Cold Blood Interlude: Bearer of Bad Tidings

“The others wanted me to give you this.” Joris placed one of the tiny red crystals in Tarsem’s outstretched hand. “It’ll let them contact you if they need you.”

Tarsem’s green eyes lingered on the crystal still in Joris’s hand. “They gave one to you, as well.” He wasn’t asking.

“That’s right. I, um, I’m not traveling with them any more. My responsibility to my shrine is getting in the way.”

“Of course.” Tarsem pocketed his crystal. “How is my sister? I haven’t seen much of her since I arrived in Sigil.”

“Sheen’s fine. She was worried about Haden… honestly, I haven’t seen her that much either. Listen, have you seen Tulio? I’ve got some bad news for him.”

“He was at Chirper’s when I left.”

Joris uttered his thanks and left the Library of the Lady, headed for the Market Ward.

- – - – -

Tulio wasn’t at Chirper’s, but Sigrund pointed Joris to Thea’s shrine in The Lady’s Ward. His happiness at seeing Joris dissipated as the weight on the cleric’s shoulders became clear.

They adjourned to the tiny courtyard behind the shrine, a garden shared with the millinery next door. The din of Transformant’s Square was diminished here, giving an odd serenity to the scene.

“There’s no easy way for me to say this,” said Joris. “So I hope you’ll forgive me for just saying it. Thazia’s gone.”

“Gone?” Tulio scratched his head absently. “The undead have taken over?”

“No, Tulio, it’s been destroyed. The entire world… it’s been destroyed.”

Tulio backed into the bench before sitting on it. “How did it happen?”

Joris recounted the story, trying to remember every detail. Tulio didn’t look up until Joris was done, his expression strangely vacant. He drew a deep breath, then said “I may be all that’s left of Thazia.”

“Maybe. A proper diviner could tell you -“

“I need to write it all down.” Tulio was on his feet again. “All the stories, the history. The places I saw. Everything.”

Joris looked to the gate; when he turned back to Tulio, the young man was right in his face. “If I die,” Tulio said, “it’s all gone. I’ve got to tell Thazia’s story.”

“Mal may know someone with a press” was the only thing Joris could think of to say.

“Perfect.”

They talked for a while after that. Tulio didn’t seem very upset to Joris; the cleric had the impression that Thazia had died for him long ago. He needed little consolation – and how do you help someone grieve for an entire world? Sigil probably had somebody who knew the answer…

Once he was sure that Tulio was all right, Joris got up to excuse himself. “Where are you off to?” asked Tulio.

“Back to the Circle, so I can prepare a sending prayer. Kalisa knows where Faodhagan is. I need to tell Catriona.”

Aramis Journal Entry 7

[March 12th, 103 CY]

Slept fitfully, coming back to myself after all the dreaming. I dreamed of Sharwyn in a cloak of black feathers; I can only hope that it’s my own morbid mind, and not some glimpse of truth, that’s responsible for such imagery. In our obsession with finding Talgen, I sometimes feel like she’s being forgotten. Please, Sharwyn, be safe…

Azal’s bites responded well to treatment, with no sign of scarlet plague (so far). I’ll have to keep an eye on her.

The dwarf, Erky Timbers, accompanied us back to the secret chamber, where we rested while Meepo took the kobolds back to his people. He told us his story; the important part was that Talgen, Sharwyn, and Karakas were also prisoners of the goblins, until they were taken to the Twilight Grove, a place deep in the earth. That’s where the Gulthias Tree is, which provides the goblins’ apples.

A druid named Belak wanted Talgen and his friends for some reason. We don’t know for what reason, but if that’s where they’ve gone, that’s where we must go. Erky has agreed to come with us, but I can already tell that there will be friction between him and Meepo. Maybe they’ll work it out on their own; if not, I will have to set things right.

After we collected Meepo, Erky led us into a part of the goblin territory he’d seen once, during an escape attempt. From there we made our way into a trophy room, where Meepo’s dragon, Calcryx, attacked us!

I never believed that I’d face a dragon in combat; he was small, but big enough to hurt us. Calcryx focused his attacks on poor Meepo, and very nearly killed us all. Once the dragon was bloodied, though, we convinced him of our strength, and he agreed to return to the kobold enclave, though under new conditions. If only I’d learned Draconic and not Dwarven…

We’ll have to get out of here quickly.

-Aramis

The Threshold Episode 6: Wrath of the Goddess

The castaways rested. By the time they felt ready to press on, they could hear scratching at the top of the collapsed shaft. The prospect of facing more goblins or orcs convinced them to make haste.

They followed the tunnel behind the secret door to a vast underground chamber, its walls beyond the range of Alistina’s light of Lunia. To the east they saw three niches, similar to the storerooms above; one section of the south wall looked like smooth, worked stone.

Theronna, now recovered from her ghoul fever, started toward the first niche, the others trailing behind her. A brick wall separated the chamber from the next niche; it contained an upraised slab of stone in its exact center. Idly touching the tender wound on his chest left by the crossbow trap, Zeke moved closer to the slab, saying “Somebody with keener eyes’n mine should check this out…”

Eilir, who’d been standing behind Zeke, nodded and moved to examine the room. Alistina moved to the second niche, where she found a similar slab, with the body of a man upon it.

He was dressed in rich blue garments and dulled scale mail. A bastard sword lay by his right hand; a golden coronet adorned his brow. His flesh was pallid, yet undecayed, with old cuts and bruises still vivid. His eyes were open, unmoving.

Crudely carved into the slab was this message:

Viledel
Sea King
Tamed the Islands
Laid Low by Pirates

“There’s a body over here,” Alistina called to the others. Zeke stopped Eilir with an outstretched hand, and she grabbed his arm.

Eilir readied her wand. She, Zeke, and Theronna moved around the brick wall to the second niche to see what Alistina had found. “What in the Hells?” Zeke muttered. Theronna drew her sword as Alistina drew closer to the body – and suddenly the king’s eyes turned upon her, and he lurched off the slab with a dreadful moan.

Viledel clawed at the woman, but she was too quick for him. Theronna closed the distance in a flash; her upswing sheared off the back of the Sea-King’s skull and pivoted him around to face her. Zeke aimed his blow for where Viledel would have been, falling short of the mark. Alistina blasted him in the chest with the light of the Heavens, and a low groan issued from what was left of him.

Another figure shuffled into view from the third niche, the vestige of Liala, the Sea-King’s wife. She lunged at Eilir, who seared a magic missile right through the zombie’s skull.

Theronna took a blow to the jaw from Viledel, spoiling her attack. Zeke’s strike severed both of the zombie’s outstretched arms; he kicked Viledel between the shoulder blades, causing him to keel over and expire with another terrible sigh. Once sure Viledel was down, Zeke ran over to the queen, trying to get between her and Eilir.

Alistina snatched the sword from the slab and swung it at Liala in one fluid motion, nearly severing her leg. The zombie snarled and rounded on Alistina, but the reach of her new weapon kept the creature at bay.

Eilir forced her way between Alistina and Zeke, scorching the zombie with a burning hands spell. At once Liala was wreathed in flame; she crashed against the brick wall and slumped to the ground, burning back down into death.

Alistina looked down at the sword in awe. It felt right in her hands, like a gift from Helm himself. The name “Khaven” was engraved upon the blade in Dwarven runes.

Zeke looked at Eilir. “Ya didn’t have ta… we were gonna… Thanks.” He put his sword away.

“I just wanted to help,” replied the wizard.

“I’d say ya did.” Smirking, Zeke nodded at the burning corpse. Eilir smiled and blushed lightly.

While Theronna busied herself with stripping off Viledel’s scale mail, the others returned to exploring the chamber. The third niche contained another stone slab with another crude inscription:

Queen Liala
Laid Low by Pirates
Rests Beside the Sea King

This last niche had a brick wall to the south, which wrapped around the corner and continued into the main chamber. Along this part of the wall they found a plaque which read:

Here Lies Prince Horedel
Brought Down by Illness
In the Twentieth Year of Viledel’s Reign

“Did Osric mention this Horedel?” asked Zeke.

Eilir nodded. “Viledel’s son. And my father told me stories about them when I was younger.”

“I don’t remember when I was younger,” said Theronna, strapping herself into her newfound armor.

“This wall’s different from the others,” Eilir said, her fingertips brushing along the bricks. “I bet the Prince is behind it.”

They searched, but found no way to get through the wall. Alistina wandered over to the smooth section on the south side of the wall, where she found a lever. A great crashing sound boomed forth when she pulled it, and the smooth wall broke up into its component stones, tumbling out into the ocean. A great blast of cold wind and rain sliced into the chamber – and it was nearly dark outside.

“Oh,” said Zeke. “Good.” He leaned out to see if the boat lay outside the chamber, but saw nothing.

Eilir asked for Zeke’s help with removing the plaque from the brick wall. Scowling, the farmboy asked “Ain’t we wrecked enough crypts yet?”

“This might help us find the boat, Zeke. Please?” She batted her eyelashes at him; with a noncommittal grunt, he moved to help her. The wall gave a hollow ring as the plaque scraped against it. Zeke kicked at the wall, and Eilir bashed it with the plaque, but did little damage.

As Theronna and Alistina approached, Eilir shouted “The JAVELIN!”

“From the library!” Alistina was already backing away from the wall. “Good idea, Eilir!”

“Wait!” hissed Theronna. Her longsword was already in her hand. “I hear something!”

Eilir cocked her arm back to the javelin, but froze at Theronna’s warning. Voices carried from the far end of the tunnel. Were they speaking Orcish? Goblin?

No. Both.

“We’re getting out of here now,” announced Eilir. She threw the javelin toward the wall, shouting “TALOS!” at the top of her lungs. The missile transformed into a brilliant bolt of lightning which blasted the wall into rubble, sending dust and huge chunks of brick all over the room. Through the dust they saw a small galley, about thirty feet long.

“The boat!” Theronna cleared a path through the rubble to reach it. “We’ve got to drag it to the water.”

“Perfect,” said Eilir. “I’ve got the navigational charts; I can get us out of here. Come on!”

Zeke followed, a bit dazed, saying “It turned inta… inta lightning.”

“That’s magic for you, farmboy,” Alistina said with a chuckle.

Eilir climbed onto the boat, where she saw a body at its center, wrapped in linens and surrounded by grave-goods. She saw some chests, a suit of chainmail, and some weapons – but more importantly she saw a well-oiled sail and sturdy oars. This boat was seaworthy. “There’s another body up here,” she said.

Getting into position to push the boat, Alistina yelled “Get rid of it!”

Eilir rolled the Prince off the boat, and the body hit the ground with an undignified thud. “Sorry, fella,” said Zeke, carrying the body to one of the stone slabs, “matter a’ life ‘n’ death.” The voices of the humanoid pirates were drawing closer.

“ZEKE!” Theronna shouted. “Get back here and PUSH!”

Finally, the boat splashed into the water, and the castaways clamored aboard. “Wind’s against us!” Eilir said. “We need to row! We’ll be all right once we’re out to sea!”

They took to the oars and rowed with all their might. A huge force of orcs and goblins appeared in the chamber once the ship was about twenty yards out; they launched a flight of arrows at the boat, most splashed into the water, but a few stuck into the hull, the mast, or the oars.

Suddenly the wind shifted. The castaways hoisted the sail, lifting the boat out of range as a massive wave crashed into the tomb.

- – - – -

The boat rocked in the storm. The sky above was utterly swallowed by storm clouds. They could still see the island, as if lit by a faint glow.

“Is that a tornado?” Theronna asked, pointing at the sky above the island. It was, and only the first of many. They descended from the mantle of clouds and stripped great tracts of territory up into the air, disintegrating the ruined village, the manor, the barracks, and the stable. The orc and goblin ships were torn to pieces, their crews swept out to sea or dashed against the cliff sides.

By the time the boat was a quarter mile out to sea, the rocking had subsided. A great whirlwind of rocks and scrub and sand and sea rose to scour the island, and when it was done, the isle was gray-white and smooth, with no features to remind them of the island they’d shipwrecked upon only yesterday.

Then, all at once, the seas were calm and still. The clouds cleared, allowing the moon and the stars back into view. Their world became silence.

Zeke was the one to break it, simply saying “Dang.”

“All right,” Eilir said. With Theronna and Alistina exploring the ship, she asked Zeke to take the helm so she could plot a course.

“Right!” he said enthusiastically. “What’s a helm?”

“Hold this big wheel looking thing, and make sure we don’t go too far left or right.”

He did so. Once Eilir knew her course, she took the helm again, her fingers lightly brushing his. When he didn’t pull his hand away, she said “I was right, you know.”

”’Bout what, Miss Eilir?”

“I learned to navigate from my father. So, in a way, Daddy is saving us after all.”

Zeke was too exhausted to argue.

Eilir steered the ship toward Daggerford, and the sails found a favorable wind, speeding them toward home.

The Threshold Episode 5: Under the Manor

“He’s dead,” Alistina said, not finding a pulse along Osric’s neck. Zeke stared at Theronna, dumbfounded. The soldier took no notice, her attention fixed on the old man’s body, her face glistening with sweat and scarlet.

“We need to find that boat, now.” Eilir wasn’t sure if she should be shocked or grateful. She looked at the map and moved down the hall, wand out. “I don’t want to stay down here and test fate.”

“She’s right,” said Alistina. “I don’t want to be around for the destruction of the island.”

“Ya didn’t have to kill ‘im,” Zeke said softly to Theronna before turning away.

“Sure she did.” Alistina moved to where she could see Theronna’s face. “You did, didn’t you?” Getting no reply, she followed Eilir and Zeke down the tunnel.

Theronna knelt beside Osric, closing the old man’s eyes. “Sorry, Osric,” she sighed, holding his limp white hair in her hand. “One day I’ll meet you on the other side.”

The long white hair reminded her of a man in Waterdeep, the man who met the VIPs she’d escorted there. That’s right, she wasn’t attacked on the way to Waterdeep; it was on the way back. That man wasn’t to be trusted, either. What was his name…?

She coughed, the first in a chain of hacking coughs; she pulled herself together, then started after the others.

- – - – -

They entered the storeroom that Osric had marked “good weapons and armor” on their map, finding crates stacked precariously high along every wall.

Alistina said “Try your wand on those crates” to Eilir. The wizard nodded and moved into the room, not noticing the tripwire until her ankle had already found it. The crates came crashing down on her, bruising her back. One crate split open as it hit the floor, spilling out a pile of bricks.

Zeke and Theronna moved to dig her out, and Alistina provided some healing. The wizard put up a hard front, but still seemed to be on the brink of tears.

“Mebbe we should leave these storage rooms in peace,” Zeke suggested.

Eilir nodded and allowed him to help her back to her feet. With one loud sniff, she made her way back to the hall, where a rotted tapestry blocked their view of the corridor beyond. Zeke pushed it aside, allowing the magical light to illuminate another tapestry twenty feet beyond.

Zeke and Eilir approached the second tapestry. The farmboy nodded encouragement to her, and she replied with a weak smile before brushing the tapestry aside. Doing so tugged another wire tied to counterweights, which yanked out the beams supporting the hallway.

The wizard dove forward as dust and massive stones rained down upon the others. Stones pelted Alistina and Theronna; Zeke took a rock to the temple and fell to the ground, quickly buried under debris.

It was over in moments. Now crying openly, Eilir moved to uncover Zeke, with Theronna’s help. They found the farmboy bleeding and unconscious, but alive. The soldier used her knowledge of battlefield medicine to stabilize him; once Alistina mended her own wounds, she tended to the others, explaining that she was out of healing magic for the day.

Eilir dusted herself off as best she could. “Let’s get out of here. I shouldn’t lead us anymore, I know, but I can get us back to the mainland once we’re on the boat.”

“I’ll lead,” Zeke said, trying to shake off grogginess.

- – - – -

The second set of storerooms was much like the first, with crates stacked high in the first two and a circular stone-lined well in the third.

Theronna experienced another coughing fit as the castaways approached; seeing the looks of concern, she said “It’s nothing a good shot of whiskey can’t cure. Back in Silverymoon, every soldier acquires a taste for it.”

“I see,” said Zeke, without seeing. He went to examine the well, finding a bucket, but no rope. He turned his attention back to the crates, hoping to find something he could use to haul water; however, the boxes were filled with earth and rubbish.

“Strange,” said Eilir, “that someone would go to so much trouble to store – did you hear that?” She grabbed Zeke’s wrist and pulled him toward her. A scratching sound, faint at first, grew louder as several mangy-furred creatures wormed their way out from the crates – five rats the size of dogs.

The rats were upon them in a flash, biting Eilir and Alistina. Zeke readied his falchion and brought it down on a rat, severing its head. Eilir cast an orb of fire at one which missed her by inches, filling the room with the stench of burning hair. The smoldering rat scurried back toward the wall of crates.

Theronna dodged an attack, neatly slicing the dire rat in half with one deft stroke. Another rat avoided Alistina’s club; Zeke aimed too high with his attack, his blade whistling right over the rat’s head. Eilir doused that one with a splash of acid; it screeched but continued its assault.

Theronna struck another rat with a powerful blow, but it caught the flat of the blade and flew into the crates, chittering but unharmed. Alistina brought her club down on the rat’s leg, pulverizing its tiny bones. It leaped up and closed its sharp teeth on Theronna’s forearm.

Zeke reversed his missed upswing and severed the rat’s spine without splitting it in half. He lifted it off the ground and sent it sailing down the hall, dead before it hit the ground. The acid-scarred rat evaded a ray of frost from Eilir, only to end up in front of Alistina, who bashed its skull in with her club. The scorched dire rat scrambled over the crates and disappeared.

“Ever’body alright?” asked Zeke. Eilir sank to the floor and sighed heavily, bleeding a little from where the rat bit her. After a short rest, she said, “Why would someone pack a bunch of earth up into crates… why would they spend so much time doing that?”

“Maybe there’s goldat the bottom of the crates.” Theronna looked around the room. “Or treasure. We should check for – “

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Zeke scolded. “Who gives a damn about treasure when our lives are in danger here? The only thing we should be thinkin’ ‘bout is survivin’ long enough to get off this damn island. Ta do that, we need a few things, but treasure ain’t even on the list.”

Eilir recoiled from Zeke’s sharp words, even though they weren’t directed at her.

Theronna stood toe to toe with Zeke. “Listen here, comrade, what’s the harm in taking a few for the road? It’s not our intention to load up, but don’t we have a right to give someone a proper burial?”

“Stealin’ from the dead ain’t my idea of a ‘proper burial,’ Miss Theronna. I don’t know how they do things in Silverymoon, but we ain’t like that in Tethyr.”

“Enough!” Eilir looked up, her eyes full of tears. “If you want to look for treasure… you better hurry… and stop fighting over it!” She stood up, thrust the wand at Theronna, and pushed past everyone on her way out of the room.

After a beat, Theronna said “Then I’m mistaken. And I’m sorry. It was not my intention to do the gods any injustice.”

Zeke seemed surprised by the apology. “Kay, then. Help me find somethin’ to fetch water from the well, and somethin’ ta carry it in so we can get on with searchin’ fer this damned boat.” He spun around and continued his search of the crates, keeping a wary eye out for rats. Finding nothing helpful or valuable, he went after Eilir, finding her and the others at the edge of the tunnel that Osric had marked “Go Slow Hallway” on their map.

The laid-stone floor looked buckled. Theronna ignored Osric’s advice and raced across the uneven stones, but they gave way beneath her feet, and she dropped out of sight.

“Miss Theronna!” yelled Zeke, racing to the edge of the pit. He saw her leap from one narrow ledge up to another, about twenty feet down. The sound of rushing water below was deafening. Theronna had clearly hurt herself in the fall.

Alistina ran back down the hall, returning with the tapestries. The group fashioned a makeshift rope from them, which they used to haul Theronna out of the pit. They also drew water from the well, which was cold and refreshing.

- – - – -

The last group of storerooms bore no semblance to Osric’s maps; they found two short hallways, each with a series of five doors. Theronna tossed the wand back to Eilir, saying “This thing is too complicated.” The wizard spoke the command word and began to search for magic auras, not finding any.

Frowning, Zeke tried the first door on his left, not seeing the wire attached to the door until it was too late. A crossbow bolt flew from the darkness and thunked into his chest; he staggered back a step, groaning in pain.

“ZEKE!” shouted Eilir, trying to catch him. “What happened?”

“Uh…” he said vaguely, gesturing at the bolt sticking from his chest. “Trap.”

She ripped off a piece of her shirt to bind his wound. “Ow… I’m all right, Miss Eilir.” He saw her bare stomach.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, eyes cast down.

“No, it’s okay,” he said, taking her hand. “I appreciate it.” Then he released her and turned away.

They searched every inch of the area and found nothing… no valuables, and no secret door.

“Wait!” said Eilir. “The rats… they had to come in from somewhere. Let’s check behind those crates! Maybe there’s a way they got in.”

They returned to that room. It was arduous work, but they moved the boxes away from the walls. They found small holes in the wall, big enough for a dire rat to squeeze through, but of no use to them.

Eilir was ready to give up when she found an oddly colored rock along the wall. She turned it, causing a secret stone door to grate open, revealing a long tunnel winding down, deeper into the earth.

Aramis Journal Entry 6

[March 11th, 103 CY continued]

The body belongs to Sir Braford, the paladin of Pelor who accompanied the Hucreles on their expedition down here. I only met the man once, and there is very little of him left to identify. Still, this armor is marked with Pelor’s symbol, and the time of death seems consistent with Sir Braford’s arrival in the Citadel.

I wish I could share Azal’s relief – and I do, at least in part – but for me, this discovery raises more questions than it answers. How was he separated from the others? Why would they leave him behind? Could they survive without him?

No time to dwell on it. We took his armor and bracers (keeping the first for myself and the second for Owen), and a gold ring which might serve as proof to his church that he has fallen. My mantle covers the symbol of Pelor, but I still seem to feel its presence. I’m uncomfortable with this practice, to say the least, but he has no grave to rob, and I feel that we need all the help we can get down here.

I also hate to leave the body out in the open, without a proper burial, but we can’t spare the time to take him back to Oakhurst until we’ve found the others. The kobolds feed their dead to their dragon, or used to, so that option’s out as well, at least for now.

I will burn this rats’ nest to cinders when I know it’s safe to do so. So much filth and pestilence… I must keep a watchful eye on Azal, lest she show any symptoms of scarlet plague.

‘Guthash’ was the goblin name for the bloated rat, or so Meepo tells me. I have never been so happy to see something dead, not even the wolves that ravaged our flocks back in 99. It’s a curious feeling. Fairly sure I don’t like it.

Meepo offered us some dragon statuettes that once belonged to the kobolds. We politely refused – they belong to his people, after all – but I’m sure we offended him. I hope we find an opportunity to make it up to him soon. He’s been very brave, and I must be sure to show how much we all appreciate his help.

We decided to press into goblin territory, but my clumsy efforts at stealth forced a long and costly battle. We never would have survived such a fight yesterday. How far we’ve come in so short a time! We’re working as a team, and it makes all the difference, praise be to the Queen.

Still, Azal went down in the midst of the fray, and I feared that the Raven Queen had claimed her. How can I describe the anger I felt in that moment? I know that fate wills what it will, but it would be unjust for Azal to have perished here, now, never knowing what became of our friend.

Why would I think such a thing? I don’t expect to be treated any differently for serving her. I only want the same as anyone… or do I? Do I deserve a little more?

No. I belong in the service of the Queen. Banish all other thought from your mind, Aramis.

anyway

We’ve also found some prisoners, three kobolds and a dwarf. I look forward to hearing their stories while we rest.

Talgen, Sharwyn, stay alive. We are coming for you.

-Aramis

Threshold Episode 4

The four castaways moved into the hall, planning to cross to the other side of the manor, where Osric said they’d find the hidden entrance to the catacombs. Theronna leaned on Alistina for support.

Zeke whispered “There’s some goblins ‘round the corner ‘n’ down a bit.”

“Great,” said Alistina. “Anyone got a plan?”

“Sneak past ‘em?” Zeke offered weakly. Eilir held her tongue instead of replying.

They moved into the cross-hall, which ran nearly two hundred feet to the other side of the manor, with several sets of double doors on either side.

“Intellego!” Eilir spoke the wand’s command word, bringing its detection magic to life. Paying close attention to its rosy glow as she walked, the wizard bumped into Zeke, muttering an apology and trying to hide her blushing face by looking intently at the floor.

Alistina saw the wand’s glow brighten a bit when they reached the midpoint of the hall. Before she could say anything, Theronna pointed to the north and said “Someone’s coming.” At once she opened one of the double doors, and the four of them ducked into the room as humanoids appeared at both ends of the hall – orcs to the north, goblins to the south.

Zeke closed the door as softly as he could as the humanoids shouted at each other, then charged, coming together with a mighty crash just outside the room.

He turned to see what was left of a library. Eilir wandered through the ruined shelves, fingertips brushing the moldy remains of books with a furious expression. She made her way toward a large wooden plaque leaning against the east wall, depicting a life-size harpooner drawing back his weapon. As she approached, the wand’s glow intensified.

Zeke stood braced against the door, keeping an ear trained on the melee in the hall. He thought that the goblins were losing.

“Look,” Eilir said. “This harpoon is separate from the plaque.” She reached up and carefully removed it; its head fell off, revealing the golden hue of the javelin beneath.

Eilir gasped and peered at the tiny symbol engraved on the weapon’s shaft, which depicted three lightning bolts converging on one point.

Alistina described it aloud to Theronna, but it was Zeke who said ”’S Talos’s mark. God’a thunder ‘n’ lightnin’ ‘n’ such.” His father had spoken that name more than once, to spare their crops from his wrath…

He snapped out of his reminiscence as the doorknob began to turn in his hand, and he heard Eilir talking (too loudly for their circumstances) about the javelin’s possible powers. Eyes widening, he shushed the women and grabbed the knob; he held the door fast, until the frustrated grunts on the other side ended, and the orcs shuffled away.

“Are they gone?” whispered Alistina.

Zeke shook his head, eyes still wide, unable to hide his annoyance.

“I hear them.” Alistina pointed at the door on the south wall – the orcs were moving to enter the library from another direction.

Zeke cracked the double door open and peered into the hall, seeing three dead goblins and no orcs, living or dead. He eased into the hallway, and the women followed, Theronna having finally regained her senses.

They crept through the manor to the room that Osric had marked “Go to Catacombs” on their map. That door was closed, but the door at the end of the hall, leading outside, was opened a crack. Zeke opened the door and entered the room, finding two broken desks, several bookcases groaning with trays full of mold and scraps of paper – and Osric.

“What kept ye?” asked the old man as the castaways filed into the room. The sudden sound startled Eilir, and she grabbed Zeke’s arm, letting go just as quickly.

“Ye lot’ll be ready ta leave, I’ll wager.” With a smirk, Osric stood up, dusted himself off, and walked over to one of the bookcases. Reaching up to the top, he pressed a hidden button with a soft click. Then… nothing.

Theronna drew her longsword. Zeke blinked slowly. “Something wrong, Osric?” asked Alistina.

“Seems.” Frowning, the old man pressed the button again, with the same result. “This here button should open th’ bookcase so’s we can use th’shaft. Ain’t used it in twenny years, though, s’I can’t say’s I’m too surprised.”

“You mean we cain’t get down this way?” Zeke asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t say that, lad. Ya could pry th’ bookcase away from th’ wall, but that’d take time ‘n’ make noise… But once we’re down there there’s more works that’ll seal the shaft b’hind us.” A strange look came over the old man’s face as he caught sight of the javelin in Eilir’s hand, but it only lasted a moment.

The group considered their options. Finally, Eilir pulled a large wooden beam loose from the debris littering the floor. “We could use these to pry the thing open. Doing it quickly would cause a ruckus and draw their attention. We could do it slowly instead, but that could take a while. Either way, we risk getting caught.”

They got to work. Theronna and Eilir closed the door and shifted debris to block it, listening for patrols, while Zeke and Alistina tried to force the bookcase open with makeshift prybars.

“Someone’s coming!” Eilir whispered. The prying stopped at once. Footsteps echoed in the hall. Another door opened – across the hall? – then silence returned.

They resumed prying. After a minute or two, the bookcase groaned away from the wall, revealing a shaft behind it. They lowered the case to the floor carefully. Zeke saw that the shaft was very dark, and about two feet in diameter, with rusty steel staples for rungs.

Osric brushed past Zeke and started to climb down, just as someone tried the door. It opened – barely – and they heard goblin voices arguing.

Theronna drew her sword again. “Hurry, down the shaft!” she whispered, preparing to cover the others’ escape. Zeke readied his falchion and stood by her side.

As they filed down the narrow passage, the goblins tried to force their way into the room. Fortunately, they were delayed by the mountain of debris. By the time Osric, Eilir, and Alistina were out of sight, they opened the door open enough for a goblin to get an arm in, flailing around the other side of the doorknob.

Theronna turned to face Zeke, yelling “Move farm boy, go! We must save our strength for a real fight!” The sound of her voice caused a change in the goblins’ pitch – three of them at least.

“Have it yer way,” he said, and started down the shaft.

Theronna held her position until the shaft was clear, then climbed down, the first goblin bursting into the room as she reached the bottom.

The castaways found themselves in a dark, damp chamber with rough stone walls, partitioned into three storerooms. A low shaft led off to the south, deeper into the catacombs. They felt surrounded by quiet.

Osric reached for a lever and yanked it. A tremendous crash came from overhead, and the sounds of goblins descending the shaft turned to screams. A great cloud of dust rushed out of the shaft and a hail of rocks pelted down, forcing the adventurers to take cover.

“That oughtta keep ‘em out,” grumbled the old man. “Made it. Knew we would. Haven’t been down here awhile.”

“So where are we?” asked Alistina.

“Catacombs, where I entombed himself ‘n’ nis family. Used his ring ta keep ‘im from rottin.’ In ‘is adventurin’ days he found a ring that made things happen if ya wished for ‘em, d’ye se. So I wished they’d ne’er decay, so they’d be in one piece when it w’s ime for tha dead to rise up in th’ afterlife.”

“Smart,” Alistina said, thinking Sounds extremely dangerous, but smart.

Osric continued, saying “I were gonna get down here an’ shut the shaft when th’ orcs first landed, but they grabbed me. Ya done me a real favor, gettin’ me down here so I could shut it off.”

Eilir brushed dust from her hair and readied the wand. “You really cared for him and his family, didn’t you?”

“Course!” he replied. “Can’t let them bastards make off with ‘is treasures ‘n’ pretties. What manner o’servant would I be if I did?”

“So where are these pretties?” asked Theronna.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” replied the old man in a sing-song tone.

“Not really,” said Zeke. “Where’s the boat? I’d like to git clear ‘fore Tymora smites the whole damn place.”

Osric turned on Zeke, spell-light gleaming in his eyes – and on the shining dagger in his hand. “What manner’o servant would I be to let you profane his son’s tomb? Nah, you ain’t leavin, no more so than me. Gonna die down here, like me. Good idea.”

He lunged forward, but Theronna’s longsword was already in her hands. She deflected the old man’s attack on Zeke, then swept her blade up, slicing Osric’s neck open. He clapped a hand to the wound and fell to his knees, blood streaming through his fingers, laughing maniacally as he died.

Cold Blood Interlude: Dagger in the Dark

“You’re not the first person to wake me up with a knife at my throat,” growled Nashtoreth of the Umber Scales. The corpulent tiefling’s tone had served him well on those prior occasions, but the blade didn’t waver.

“I’m not here to threaten you,” the woman said, her scent and her voice accented with the unmistakable taint of Shendilavri. “But I need your attention, and I’ll defend myself if I must.”

“I know you. You’re that succubus, the one who turned stag on Malcanthet.”

“I am,” replied Kalisa. “But I have chant for you, chant that’s beyond value to the right ears.”

“Whose ears would those be?”

“You’ll know once I’ve told you.”

Kalisa allowed the priest to sit up. “Assuming your chant is reliable, what will it cost me?”

“Noxana’s left your temple, and your company. Vow to let your daughter go free – and to forgo reprisal against me, or my friends – and I’ll tell you what I’ve come to say.”

“My daughter?” Nashtoreth laughed, contemptuous and phlegmatic. “Is that what she told you? I thought you were cagey enough to know a peel when you heard one.”

“Whatever she was to you,” said Kalisa, “she won’t be any more.”

“I see.” Light reflected from Kalisa’s dagger glinted in the tiefling’s cold black eyes. “What if I refuse?”

“Then my next visit won’t be so cordial. And if you break your vow, the same.”

Nashtoreth took a moment before nodding. “Then I forsake my claim to Noxana, and I forsake my right to vengeance.”

Kalisa sheathed the dagger, apparently satisfied. “Now, let me tell you about the copy of Sigil that the baatezu are making outside of Dis.”

Cold Blood Interlude: Assassin's Choice

Xillian’s going to assassinate Jhalefein.

Jazra could think of nothing else as she worked her way down the narrow alley to Alehouse Row and the Hooded Lantern. That was where the drow warlock Jhalefein had hired Tulio, and where Hexla’s friends had seen him.

If Jhalefein was still in the Lantern, then Xillian surely would have found him by now. If he wasn’t, though, where would she look next? Even someone as distinctive as a drow could find a thousand places to hide in the Cage…

The drow. How little she understood them! Xillian and Jhalefein hailed from a Prime anthill called Erelhei-Cinlu. Jhalefein’s clan, House Eilservs, lost the civil war there; Xillian’s family, House Tormtor, drove the few survivors into exile.

Xillian failed to capture Tulio for his masters – thanks to Tulio’s friends – and Jazra had believed that he’d chosen to forsake his House and live in exile with her.

Why, then, had he asked Tulio about Jhalefein? Was he planning to murder the warlock in some bid to regain favor with his House? And why hadn’t Xillian told her what he was up to? True, it seemed like he’d barely said ten words to her in the week they’d been together… they were together, weren’t they? It was so confusing. Whatever existed between them, Jazra had never felt anything like it before…

But now she’d arrived, and there was no time to think about such things. Offering a half-felt prayer to any power that might be listening, she went into the Hooded Lantern.

Jazra hated the Hooded Lantern. As an Anarchist, she was accustomed to meeting hooded strangers in darkened alehouses – but everyone here was under a hood or a hat. Darkvision was a common trait in the Cage, after all.

She felt the eyes of the dwarven barmaid on her at once. Thyra Rivenshield was her name; Jazra wondered if the barmaid remembered the shouting match they’d ended up in last time the tout had set foot in this dive.

“Lookin’ fer someone?” Thyra asked without looking Jazra in the eye.

Good, Jazra thought. Don’t pay any attention. “A dark elf. Quiet fellow with violet eyes.”

The dwarf jerked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing out a shadowy corner. Jazra saw Xillian there, but who was he talking to? He faced away from her…

Now Thyra was staring at her. “I could do with some firewine,” Jazra announced as she headed for the corner. The barmaid went about her business, hopefully put at ease.

Xillian looked surprised when he saw Jazra coming. Good, she thought again. Serves him right for not tellin’ me what he’s up to…

He had time to say her name before she grabbed him by the tunic. “Whaddaya think yer doin’?” she hissed. “You think you can just go back to writin’ berks into the dead-book without even tellin’ me first?”

“What are you talking about?” Xillian spoke calmly, as always, as if nothing could possibly be amiss.

“Yer not killin’ Jhalefein.”

“No, he’s not,” whispered the other man at the table. Jazra turned to look at him and saw another drow, horribly scarred across his head and throat.

“Jazra,” said Xillian, pointing to the other dark elf, “this is Jhalefein.”

“Enchanted,” whispered Jhalefein. Jazra let go of Xillian’s shirt, allowing Jhalefein to take her hand in his own. His fingernails were longer than hers.

“What’s goin’ on here, then?”

“Sit down,” Xillian said, “and I’ll tell you.”

Jazra sat next to Xillian, not feeling as close to him as she should. The arrival of her mug of firewine relieved her. It was terrible stuff, but she needed it all the same. Once sure the tiefling was settled, Xillian began.

“When I first heard that Jhalefein here was in Sigil, I did consider assassinating him. It might have brought me back into House Tormtor’s good graces… More than that, though, it’s what I was taught to do. It’s who they made me.”

Jazra searched Xillian’s eyes, then said “I could never forgive you if you did that.”

“That’s why I didn’t. I realized that if I’m to become someone else, I needed to look into this man’s eyes, and see a man, not an enemy.”

Jhalefein drank from his glass, whispering “He’s lucky I’ve come to a similar point in my life.” Maybe he can’t speak any louder, Jazra thought. I don’t think I care to hear the story those scars on his neck would tell…

“Then… everything’s fine?”

“Yes.” Xillian’s hand closed over hers, and her tension eased. “I’m free, Jazra. I’m free.”

“Good thing, too,” hissed Jhalefein. “I’ve seen the future. House Eilservs will rule the Vault again someday… but they’ll do so without me.”

Jazra couldn’t hide her confusion; luckily, Xillian saw it, and Jhalefein didn’t. The assassin sketched a quick and polite goodbye, then ushered Jazra out of the alehouse before she realized what was going on.

- – - – -

“The problem,” the drow said when the Hooded Lantern was well out of sight, “is that I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

“Well, I’d rather ya not run around murderin’ for a livin’.”

“Then I won’t.”

Jazra had been thinking about this. She said “But you’re good at lyin’, sneakin’, pullin’ down the chant.”

“Yes.” Not an opinion, but a fact. “Do you have something in mind, Jazra?”

She nodded, leaned close to his ear, and whispered, “Let me tell you about the Revolutionary League.”

Threshold Episode 3

The castaways awakened from fitful sleep, the dawn which greeted them muted by the ongoing storm – and by the goddess’s ultimatum.

“So, old timer,” Alistina said to Osric, “we better get off this island today.”

Zeke frowned at his growling stomach. “Some grub’d be nice, too. Ain’t too keen on the notion-a sneakin’ through the goblins on a empty stomach.”

“Can’t help with food,” replied Osric. “Mebbe we kin fish off th’ boat once we’re away.”

Disappointed, Zeke busied himself with Hafkris’s crossbow.

“Sure you know how to use that thing?” Alistina asked.

“Sure’n I do. Point an’ click. Ain’t a simpler weapon out there that ain’t a stick.”

He smiled as if he’d made a joke; Alistina couldn’t be sure if he had. Eilir obviously had her doubts, but said nothing, packing up her spellbook once she was finished with it.

Stetching himself out with a riot of cracks and pops, Osric said “Manor’s about a thousand yards north. There’s a depression we kin use ta sneak most of th’way to it. All th’entrances ‘re guarded, but thar’s a window with loose bars I been usin’ ta git in ‘n’ out.”

“Then let’s go,” said Theronna, belting on her sword.

They walked out of the temple and back into the storm. Soaked by the time they reached the bottom of the hill, they saw the manor in the distance – a large keep flanked by two smaller buildings. They also saw the depression leading away from the base of the hill, coming right up to the manor. Dozens of humanoid figures surrounded the smaller buildings, and at least half a dozen goblins guarded the manor’s entrance.

Zeke shook his head. “You sure that trench is gonna git us past all them pirates?”

“I ain’ sure o’nothin’,” Osric replied. “But if ye’ve got a better idea now’s th’ time.”

Eilir said “I could try to stage a diversion.”

“Like what?” asked Alistina. “Calling for Daddy?”

“No.” Eilir made a rude gesture at her. “I could start a fire. That might lure the guards away from the entrance.”

“Bit wet fer that, ain’t it?” asked Zeke.

Theronna moved closer. “And what’s supposed to keep their attention once your fire’s got it? Two rats humping each other?”

“I don’t know!” shrieked Eilir. “I’m just trying to help!”

“I say we follow Osric’s idea,” said Theronna. “He’s been getting around with no magic and no martial training.”

Smiling, the old man ran down to the depression and crept toward the manor.

“Doesn’t mean I trust him, though,” Theronna muttered to the others before following.

They made it just past the halfway mark when a patch of scree loudly gave way beneath Eilir’s bare foot.

They froze in place, readying their weapons. They heard someone approaching, making no effort to be stealthy. Zeke felt oddly hot in the cold and rain.

A lone orc pirate appeared, gazing down into the depression, a falchion hanging loosely in his grip. Alistina struck him right in the midsection with the light of Lunia, knocking the wind out of him and doubling him over in pain. Zeke fired his crossbow and caught the orc in the shoulder, a trickle of blood leaking from beneath his studded leather armor. Theronna’s longsword found a tiny glimmer of sunlight as it bit into the orc’s neck, turning his cry for help into a gurgling mess. It fell into the depression, dead before it hit the dirt.

Zeke moved up to the body, watching as the orc’s blood oozed out with a queasy look on his face.

“Better not throw up this time, boy.” Theronna peered over the lip of the depression to see if anyone else was coming.

“That armor might fit him,” Osric said, pointing from the orc to Zeke.

“Didn’t do him much good,” the farmboy said.

“Mebbe not, but ain’ like he needs it n’more.”

He donned the leather smoothly, naturally, like one would clothing. It fit him quite well, although the boots were a bit tight. The falchion seemed to belong in his hands.

Theronna pointed and laughed, saying “Now he’s a man.”

“Don’t make fun of him!” Alistina said. Eilir also seemed offended.

“I’m not. He’s come a long way in one day. I salute you, Zeke. You’re a man now. That’s what I said and I stand by my word.” She offered him her hand, and he shook it, grudgingly.

Osric moved like a ghost toward the window with the loose bars; a cat would have made more noise. Zeke went to follow, but his new boots pinched like mad, and he crashed into Alistina, both of them falling in a noisy heap. Zeke caught a sharp rock in the back and it was all he could do not to shout.

“They heard that,” Osric said, looking off toward the manor entrance. “Wait here, I’ll lead ‘em off to’ard the temple, then come ‘n’ find ya inside later.”

“You sure about this?” asked Theronna.

“Sure, they won’t follow me inta th’temple. The Queen’s room has that stick; ya kin use it t’find th’other pretties.”

“Queen’s room,” Zeke repeated to himself.

Alistina whispered “Be careful.”

“Sure, miss. Suren I will.”

With a wink, Osric bounded out of the depression, flailing his skinny limbs to get the orcs’ attention. Shouting insults in Orcish, he fled back up the hill, four orcs taking up the pursuit. After a moment, all was quiet again.

They counted to ten, then moved to the window, sliding the bars out of the way so they could climb into the manor. They found themselves in a dark room, illuminated by Alistina’s light of Lunia, with broken cots and chests strewn around.

Zeke purposefully moved toward the door, but Theronna was there first, peeking into the keyhole. “Dark hall,” she whispered, “running west to east.”

Voices echoed somewhere in the distance; but the direction and the language were indistinct. As Zeke opened the door, Theronna’s hands went to her head, and her legs began to shake.

“Douse that light,” Zeke told Alistina, and she complied. The soldier looked around, as if seeing beyond the concerned faces of the other castaways.

“Theronna? Are you all right?” asked Eilir, wringing out her hair.

Theronna said “Who are you?” before collapsing to the floor.

Alistina dropped to her side at once. “You two find the queen’s room,” she said. “I’ll take care of Theronna.”

Leaning out into the hall for a look around, Zeke asked “Sure we should split up?”

“We need that wand to escape, and we can’t wait for her. Just go.”

“All right, then. See if you kin keep ‘er quiet ‘til we get back.” He slipped into the darkened hallway, Eilir close behind him.

They came to a door, which Zeke carefully opened. Beyond it, a hall continued west; another ran to the north. The voices they’d heard before seemed to come from that direction – two or three, speaking what sounded like Goblin.

Zeke motioned for Eilir to open the ornate door before them, and she did so quickly. He let out a breath he didn’t remember holding and crossed into the sitting room, taking Eilir’s arm and pulling her in behind him.

He closed the door and began his search. “If you kin make a magic light,” he whispered, “now’s the time. We gotta find this magic stick, and I don’t think we kin do it in the dark. Er, find the stick.”

He may have blushed, but it was gone by the time Eilir cast her spell. “Right,” she whispered back. “I couldn’t find your stick in the dark. THE stick. Right.”

The room had already been tossed, but they checked it before moving on to the bedroom. But as they approached the door, a pair of goblins emerged. They saw an unadorned stick of crimson wood in the second one’s hand.

“Bree-YARK!” the other goblin shouted, and they closed to attack, he first one stabbing Zeke with its spear. Eilir blasted the wand-bearer with a magic missile, blowing a hole clean through its chest. As it fell down dead, Zeke fumbled to draw his falchion, failing to strike the surviving goblin. The creature jabbed him again; incensed, Zeke reined in his wire arc for a shorter chopping strike, cleaving the goblin completely in half.

Still shaking from the sudden burst of violence, Zeke wiped the blood from his faves and leaned over to take the stick. “Think this is it?” he asked absently.

Gasping for air, Eilir said “Let me… let me see it.” She made her way over to Zeke, her fingers lingering on his as she took it from him. Blood on his hands stained hers, and he stared at the sight.

“Yes, this is it,” she announced. “There’s a command word carved on it here…” Her eyes flicked up to his. “I, um…”

“We should… we should get back.”

Eilir nodded and led Zeke back down the hallway.

- – - – -

Theronna awakened and leaped to her feet. She threw Alistina against the wall and shouted “Who are you!” before recognizing her. Nothing had changed; the island still had her. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, releasing Alistina. “I’m… what happened?” She fell back to the floor, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You were saying all kinds of things… about war, your parents… shooting a chicken… just what’s on your mind, anyway?”

“I don’t know; my mind’s no longer my own. When we arrived here yesterday, I couldn’t remember anything that’s ever happened to me. Ever. I’m acting on instinct – martial training, I guess?”

“Sounds like amnesia. I’ve seen it before, when I was with the Watchers Over the Fallen.” Alistina started to rub her arm where Theronna had grabbed it, but chose to bear the pain instead. “You might have suffered it when the slavers knocked you out.”

Her words brought no comfort to Theronna; the soldier was crying now, and made no effort to hide it. “What else was I saying?”

“There was a lot of it.” Alistina sat facing her. “You didn’t wand to wear a dress; you were afraid the boys would laugh at you.”

“A dress?” The word made Theronna think of Eilir. Such a girl... had Theronna ever worn a dress? “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know, but think about it. It might help you remember something else.”

Theronna squeezed her eyes shut, sending fresh tears down her cheeks, and shook her head.

“It’s all right,” Alistina said at once. “It’ll come when it comes. You don’t want to push too hard.”

“I’m keeping a journal… maybe that’ll help.”

“Maybe.” Alistina reached out and brushed strands of blond hair away from Theronna’s face.

“I don’t trust Osric,” Theronna announced.

“I know. You said so before.”

“But I don’t know if it’s a bad feeling about him, or if he’s reminding me of someone else! His white hair… it’s his hair.”

“What about his hair, sweetie?”

“I don’t know. Not yet. It’ll come to me soon, I think.”

“Like I said, don’t push yourself too fast. There’s no telling what feelings your memories will bring up.”

“So where are the others?” Theronna wiped the tears from her face, and started to get up.

Alistina caught the soldier’s hand and guided her back to the floor. “They went to get the wand. They’ll be back soon. Let’s just wait here, and try to keep our wits and our strength about us.”

Theronna allowed Alistina to lead her to the corner of the room, where she lay her head on the woman’s shoulder. Alistina didn’t see the soldier; all she saw was a woman in pain.

“Thank you for helping me,” Theronna said. “I feel like I don’t have any control, and I don’t know any of you… I don’t, do I?”

“No. We never spoke to each other before yesterday.”

“I feel helpless, and that feeling goes against everything I believe in. We’ve got to make it off this gods-forsaken island.”

“We will,” Alistina said, hoping she sounded convincing. She looked down and saw Theronna’s hand holding hers. How long had that been there? She thought of Gendry, and she wasn’t sure why…

- – - – -

“What happened to you?” Alistina asked the bloodied Zeke when he returned. Eilir was close behind with the wand.

“Got the stick,” Zeke announced. “Goblins stabbed me. They’re dead.”

Theronna jumped up, freeing Alistina to heal Zeke’s wounds. Eilir said “And we can use the wand to find any other magical treasures that might be around…” She seemed a bit disoriented, yet curious about what she missed while she and Zeke were away.

“Then let’s go,” Theronna said. “We should make for the catacombs, and we’ll pick up any treasure we find on the way.”

Star Wars: Attack of the Fork Points

(cross-posted from here, and a partial response to this)

If the players in a Star Wars RPG take the roles of the movie characters playing through the movie plots, then the random nature of traditional RPGs, or the cooperative one-up-manship of story games, would seem to demand inevitable variation from canon. There has to be the possibility that the heroes will fail - or, at least, succeed in another way than they did canonically - or what's the point of playing? (After all, if Han's player hadn't -blown- his Stealth roll and snapped that twig, the GM would have been scrambling to make sure that the Rebels and the Ewoks met before the Battle of Endor.)

But that terrifies some orthodox Star Wars fans, apparently, and many of us would rather create our own characters. This seems to be where the problems arise.

A lot of Star Wars campaigns that take place during the Rebellion era have the events of the movies happening "off-screen," and the campaign plot never intersects that of the Holy Trilogy for fear of Canon Compromise. This is also a pain in the ass, because 1) it just feels less like Star Wars when you're using a bunch of Expanded Universe stuff, whether it's from novels, RPG source material, or the GM's own creation, and 2) if the PCs aren't going after Vader, or the Emperor, or the Death Star, or whatever, then they don't feel like their actions matter. The "important stuff" is in the hands of a bunch of GMPCs. And who wants that?

The GM advice I always hear is to "make a setting your own," and I don't think Star Wars should be any different. I like Rob's idea about reinventing Star Wars:

- Furious about Vader's redemption, a friend of mine ran Trilogy-as-Campaign with a completely different ending in which Obi-Wan was Luke's father.
- SO much of the Expanded Universe was created for the d6 RPG; is it really any better than stuff you make up yourself? Throw it out already!
- I once spent some time combing through Lucas's early drafts of the script for the original movie, looking for discarded ideas that could be fleshed out into 'quasi-canon.'

But the approach I chose for reinvention is to establish a "fork point" - an event that diverges the campaign timeline from that of Star Wars canon. If this event shifts the spotlight away from the canon heroes to the PCs, so much the better.

The best examples of this I can point to are the Star Wars Infinities comics, which are "What If?" style stories (or Elseworlds, if you're DC) that set fork points and extrapolate events from there. The series they've published are:

- A New Hope: What if Luke failed to blow up the Death Star?
- The Empire Strikes Back: What if Luke froze to death on Hoth?
- Return of the Jedi: What if the heroes failed to rescue Han from Jabba?

In each case, the (surviving) movie heroes are still the ones who eventually set things right, but it wouldn't take much to remove them from the equation and make the Empire your PCs' problem.

Here are some other fork points I've been chewing on:
- What if Qui-Gon Jinn survived his duel with Darth Maul? Would Anakin have turned out any differently?
- What if Padme was assassinated before Anakin fell in love with her? That's one way to keep Luke and Leia from overshadowing your PCs, at least.
- What if Luke failed to turn Vader at the end of Jedi? In the permutation I've been working on, Vader kills Luke -and- the Emperor, and the Death Star (which also survives the battle) destroys Endor's moon and most of the Rebels with it. Then a couple of years go by... Good luck, PCs!

I'm sure some of the orthodox crowd would complain about it being non-canon, but if you're playing your own PCs, it IS non-canon. And I think most players would jump at the chance to take on Vader and the second Death Star, canon be damned.

But Your Mileage May Vary, naturally.

The Threshold Episode 2

The four castaways followed Osric through the cold and rain, in search of the shelter the old man had promised them.

Osric told them about his former master, Viledel, and that the Sea-King died when pirates raided the island sixty years ago. But the pirates never found the real treasure.

“Treasure?” Zeke asked – yelled, really, over the deafening wind – “That why them orcs ‘n’ goblins are about?”

Osric replied “Aye!” without looking back. “The orcs came to plunder the temple three days ago, ‘n that’s when the storm started. They got the message – they won’t go back there.”

“That’s where you plan to hole up?” Theronna gathered twigs and branches as she walked.

“S’best. Orcs’re in the ol’ soldier’s barracks, ‘n’ th’ goblins’ve taken o’er th’ stables.”

“Won’t we anger the goddess too?” asked Eilir, wringing rainwater out of her hair.

“Nah. Th’orcs came to plunder, and they made a terrible mess o’things. If ya just come to spend the night ye’ll be safe.”

Seeing Theronna’s actions, Alistina began to do the same, not wanting to go without a fire for lack of fuel.

They followed back trails and crossed rough terrain until they came to a hill, topped by a two-story structure that had seen better days, surrounded by a wrought iron fence. No lights, smoke, or other sign of habitation could be seen. Osric opened the fence’s rusty gate with an alarming squeal and led the way to the front door.

“All right, comrades,” said Theronna, “Let’s get a look at these digs. How can we show you our gratitude, Osric?”

“Ye kin take me with ye when ye leave this island, and cut me in fer a share o’the swag.” With a wink, Osric pulled the heavy doors open and headed into the dark hall beyond.

The castaways followed him into a vast, dark chamber, the tiled floor cool beneath their feet. “All these years on this island,” began Theronna, aiming suspicious eyes at Osric, “and you never tried to find this treasure for yourself?”

“There’s no need to search for any treasure,” said Eilir, binding her hair into a ponytail. “I keep telling you, Daddy will rescue us, and soon.”

“Uh-huh,” Zeke said to Eilir, absently.

Osric began to gather debris, piling it in the middle of the room. “No need to search is right. I know where ‘tis.”

“Ain’t we gonna try to figger a way off the island?” Confusion laced Zeke’s words.

“I got one o’those, too.”

Alistina dumped her firewood in with Osric’s. “But you never used it?”

“Never had a need,” the old man replied. “Someone had t’watch over himself’s house ‘n’ treasures. But these orcs ‘n’ goblins have got me thinkin’ o’greener pastures agin.”

“Fire first,” announced Theronna. “Plans later.”

A few moments of frustration ended with the beginnings of a fire, which soon grew to reveal the dimensions of the room. Recently smashed furniture littered the room. Aging frescoes showed signs of vandalism. Shallow steps led west to a line of pillars, and a set of ratty tapestries obscuring the room beyond.

With the front doors closed, and no windows in the hall, the fire soon brought precious heat to the room, while smoke rose to the high ceiling. The castaways collapsed around the fire, relieved to find sensation returning to their fingers and toes.

Osric grabbed some palm leaves and a bit of charcoal, rendering maps of the island, the temple, the manor, and the catacombs beneath it. “Grave goods,” he muttered as he worked. “Where Viledel was from, they like ta bury their noble dead with presents. You know, so they can have their favorite play-pretties with ‘em when they wake up in th’ time th’ gods decree.”“

“I see,” said Zeke, feigning comprehension. Eilir studied the maps as Osric completed them.

“Well, Viledel had him a son who died, and they buried ‘im with weapons ‘n’ armor ‘n’ sacks o’ gold ‘n’ a few servants ‘n’ a li’l boat to sail ‘em all over th’ seas. We can drag that boat through th’ catacombs to this place you can get out, but not in.”

“We’re goin’ inta the manor?” asked Zeke, alarmed.

Eilir showed him Osric’s maps and said “That’s the way into the catacombs. Don’t worry, farmboy. Daddy will save us before we have to go in there.”

“And the treasures are in the manor?” asked Alistina, pointedly ignoring Eilir.

“Nah, th’ orcs ‘n’ goblins woulda got most o’those. But himself gave his queen this stick o’ wood that glows when it’s near th’ funny treasures. Never bothered with it, but since it’s life or death ‘n’ all… I kin lead ya to it ‘pon the morrow. But fer now, I need m’sleep…”

He rolled to one side and was lightly snoring in moments. The castaways regarded him for a moment with something like envy; they were so weary from the horrific sea voyage, and everything that came after, that sleep would not come so easily to them.

They explored the temple, finding a well in the garden, and enough scraps of cloth in the storeroom to fashion crude clothes. Rats scurried away from them in a few rooms. Theronna managed to kill one; the fire made it no less palatable, so she left it on the floor, insisting that it seemed like the thing to do.

Every room showed damage caused by the plundering orcs. They found the worst desecration beyond the tapestries in the great hall, where a white marble statue stood behind a small altar. A depiction of a small, boyish woman, the statue bore a large crack across the torse. Her nose and left arm were broken off, and the statue was smeared with filth.

Zeke muttered “Ain’t no wonder she got ticked off and sent the storm.”

“I think it’s Tymora,” said Eilir. “The goddess of luck. I hope Daddy punishes those orc pirates for doing this. Poor statue.”

Thinking of the stables back home, Zeke busied himself wiping the filth away from the statue. When he was done, the talent of the sculptor shone through; the statue’s pose seemed natural and lifelike. “Cain’t do nothin’ ‘bout those broken-off pieces. Sorry, Lady.”

Alistina saw Eilir gently smile at Zeke’s words – just for a moment, before the wizard’s growling stomach drew her attention down.

“All right, soldiers, let’s turn in.” Theronna headed east for the fire and tried to make herself comfortable.

“Maybe he can tell us where some food is,” said Eilir, pointing at the sleeping Osric. Earlier she had wanted to ask him about the charts she’d found aboard the Scourge, to see which island they were on, but that concern seemed far away now.

“Leave him be,” Zeke said, not looking at Eilir as he bedded down.

“But I’m hungry,” she whined, causing Alistina to wince.

Zeke turned to Eilir, an oddly serious look on his face. “Leave him be.”

Eilir blushed and looked down at the floor, shocked enough to be the last of them to fall asleep.

---

Zeke found himself gently awakened a few hours later by a woman’s voice calling his name, somewhere to the west. Shaking off his confusion and weariness, he saw a faint flow radiating from beyond the tapestries.

Walking past them he found the statue of the goddess made whole and glowing, the hint of a smile on her face.

“What brings you to my temple?” asked Tymora.

Zeke’s eyes went wide. “We… we was shipwrecked, ma’am. I mean, Lady. I mean… anyway, the old timer brought us here to escape the orcs an’ goblins. How… jist how is that you’re…?”

“I’m a goddess, Ezekiel, and you’re in my house. I can do whatever I need here.”

“Reckon so.” Zeke was sure that the statue’s smile had spread, becoming beautiful, sad, and crafty all at once. He blushed, feeling stupid. “Sorry they busted up yer temple, Lady. I tried ta clean up, only…”

“I saw. Thank you for your efforts. You’re welcome here. You all are.”

Zeke became vaguely aware that his fellow castaways had appeared behind him. But he could not tear his attention from the divine manifestation before him. Eilir was close behind him, but he did not notice her presence, or her apprehension.

“You see what the Hak-kubra have done to my sanctuary,” said Tymora. “When the pirates came sixty years ago, they killed everybody but they left my temple alone. That’s proper. And I wasn’t offended by the wind, storm, age, and rot that followed. Nature’s got a right to beat down what men’ve raised up. But these orcs have made me mad.” A rumble of thunder punctuated this announcement.

“Have they,” Zeke’s words were more statement than question.

“They have indeed. I’m so made that I’m going to destroy this island every every living thing on it. That’s how you clean a… a stain like this.”

“But… but you said we was welcome here!” cried Zeke.

“Right,” said Theronna, half-concealed by a tapestry.

“Please,” Eilir said, “can’t you wait until Daddy comes to save us? He’ll be here soon; I know he misses me.”

The statue took in their faces. “I tell you what,” said Tymora. “It isn’t your offense, and you shouldn’t have to die for it. I was going to cleanse this island tonight, but instead I’ll stay my hand and do it at nightfall tomorrow.”

“You’re most generous, Lady Luck.” Alistina bowed grandly. Eilir followed suit, her apprehension deepening to worry.

“If you’ve fled by then,” continued Tymora with a nod, “then you’re fit to survive. The storm that takes the island won’t take your boat with it.”

“Hope we’re lucky,” Zeke said with a knowing smirk.

The statue blew a kiss in his direction. “You have my blessing, Ezekiel. That’ll help.” The farmer’s fingertips went to his cheek as if he felt its touch, and his blush deepened.

“Prove yourselves worthy,” said Tymora. “Fortune smiles upon you.” With that, the glow faded, the statue resumed its original pose, and the arm and nose fell back into the dust.

“Won’t see anything like that on a battlefield,” muttered Theronna as she turned back to the fire, brushing past the wide-eyed Osric. “Better keep sleeping, soldiers. Looks like we’ve got no choice but to make for the boat now.” Reassured by the sight of her skewered rat, she was the first to fall asleep.

Eilir was the last to succumb, spending several minutes arranging her cloak so that she wouldn’t have to sleep directly on the floor. With her feet dangling off the cloak’s edge, she admitted to herself that Ronan Stormweather might not rescue her in time before she drifted off.

---

The ghoul climbed down the chimney, emerging into the temple’s kitchen. Its first attempt to come down had ended when it sensed a divine presence. The creature was clever enough to recognize the danger, and had remained in the chimney until its Hunger could no longer be denied.

It made its way through the temple to the hall of the goddess, drawn by the smell of the living. Rats had sustained the ghoul since it finished off the last of the merchant ship’s crew; that was months ago, but the creature had little sense of time. There was only the Hunger, and now, there was more fitting prey.

They numbered five in all, sleeping around the fire. It recognized the wary and paranoid old man, whom it had tried to catch before. But the fair-skinned blond was closest to the ghoul’s position.

The creature crept across the hall, pausing only to devour the dead rat it found. Paralyze that woman first, then the man. You can kill them, hang them on the meat hooks in the pantry, then eat them at your leisure. The Hunger will be appeased.

But Eilir’s eyes snapped open as the ghoul leaned over her. With a shriek she scuttled out from under it, waking the others at once. A small orb of acid flew from her fingers onto its face, and it growled like an animal as its rotting flesh burned.

Theronna charged toward the undead creature, carving the creature’s putrid flesh with her longsword. The monster turned upon her, and her world became a blur of flashing claws and teeth. Its talons raked her arm, freezing her in place.

Alistina invoked the Light of Lunia, flooding the room with celestial energy, and she sent some of it the ghoul’s way, missing her mark. Zeke scrambled to his feet, readying his makeshift club. The ghoul ducked his first swing, but Zeke felt a strange sensation come over him, and he tried again, snapping the creature’s leg. It collapsed in a fetid heap, returned to death.

“Tymora’s blessin’,” Zeke whispered, knowing that he had used it up.

Osric emerged from behind the remains of a pew about the time that Theronna’s paralysis wore off. After a few minutes, they went back to sleep, Eilir moving her cloak-bed closer to Zeke’s position.

Aramis Journal Entry 5

[March 11th, 103 CY continued]

We must find some proof that Talgen’s band is alive, and soon. We entered a burial chamber just off the room with the fountain; when we found no trace of the Hucreles inside, Azal fell down, weeping.

I’ve only seen her cry on one other occasion – that night at the tavern, when I told her and Talgen I had sworn myself to the Raven Queen. Azal was so furious with me… She seethed with rage, and Talgen said “What would your parents think?” I told them that it didn’t matter. I knew Madame was proud of Talgen, but I’d never heard Azal breathe a word about her parents, so I asked her if she cared what her parents thought.

Azal burst into tears, and I hated myself for being so thoughtless, but Talgen and I coaxed her story out of her. She spoke of her youth in the orphanage, under the eyes and the thumb of Brother Angelo… of her years spent on streets and in sewers, struggling to survive, never knowing her mother or father…

As meaningful as it was for Azal to lay her history bare to Talgen and I, the most important thing was that we accepted her for who she was – flaws, pain, and all. My misery was nothing compared to hers, but we all found our burdens lighter in each others’ company.

Since that night, Azal has spoken little of her past. There has been no need. She has been as close a friend as I’ve ever had. But there are times, such as this, when I feel like I barely know her at all.

After saying a few words to honor the dead, we pressed further into the dungeon. I saw glittering in the rats’ nests, and felt grateful not to be in the company of adventurers who would have stopped to pick every coin out of that filthy mess. I also shudder to think what others would have done to the sarcophagi in the burial chamber.

I made another stupid mistake… I triggered a trap and got lungs full of sickly green vapor. Why do I keep taking these chances? Gods know I don’t have a death wish… Am I testing the limits of fate? More likely, Owen’s zeal for this adventuring life is winning me over. He seems more careful now; I hope I wasn’t too harsh with him.

More rats here; their lair is full of the old remains of humanoids. The largest was terribly familiar, old and scarred, one side of her face bashed in – by me, years ago, when we drove her pack from our land. These rats gave the scarlet plague to Celeine and I, and I’m sure that realizing it cost me my wits in the battle. I’m also certain that the rat bit Azal in the fight.

My Queen, I know that you will what you will, and that your servant has no right to ask you for any boon. But please, I beseech you, spare Azal from that plague.

[The ink on the last line is smeared; the book was closed before the ink dried]

is that a body?

Aramis Journal Entry 4

[March 11th, 103 CY continued]

I nearly died today.

I wanted to blame Owen – and his insistence on crashing through the goblin territory, expecting his honorable challenges to be met by creatures without honor, played a role – but I’m the one who opened the door. I should have known better, but my emotions got the best of me, and I paid for it – goblins put two crossbow bolts in my chest. I thank the Queen that Owen and Azal were so quick to act, because a third would have surely killed me.

I have been close to death before. I contracted the same plague that killed Celeine. But I responded to Sister Corkie’s treatments, when my wife did not. So I knew what I faced today, and I must confess: despite my faith in fate, I feel that it was only blind, stupid luck that kept me alive.

I should have known better, but my emotions got the best of me. Remember this lesson, Aramis. Your heart will get you killed.

One of the goblins escaped, so the rest of the lair must know that we’re here. We secured the door as best we could, but it’s only one door out of many. We must be cautious going forward. Got to figure out how to get that across to Owen…

More rats attacked after we rested, and now Azal shows the signs of filth fever again. Poor Azal. Her fussing over Meepo seems to agree with her, and saves me the trouble. I’d ease her pain if I could, but I’m only trained to console the bereaved, not those who don’t know if those they care about are dead or alive.

There’s more evidence that Talgen’s band came this way; all we can do is follow the trail, and hope to find him at its end.

One more thing: Owen says he chose me because I’m “going to be one of the best.” Is this more of his prattle, or am I fated for something important? And what would he know about it?

More worrying. Fate wills what it will! What good does all this worrying do?

Why can’t I stop?

-Aramis

Operation: Rembrandt

I'm involved in a PbP game over at the Trapcast, an RPG podcast. It's a WWII zombie-thon using a homebrew story game system.

My character, Andrew Portnoy, is an inquisitive art historian. In the movie he'd be played by Adrien Brody.

It's been a gas so far, very creepy fun. You can follow the thread here.

People are Stupid Potpourri

Work has been insane since people started receiving their income tax refunds, so here's a blotter of incidents since Christmas:

- It's not my job to tell you if you're buying a live album, or a tribute album, or to tell you if something is fullscreen, or has Spanish audio/subtitles. That's the PACKAGE'S job. I can't provide much more information than the package can. If you don't like live albums, then ask me. Or become a fan of bands that are, you know, actually good live.

- If you're too shy to sing the song you want me to look up, then you don't want it badly enough.

- Playing the song on your cell phone doesn't help either. It sounds like transmissions from the surface of the moon, and I haven't heard that song anyway, because I don't like rap.

- Do I LOOK like someone who likes rap? I must have been born about twenty minutes ahead of all the middle-aged bald overweight white guys who do. Caveat: rap that's fun is fun. Rap that's about how great you are, treating women like shit, and killing each other is not. No one asks me for fun rap; I don't think anyone's making it any more.

- Someone held up a DVD box and asked me "Is this a DVD?" I had so many comebacks for that that I couldn't choose one.

- I had to explain to a different lady what DVDs are. What have you been watching movies on since they quit making VHS, exactly?

- A sweet old couple with a printed e-mail of metal bands they wanted to get for their grandson when he visited them. I believed them when they said he was a good boy until I realized the bands were part of the "WHITE PRIDE WORLD WIDE" tour, then I had to wonder how sweet the old couple really was.

- One of the bands was Marduk, who claims to not be Nazi metal according to Wikipedia. It made me think of Sealab 2021 ("Marduk, slayer of Tiamat!")

- And the best part, the old man turning DVDs over in the clearance boxes so you couldn't read the titles on the spines.

I watched him for a minute before asking "Excuse me, please; why are you doing that?"

"I dunno." Pretty much the answer I was expecting, but then he kept doing it.

I let it go as long as I could before saying "Um, could you stop, please?"

That's retail, y'all. People are stupid.

The Threshold Episode 1

The Threshold is a new chat-based D&D v.3.5 campaign that I'm running, set in the Forgotten Realms. The Obsidian Portal wiki is here. The adventure log for session 1 follows.

* * *

The ship lurched in the storm for hours without end. The forward hold was devoid of all light, the noise deafening. Four desperate souls lay shackled to their bunks in that darkness, each in their own private agony.

All at once, the crashing sound of the waves was drowned out by a tremendous crash which caused the entire ship to shudder – she must have run aground.

Shortly came the sound of snapping spars and a great crash which could only have been the mast coming down. The prisoners were thrown forward, but were rooted to the spot by their shackles, bringing fresh agony to bruised and chafing wrists.

The impact shattered the ship’s bow, tearing it away entirely and allowing a sharp blast of cold air and rain into the hold. A great boulder ground against the port side of the ship, buckling one of the bunks as the ship ground to a halt.

Then there was only the sound of fierce wind and pounding surf, and the sight of rain-pounded beach outside of the open bow.

The prisoners – three women and one man, all human – took a few moments to catch their breath. One, a blond woman shackled to the buckled bunk, saw that the plate anchoring her in place had been loosened by the impact. She tried to work it free, but it was hard to gain leverage in this position.

“I don’t deserve this,” she announced. “My daddy will punish whoever’s responsible for this.”

“None of us deserve this,” replied the dark-haired woman to her right. “And unless your father’s got a crystal ball, I don’t think he’s punishing anybody.”

“Do you know who he is?”

“No, I don’t even know who you are.”

“My name is Eilir Stormweather,” the fair-haired woman said, still struggling with her chains. “Ronan Stormweather is my father, Miss….?”

“Alistina Cruo.”

“Miss Alistina, I promise you, when my daddy finds out what’s happened to me, these slavers will wish they were never born.” The plate budged a bit, and Eilir gave an excited squeak, then went back to pouting.

“We’d be better off,” said Alistina, “if someone could reach those keys.”

The ring which held the keys to all the shackles hung from a hook near the hatch to the deck. The man, large, blond, and well-tanned, was closest to the keys. Eilir favored him with a dirty look. “Don’t you know to help a damsel in distress?” Eilir demanded.

“Sorry, miss,” said the man, “but I cain’t reach, and I cain’t budge this here bunk.” He tried to damage the bunk with a kick, but the damage was minimal.

“You’re no help, sirrah.”

“Don’t know from sirrah, miss. Name’s Zeke.”

But Eilir was already complaining again and missed these words.

Alistina ignored them and concentrated until silvery radiance surrounded her. She aimed a bolt of energy at her shackles, but failed to put more than a scratch on them. Zeke turned from arguing with Eilir to watch this display with awe.

Furious with the interruption, Eilir yanked on the chains once more, and the plate tore free, causing her to fall over backwards with a shout. Within moments, she held the keyring in her hands; she freed herself, then released Zeke and Alistina.

The third woman, a tough-looking blond with an olive complexion, simply said “Thank you” when Eilir came to unlock her shackles. Before Eilir could say anything else, the woman stood up, scooped up a chunk of debris that might serve as a club, and moved to the broken bow of the ship for a peek at the beach.

“Careful, miss,” warned Zeke.

Alistina said “He’s right. We don’t know what’s out there.”

The woman’s blue eyes swept over the others. “That’s what I plan to find out, comrades.”

“Comrades?” Eilir blinked rapidly. “Who do you think you are, some kind of soldier?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Name’s Theronna.”

Theronna missed Eilir’s reply as she turned her attention back to the beach, seeing a dull gray sky, a cliff wall rising forty feet or more, and a figure staggering up and down the beach some thirty feet away.

“Hafkris,” she growled.

The half-orc slaver who had made their time in the hold such hell stumbled around the beach like a drunken soldier on parade, singing off-color chanteys. He was armed with a longsword and clad in studded leather armor; the prisoners wore only rags, with no cloaks or boots, and only improvised clubs for weapons.

After some discussion, the prisoners came up with a plan to get past the slaver. Eilir summoned an obscuring mist, which Hafkris dismissed as a trick of the miserable weather. The four then tried to sneak past him, losing all sight in the fog, only to hear the rasp of a sword being drawn.

“Who goes there!” demanded Hafkris.

Alistina scorched the slaver with another burst of heavenly light. Zeke tried to pin him to the ground, but misjudged the slaver’s position and gave his own away in the process, resulting in a vicious slash to Zeke’s side. Eilir struck the half-orc with a magic missile, and Alistina broke his shoulder with her club moments before Zeke brought his weapon crashing down on Hafkris’s skull. After a dull crunch, the half-orc’s body fell to the sand, dead.

Zeke’s body shook as he stared down at Hafkris’s corpse. Suddenly he crumpled to the ground and retched what little his belly held onto the beach, only barely aware of Alistina casting a healing spell upon him. The women stripped Hafkris of his armor and started putting it on Alistina; Theronna claimed his longsword.

He looked up to see Eilir holding the slaver’s dagger and sneering at him, saying “Guess not all men can be manly as my daddy.”

“It ain’t that,” Zeke replied. “I know he deserved it. He had devil in ‘im. But I ain’t never killed nobody.”

“Killing’s part of life out here,” Alistina said, pulling on Hafkris’s boots although they were far too big for her feet. “It ain’t pretty, but it was him or us. You’ll be all right.”

Zeke eventually picked himself up and looked toward the ship. Scourge read the ship’s name plate, sticking out of the remains of the bow. The mast lay across the deck, blocking the hatch to the forward hold, but the hatch to the aft hold looked free, even though that section of the ship still lay half in the water. There was no sign of anyone else.

It was clear to all that the ship would provide no shelter from the weather. After some discussion, Zeke and Eilir climbed aboard the ship to investigate the aft hold, while Alistina and Theronna explored the beach.

The bottom of the hold was swamped with seawater, and there was no sign of the dress Eilir wanted to find so badly, but they found a crossbow and a small floating chest which contained two books and a stack of papers.

“My spellbook!” Eilir exclaimed, snatching it from Zeke’s hands. “Now I can prepare some spells to help us in case you can’t. Daddy’d make a man out of ya, though you do look pretty strong…”

She looked away when Zeke glanced up at her. “Just my luck,” he grumbled as they climbed out of the hold, “to git marooned on a deserted island with three hardened, bloodthirsty women.”

The four of them – once prisoners, now castaways – regrouped on the beach and followed the cliff wall to its lowest point, climbed up, and got their first good look at the island.

They saw hills in every direction, roughest to the west, a bit flatter in the east, and no sign of shelter or settlements in any direction. There was little green to be found; the island looked lifeless except for some common, practically indestructible growth.

They headed west. Some time later, they were passing between two hills when Theronna (who had taken the lead) held up a hand, stopping the others. She led them to the top of the hill on the left, where they peered over some boulders to see a battle going on in the ravine below.

Six orcs fought a dozen goblins; they also saw a scrawny old human tied up behind the orc line, craning to see the fight for himself. Agreeing to help the old man, the castaways climbed down and around the hill, reaching him without drawing the attention of the combatants.

“Help me!” the old man whispered. “Get me out of here!”

Eilir used her dagger to slice through his ropes, and the old man jumped up and led them away from the battle in a flash of bony knees and elbows. In a few moments, they were well out of sight of the battle. Once sure they were clear, the old man said “Yer the first human faces I’ve seen in more years’n I can remember, it’s true. What’re ye doin’ here?”

“We were captured by pirates, then we were shipwrecked. I’m Zeke.” Zeke found that shaking the old man’s hand was like holding a bundle of twigs.

“Do you have a name?” asked Alistina.

“Name’s Osric. Haven’t needed it in a long time; least I can still remember it.”

“And where are we going?” asked Theronna. “Is there somewhere we can hide, or get out of the rain?”

“Sure, sure. Follow me, I’ll take ya t’a safe place and tell ya all about himself, Viledel the Sea-King.”

Aramis Journal Entry 3

March 11th, 103 CY

Slept poorly, as I feared. Dreamed of a reunion with Talgen and Sharwyn at a tavern somewhere, one I don’t think I’ve ever visited, when Celeine came in.

I could never hide my feelings from her, even in my dreams. She’s asked me what’s wrong before, but every time I tell her she’s dead, she disappears. I was sure that the Hucreles were planning to tell her and get rid of her, to keep everyone’s attention fixed upon themselves. I awoke before they could, though…

Owen found Draconic runes in the ruined tower proclaiming the name of ‘Ashardalon.’ I finally recognized the name from a story Sister Corkie told me on my wedding day, of the dragon who laid waste to the Ashen Plain, a dragon connected to this Sunless Citadel and a druid named Dydd.

Owen told us about Dydd, but I absorbed little of it. My mind was stuck in the past, on the day I married Celeine. Only the look of urgency on Azal’s face brought me back to the present. I have wasted enough time in this place; I must not waste any more on old stories, unless they help us to find our friends.

We returned to the door with the keyhole in the dragon’s mouth, and Azal bypassed the lock with Owen’s help. Gravehounds attacked us in that dusty chamber, and a strange magical orb thwarted our movements. This time I turned one, and smashed the orb. Maybe I’m getting better at this adventuring business…

The condition of the room made it clear that Talgen’s band had not come this way, so we doubled back and tried a different path. We found possible evidence of human passage, and a small, sad creature – the kobold Meepo. Owen spoke to him – in Draconic, I suppose? – and had already asked him to join our party and promised our help to him before Azal or I even knew what was happening. I’m sure we would have agreed to both points, but we should have been included in the conversation.

I feel like we may have an Owen problem.

So Meepo was taking us to Yusdrayl, the kobold leader, to talk about recovering their dragon, Calcryx, whom the goblins stole. We ran across a kobold patrol. Owen expected – no, wanted – to fight them; it was all Azal and I could do to resolve the situation peacefully. Were I as skilled a fighter as he, or as Azal, I might be more prone to choose the violent path to solve all my problems…

I fear that we may have an Owen problem.

The audience with Yusdrayl was more successful. Talgen’s band was here, and they agreed to infiltrate the goblin lair as well. That was his way, as Azal reminded me. The poor girl, she misses him so badly. I must admit, this news has given me more hope than I have felt so far…

Helping the kobolds to find their lost dragon will also help us to find our missing friends. As always, fate wills what it will.

One more thing, though: Owen told Yusdrayl that we are the greatest adventurers in the world. I’m sure he believes it to be true, too.

I’m sure we have an Owen problem.

-Aramis

Cold Blood Is Finished

Tonight was the final session for Cold Blood.

I thank my players for playing. This has been the single greatest campaign I've ever run, and I have them to thank for it.

Thanks also to everyone who's visited the Obsidian Portal site, favorited the campaign, rated anything, or commented on anything we've done there.

I still have some work to do on the site before I can call it done, but the actual play is over, and we made it to an actual ending, with closure and everything.

Good night, y'all.

Aramis Journal Entry 2

[March 10th, 103 CY continued. The handwriting has returned to normal]

“For those who serve the Raven Queen, the greatest victory is to destroy the undead.”

Those were the words Brother Perceval told me when he began my combat training, and this belief permeates every aspect of my faith. The thralls of Orcus, that bloated charlatan, violate hallowed ground, defile graves, and rob the dead of their hard-won peace. It’s my duty to vanquish these unnatural creatures, and those who raise them.

I felt like I understood this, but I encountered the undead for the first time today, and now I have truly learned the lesson.

I am no stranger to corpses, of course. Examining the lifeless goblins in the pit, and the skeletons in the tower, was a routine matter for me. Indeed, doing so brought me hope – they may have been slain by Talgen’s band.

But Azal found a secret door (and my heart found my throat when she triggered its trap), and something in the secret room animated the skeletons. My faith wasn’t strong enough to turn them; luckily, the prowess of my allies won the day.

I cannot describe the revulsion – the sheer horror – that I felt in the presence of those unnatural monsters. The shadows of the world I live in grew a little darker today; It falls upon me to shine the light upon them. The living have few enough heroes. Who cares to protect the restful dead? I do, even if no one else will. Perhaps my newfound conviction will be enough to turn them next time.

We found more rats in the next room; they, too, were no match for Owen and Azal. His zeal and her grace are breathtaking to see in action. The magic of Azal’s new dagger was fascinating…

But both combats have taken their toll on us, so we’ve hidden ourselves in the secret room to rest. I can already tell that my sleep will be troubled this night.

-Aramis

Aramis Journal Entry 1

[The handwriting is sloppier in this entry]

March 10th, 103 CY

Must write quickly, I'm coming down with the fever.

Woke up tired, but somewhat relieved. Talking to Celeine helped, but dwelling upon it pained my heart anew. I decided it was best to get on with what had to be done.

Iva was already working on breakfast, so I helped her. We talked about why I'd come back, and she asked me about the missing Hucreles and the rift. Grateful to talk about something other than Celeine and my reasons for leaving Oakhurst, we talked until Orson came in.

By the gods, what a jealous man! Does he really think I'm going to steal her away? His childish behavior is a greater danger to their marriage than I am. Maybe he feels threatened because we both married redheads. Do I understand him too well? Or not at all?

Iva also wanted to know how I met Azal; maybe life on the ranch is getting to her. She seemed to put Azal at ease in any case, which was quite a relief, as my own efforts to make her feel at home felt like wasted effort.

Who is Iva, anyway? I've known her longer than I've known Azal, but the tiefling is closer to me than someone's who should be thought of as my own family. Until Orson persuades Father to disown me, I suppose.

Something got past the dogs and killed a ram last night. He looked like he'd been pierced by dozens of needles. Orson mentioned that he'd heard tales of similar attacks, of thorns and missing blood, before he sent me away. He'll never forgive me for leaving; why should I expect anything else? I wouldn't expect him to realize, but my journey out of his world began the moment I met Celeine. She laughed at the way I talked, and tried to teach me to speak like a "civilized" person. I was never the same man after that.

What's wrong with Henri? I saw nothing amiss, and they asked me to leave it alone. Still, it gnaws at me... I must help if I can. I'm still Orson's family, whether he agrees or otherwise, and Iva doesn't deserve the worry I saw on her face.

Still and all, we came back to help Madame Hucrele, so we set out early. I felt eyes on me as we left the ranch - Orson's? Celeine's? Or those of the Queen herself? In any case, the weather was much kinder today, and the trip into the village was comforting in spite of the circumstances.

Lucille and Ben stopped us to ask about our business. Lu asked what Brindinford had to offer that Oakhurst didn't, and I did not answer. But as we walked away, Azal heard Ben muttering "tiefling, devil, witch," and maybe worse, and that answered Lu's question - I was looking for acceptance of those who don't belong in places like Oakhurst. I should have shouted as much, but I chose to assuage Azal instead. Poor girl, these simple people will never see her as I do. Unlike her, I'm welcomed in Oakhurst. But, like her, I don't belong there. Not any more.

We met a singing halfling near the well, a fellow named Owen Highhill. He's looking for the Hucreles as well, so we've joined forces. He seemed like he'd be helpful in a fight (which turned out to be true), and his enthusiasm seemed like an asset. Azal responded to it, certainly.

House Hucrele was just as I remembered, though the handmaiden, Adell, is new to me. Madame herself was sadder than I have ever seen her, though she brightened to see me. I should have expected her to hug me, but still I felt like jumping out of my skin when she did so...

Lu called me "Madame Hucrele's practically adopted son," and I suppose that's true. Celeine was like a daughter to her, especially after Sharwyn left for her schooling. Our efforts to save my wife, futile as they may have been in the eyes of fate, made us more than family. And Talgen is more a brother to me now than Orson is.

Then there's Sharwyn. I feel like she's said no more than ten words to me in all the time we've spent in each other's company. Only after my wife's death did I realize this; I may never know what she holds against me. It will not deter me from finding her, in any case.

Madame Hucrele told us what she knew, and we set out for the rift at once. I think Adell told Azal about Madame's offered reward, but I didn't listen. That's not why I'm doing this. I thought that Azal felt the same way - given the way she frets about Talgen - but I may be wrong. Be that as it may, it's not my place to judge.

(Which reminds me, I believed Azal and Talgen to be romantically entangled when I first saw them together. I soon learned that they weren't, but I have never mentioned this to either of them.)

I passed the time on the road talking to Owen - or, more properly, listening to Owen talk. He's eager to help others, like myself, but he holds that following your heart is the only way to lead your life. Like so many others, he doesn't see that fate decides his path. I may not change his mind, but I still might explain the idea to him after we've found the Hucreles.

We found evidence of a campsite, and a knotted rope leading down into the rift. They promised the Madame that they wouldn't go down there, so why have they? I tried not to dwell on stories of the rift goblins and their territoriality, of would-be thieves who came here to steal the apples and found only death. Again, we do what must be done.

We climbed down and descended some crude stone steps, arriving at the top of a sunken citadel. This place was once home to a dragon cult, or so the stories say. Dire rats attacked us as we made our way to the fortress's entrance. I struggled to push the memories of what such creatures did to my Celeine, and to myself, from my mind as we fought. We killed two, and drove the third away - my first real battle! - but Azal and I are already showing the signs of filth fever.

I remember those signs all too well.

Interlude: The Good Deed

Kalisa sat in Haden’s chair, the book of parables in her lap. She was finally beginning to understand the stories; rushing to Joris’s side on Faerûn had given her a new perspective on what it meant to help others. Also, Yolette’s explanations of the morals were clearer than Joris’s had been…

Poor Joris, she thought, and not for the first time. He’d been dispelled back to Faerûn, then petrified, then disowned by his father. And as soon as he’d returned to the Cage, he learned that Numeledes was dying. Now he was holding a bedside vigil at the Circle. With Yolette at the Hands of Time, and everyone else out hunting for Lady Margone’s summer place, Kalisa had the house all to herself.

How had Joris grown so attached to the old man, whom he’d met only a month before? Kalisa (in one guise or another) had known Numeledes for decades. Was it possible that Joris knew him better in that shorter span? Mortals seemed determined to make the most of what little time they had.

And Kalisa would miss Numeledes when he was gone, certainly, but dying was what old men did. All the ceremony muddled the emotion that went with such events. Why not just feel what you feel, and be done with it? Maybe ritual was the only way Joris could deal with yet another death. He’d been through so much…

Kalisa had tried to join Joris in the vigil, but couldn’t bear to sit still for that long. He excused her, clearly appreciative of her effort.

An hour of knocking around the Circle and getting in Firil’s way had led Kalisa back here, to the house on Smith Street. The letters on the page blurred before her eyes; she couldn’t take another day of reading about good deeds. She was ready to perform some.

And as if on cue, someone knocked on the front door.

In the span of one breath, Kalisa rose from her chair and took on the shape of a huge human male. Her bellow of “WHO’S THERE!” sounded much more imposing that way.

“Noxana,” came the startled reply.

Kalisa resumed her Raven guise by the time she opened the door. “I’m looking for Haden,” said Noxana, trying to see over Kalisa’s shoulder into the house.

“He’s not here,” Kalisa replied.

“Damn!” Noxana cast nervous glances down both sides of the street with yellow cat’s eyes. “I can’t keep sneaking out like this; they’re suspicious enough as it is!”

Joris had mentioned this woman to Kalisa before. “Why were you looking for Haden?” she asked, striving to remember everything he’d said. “Perhaps I can help you.”

“I’m fleeing the Temple of the Abyss. Haden said he could hide me.”

Perfect. For a moment, Kalisa saw Joris worrying about another of her sudden and unexplained absences; however, he was sure to forgive her under the circumstances. She was planning a good deed.

“Come in,” said Kalisa, and the tiefling ducked past her into the foyer. Kalisa made her own cursory survey of the street, confirming her suspicions before closing and locking the door.

“I can hide you,” she continued, turning to face Noxana. The tiefling briefly looked around for the man she’d heard from outside the door. “I’ve got kips hidden all over the multiverse.”

“You have?” Kalisa could smell the mistrust lacing Noxana’s words.

“Sure. And I don’t mean the depths of Pandemonium. If you’re ready, I can take you to one right now.” She knew just the place.

Noxana fixed her attention upon her. “Who are you?”

“My name is Kalisa.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Noxana said. “The tanar’ri call you a traitor – especially the ones from Shendilavri. Morgrith said he would eat your heart if he ever got his hands on you.”

“That sounds like Morgrith, all right.” Kalisa willed her wings and glowing eyes into being. “So you understand what it means for me to reveal myself to you. Do you think you can trust me now?”

“If life has taught me anything, it’s that demons can’t be trusted. And anyone who’d turn stag on the Abyss is – “

Kalisa cut her off, saying “Did you see the cambion twins following you?”

“No.” Color bled from Noxana’s face.

“I can’t fight them, and I’ll bet that you can’t either. But we can sneak out the back door, and I can take you to a portal to one of my kips.” She waved one hand absently before folding her arms. “The choice is yours.”

Noxana shook her head. “Sounds like I’ve got no choice at all.”

- – - – -

Kalisa put on Ridley’s plain face and stole out the back door with Noxana, helping the tiefling over the wrought-iron fence.

They emerged on Smith Street near the Great Foundry. With their pursuers out of sight, Kalisa ushered Noxana toward the Shattered Temple.

“Where are we going?” asked Noxana.

“Goatswood, in the Hive. There’s a portal there to a githzerai monastery. You can hide out there until things settle down.”

“Nashtoreth won’t stop looking for me.”

“Let me worry about him. I’ve known that umber slug since before you were born.” Noxana’s reaction reminded Kalisa of something Joris had mentioned – something that had greatly disturbed him. “Is Nashtoreth your father?”

“How should I know? I don’t remember being born.” Sensing the succubus’s annoyance, Noxana met Kalisa’s gaze before continuing. “What matters is that I believe it’s true. Out here in the planes, belief makes things true.”

Kalisa nodded. That was the only truth she knew. She believed it, too. She had to, or all of her effort to find the light would be for nothing.

- – - – -

They reached the borough of Goatswood as daylight began to ebb from the Cage. Kalisa led Noxana to a millinery shop off Radagast Street, announcing “This is it.”

“Do you have the key?” asked Noxana.

“Of course.” She pressed a blue button with a tangle of silver thread into the tiefling’s hand. “When you get there, ask for Zerth Rivek, and tell him that Kalisa sent you. You’ll be safe there.”

Noxana needed a moment to find her words. “I’m… grateful for your help. Is there some way I can repay you?”

“There’s no need.” The words tasted strange to Kalisa, yet somehow right. She didn’t think Noxana had anything that Kalisa needed…

Wait. Now she remembered what Joris had said. “But before you go, there is one thing you can do for me. Tell me everything you know about Faodhagan.”

- – - – -

Strangely elated, Kalisa went back to the house on Smith Street to make sure that the cambions had left, and returned to the Circle just after antipeak. She found Joris at the altar, talking to Firil and a man dressed in Dustman black. Joris sketched a halfhearted wave to Kalisa, and she knew that the old man had died. Elation fell from her grasp like water.

She comforted Joris as best she could, glad to be of help, and didn’t mention her own news. She watched over him throughout his fitful sleep, and kissed him goodbye the following morning, when the heroes summoned him once more.

Once the temple quieted back down, she bid farewell to Firil and crossed The Lady’s Ward to talk to Nashtoreth.

Aramis Journal Entry 0

So I'm joining a new campaign, III, next week. This is my first D&D 4th Edition campaign, and I'm very excited about it.

My character, Aramis, is a cleric (naturally) of the Raven Queen, a former shepherd and young widower who's just returned to the village where he was born to help search for some missing adventurers.

What follows is his first journal entry.

* * *

March 9th, 103 CY

Father Sloane suggested that I begin a new volume of my journal for my trip back to Oakhurst. The journal was his idea in the first place, so I saw no reason not to. This is the first chance I’ve had to write, as it rained on us for the entire journey, and we found no shelter on the road. But now we’ve arrived, and the rain has stopped, at least for now.

I write this from the room in my parents’ house which Orson and I once shared. They finished the little house we’d started for Celeine and myself, so Orson’s family could have a place of their own, as we’d agreed when I left. They offered to let me stay in their house instead, but the very sight of it was like a cold knife dragged over my skin. No, better to stay here with Mother and Father, and memories of happier times.

Orson’s son, my nephew, took his first steps just last week. I had never seen him before. Beautiful though he is, I had difficulty at first in sharing the family’s enthusiasm. Even should little Henri live to be an old man, in the end, the Raven Queen will still take him. All things serve the Queen.

I knew better than to speak of these feelings. I participated in the fuss over the baby as best I could, and by the time we went in for dinner, I was at least entertaining the possibility that Henri’s life would be a long and splendid one.

Madame Hucrele made sure that my family would be expecting me, so my homecoming was hardly a tearful event. Not like my departure was, at least. Life for them has gone on without me, the same as before… it is strange to feel unnecessary here, like an intruder in what once was my own house.

The family tried to delay the real issue as long as they could with talk of the flocks, but Father finally cut to the heart of the matter. Just as I expected, they don’t understand how I came to serve the Raven Queen. No, they understand, they just don’t agree. I explained that it was never my decision to make, that Celeine’s death was fated, the Queen’s way of bringing me to her. But they didn’t hear – or else they weren’t really listening. I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition in Mother’s eyes, but it may have been a trick of the light.

They were more accepting of Azal, but that, too, was an ordeal. They’ve never seen a tiefling before (as far as I know) and it was all I could do to keep the peace, especially with Father. Strangely, it was Iva who calmed him down. Perhaps I’ll get to know my brother’s wife better while I’m here.

Azal is in Maurelle’s old room for the night; my sister hasn’t been in it since she married Vardan, that boy from the Redwing farm. I’m sure Azal will sleep better than I will.

In the morning we’ll set out for Oakhurst proper, to visit Madame Hucrele (I still can’t call her “Kerowyn,” even after everything we’ve been through) and find out what else she can tell us. I only know that Sharwyn and Talgen went to explore the rift nearly a month ago, and that they haven’t come back.

Why did she wait so long to write me? Was she trying to protect my feelings? Celeine’s death brought us closer together (even though it meant I had to leave Oakhurst or drown in grief), but I can’t be more important to her than her own children…

No point in worrying about it tonight. Fate wills what it will, and there’s no sense in facing it bleary-eyed and full of yawns in the morning. I will write again soon. It seems to help. Father Sloane may be on to something.

-Aramis

* * *

Slept poorly. Troubling dreams; I consider it a blessing that the details have already quit my memory. The tea isn’t helping much anymore. Maybe I should try chewing the leaves.

Sneaked out of the house in the dead of night to visit the grave.

I’m sitting under the tree now, wishing that the weather would change so I could watch the stars. How many nights did we spend here doing just that, Celeine and I? Not nearly so many as we have lost.

Don’t dwell on such things. Fate wills what it will.

I talked to her for a long time. The body in the ground isn’t her, this I know, and her soul has long departed, but still I could not resist the urge to speak. Not in this place. This place which I had never expected to visit again.

I told her about Brindinford, and about everything that happened there. I reminisced about our courtship. I told her about Henri’s first steps, about Maurelle’s marriage, about the missing Hucreles.

(I did not talk about Gerabaldi. That will have to wait for another time.)

I told her that I missed her, that I loved her, that I would never forget her. And I walked back under the tree to write.

I should mention that I did not weep. I might be done with weeping.

That’s all for now. I’ve got to sneak back into the house and try to get some more sleep. Big day tomorrow… big day.

-Aramis

I Called It Two Years Ago, Suckas

Remember way back here, when I was pointing out that three actors from RoboCop have been on 24? At the end, I said "It'd be swell if Kurtwood Smith could shake himself loose of That 70's Show long enough to drop by."

Well, now That 70's Show is off the air, and Kurtwood Smith is playing a Senator on the new season of 24.

Whose house? (points to himself) Run's house!

(This brings 24's 'Cop vet total to four, one more than Twin Peaks had. So there's that.)

Down with WASD!

(Let's see if I can stir up some nerd controversy with that title.)

I used a regular PC joystick for all of my gaming needs, with the keyboard in a supporting role, until Descent forced me to use both at once just to fly the ship. I never found it natural to move my middle finger between the W and the S, so I mapped the controls to the numeric keypad. Sure, it was all the way on the right side of the keyboard, but my desk was big enough to slide it far enough to the left to compensate.

This turned out to be a godsend as first-person shooters gave us the options to jump, run, crouch, activate items, and reload, not to mention cycling through weapons, inventory items, powers, or whatever - I had plenty of extra keys for mapping those commands. (Microsoft's late, lamented Sidewinder joystick was also a godsend for Descent, but that's another post.)

But the desk I have now is much smaller than the old one, which made reaching the 10-key with my left hand problematic. I picked up one of those USB 10-keys that's meant to be used with a laptop, which was helpful, but I had to place it on the desk itself, instead of the keyboard shelf, which is also unsatisfying, ergonomically speaking.

Microsoft to the rescue:



Their Sidewinder X6 keyboard has a keypad which you can attach to either the left or right side of the keyboard. Its keys are backlit in red, which clashes with the Black Beast's blue light scheme, but that's an aesthetic quibble.

Highly recommended!

Cold Blood Episode 41: Iron City of Dis

In Which a Portal Splits the Party, Casting Some into the Second Pit.

(Note: Jennifer missed this session due to technical difficulties, and we agreed that I would write this adventure log.)

"We should get back to Sigil," Kalenthor announced, as Sheen left the room via the stairs. "The contents of this book might provide us with some insight as to Margone's current whereabouts... indirectly." Examining the inscription inside the book's front cover, he added, "And we really should return this book to the library."

Haden muttered his assent.

"What about them?" asked Talan, gesturing toward Splinter and Katrin, bound and gagged on the bedroom floor. "It doesn't seem quite right to just leave them."

"It's a greater kindness than they'd do us," said Haden. "Let Mother deal with them when she comes back." He followed Sheen out of the room, apparently satisfied.

Sensing Talan's unease, Kalenthor said, "They'll wiggle free eventually. They're bedsheets, not adamantine chains."

"That doesn't make it right," Talan insisted. Ari circled around his legs before sitting at this side.

Standing on the bed to get a better look at the octopus illusion, Mal said "Maybe it isn't, Talan, but do you have a better idea?"

"I can't come up with anything at the moment." The light from the windows began to dim, but none of the men paid it much mind.

"If you like," said Mal, dropping down to sit on the bed, "I could set the sheets on fire. They'll burn through long after we're gone, and then they'll be free." A flame began to dance around Mal's index finger.

"You had better be joking," Talan said, a steely edge in his voice. Kalenthor started to move between them, but Talan closed the distance in an eye's blink. "We aren't torturers - or murderers."

A bit put off by Mal's dismissive response, Kalenthor countered with "Of course not. But leaving them tied up isn't torturing or murdering them."

"It's further down the slope," Talan snapped. "Today you leave a woman tied up, tomorrow you hide her in the closet so it takes Margone longer to find her. How long before you cut out her tongue to keep her from talking? Or slit her throat so she won't come after you? How far down the slope will you slide before you even realize that it's happening?!"

Kalenthor was too thrown by Talan's urgency to answer. With a sigh, Mal stood up and crossed the room to Splinter and Katrin. "If we say we are sorry and untie you," he asked with a pleasant smile, "will you let us leave in peace?"

Splinter glanced at Katrin before nodding, the room's fading light still sufficient to illuminate the hatred in her eyes.

"I will bind you to your word," Mal lied, "that you will let us leave in peace. If you break that oath, you will be cursed to never again feel pain nor pleasure. Do I have your word?"

Splinter took a little longer before agreeing to this; Katrin also assented. Mal began an elaborate, but fictitious, arcane ritual. Risking a glance at Talan, Kalenthor asked the ranger "Problem solved?"

"Sure," replied Talan. "I'm sure you can understand my concern; I've seen good friends slide."

"You'll have to be the judge," said Kalenthor, smiling. "If I slide, strike me down."

"It's me I'm worried about," Talan grumbled, unclenching his fist. Thunder rumbled outside the villa.

Mal closed the "ritual" with a kiss on each woman's forehead. Once untied, Katrin and Splinter moved against the wall, allowing the three men to leave. Kalenthor paused to smack Splinter's behind, bringing an ambiguous moan from the tiefling's lips.

* * *

They found Sheen, Haden, and the three captives in the garden, where a thundercloud had drifted closer to the summer house, rain falling from it in all directions.

"We should get to the portal before that storm gets any worse," said Kalenthor, shoving the book into his haversack. A stroke of lightning arced to the decoration atop of the tower, a split second before booming thunder.

"Right," said Sheen, grabbing one of the fuming torches.

As the group took the garden path around the great tree, Kalenthor and Talan both paused to look at the statue more carefully. Though it seemed to be made of ordinary marble, both men thought that they saw traces of red in the woman's hair.

Kalenthor performed a quick spell, then said "As I thought... sort of. This statue radiates psionic energy."

"Really," said Haden, circling back to the spot.

"I think it's storing... quintessence."

"Then there may be someone alive in there," said Sheen. "Quintessence shields things from the flow of time."

Before anyone could stop him, Mal invoked his fey powers to dispel the effect. Kalenthor had just enough time to wonder how the hellwasps would react if the magic suspending the tree was cancelled before the layer of quintessence evaporated into space-time, revealing the unconscious nude form of a red-headed young human woman suspended in midair.

Talan blushed as Ari slid behind him. Kalenthor blinked. Mal poked her with a finger. Sheen covered her with Haden's cloak, and the added weight seemed to bring her gently down to the flagstones. As Mal examined the woman for signs of life, her eyes fluttered open, and came to focus on him. "Greetings to you," Mal said with a gracious bow. "I am Maloranserani Valtherees'Heranusee."

"Are you with her?" implored the woman. "That... that monster?!"

"Sheen? Yes, unfortunately."

A stifled laugh worked its way through the group, drawing the woman's attention to the elan. "Sheen?" she said, with a hint of recognition.

"Do you recognize her?" Talan asked Haden. The aasling shook his head.

"Do I know you?" Sheen asked, moving closer.

"I doubt it," replied the woman, getting to her feet with Mal's aid. "The Cullers exiled you from the enclave about the same time I was initiated. I'm Lexina."

"Lexina." Sheen scratched at her temple. "That sounds vaguely familiar. Not that you're unmemorable; I just prefer not to reminisce about my last days at the enclave."

"I suppose not," said Lexina, casting her gaze down.

Kalenthor moved closer to Talan and asked, "Does the entire multiverse revolve around Sheen?"

"Possibly. You'll notice that we've finally met someone that doesn't know Haden, and she does know Sheen." Talan found himself thinking about what Sheen and Haden's children would be like, were they able to have any.

"Between the two of them, they must know everyone in the multiverse."

"Don't worry," said Haden with a wink, "'we'll introduce you to everyone."

The storm cloud drew closer to the summer house, and another lightning bolt struck a tower on the far side of the sphere.

"That's our cue," said Haden as he fished through his pocket for the avoral feather. The portal spiraled to life, even as the feather burned to ashes in his hand.

Sheen and Haden filed through first, shepherding Lexina and the captives. As Talan, Mal, Kalenthor, and Ari moved through, however, another lightning bolt lanced out of the storm, striking the portal arch. Reality lurched, and they time and space unravel around them.

* * *

They found themselves on a long, narrow, garbage-choked street, buffeted by rushing crowds of humanoids and fiends. Raw heat radiated from the iron-gray buildings, washing over them like a tidal wave.

A gray, parapet-encircled tower rose out of the city, so high into the smoky green sky that they could not crane their heads enough to mark the top of it. The tower seemed to melt and reshape itself before their eyes, as if their poor brains couldn't settle on what it looked like.

A high city wall seemed to surround everything they could see, with forbidding mountains beyond. Gargoyles leered from the wall, and devils taunted the countless mortal and petitioner slaves constructing new buildings while others were torn down.

"This is what the Lady showed us," said Mal. "This is the Iron City of Dis."

Ari yelped and leaped from foot to foot as the scorching ground burned her paws. Talan scooped her up in his arms, shifting the weight around so he could cast endure elements. He set the dog down, relieved to see that the heat no longer bothered her - or himself. He was also relieved to note that they weren't drawing much attention.

"We've got to find a portal back to Sigil," Mal announced.

"Right away?" Kalenthor peered into the sensory stone that Annali had given him - he had to record an experience related to each of the five senses (or one experience that encompassed all five) to join the Society of Sensation. "Seems like an opportunity in disguise... "

"Mal is right," said Talan, trying not to dwell on how weird it felt to say that. "We need to get out of here."

As if on cue, a dusky-hued man threaded his way through the crowd toward them, seated on a tiny flying carpet. "Greetings, effendi," he said to Kalenthor, who was closest to him. "Tarik al-Gana at your service. Are you newly arrived from beyond the Iron City?"

"That's right," replied Kalenthor. "We're here to take in the sights, do some shopping, and then probably pop over to Sigil as we continue our tour." He missed Talan's reaction to this declaration. "Can you suggest any sites we should see?"

"Of course, effendi. I cannot recommend that you visit the Iron Tower at the center of Dis. It's dangerous to the uninvited, and difficult for mortals to reach."

"What do you mean?" Mal pointed at the ever-shifting tower. "It looks like it's a block away."

Tarik motioned for him to turn around. Mal did so and realized that, even though he was now facing in the opposite direction, he could still see the tower before him, about a block away.

"I'm confused," said Talan. "Is it at the center of the city? Or does it surround it?"

"Yes, effendi."

"How can that be?"

"Because the Iron Duke wishes it so?" Tarik removed his fez to wipe his balding pate with a small towel. "It's not the place of a humble barber to ask such questions. You must see the Garden of Delights, but it is also to be avoided - unless you have no desire to return to your former lives."

Kalenthor favored the barber with a wary smile. "Is there any place in Dis you would recommend without simultaneously trying to dissuade us from seeing it?"

"Perhaps God Street," Tarik said with a shrug. "But you cannot go there without a holy man... unless one of you worships a tenant there?"

"No," said Kalenthor, watching a nearby building collapse. "But you may be able to help us in other ways. Have you heard of Lady Margone?"

"That name is known to me," Tarik said at once, eyes narrowing. "What business would men such as yourselves have with a creature like her?"

"We were traveling with her son." said Talan. "He wanted to talk to her, but we were separated."

"I see, effendi. Yes, I have seen her before, with the remmanon. I will tell you what I know, for a price."

The remannon? thought Kalenthor. Is that Betzalel? "Tell us what you know," he said, "and we'll decide what it's worth."

"Fair enough. I've seen them here, in Dis, perhaps a week ago? They were meeting with a priest who follows one of the God Street upstarts. Uin the Unseeing, the newly-crowned god of blind obedience."

"How do we gain audience with this priest?" asked Kalenthor.

"For what I've told you, and what I shall tell you next, I ask a thousand gold coins." Seeing Talan's reaction, he added "Most devils don't need haircuts, effendi. A humble barber must earn a living somehow."

"Half that," Kalenthor said flatly.

Tarik steered his carpet close enough to look Kalenthor right in the eye. "You drive a hard bargain, effendi. I admire that. The priest's name is Orthros. He has recently departed Dis for the City of Doors. While there, he stays at the Tenth Pit."

"Many thanks." Kalenthor hefted a jingling sack of coins. "I'll pay you the other five hundred if you'll tell me where there's a portal leading to Sigil. Preferably one you know the key to."

"That was to be my proposal, wise effendi. Seek the guardhouse across the way from the entrance to the Garden of Delights - it's surrounded by a sandstone wall, the only one in the city. The guardhouse doorway is a portal to the Cage. The key is a parchment marked with lipstick. I would offer to give you directions, but..."

"I thank you again, Tarik." Kalenthor collected some money from Mal and Talan, then paid the barber. "I hope to send more business your way when I return to Sigil. Maybe you can afford to lower your prices then."

"You are most generous, effendi. I will await further proof of your generosity here!" With that, Tarik's carpet bore him up and out of sight.

* * *

After a few hours of wandering the streets of Dis, they found the sandstone wall, and began following it to the Garden's entrance. Mal conjured up some lipstick, applied it to himself, and placed a kiss on a spare of parchment.

They passed a work crew of petitioners, laying the fiery foundation for a new building. One human looked at the group, dropped the heavy stone he was carrying, and shuffled over to their position. "For mercy's sake, help me!" he cried. "I'm alive, like you! I don't belong here!"

The adventurers tensed and assumed defensive positions as the man dropped to his knees and winced, his ripped rags providing little protection from the heat. "Please, sirs," he said, with a clumsy attempt to grab Kalenthor by the ankle. Ari moved to smell the man.

"Come along, Rubbio," came a female voice from behind. She moved like a whisper between them, a gorgeous woman with gleaming white-feathered wings - an erinyes. "Leave these nice mortals alone."

"Mortals?" asked Mal, lips still harlot-red. "Is his claim true? Does he not belong here?"

"He belongs to me," replied the erinyes. "He signed a contract."

"May I see it? I am an authority on pacts," Mal announced.

"I don't have it on me," the erinyes said, "but I have a blank one. It's fairly standard." She handed it to Mal, who began poring over it. The party who signed it was compelled to serve unto death, taking possession of the soul, unless the offering party released her claim, or transferred it to someone else. Mal found no loopholes, and he quietly told the others as much.

"Please, Sauraphine," Rubbio moaned, crawling from Ari toward the erinyes. "I don't want to carry stones any more."

"If you want him so badly," Sauraphine said, backing away from the slave, "one of you could take his place."

"Certainly not," Kalenthor said. "If he's tired of hauling rocks, do you have any other tasks you could give him?"

"No. Well, there is one task," she purred, "but he's not suited to it. Elves, on the other hand..."

Talan raised an eyebrow. Kalenthor said "I've sworn never to sell my soul flippantly."

"Then you're open to the idea of selling it for a damned good reason?" countered Sauraphine.

"Yes. No. That is, I have another idea." Kalenthor held up the sensory stone. "Would you object to being recorded during sex?"

Talan blinked, blushed, and blinked again.

"I never have before," replied Sauraphine, looking at the stone with wonder. "I see no reason why not."

"Take me as a lover for one night. If you find me satisfactory, then you'll release your hold on this Rubbio."

Sauraphine leaned forward to kiss Kalenthor, and it was, indeed, like nothing he'd ever experienced before. He broke it off, and said "Afterwards, we may discuss what comes next."

"We have an accord, stranger," Sauraphine said, smiling enigmatically.

* * *

"Sauraphine has, shall we say, acquiesced," Kalenthor said some time later, grinning like a fool. "Rubbio Finncleave is released from his contract. And I have just the thing for getting in with the Sensates."

"Congratulations," said Mal, the lipstick now smeared across one cheek.

"She may visit me in the Cage, even! How fascinating that'd be!"

"Sure," Talan said. stopping to finally wipe the lipstick from Mal's face. "We'd best take Rubbio back to Sigil... he might get scooped up by another crew if we just leave him here."

They collected Rubbio, found the guardhouse, and took the portal back to the Cage. With the sky darkening, and exhausted from hours of stifling heat, they made their way back to the house on Smith Street.

"Where in the Hells have you been?" asked Haden as they made their way inside. Talan raced up the stairs in search of Hexla.

"Dis," Mal replied. "Portal malfunctioned."

"This is Rubbio," said Kalenthor. "I saved him by having sex with an erinyes! What's for dinner?"

"Spoken like a true Sensate. An erinyes, you say?"

"That's right, Haden. Lovely creature, name of Sauraphine."

In his reverie, Kalenthor nearly missed the shift in Haden's attitude. "Sauraphine? Are you certain that was the name?"

"That's what it said on the contract," Mal said absently, sitting by the fire.

"You had sex," said Haden, "with my grandmother?!"

Vocabulary Builders #1

The English language should not be allowed to remain static. If you come up with a word for something, and its meaning is clear via the context in which it's used, then just use it. Maybe others will pick it up.

The word I'm introducing you to today is one that Josh Wade and I came up with during our days at Hollywood Video:

Conspicious (kun-SPIS-shuss) (n.) Something that is suspicious in a conspicuous way. Ex. "He wanted to sell me a gold chain for ten dollars. Does that seem conspicious to you?"

You're welcome. Hopefully this will be an ongoing series.

Interlude: Dark of the Matter

Joris stalked away from Mystra's temple without looking back. Idiot! he chided himself. What did you hope to accomplish by coming here? He hasn't changed. He isn't going to change...

The familiarity of Silverymoon's streets did little to comfort Joris, and he soon heard footsteps catching up behind him. He wouldn't give Prestin the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence... except the steps were too light to belong to his father.

His follower was close now. Joris expected to hear Kalisa's voice in his ear, but the words belonged to Talan: "My blood family's all dead, and I'm glad."

The ranger continued past Joris, not pausing to see the bewildered expression on the cleric's face.

* * *

I'm going to be a father, Joris thought again.

Talan had asked him how it felt, but at the time, it seemed too soon to say. Now, after three solid days of riding through the north of Faerûn without much else to think about, the best answer Joris had come up with was "terrifying."

He'd made an uneasy peace with the fact that his child would be half-fiendish - an alu-fiend, as the daughters of succubi were known in ancient texts. If her mother could embrace the path of goodness - and he believed that Kalisa would be, in the end - then so could their daughter. It had taken some effort, but Joris had finally convinced himself that the child needn't turn out like Lady Margone.

No, he was worried because of his own father. Ever since he'd been old enough to contemplate children of his own, he'd been committed to being the father to them that Prestin Crownsilver hadn't been for him. Unfortunately, knowing what not to do didn't impart any idea of what to do.

It was a monumental responsibility, and only one among many. He still had to redeem Kalisa, and her pregnancy made it seem all the more urgent. Moreover, shouldn't he marry her? What would it mean for their daughter to be born out of wedlock? Haden was marrying Sheen - wasn't he? - not that that should matter... and he had his congregation to think about, not to mention the possibility of reconciling with his own father...

Oh, and there was the copy of Sigil that the baatezu were building. How could his own problems seem so important when eclipsed by such a vast shadow?

It was all too much for Joris. The fantasy that had crossed his mind in Red Larch crossed it again; though his cheeks were already rosy with the cold, he felt more color blooming in them. He tried to push it aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more distracting it became.

This is useless, he thought. I've got to talk to someone about this, and it can't wait until I see Kalisa.

The High Forest was quiet, the party moreso. Joris looked at each of them in turn before focusing his attention on Talan. The ranger led the way, but took little notice of his surroundings. He's troubled, Joris realized, thinking of the words that Talan had whispered to him back on the streets of Silverymoon. Didn't he grow up here? Is it reminding him of... of what he told me?

Can't hurt to ask, he decided. He wouldn't have said anything if he didn't want to talk about it... would he? Maybe he'll listen to me, at least.

Joris spurred his horse until he rode alongside Talan, then asked "You're not really here, are you?" After a moment, Talan nodded, but didn't look back at him.

"Does this have something to do with your family?" Joris ventured.

That got his attention, but only for a moment. The ranger wasn't holding eye contact with him. "No. Well, yes. In a way."

"Did you want to talk about it?" When Talan didn't answer, Joris added "I'll tell you about what was bothering me, back in Red Larch."

Talan perked up a little, only to deflate again. "If you like," said Talan. "I don't think it'll help."

"It'll help me." With a weak smile, Talan gestured for the cleric to continue. "Before I met Sheen, I was traveling with some friends. Jerris, a ranger, and the woman he loved. Lenora." He had Talan's complete attention. "I loved her, too... at least, I thought I did. Anyway, they both got killed, and I buried them near Morard's home."

"I am terribly sorry," Talan said with a heavy heart. "Words seem so inadequate."

"Wait, it gets worse." Talan's eyebrows raised, and Joris went on. "So when we got to Red Larch, I thought 'I can't do it yet, but someday, I'll be able to resurrect the both of them.' Then I started to think that I could just raise Lenora, so I could have her to myself. And I've got a woman and a baby on the way. What in the Hells is wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," said Talan. "You're just strong enough to be honest with yourself."

"And with you, I guess. Not that I wanted to burden you or anything, but... see? Now I feel better."

"It's no burden." Talan smiled sadly and looked uncomfortable before blurting out, "There was another woman before Hexla. I loved her, and I'm the one who killed her... this is coming out all wrong."

Joris searched for the words to get over the wall that had formed around Talan. "Start at the beginning."

Talan gave Joris a look like a trapped animal, but continued. "She was my sister... not my real sister, but... my mother, she died of despair after I was born, and I was adopted..." Joris tried to keep his face neutral, but Talan shook his head and couldn't meet the cleric's eyes any more. "I'm sorry, Joris, I can't. I just can't. Maybe you should get me drunk."

"As soon as we get back. I could use that myself." The sheepish look lifted from Talan's face, and they continued on their path to the cave.

Interlude: Cold Blood

Night had fallen, bringing a sharp chill to the air. Joris freed himself from his elven chain, folded it neatly, and placed it next to his boots before turning back to his bedroll, which rested a short distance from the campfire. Kalisa had already climbed inside, facing away from him, wearing the wingless "Raven" guise in which he'd first met her.

The bedroll was a tight squeeze for two. Joris had both legs in before he realized that Kalisa was naked. Trying not to lean on her hair, he wiggled in next to her, propping his head up with one hand and moving the other to Kalisa's stomach, smooth and hot to the touch. The bedroll's magic kept the cold at bay.

"I'm sorry," Joris eventually said, "for invoking you by your truename. I didn't know what else to do. Arviragus got the drop on me."

"Don't be sorry," Kalisa replied. "It's I who should apologize, for taking as long as I did to reach you. I used the only portal to Faerûn I knew, then I crossed half this world to find you."

"Really? Where did the portal take you?"

"A port city, somewhere. What was it called... something like skull? Skuld, I think."

"Skuld? You came here all the way from Mulhorand?!"

With some effort, Kalisa rolled onto her back so she could look up into Joris's face, giving him the impression that she was gazing directly at his soul. "For you, my love, I would cross Nessus itself."

She had never looked at him like that before. "Kalisa? Are you all right?"

"Now I am. I raced here as the wind races, Joris. I was so afraid that I'd lose you! If I had, without telling you how I truly feel... I could never have forgiven myself."

"And how do you feel?" Joris asked, unable to keep his uncertainty out of the question. Somehow her hand slipped out of the bedroll and found the back of his head.

"I love you, Joris," the succubus said, gently bringing his face toward hers, rising to kiss him, releasing him after a brief eternity. "And I have since the first. If only I hadn't fought it all this time..."

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that." Actually, Joris was sure that she knew. "Why did you fight it? You must have known how I've felt all this time."

"Of course I knew." Wrinkles creased the bridge of her nose when she smiled like that. "And I was a fool to deny that, as well. I was just so terrified of being hurt again. The last time someone broke my heart, it took me two hundred years to get over it."

"Was that Faodhagan?"

"Yes," she exclaimed. "How do you know about that?"

"A family history that Haden showed me."

An enigmatic smile crossed her lips. "Faodhagan brought me out of the darkness, all those years ago. The Queen of the Succubi tasked me with seducing a Prime rebel leader, but his hidden patron... was too strong for me." Her voice had taken on a faraway quality, as if her consciousness had left Joris to revisit the event.

"Is Malcanthet the Queen of the Succubi?" Kalisa nodded. "I saw a rendition of her, at the Temple of the Abyss. She looks just like you."

"Of course she does. She's my mother. Not literally," she quickly added after seeing Joris's surprise. "She didn't bear me, but she chose me when I became succubus, remade me in her image, took a hand in my education. It's her way."

"Faodhagan prevented you from seducing the rebel," Joris said, trying to wrest his imagination away from what a succubus's education must have been like.

"He did - and in doing so, he won me over to their cause, and he showed me an existence I had never dreamed possible. Imagine what my life was - tempting mortals, performing acts ever darker in the hope to win strength, or power, or my mother's favor. I was what I was made to be, nothing more. Faodhagan showed me that I could be more than that. He believed it. He helped me to believe it."

"And you loved him for that."

"For that, and more. He was beautiful, Joris - inside and out. But no matter how I took his lessons to heart, I never felt worthy of him. And he did not feel the same way about me. So, when he fell for Kerry... I was so jealous, my love! The things I wanted to do to her, to him... to myself... I shudder to think what I might have done, if not for what he'd taught me."

Joris strove to ignore memories of his own envy. "So you fled?"

"I wasn't strong enough to do anything else. I came to Sigil to hide, but the Blood War found me there, as well. I couldn't stay out of it - but I could fight it on my own terms, keep any of the sides from gaining the upper hand. The city's cold blood taught me to survive, but in my struggle to simply hold on, I lost sight of my goal of redemption. Until we found each other, that is."

"I thank the Lady for that." He stifled a yawn to kiss her again. He'd been petrified for more than a day; it seemed strange to be getting sleepy already.

Kalisa searched his eyes before continuing. "I was crushed when I heard that Faodhagan was dead. At first I felt that I should have been there. He never would have endangered me by bringing me along, and I'm not much help in a fight." Tears glimmered in her eyes. "Still, more than once, I wished that it had been me instead."

"Faodhagan's alive, Kalisa."

The succubus's shocked expression remained in place as Joris explained what Noxana had told them. By the time he finished, skepticism had shadowed her features, and she said, "Anyone who worships Abyssal Lords cannot be trusted. You know this."

"Haden didn't seem inclined to believe her either - but what if it's true? I want to find out... I should get word to Catriona. She'd know how to find out. I can prepare a sending prayer in the morning..."

Another yawn surged up within him, and he failed to contain this one. "You should go to sleep," Kalisa said, turning away from him.

Not wishing to argue with Kalisa, Joris tried to make himself comfortable, returning his hand to her slowly breathing belly. "Tell me something: tanar'ri don't need to sleep, right?"

"No."

"Then why do you sleep with me? I mean, literally sleep with me?"

"Because you like it. And because you give me good things to dream about."

After a moment's silence, Joris sighed, "I'm going to see my father soon. I can't go to Silverymoon and not see him."

"Do you know what you'll say?"

"Goodbye, maybe." Really, what else was there to say? Sigil was his home now. He had his own life to live. He felt like he should come up with something else to say, but he drifted off to sleep before he could.

* * *

Kalisa allowed Joris to sleep. She still had much to tell him and the others - about Betzalel, the Lion of Hell, and the Iron Lord. She would have to wait for the right moment; she could only hope that the right moment came before it was too late.

Interlude: The Lake of Fire

(WARNING: Not Safe For Work)

Jazra watched Hexla and her friends file through the portal, realizing a moment too late that Fritzan Ringhammer had come close enough to thrust his stubby finger inches from her nose.

"I know you think you're clever," growled the dwarf, "but I'll see you given the rope someday, mark me."

Jazra couldn't breathe, let alone respond. She knew that Ringhammer was just a tin-plated leatherhead, she knew it, but why couldn't she stand up to him? Was she really that worried about being arrested? Was it because he'd been dogging her steps since she was a child? Or was it just because he hated her so much?

"Leave her alone," came a man's voice. She saw the drow - Xillian, was it? - approaching them.

"And just who do you think you are," said Fritzan, "to order a Harmonium officer around?"

Xillian drew very close to Fritzan, stepping between the dwarf and Jazra. The drow's rapier and hand crossbow still lay on the ground behind him, but he showed no signs of backing down. "I'm Xillian. And I'm not ordering you to do anything. I'm advising you to leave her alone."

Oh, Xillian, don't be addle-coved, thought Jazra. You're just gonna make him mad...

Fritzan's laugh stank of pipeweed. "Is that right. Advising me. You think I'm gonna take your advice, dark elf?"

"No. But I still thought you should have the option to take it."

"You got nerve, boy, or else you're barmy. I got a leafless tree for smart-talking barmies like you. What say we go have a look at it and - "

"Officer Ringhammer!" called one of the Hardheads at the gate. "Tonat Shar needs you back at the Barracks."

"Tell him I'll be there shortly," Fritzan replied without looking away from Xillian.

"Now, sir."

Ringhammer shot a deadly glance back at the other Hardhead, whose confidence seemed to stem solely from the higher orders she'd brought. Fritzan tried to blink away his frustration before turning on Jazra. "This isn't over," he warned. Then, to Xillian: "For either of you." And with a low Dwarven swear, he turned and led his patrol out of the Temple.

"Two-bit red-faced bully," sighed Noxana before returning to her prayers.

"Are you all right?" Xillian asked Jazra, coolly regarding her with deep violet eyes.

'Sure," Jazra announced a bit too loudly, turning away from the drow. She couldn't let him see the hot tears streaming down her face - couldn't let anyone see them. She was tougher than this, damn it. After a moment, she wiped her cheeks on the fringe of her vest and faced Xillian again. Her face was nearly scarlet, and her hands were trembling, but she'd been worse.

"Why does that dwarf hate you so much?" asked the drow.

"Th'Abyss if I know. I gave up the cross-trade when I became a wizard." As my primary career, anyway, she thought. And sure, I'm an Anarchist, but there was no way Fritzan could know that. Unless Lissandra had made a mistake when she told Hexla's friends?

Xillian pulled her away from pursuing that train of thought. "I've seen the hatred that the law holds for criminals. That was something more."

"S'probably about my mentor, then; she sure wasn't any celestial." Wait, was she opening up to this elf who'd just tried to write Hexla's friends into the dead-book? Why? For that matter, why was he speaking to her so calmly, after he'd nearly died at their hands? Sigil, always full of surprises. "Chant was that Bronwyn fled - or got herself exiled from - her Prime world for terrible crimes."

"Was it true?" Xillian went to retrieve his weapons, but his eyes never left her. Jazra found it a little unsettling, but it wasn't like she'd never been stared at before.

"No idea. What matters is that Bronwyn came to Sigil to make a fresh start - that eyepatch she wore was her only keepsake of her 'uncaged' days, if you tumble to my meaning."

The drow nodded once, returning his rapier to its scabbard before announcing, "The aasling told me to ask you for help."

"Oh, right. You want I should show you around? It's what I do for a livin'."

"Yes," the drow said, infusing the single word with quiet, unmistakable intensity.

"All right, then."

Jazra grabbed Xillian's arm and announced that they were leaving. Just beyond the entrance, the drow fell to his knees, hands clapped over his face.

"What's wrong?" asked Jazra. "What is it?"

"The light!" Xillian moaned through his hands. "I can't see!"

Jazra looked around, puzzled. Sigil was hardly worth calling bright, even this close to peak; Xillian must have been really sensitive to the light.

"Hang on!" she said, fishing through her pockets until she came up with a pair of darkly smoked spectacles. She wrenched one of his hands free and thrust the glasses into it, barking "Here, put these on."

He complied at once; after a moment, he opened his eyes and looked around. "Much better," said Xillian, not as bothered by the pair of Godsmen gawking at him as Jazra was. She gave them a nasty stare, and they continued down the street, probably trusting the Hardheads to protect them if any trouble started.

"Glad to hear it," sighed Jazra. "I been carrying those for months meaning to give 'em back to the fella I got 'em from, but you need 'em more than he does, I'll wager. C'mon, let's go. I gotta get some bub in me before I start toutin'."

Xillian fell in step just behind Jazra. They were into the Lower Ward by the time she realized that the drow still hadn't taken his eyes off of her. She was used to being stared at by the tourists she touted for, especially the Clueless ones, but sooner or later they'd see an efreet or a deva or Harbinger House or something and pay attention to that.

"Somethin' on your mind, berk?" she asked.

"Bronwyn."

"What about her," she fairly growled.

"You said she wasn't any celestial. Is she dead?"

She stopped and turned on him, snarling out "What's it to ya?"

He dropped to one knee and cast his eyes down. "Forgive me, milady. Your servant's curiosity has overwhelmed his knowledge of his place. I meant no offense."

This guy can't be real. "S'all right, Xillian. Sheesh, get up." He stood at once, but still averted his eyes.

"Yeah," Jazra began, "Bronwyn's in the dead-book, all right. Someone trumped up some charges against her, and Fritzan Ringhammer was the Hardhead who scragged her. Then Guvners sentenced her, and then the Mercykillers' Prison killed her, just's surely as the Wyrm would have."

"Does Ringhammer think you're part of the crimes she was accused of?"

"No clue. You should ask him."

"Perhaps I will," Xillian said, sending a shiver down Jazra's spine.

"You better leave him alone, Xillian. Trust me on that one."

"Of course, milady."

The tiefling couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "I ain't yer lady, berk. Call me Jazra."

"As you wish, Jazra," he said, finally looking at her again.

As I wish? thought Jazra. What is he, my servant? Might not be so bad, havin' some Clueless fungus-munchin' pretty-boy watch my back. He was pretty. If it's what he's used to, just play along for now. "The worst part was when her shop burned down. I thought I might see some justice done, but the 'investigation' was the biggest joke I ever saw."

"You want revenge, then."

"Bet yer ass I do."

That shut Xillian up until they reached Vander's. Jazra didn't need that drink as badly as she had in the Temple of the Abyss, but she still needed it.

* * *

She woke up some time later with no real notion of where she was or how she'd arrived there. She was on top of the covers of an unfamiliar bed in what looked like an inn room, still wearing everything but her boots. Xillian watched her from the room's lone chair, still as a cat, his injuries apparently healed. The room seemed quite warm for this time of year, though it had no fireplace or other apparent source of heat.

"Good morning," the drow said.

"Hey." Jazra sat up cautiously, having been in similar situations before; to her relief, neither her head nor the room span around. In fact, she felt... normal. Quite normal. "Where are we?"

"The Black Sail."

"Not Vander's?" she said, scowling. "You know I live there, right? That's why I went there to drink, you berk."

"No, I didn't know that. I should have asked you where you lived when you started to lose control, but you were quite incoherent by the time I did. For this I cry your pardon, Jazra."

'S'all right. What do you mean, incoherent?"

"Exactly that. I ended up sedating you."

"What'd you use?"

"Drow sleep poison; I only used a mild dosage." Xillian's expression remained neutral, his body perfectly motionless.

"Zat why I ain't hung over?"

"It has that effect, yes."

"Oh. Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome."

Jazra looked down at her feet, which, like her hands, had four digits each. She pulled the sheets over her legs, frowning. "Did, uh... did anything happen between you an' me?"

"Sexually? No. As I said, you were sedated. Though you were solicitous before that." Still matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather.

"Oh." Jazra felt color rising in her cheeks, and she looked away from him. "I, uh, I get carried away sometimes. I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"I assure you, the discomfort was my own, not yours." Xillian got up and dragged his chair closer to the bed before sitting back down. "I've never been taken as a lover for reasons that weren't political."

She searched his eyes. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A drow female takes anyone who pleases her to slake her desire, but some do so to claim power over a male, to win his loyalty. Alantavra used me in that manner." She probably wasn't the only one, Jazra gathered from his tone. "It's what I'm accustomed to."

Jazra had to stifle a laugh. "That ain't me, Xillian. I get an itch, I get it scratched. Nothing more to it than that."

He leaned forward, and Jazra saw a strange light dancing in the violet of his eyes. "Then why did I hesitate to lie with you?"

"'Cause you think I'm some kinda freak," Jazra sighed.

"No," he replied at once. "I've never seen anyone like you... but you're far too lovely to be a freak."

"You're bobbin' me."

"I would never."

The tiefling slid a leg out from under the covers and waved her bare foot in the drow's face. "I ain't got enough toes, you sod!"

"So?" Xillian easily captured Jazra's foot in his hands and stroked the sole, sending waves of sensation shooting up her body. She always kept her boots on - nobody had ever done this to her before. She wanted to pull her leg away, but found that she couldn't.

"I got a tail, too," she blurted. "I keep it under my skirt most times."

"I saw. That doesn't bother me either."

Jazra believed him. She closed her eyes and concentrated her attention on what Xillian's talented fingers were doing. "So what was it, then? Did you think you'd be takin' advantage of me?"

"That's not it, either. You knew what you were doing - when you were still coherent, at least."

She felt his lips brush the bottom of her big toe and was certain she was going to melt. The answer came to her, but she struggled to voice it in her blissful state. "Xillian, if one of yer drow females... chooses you, d'you have the right to refuse her?"

"No. That is to say, I could, but I would have been deemed a fool or a madman."

Or a poofter, she thought. But now her toes were in his mouth; no poofter could do what he was doing to her. "That's it, then. You've never been in the position to refuse before."

"I think you're right," Xillian said, and Jazra sensed his relief as his fingers traced patterns of fire up her leg to the knee.

"Listen, you seem to know what you're doin' down there." She wiggled her foot until Xillian let it go, then lowered it to his crotch, where she felt the hardness she'd expected to find. Pressing her foot against him, her eyes still closed, Jazra said "Then I'm choosin' you to lie with me. If you wanna refuse, it's all right... but I think you'd be makin' a big mistake."

Xillian was kissing Jazra's mouth before she realized that he'd stood up. Startled by the drow's sudden attack, she reacted in the only way she could conceive - by returning the kiss, and deliberately. She broke it off to get out of her vest and top, while Xillian slid her skirt down her legs, until she was clad only in jewelry, beads of sweat already forming on her skin.

Xillian, however, was still fully dressed. Before Jazra could do anything about it, however, he lowered his head, landing kisses upon her belly so light as to seem imaginary. His fingers teased her thighs, walking up her legs, then down - closer to where she wanted them every time, but still maddeningly far away. His mouth reached her sex mere moments before his hands did, and the combination of the three lit a spark that sent Jazra headlong into a personal lake of fire.

She couldn't tell, specifically, what he was doing to her - only that the effect was exquisite. Xillian wasn't making love to her; he was worshiping her, feeding her femininity until it bloomed like a sacred and radiant rose. She came fiercely, with greater force than she'd ever experienced, once, then again and again, drinking up his attention greedily, seeking some limit to it, only to find it bottomless.

But it wasn't just Xillian's expertise - it was his commitment. This dangerous man from a dangerous world, this man who'd probably spent his whole life looking over his shoulder waiting to be stabbed in the back - had let his guard down to pour his very soul into her.

And she had let him.

Jazra had always been terrified of intimacy, of all its teeth and knives and countless ways to wound her. All of her efforts to "get her itches scratched" had been sabotaged by her own fears and insecurity, by the cruelty of fate, and by the whim of chance. Life had been bleeding Jazra of her love since the day she was born, and now this stranger had somehow bypassed her defenses, found the deepest part of her, and made it glorious.

It was time for her to return the favor.

As if sensing Jazra's decision, Xillian brought his mouth up to hers, kissing her while continuing to work her slit with one hand, cupping a breast with the other. She tasted her passion on his lips, which drove her to undress him all the faster.

Jazra gasped at Xillian's nude form. Though his body was perfectly proportioned, the drow's chest and back were marked by a fine lattice of scars, barely perceptible to the eye, but alive and electric beneath the tips of her fingers.

Pulling him close to her, Jazra spat into her hand, reached down, and found that he was still hard. She began to stroke him, but before she could move to take him into her mouth, Xillian had eased her down onto the bed, gently but insistently. He moved above her in a fluid motion, seeming to part her legs by sheer will alone - and then he was inside her.

She had time to worry that she was too wet to feel him, but that dissipated as Xillian began to thrust, slowly and carefully at first. The sensation was transcendental, and Jazra's ardor rose as the drow's pace quickened, and his force increased. She moaned in pleasure, locking her ankles over his ass, scratching at his shoulders with her fingernails. In those moments when her eyes were open, Jazra saw that Xillian's gaze was still locked upon her; no sound but his breathing came from him. He licked at her nipple; with some effort, she raised her other breast and did the same to it. Then, with one solid push, he sent her hurtling back into the lake of fire.

Sent somewhere outside the consideration of space or time, somewhere beyond her body and her sense of self, past life and death itself, she forced her ecstasy into the semblance of an identifiable form and shape so she could embrace it with all of her being - and it had a dark elf's face.

Jazra returned to her senses as Xillian's heat blossomed inside her. The drow groaned faintly, and his lunging subsided, easing the tiefling back into reality. She leaned up to kiss him, pulling him back down to lie on top of her.

And, in spite of the fact that she'd been sleeping for hours, Jazra slept again.

* * *

She dreamed, not of this world, but the next world to come.

People Are Stupid Two-Fer

Question 1: "Can I play this Xbox game on my PS2?"

Question 2: "Is fullscreen better than widescreen?" (then, before I can answer) "I have a giant plasma TV."

People are... well, you know.

From the Treasure Tables Forums

A short version:

* * *

Longcoat000: I think that Rick_TWA's alien avatar needs to be a cross between Cthulu and a mule.

Me: Cthmulehu? I love that guy! (this sounds best if you say it aloud like Dr. Zoidberg talking about Gumbercules, which is where I got the idea)

Rick_TWA: If I were drinking, I would have snorted it all over my keyboard. I can't wait to share this with my evil mule fighting buddies at the FLGS tonight. Cthmulehu demands a salt lick! A salt lick of Eeeeeeeevil!

* * *

Cthmulehu. Awwww yeeeeeah.

Interlude: Crowded House

Yolette had closed the front door behind her before she saw the unfamiliar woman in Haden's chair, legs curled up beneath her, a book in her lap. The stranger had time to say "Hello, Yolette" before the girl jumped.

"Who are you?!" Yolette demanded, trying to sound as imposing as Sheen would have, but falling far short of the mark. Are those her boots next to the door? Yolette wondered. She made herself right at home?!

"It's me, Yolette. It's Kalisa."

But the stranger's beautiful face was unfamiliar, and her accented voice sounded nothing like Kalisa's. Yolette wished she had her short sword, though she still had much to learn about wielding it. "What am I, barmy? I don't remember much, but I remember Kalisa, and you're not her."

"Oh, right," said the stranger, passing her hands over her face, revealing the plain looks of the woman Yolette had encountered in Baltazo's lair. "I'm sorry," the stranger said, her accent gone. "Sometimes I lose track of my personas."

"Great," sighed Yolette, "more shape-shifters. I can always use more nightmare fuel. Say, can you read minds, too?"

"I can," Kalisa replied, "but I don't. It's... rude? Unfair? I'm not sure what you'd call it, but I don't do it anymore."

"Oh." Huh. What do you say to that? I feel like I should say something, even though I've got work to do. I overheard Sheen saying that Kalisa was like a child, that she needed a family... maybe I can be a sister to her. A much younger sister. "So, what brings you here?"

"Joris wants for us to move in."

"Both of you? Huh... I don't know where we're gonna put you. Maybe in Hexla's lab..."

"I don't see the point, myself," Kalisa sighed, closing her book. "One kip's the same as another when you don't have to eat or sleep."

Do what now? "You're, what, some kind of fiend?" Yolette remembered Haden saying something about Kalisa along those lines, but she was always more interested in how Haden said things than in what he was actually saying...

"A succubus, yes."

"But you're not evil... any more?" Yolette said, taking a seat in one of what Haden called the 'lesser' chairs.

"Right."

Maybe she doesn't want to talk? No, then she'd just tell you to be quiet, or go away... "That guy Joris, he's helping you to be good or something?"

"Something like that." Kalisa's eyes flicked from Yolette to the book in her lap, then back again. "He's trying, but I haven't been the best of students."

"What do you mean?"

"This book," Kalisa said, holding it up, "was written to teach children about virtuous living. I'm nearly three hundred years old, and these stories barely make any sense to me."

Yolette leaned foward for a closer look. It was a book of parables, beautifully illuminated - just like the one her mother used to read to her.

She fell back into her chair as a fresh flood of memories washed over her... the sound of her mother's voice as she spoke of mercy, and forgiveness... Yolette had never cared for the stories themselves, but adored the way her mother told them. Her brother, though, could recite the tales himself.

Her brother. Yolette had once had a younger brother... What was his name? Her head was spinning now.

"What is it?" Kalisa asked, leaving Haden's chair to kneel beside the girl. Yolette had the impression that the succubus was making an effort to be concerned, but it was welcomed all the same.

"Wow... I'm sorry, I just got another piece of my memory back. It can really take it outta me if I'm not ready."

"Gyderic did that to you."

"Yeah." A sudden vision of the psion purged the dizziness from Yolette's system, leaving her with a sensation of numbing cold, and a renewed appreciation of the nearby fireplace.

"Yolette, do you remember Gyderic - or Baltazo - ever speaking to a baatezu? I know they used their summoning circle to call devils."

"Nope. That's the exact kind of thing they made me forget."

"I was just checking," Kalisa said, obviously a little disappointed. "Don't hurt yourself trying to remember on my account."

"It's all right. Why do you care about the Illuminated, anyway?"

"Back when I was part of the Blood War, working against the baatezu and their minions was my duty. I still oppose the Hells, but for... personal reasons. But now I also have the whole Abyss to worry about."

Yolette formed her next question, but let it go when the name resurfaced in her memory. "Betzalel!" she exclaimed. "I remember - its name was Betzalel."

"Are you sure?" asked Kalisa, placing a hand on Yolette's forearm, a grave look on her face. "Are you certain that was the name?"

"Yeah. I'm certain."

Kalisa looked down at her hand and promptly removed it. "That's just what I've been looking for, Yolette. Thank you."

"Do you know that name?" Yolette asked, watching as Kalisa padded across the parlor to scoop up her boots.

"I do. He's a remmanon - a devil who lures mortals into signing pacts. And I know exactly who he serves, too. It makes perfect sense now."

"So where are you going? You just gonna tear off and look for him?" Yolette moved into Haden's chair while she asked this, hoping the succubus wouldn't notice or care.

The succubus stopped, then slid off the one boot she'd tugged on. "I can't. I promised Joris that I'd stay here until he returns."

"That seems kind of weird."

"He's afraid I might get into trouble, and do something I shouldn't to get out of it."

"Something evil," Yolette said, and Kalisa nodded, once. "Doesn't he trust you?"

"Yes," the succubus said after a slight pause, "I think so. Still, it bothers him when I keep running off. He knows that I trust him; I just need to prove that he can trust me. If that means staying here, then that's what I'll do."

"Do you love him?" Yolette asked before she could stop herself, but Kalisa looked back at her with a blank expression. "I only ask," she added hastily, "'cause Talan's with Hexla... and now Sheen's got Haden..."

"Does she," Kalisa said, smiling faintly, finding her way into a chair.

"I know it's none of my business and all - you can fall in love, can't you?"

Yolette was too young to comprehend the succubus's reaction - but few mortals would recognize all of its elements, a strange alloy of astonishment, nostalgia, and regret. Finally, Kalisa said "I can, yes. I once loved deeply, and truly."

"So what happened?"

"He didn't feel the same way," she said, closing her eyes.

"Yep," Yolette said, stretching her legs out to the ottoman, "I know just how you feel. Some men just can't see a good thing, even when it's right in front of 'em." An enigmatic smile crept over Kalisa's face, and Yolette went on: "Joris is crazy about you, though. I've seen the look in his eye when he talks about you."

"Have you?"

"Oh, yeah," said Yolette, omitting Joris's constant worrying. "I know he'd be good to you, and he seems okay, as far as guys go."

"But he won't live forever - and I might."

"What, you don't think his short little life would be better if he spent it with you?"

Kalisa started to answer, but she stood up suddenly, a look of panic crossing her face as she reverted to her true form. "It's Joris," she said, voice barely over a whisper. "He's calling me by my truename."

"Is he all right?" Yolette asked, starting to worry.

"Something's gone wrong; he's back on the Prime Material Plane. He's alone... I have to go."

The succubus reached over Yolette to grab the longsword she'd left hanging on the back of Haden's chair, went to retrieve her boots, and then vanished into thin air.

Yolette sat there for several minutes before she started her chores, and had a hard time concentrating on her work, which made her doubly glad to stop when the heroes came home.

Cat Fight!

Here we have Marlon (the silver one) and Anne Bonney (the other one) engaged in one of their low-impact donnybrooks.

People Are Stupid: This Actually Happened

A guy buys a rap CD and holds up the piece of paper he gets with it:

Guy: "Hey, what this?"

Me: "That's your receipt."

People are stupid.