid low by Stilicho’s mightly blade leaped up, its wounds miraculously healed (in part). “Trolls?!,” shouted the warrior, “I didn’t know that trolls could regenerate! Help!” Drogden applied fire to the one remaining corpse, while Stilicho fought off the two trolls [ed. Once again the Dm’s dice were stone cold]. Eventually the pair brought down the remaining trolls, and burned their bodies beyond recognition. Panting, they turned to see Cara fire an arrow into the mage on the carpet, who had managed to navigate his way through the webs: just as it appeared the mage might escape at last, the elf’s arrow hit its mark, and the foe was dead. The carpet rolled up and dropped to the ground. “Well done, boys!,” Shouted Cleopatra, “I’ve always wanted one of these! I count this mission a success.” “I thought we were here to find a map room,” retorted Stilicho. “Bah! Map rooms are dime a dozen! It’s not every day you get your hands on one of these babies!” And Cleopatra ran her hands over the silk threads of the carpet, her eyes positively aglow with avarice. “Sometimes you scare me, Cleopatra,” said Cara quietly.
My C&C campaign journal: Hard Times in Narsileon http://www.trolllord.com/forums/viewtop ... 22&t=11032
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080
My OSRIC/1e campaign journal: Expedition to Arden Vul http://www.dragonsfoot.org/forums/viewt ... 26&t=59080