Perilous Portents

“Verik … he’s upstairs … with Sven,” the badly wounded ex-guardsman gasped, barely clinging to consciousness. Tomas’ arrowheads still protruded from his chest, and his blood was pooling rapidly on the floor around him. Wren quickly tended to his wounds, more intent on just keeping him alive than doing any real healing. Nat pulled the door quietly closed behind them, worried about another wave of attackers rushing down the stairs.

The wounded Cow Hammer Boy had told them there was no one else on the ground floor of the butcher’s shop, but they weren’t willing to accept his word alone. Tomas pulled open the door on the left, bow at the ready, but found only a pair of foul-smelling holding pens for animals, each with a low stone water trough. Nat checked the door to the right. He was hit by the smell of day-old meat and older blood. He was in a meat locker, and slabs of meat hung from hooks suspended on iron bars that ran the length of the room. He stared at the meat for a bit – something felt off. They’d watched the butcher shop all day, and the only animals they’d seen brought in were a skinny cow and a young pig. The pig’s partially-skinned carcass now hung from a hook in the room behind him, and it looked to Nat like there was a lot more meat in this room than could have come from the pathetic cow they’d seen. But he shrugged. He was no butcher – what did he know about meat?

Jax was losing patience while the others opened doors to empty rooms and debated what to do with their captives. “We need to get upstairs, and cut the head off the snake!” he insisted. Leaving their two captives bound and gagged, he led the group down the hallway and began creeping up the stairs. To his frustration, the others were right on his heels, and the stairs creaked loudly under their combined weight. He was certain that if anyone was in the room above, they’d have heard them coming a mile away. But he gritted his teeth, angrily motioned for quiet from the others, then raised his head above the top of the stairway.

There was someone in the room, but to Jax’s relief he didn’t seem to have heard their approach. Another of the former Korvosan Guards sat at a round table, playing solitaire, his back to the stairs. Holding his breath, Jax slipped across the floor then pressed his knife to the man’s throat. “Make a sound, and you’re dead!” he hissed. The man froze; his eyes darted to this bow, leaning against the wall, and his hand twitched towards the hilt of the sword on his belt, but Jax increased the pressure on his blade. Realizing he had no options, he spread his hands wide, then slowly placed them flat on the table before him.

Jax motioned the others into the room. Erin relieved the captive of his sword has she passed. “We’re here from the Guard, and we’re taking you in,” Jax whispered. “Where’s Verik?” The man made a slight nod towards the closed door in the south wall, being careful not to press too hard against Jax’s blade. Tomas moved quietly to the door, signaling the others into positions using hand signals. When everyone was ready, he kicked open the door, his bow at the ready.

The room inside had been the slaughterhouse office. A large wooden desk in one corner had been transformed into a makeshift bed, its surface covered with a bedroll and several blankets. A table was on the opposite side of the room, and a man sat behind it, writing with a quill pen on a sheet of paper. He was a handsome man who still wore both the armor and livery of the Korvosan Guard. He looked up, expecting to see one of his men, but instead met Tomas’ glare. A long spear leaned against the wall behind him on one side, and a longbow on the other. He started to turn for his spear, but Tomas stopped him. “Don’t move!” he barked. “We’re here from Field Marshall Kroft and we’re taking you in!” Verik saw Tomas’ arrow pointed straight at his throat, his aim unwavering, and he reluctantly raised his hands.

“What are you doing?” he growled indignantly. “We’re helping people here! We’re feeding starving people, giving hope to Korvosa’s poor. You should be helping us, not helping to grind the people under the boot of the ruling class! We’re not the criminals – Ileosa and her rich lackeys are!”

“What about ‘tonight’s special cuts’?” Nat asked from behind Tomas. Verik looked at him with confusion. “What are you talking about? We don’t have any special cuts, just whatever meat we can liberate from the greedy agents of the state, who care more about lining their own pockets than about the well-being of the masses.” Then Verik took note of Tomas’ well-tailored clothes and fine armor. “But I can see this is lost on you,” he sneered. “You’re clearly one of the oppressors, in league with those who would keep Korvosa’s people poor and enslaved, so you can live a life of luxury and excess.”

When Nat mentioned ‘the night’s special cuts’, the man Jax was guarding stiffened. While Verik ranted in the next room, he turned to look up at Jax. “Please! I was just helpin’ Verik hand out food – I didn’t have nothing to do with the rest of it!” He nodded towards the stairs. “You sees – I was up here! I wasn’t involved in any of the stuff downstairs. You got to believe me – I don’t want to hang!”

Jax had no idea what he was talking about, but he figured they’d sort it out later. Erin tied and gagged his prisoner, while Nat and Shadow did the same for Verik, who was still spouting revolutionary dogma. Shadow had trouble focusing on his task – all his attention was focused on an exquisite silver dagger lying on the table in front of Verik. It had a wavy blade, one side of which was studded with wicked barbs; it looked like it would inflict terrible wounds in anyone stabbed by it. The pommel was shaped like a snarling dragon’s head. Shadow and Nat cast Detect Magic at the same time and the dagger clearly glowed.

Underneath the dagger was the paper Verik had been writing on when he was surprised. It was a partially finished love letter:

My Darling Meliya,

I count the hours until we can be together again, when I can gaze into your dark eyes and press your dusky skin against mine, and together we can build a life in a Free Korvosa!

Your instincts were correct – by feeding the people, we are showing how little the ruling class cares for them, and that only their own kind can be trusted. We are winning their support for our cause and soon we will have enough followers to rise up against the Queen and her lackeys and lead the People in glorious revolution! What a day that will be!

Until then, my nights are filled with the memory of your lips, and my loins quiver with

Shadow pocketed both the dagger and the letter, wishing he’d had a chance to meet this ‘Meliya’ Verik was so enamored with – she sounded like a hottie.

They searched the rest of the upstairs but found nothing, then dragged their prisoners downstairs to join their comrades. Shadow was getting concerned; he’d freely paid the Cow Hammer Boys 50 gold earlier in the day, confident he would quickly get it back, but except for a few coins in the prisoners’ pockets, they’d found no money to speak of; certainly not what you’d expect if they were really running a murder-for-hire business. Jax went back to the wounded guard, who’d seemed the most compliant before, and removed his gag. “Where’s your stash?” he demanded.

But the man had other things he wanted to talk about. “It wasn’t my idea!” he pleaded. “It was him – Parns!” He nodded to the man who’d been skinning the pig. “I thought it was disgusting, but he said we could kill two birds with one stone. I just went along because I didn’t want him to do it to me! Please! You’ve got to believe me!” He was blubbering by now, and Jax thought he wouldn’t get anything useful out of him. He replaced his gag, then went to the one called Parns. “Your turn,” he said, removing his gag. “Where’s the money?” Parns replied by spitting in his face.

“Let me try,” said Shadow with an evil smile. He knelt in front of Parns and held his hand in front of the man’s face. Parns started to hawk up another gob of spit, but long jagged claws suddenly sprouted from the ends of Shadow’s fingers. He dragged them lightly across Parns’ face, and Parns let out a strangled cry. He scooted backwards on his butt, then yelped as he backed into the vat full of boiling water. Trapped, he could do nothing but whimper as Shadow pressed the end of one claw against his eyelid. “Let’s try this again,” Shadow purred. “Where do you keep your money?”

“Under the water trough!” Parns shrieked. “In the cattle pens!”

“Let’s hope you’re telling the truth,” Shadow grunted, and flicked Parns’ cheek with one finger, drawing blood. He and Nat went to check it out. Sure enough, they found a small hole hidden by a pile of dirty straw. Inside were several bags of coins, along with another bag containing assorted pieces of jewelry, many of them bloodstained. Shadow looked around. “This seems like an odd place to keep their take,” he mused. “Why not just store it upstairs, in the office?”

“Unless they didn’t want Verik to know about it,” Nat speculated.

While Shadow and Nat hunted for the missing money, Erin and Wren were checking out the meat locker, making sure nothing else had been missed. Like Nat, Erin thought there seemed to be a lot more meat than she’d have expected. Wren began examining the hanging slabs of meat more closely, then recoiled. “This isn’t meat!” she shuddered. “These were people!” The two women stared at each other in growing horror as the full extent of the Cow Hammer Boys’ crimes became clear. “This is how they were getting rid of their victims?” Erin asked, and Wren nodded. “Then that means … you mean this is what … All those people who were getting free meat?” Erin began to gag, and rushed from the room.

Once they’d satisfied themselves that the slaughterhouse held no more secrets, they loaded their prisoners into the wagon outside in the corral, and began trundling it towards Citadel Volshyenek, stopping to pick up the two they’d left tied in an alley earlier. When the guards at the gate saw their cargo, they immediately let them in and sent them to Cressida Kroft’s office. They found the Field Marshall sleeping on a bedroll on the floor of her office, but she didn’t seem to mind being disturbed.

When they told her they’d captured Verik and most of his men alive, she breathed a sigh of relief. “To be honest, I didn’t think they’d give up that easily – well done!” When she heard what they’d been doing, she too was horrified. “I’ll get a squad of men there to clean out that building before sunup – we don’t want the citizens to realize what they’ve been eating.”

Shadow showed her the letter they’d found. “Did you question Verik? Any idea who this ‘Meliya’ person is?” They shook their heads. “No matter – he’ll get a full interrogation, and we’ll see what he tells us.”

Their mission complete, the group filed out of Kroft’s office, but Nat hung back. “Um … there’s something else I should probably show you.” He stammered. It had taken him some time to build up trust in the authorities, but Cressida Kroft seemed to be on the level. He reached under his robes and pulled out the key-shaped dagger. “We found this,” he said, handing it to her.

Kroft was confused. “Verik had this?”

“No, no, no. We got it from Gaedren Lamm. A while back,” Nat clarified. “It’s just that … well, it looks like it might have been from the Key-Lock Killer. And there’s an inscription: ‘For an inspiration of a father’” Nat pointed it out.

Kroft’s eyebrows went up. “That case was well before my time, but you’re right – this sure looks like what I’ve heard the Key-Lock Killer’s implements looked like. We never had any hint that Lamm might be the Key-Lock Killer, and it certainly doesn’t match his MO. I’ll have to see if I can find any of the old veterans who might have worked that case. I’ll keep this, in case it’s useful for comparison with old evidence. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d intended to sleep for another hour, but since I’m up, I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Nat shuffled out of her office, feeling like none of his questions were getting answered.

An Uneasy Peace

The rioting continued for another week, threatening to destroy the city. Most merchants closed their shops and boarded up their windows, but that did little to deter the looters. The Korvosan Guard kept all members on constant duty, rushing from one flare-up to another, while overhead the Sable Company hippogriffs were a constant presence. Particularly anguished screams usually meant the presence of the Knights of the Nail, dealing out harsh justice in the name of order.

Then, one morning, the gates of Temple of Asmodeus opened, and the full company of the Knights of the Nail rode out, mounted on coal-black chargers, Lictor Severs DiViri at their head. Word spread like lightning through the city, and the entire populace seemed to hold their breath, waiting for the Hellknights’ fury to fall on Korvosa like a hammer.

To everyone’s shock, the Knights rode in an orderly column through the city to High Bridge – and then rode out of the city and out of sight. Rumor holds that they have retreated to their stronghold at Citadel Vraid. Some whisper the Hellknights are planning a full-scale invasion of Korvosa to seize control, but more knowledgeable sources say that dozens of Hellknights either perished or failed to uphold their charges during the recent events, and that Lictor Diviri has recalled his troops to punish the city for these failures.

Regardless of their intent, the Hellknights’ departure seemed to shock the city back to its senses. An uneasy peace descended. Most of the rioting stopped, although any little argument threatened to escalate into a melee. Merchants began to cautiously reopen their shops, and a few brave traders began bringing badly needed supplies across the causeways and into the city.

Verik's Dagger

The party took advantage of the return of commerce to look for ways to spend some of their newfound wealth. The city’s blacksmiths and armorers saw an uptick in business on top of the work they were already doing repairing damage from the riots. Nat and Shadow spent most of their time trying to unlock the secrets of Verik’s silver dagger. It was magical, and their studies quickly revealed that it was a +1 Wounding dagger. But it seemed to have other properties: in addition to Enchantment, it radiated faint auras of Transmutation and Divination magic. Nat spent the better part of two days trying to figure it out, but despite what he thought were flawless efforts, any other powers the dagger might possess eluded him.

The group was still using Zellara’s home as their base of operations and makeshift barracks. One morning there was a knock on the door. They exchanged glances, then Shadow opened the front door. He found a large-eyed woman in a green gown standing on the front step; she seemed surprised to see him. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she apologized. “Is Madame Zellara conducting a reading?”

Shadow wasn’t sure what to say. “Umm … she’s gone.”

“Oh. When will she be back?” The woman asked. Shadow stepped away from the door – someone else needed to handle this.

“No, she’s, um, moved on,” Nat tried. “To a better place.” But that didn’t help. “Where has she gone?” the woman pleaded. “I have to find her!”

Wren stepped forward. “I’m afraid Madame Zellara has passed on to Pharasma’s Boneyard.”

The woman’s confusion slowly began to clear. “You mean she’s … she’s dead?” She burst into tears. “Oh no! That’s horrible! And just when I needed her advice the most.” Wren put her arm around the woman and led her to a seat in one of the chairs.

At last, the woman began to compose herself. “I’m sorry - I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Zeeva Foxglove, and I own the Green Market in South Shore.” All of them were familiar with the Green Market, a large enclosed market that hosted scores of vendors who mostly sold vegetables, fruits, meats, spices, and other foodstuffs, along with cooking gear. “I’m a great believer in the Harrow, and Madame Zellara’s readings have long guided me; I feel I owe much of my success to her.

“My market weathered the recent troubles far better than most, and I felt it was my responsibility to share my good fortune with those who suffered worse. So I’ve been taking carts of produce to Old Korvosa to distribute to the poor there. Yesterday, after I’d finished, a Szarni woman offered me a Harrow reading by way of thanks.

 “The spread foretold good fortune, almost to excess, and I suspected she was not a true seer — that is, until she turned up The Yellow Prophet. Its appearance upset the soothsayer. She said the card required that three more cards be drawn, and she did so hastily, giving me hardly any insight. Her whole demeanor changed; where before she’d been fawning with gratitude, now she was curt and angry. She grabbed her cards and spat at my feet before disappearing into the crowd, even though I was offering to pay for her services.”

Foxglove’s rosy complexion paled. “Even experienced Harrow practitioners have rarely heard of the Yellow Prophet; I know of it only because Zellara spoke of it once. It is a legendary lost card, not one that appears in a standard Harrow deck. Indeed, it has not been part of any Harrow deck since the Age of Darkness, and its appearance is a direct result of intervention by Fate, or the gods. It depicts a fortune-teller, clad in black and yellow, and it signifies false presumptions and self-fulfilling prophecies. When it appears, the practitioner must draw three more cards, and each of those cards portends some imminent disaster.”

She pulled a Harrow deck out of her purse. “Here – let me show you the three cards she drew.” She drew out three cards and laid them on the table: The Betrayal, The Cricket, and The Unicorn. “Last night, Madame Zellara appeared to me in a dream. We were flying above the city of Korvosa, and she had these three cards in her hands. One by one she flung them down into the city, but I couldn’t see where they landed. When I awoke, I felt she was telling me that, rather than any traditional interpretation, these three cards were somehow linked to people or places in Korvosa. I hurried here, hoping she could tell me what they meant. But now …” The tears came again.

She looked at the party in desperation. “Please – I know you’re not Harrow readers, but can you help me? Look at these cards – is there anything you see that I’ve overlooked? Or would you be willing to go to Old Korvosa to try to track down the fortune teller? I didn’t get her name, but she had a gold tooth.”

The group looked at one another – this seemed well beyond their skillsets. But Zeeva seemed so frightened, and so sincere. “Well … I guess we could take a quick look,” Wren offered.

They began to pass the cards around. “You know, our housekeeper, Mrs. Coggs, always called this card ‘Viamio’s Kiss’,” Tomas said, holding up The Betrayal. Zeeva nodded. “Korvosan Harrowers call it that, after Lord Amrys Viamio, the infamous traitor who betrayed the city during the Cousins War.”

Tomas nodded; he knew his Korvosan history. “Viamio was beheaded for his treason, just like the person on this card. The city confiscated all his holdings, but left his manor house in Old Korvosa to stand in ruins, as a reminder to all of the price of treason.”

“Is that the place they call Traitor’s Mews?” Jax asked. “It’s full of homeless people now.”

Wren was looking at The Cricket. “These symbols on the cards? Stars, moons, planets? Those are all symbols of Desna. Too bad there’s no temple of Desna in town. Maybe we should check out her shrine in the Pantheon of Many.”

But Nat had another idea. “Those symbols also are all over the Kendall Amphitheater. I think that might be a better place to start.”

Jax held up The Unicorn. “If we’re looking for Unicorns in Korvosa, the only place that makes sense is The Frisky Unicorn.”

“Sounds like my kind of place!” Shadow grinned. “Is that some sort of brothel?”

Tomas snorted. “Hardly! It’s an upscale bed and breakfast in the Heights. Wealthy or noble foreigners love it, because a family of house drakes nest in the turret, and they go there hoping to catch a glimpse of them.”

Zeeva Foxglove was looking at them in admiration. “I never would have made any of those connections. I think Madame Zellara’s spirit must be inspiring you.”

Wren patted her on the shoulder. “Zellara really was speaking to you in your dream last night. She has spoken to us from beyond the grave, and I think she will continue to guide you – and us.” She turned to the others. “Perhaps we should ask Madame Zellara to conduct another Harrow Reading for us.” She drew Zellara’s Harrow Deck out of her pocket and laid it on the table. “Madame Zellara,” she intoned, raising her face to the ceiling and closing her eyes, “please appear to us and share the wisdom of the spirit world.”

Nothing happened. Wren kept her face raised to the sky, but squinted one eye open to see if anything had appeared. Zeeva looked at Wren with concern – was this kind young girl just another nutjob? Finally Wren opened her eyes and shrugged. “Well … I guess she didn’t feel like talking.”

Zeeva was a little worried. “Um, I can’t really do a Harrow reading, but maybe I could do a Choosing for you? If it would make you feel better?” She hurriedly sorted her own deck into suits. We’ll use the suit of Books, since that’s the suit of the Yellow Prophet. She had each person draw a card, then quickly gathered them back again. “There! I’m sure the spirits will guide you now!” She was edging away from Wren. “I really need to be getting back to the Green Market. You can find me there, to let me know what you learn.” She gave each of them one of her calling cards, imprinted with her name below the logo of the Green Market: the market's name written in green floral script.

When Zeeva left, everyone looked at each other, a little unsure. Had they actually agreed to do something? And if so, what?

“Well, I guess we can check these places out,” Jax said at last. “I think we should start with the farthest one first – Traitor’s Mews in Old Korvosa. Then we can work our way back.”

“No.” Wren said emphatically. “I don’t want to go to anyplace that’s about dead traitors.”

“The Frisky Unicorn sounds like fun,” Shadow offered. He still hadn’t given up on the possibility of loose women.

“The Kendall Amphitheater is closest,” Erin pointed out. “I vote for that.”

The debate continued for some time, but eventually the Kendall Amphitheater won out. They set out across southern Korvosa, making their way down Pillar Wall Boulevard towards the Gatefoot. They soon reached the theater. There had been no performances during the rioting, but the marquee outside showed an upcoming show:

OPENING NEXT WEEK!

A Thrilling and Stirring Production of an All New Play!

The Gambler’s Tragedy

Presented by the incomparable Andoren Chameleons

“I’ve heard of those guys,” Tomas said, pointing to the name of the acting troupe. “They’re famous for their elaborate disguises and makeup.

The theater proper was a huge, open-air amphitheater, but the gates leading down to the seating area were locked. But one of the backstage doors wasn’t. Not waiting for an invitation, the group marched inside.

A short corridor opened out onto the stage-right side of the theater. Onstage, the actors were rehearsing: a pair of actors were engaged in a vigorous rapier fight while others looked on, gasping, encouraging, or crying out as the script demanded. Out front, in the first row of seats, a gnome in a white beret and matching ascot called out directions. “You’re supposed to look angry, not constipated, you idiot! And you! Stop waving that sword around like a limp noodle! You’re supposed to try to stab him, not flog him!”

The group had never seen anything quite like this, and most stood staring open-mouthed. But Wren was not impressed, and marched down the row of seats towards the director; she wasn’t exactly sure what they were here for, but they wouldn’t find out by holding back. She hadn’t made it halfway there before the gnome spotted her. “Closed rehearsal!” he screeched. “Get out of here right now, before I call the Guard!”

His outburst distracted the actors on stage. One of the swordsmen, who had his back to the party, turned to see what was going on. Unfortunately, he turned just as his opponent thrust, and instead of being parried, the thrust sank into his upper arm. He let out a cry of pain, and blood began to gush from the wound.

“This is an utter disaster!” cried the director. “Maximos’s sword arm is the only stageworthy part of the buffoon!”

The actor was already reeling from blood loss; the wound didn’t look all that serious, but from the way blood pulsed from it, it must have sliced an artery. “I can help with that!” Wren called, feeling guilty, and she rushed up the stairs to the stage. She cast Cure Light Wounds, and the bleeding immediately stopped.

The actor bowed to her with a flourish. He had a mane of thick brown hair and a chiseled jaw. “You have earned the eternal gratitude of Flavicomos Maximos!” he declared in a booming baritone. “That, and a front-row seat to our opening night performance. I daresay you will be the envy of all your friends when they learn that you are to be the personal guest of Maximos himself!” He made a great show of kissing Wren’s hand, then flipped his hair back with a well-practiced motion. It took all of Wren’s willpower to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

The director was not as impressed. “You’ve ruined my show! What are you thinking, storming in here like this? I am Maestro Bellowskin, the manager of this company, and I demand to know what you’re doing here!”

They all looked at each other. Just what were they doing here? “Have you like, seen anything, you know, unusual?” Nat fumbled.

“You mean before you burst in here and tried to get my actors killed?” Bellowskin retorted. “No, I haven’t!”

The theater was filled with hubbub. The party members were all trying to figure out just what they were supposed to be looking for or asking about, while Bellowskin was frantically trying to throw them out. The actors were talking excitedly among themselves (except for one, who was about to throw up from the sight of all that blood) while Maximos was flirting shamelessly with Wren. Tomas, standing several rows back from the director, was as confused as anyone else when he felt as much a heard a low scraping sound that seemed to come from the floorboards below his feet. “Everyone – quiet!” he demanded “Did you hear that?” The noise in the theater lessened marginally, but no one else heard anything. Then Shadow and Erin sniffed the air. “I don’t hear anything, but do you smell that?” Shadow asked. A caustic stench filled the theater.

With a crashing of splintering wood, two huge insect-like creatures burst into the theater from below. They were Ankhegs, drawn by the scent of fresh blood and hungry for more. One emerged from beneath the seats, looking for victims. Jax charged, slicing it with his sword. Shadow ducked behind one corner of the stage and blasted it with a Magic Missile. Nat, standing at the front of the stage beside the director, took a few quick steps to his left, angling for the right shot, then unleashed a Color Spray. It caught the thing directly in its several multi-faceted eyes, leaving it blinded and stunned. Jax took advantage of its disability to deliver a punishing blow, but Nat calmly stepped forward and slit the thing’s throat. “Don’t make this harder than you need to,” he said, shaking his head at Jax.

The other ankheg had come up through the stage itself, sending actors scattering in panic. Erin charged up the stairs to the stage, but the thing spat a stream of acid at her before she could reach it. She dodged the worst of it, but still winced as it bubbled and hissed on her skin. She closed the distance with the beast and swung her sword, but it glanced off the thing’s shell. Wren abandoned her would-be suitor and charged, but her mace also rebounded off its chitinous armor.

Tomas was still down on the seating level, and didn’t have a clear shot at the ankheg at the back of the stage, so he dashed up the stairs to the stage, then fired off an arrow that managed to penetrate its defenses. Shadow also clambered up the stairs, then fired off another Magic Missile. Nat hit it with a Daze spell, and it seemed to lose focus. Erin gripped her sword in both hands and brought it down between the huge insect’s mandibles, cleaving its head in two.

Once it was clear that the danger was past, the actors converged on the party, slapping backs and congratulating them on their bravery and skill. Maximos returned to Wren’s side, and in a low voice let her know that he would be willing to show his gratitude personally, and then she would be the one who was grateful.

But their director was not as pleased. “I’m ruined!” he wailed, looking around at the shattered floorboards and acid-burned seats. “Ruined! I’m sure the Amphitheater’s owners will expect me to pay for all this. They warned me to only use wooden swords, but they just didn’t look or sound authentic.”

He whirled on Nat, who happened to be closest. “This is all your fault! Everything was fine until you all showed up! What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Um … We were sent here by a medium,” Nat stammered. “You know – a fortune teller. Who thinks something’s … um … happening?” He still wasn’t quite sure what they should be looking for. Tomas was peering down into the burrow the ankheg had emerged from, which still bubbled with acid – were they going to have to go down there?

At the mention of a ‘fortune teller’, Maximos’ demeanor shifted. “I need to go,” he told Wren abruptly, and started sidling towards the backstage area. Wren could tell something was up, so she followed him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Maximos whirled on her. “Why are you pestering me?” he barked. “We have work to do here, and we need to get on with it. We’re artists, and we have a show to put on!”

Wren knew he was hiding something, and she didn’t have the patience to try to wheedle it out of him. Calling upon Pharasma’s grace, she cast Abadar’s Truthtelling. For an instant, Maximos’ appearance seemed to shift, and a bright light seemed to shine from his face. Then he looked at Wren with an expression of absolute trust. “I’ll tell you everything,” he said earnestly.

The PCs earned 866 XP, putting them at 2,993 XP, with 3,300 required for level 3. It’s probably a good idea to start prepping your 3^rd level characters. We’ll meet again this week at Joette & Rich’s.