A New ... Friend?

“I’m telling you, we need to wait for these suckers to come back and then … pow! We take ‘em off the board.” Shadow was eager to ambush the next pair of Red Mantis assassins who were due to show up in a few hours for their shift lying in wait for Vencarlo Orsini, and Nat was right there with him. “Yeah – I want some payback. I mean, they caught be by surprise last time; I wasn’t looking, and it’s not fair to stab someone in the back when they’re not looking. So I say we wait until they’re not looking and then…”

“When the first two don’t come back, they’re just going to send more reinforcements,” Erin said wearily. “And then when they find the next two dead, they’ll send more reinforcements. Is that what we want to do? Sit here and fight off wave after wave of assassins?” Shadow and Nat looked at each other and then at Erin like, ‘well duh’.

“That is not our prime directive,” Wren said emphatically, and Shadow mouthed a silent ‘oooh’, impressed by her vocabulary. Wren ignored him. “We’re here to find Vencarlo, and hope he leads us to the missing seneschal. We don’t know why the Red Mantis were after Vencarlo, but they’re a distraction. The more time we waste playing around with them, the more likely it is we never find Vencarlo. I say we go to the artist’s house.” Amin Jalento, one of Vencarlo Orsini’s students, thought that a somewhat infamous artist named Salvator Scream might be able to give the group a lead on Vencarlo’s whereabouts.

Their argument was interrupted by a sudden gasp from Jax. “Holy shit! Guys … you might want to take a look at this!” He’d been working on the lock on the iron strongbox they’d found hidden in a secret compartment in Vencarlo’s bedroom. The lock was more complex than anything he’d ever seen before, and he’d almost given up on it. He finally decided to give it one more go. “Zellara,” he’d whispered, “if your spirits can help me with this, I’d really appreciate it.” He’d felt a soft stirring in the air, and when he slipped his lockpicks back into the keyhole he could sense the slightest pressure on them, subtly guiding his work. He closed his eyes and relaxed, giving over control of his fingers to the unseen spirits. Seconds later, he felt an inaudible click, and the latch came free. Expecting a payday, he lifted the lid.

Fitted into the lid of the chest was an exquisite mithril rapier, along with a handful of gorgeous daggers and a stiletto. The rapier and daggers each had a stylized ‘B’ embossed on their pommels. The only other thing in the chest was a black silk bag. As the others gathered around, Nat cast Detect Magic, then whistled softly. “I need to check out that bag,” he said, lifting it out of the box. He reached inside, and his arm disappeared to the shoulder as he rooted around and began pulling out items. A pair of black leather boots, and a gleaming suit of black leather armor. Black gloves, a hooded black cloak, several black masks, and a jeweled amulet. And daggers – lots more daggers, all bearing the signature ‘B’ on their pommels. Their eyes grew wide as the stack of gear at Nat’s feet grew, and they all stared at each other in silence for a moment. “Blackjack!” several of them said at once.

It would appear that Vencarlo Orsini, simple fencing instructor by day, was secretly Korvosa’s legendary hero, Blackjack. How he had managed to fill this role for over a century was something to think about later. Now, Jax hefted the mithril rapier, then did a few practice swings and thrusts, loving the balance of the weapon in his hand. Then he reluctantly put the sword back into its place inside the iron box. Shadow gave him a surprised look. “You’re not going to take it?”

Jax shook his head, but still couldn’t take his eyes off the weapon. “It’s Vencarlo’s. He’s going to want it back when we find him, and I don’t want to make him mad.” Jax had grown up on stories of Blackjack’s exploits, and didn’t want to do anything to anger his childhood hero.

“So give it to him then,” Shadow said with a shrug. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you used it in the meantime, especially if it’s while you’re trying to rescue him. It’s not like you’re likely to break it or something.” Jax stared at the blade in silence, debating with himself. Then, with trembling hands, he took the sword back out of the box and strapped it to his hip. When he turned away, there was a new bounce to his step and an eager gleam in his eye. “Let’s go find that artist!” he exclaimed.

There were still a couple of hours till dawn, and the group slipped through the deserted streets in silence. They saw no one, and (they hoped) no one saw them. The address Amin had given them for Salvator Scream was on Wave Street, the street that abutted The Narrows separating Endrin Isle from Korvosa proper. The house itself was little more than a shanty, a decrepit building not far from the foot of one of the now-ruined bridges to the mainland. A sinkhole had appeared next to the building, collapsing the house next door along with a section of the boardwalk that fronted the river, filling the muddy pit with a tangle of jagged timbers and flotsam.

The house was dark, its windows tightly shuttered. There was a door at the corner of the house as the party approached, but a wooden walk continued along the side of the house and around the back, where it fronted the water. As Tomas listened at the door, Nat cast is requisite Detect Magic and Erin Detect Evil. Both got hits, but Tomas didn’t. Not to be outdone, others began casting protective spells. “I’m going to see if there’s a back door, in case someone tries to sneak out that way,” Jax whispered, and crept down the walkway and peeked around the corner. Sure enough, there was another entrance there.

He turned to signal the others, but before he could do anything, something wet and heavy suddenly slammed into him. It was a tentacle, and it belonged to an enormous otyugh that rose up out of the muddy water of the sinkhole. It wrapped around him, squeezing with bone-crushing force as it began to drag him back towards the creature’s gaping maw. Tomas, already at the ready, sank an arrow into it, while Erin ran to Jax’s side, slashing at the thing with her longsword. Jax managed to wriggle free, then scrambled back out of reach, by the shack’s back door.

Nat fired off a Magic Missile from his wand as Shadow rushed forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Erin. Teetering on the edge of the sinkhole, he reached out and grabbed the tentacle, then delivered a Shocking Grasp. The huge creature convulsed, then began to sink back into the water.

Shadow turned to give Erin a high five, but saw the look of terror in her eyes as she looked back over his shoulder. With a cracking of broken timbers, another otyugh rose up out of the muck. One tentacle slapped at Erin and the other at Shadow. Erin dodged out of the way, and fortunately, Shadow had cast Displacement on himself before this whole mess started, so the beast badly misjudged his position. But it wasn’t alone. A wave of floating timbers was moving their direction, and from under it a third otyugh emerged. It too struck at Shadow, and the waving tentacle had no trouble wrapping itself around him. Shadow suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

Everyone scrambled into frantic action. Tomas filled the air with arrows, while Wren conjured a Spiritual Weapon that hammered the one holding Shadow. Erin slashed at the one nearest her, while Jax blasted it with a Scorching Ray. Nat pulled a new spell out of his bag of tricks, and called upon the elemental forces of the universe to create an Elemental Wall of fire that cut across both the otyughs. Their skin blistered, the water bubbled and hissed, and the otyugh holding Shadow let out a fading bellow and began to sink beneath the surface. As it sank, it began pulling the trapped sorcerer along with it. He dug his heels into the crumbling edge of the sinkhole, and Erin grabbed one of his hands. The dying otyugh’s grip loosened just enough for Shadow to slip out of the tentacle’s grasp just before he fell into the boiling water. With a snarl, he turned his fury on the one remaining creature, frying it with another Shocking Grasp. Everyone had to dodge the broken bits of wood it sent flying in its death throes.

As the dying otyugh was still thrashing in the water, the door behind Jax flew open and a woman ran out. “Woo Hoo!!!” she cried joyfully, her arms raised to cast a spell. But when she saw the dead otyughs floating in the muddy water, her smile briefly disappeared. “Ah crap! You killed them all before I could have any fun.” Then her face lit up again and she turned back to Jax. “Hi! My name’s Laori – what’s yours?”

Jax was so startled all he could do was answer. “Uhhh, Jax?” The woman turned to Shadow. She was a gorgeous elf with jet black hair and bright blue eyes. She was wearing black leather armor that was covered with wicked metal barbs; it looked like it would be extremely uncomfortable, and hell on furniture. The skin-tight leather left very little to the imagination, but Shadow still managed to imagine quite a few things. He gave her his most charming smile. “I’m Shadow,” he said, his voice half an octave deeper than normal. Laori’s smile widened. “Ooo – you’re a cute one!”

The others were coming down the walkway to see who Shadow was talking to. When the elf spotted them, she waved enthusiastically. “Hi! Are you guys looking for the artist too?” They were too taken aback to answer – they just stared open-mouthed, so Shadow picked up the slack. “Why yes,” he answered. “What a coincidence.”

Laori moved closer to Shadow; only the spikes on her armor kept him from getting even closer. “Cool! Why are you guys looking for him?”

Shadow thought fast; he didn’t want to give away too much to someone they’d just met, no matter how sexy she might be. “Oh, we just wanted to talk to him. Maybe offer him a commission.”

Laori’s smile got even brighter, and Shadow wouldn’t have thought that was possible. “Oh wow! You like his type of art?” she asked with enthusiasm.

Shadow remembered what Tomas had told him of Salvator Scream’s stomach-churning artwork. “Well … it’s an acquired taste.”

The elf laughed, and Shadow felt a little weak in the knees. “I’ll bet it is!” she giggled. She faced the rest of the group. “Why don’t we go inside where it doesn’t smell so bad, and we can talk in there?” The usual fishy smell of the Narrows was now colored by the stench of scorched otyugh, so everyone readily agreed. She led them into a cramped room that looked like it might have been the artist’s studio. A cabinet along the south wall still held several paintbrushes and cracked paint pots. The air inside was strangely fresh and scented, no doubt because of the six large candles that burned within. Each candle had been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of these impromptu and grisly candleholders had been arrayed in a gentle arc on a desk along one wall. A chair sat before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls lay inside the arc of skulls.

“So why don’t you tell us why you’re looking for the artist,” Erin said, eyeing the skulls suspiciously.

The elf looked a bit embarrassed. “Well … it’s kind of a long story. Like I said, my name’s Laori Vaus, and I’m from Nidal. We’d heard that a murderer we were looking for – a woman calling herself Lady Andaisin – might be here in Korvosa, so my bosses sent me to scout it out, see if I could find her. Fortunately (unfortunately for her, I guess) somebody else found her first, but I stuck around to take some … personal time.”

Nat interrupted her story. “Yeah – we can confirm that Lady Andaisin has been … taken care of.” Laori nodded, then her eyes grew wide as she caught Nat’s meaning. “That was you guys? Cool!!! You saved us a lot of work!” Erin gave Nat a hard jab in the ribs as she brought Laori back to her story. “You were telling us about why you want to find the artist.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, see, I’ve got sort of a hobby looking for people who have fallen under what you might call ‘dark influences’ – people who suddenly go crazy, or start doing really weird shit. Sometimes, they’ve actually been touched by Zon Kuthon, but lots of times, they’re just nuts. Well when I started digging around here in Korvosa, I started coming across all sorts of stories of people like this, so I decided to stick around and see what I could learn. I managed to dig up (get it?)” she points at the skulls “a few of them and I’ve been talking with them to see what they could tell me.” She saw the party’s surprised looks. “What? You thought I was some kind of wierdo, just having a bunch of skulls around?”

She stood beside the skulls. “All these people had a couple of things in common. First, they were all really artistic.” She touched each skull in turn. “This guy was a poet, this one was a writer, she was a sculptor, this guy was a toymaker, he was a tattoo artist, and this one was a painter. And at some point, their careers suddenly took a left turn, and they started making art that was really violent, bloody, and just gross.” She says this like it’s a good thing. “Unfortunately, as you can see, they’re all dead. Most of them killed themselves. This guy,” she picks up the toymaker’s skull, “was actually killed by vampires, if you can believe it! And this poor boy,” she caresses the last skull, the painter’s, “was murdered by drug dealers.”

Tomas heard a roaring in his ears, and he had to lean against the wall to keep from collapsing. Jarent! What she was describing was exactly what had happened to his brother – the horrible artwork, the violent death. He stared at the last skull, fighting back tears. Was that Jarent? Did she have his brother? Had she been talking to him? Part of him wanted to grab her, demand that she explain herself, demand that she let him talk to Jarent, let him apologize to him. But another part didn’t want to know, didn’t want to dredge up that pain again. He bit his tongue, and tried not to scream.

No one else noticed his anguish. Laori was continuing her story. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to find out as much as I can about these folks’ muse, but it’s been like pulling teeth (not that I’d pull their teeth out – that wouldn’t help). You probably don’t realize it, but it’s really hard to learn very much from Speak With Dead spells. That’s why I wanted to find Salvator Scream. From everything I’ve heard, he’s a lot like these people – an artist who’s consumed with scenes of violence, torture, and murder. But the good news is, he’s still alive! If I could talk to him for just ten minutes, it would make this whole trip worthwhile.

“I think I know where he’s at, but I haven’t been able to figure out a way to get in to see him by myself. If you guys would let me tag along with you, I’d help you out if things get hairy, just so long as you let me talk to Salvator when we find him. And I’ve found something else that you might be interested in.”

That piqued Wren’s interest. “What have you got?” But Laori just batted her eyes coquettishly. “Oh no. I’m going to play hard to get, cutie pie. I won’t put out unless you agree to take me along.” Wren blushed, and gave the elf a sour look, which drew nothing but a laugh.

Tomas had stalked off to explore the rest of the house – anything to get away from the skull that might or might not belong to his brother. The front of the house was a living room and bedroom. Both floors were covered with muddy footprints, and there was a splash of dried blood on the bed’s pillow. “Looks like at least half a dozen people,” Tomas said, kneeling to examine the tracks. “And it looks like they dragged someone out with them.” He spotted splashes of blood among the tracks. “Someone who was bleeding.”

Laori nodded. “Yep, that’s what I thought, too. I’ve asked around the neighborhood, and the only people who might have done something like that are the goons who work for this so-called Emperor of Old Korvosa. I figure he’s got Salvator now. His headquarters is his ‘palace’ – an old warehouse somewhere in the Bridgefront  neighborhood. I’m sure it’s heavily guarded, and it wouldn’t be safe for a little girl like me to go there by herself.” This drew snorts from Erin and Jax. “But if you guys went with me, I’m sure it would be fine.” She batted her eyes again.

The others readily agreed (to Shadow’s delight), and Laori clapped her hands. “Yay! This is going to be fun!” Then she turned to Wren. “And just like I promised, here’s something else I found.” She reached into a pack by the desk and pulled out a bloodstained scrap of cloth. It looked like part of a sleeve that had been ripped off of a tunic. The original fabric had been scarlet, and there was an emblem of some sort embroidered on the shoulder. “When I first got here, I found this in the bedroom, stuffed down between the wall and the mattress. It looks like part of a uniform to me.”

They handed the cloth to Tomas, who had a lot more knowledge of government uniforms than any of the rest of them. He held the cloth up to the light and examined the emblem, then his jaw dropped. “This is the insignia of the Seneschal of Castle Korvosa!” he said. “Neolandus Kalepopolis was here!”

Encouraged they were on the right track, the group set out in search of the Emperor of Old Korvosa. The sun had risen by now, and at first, the group saw some signs of life; women doing washing outside their homes, the sounds of laughing children from the next street over. But the farther east they went, the fewer people they saw. Windows were tightly shuttered, or boarded up altogether. Where there were curtains, they’d see them pulled aside a bit as someone peered out, then quickly dropped back into place as they drew abreast. More and more buildings were burned out hulks, or had doors that had been smashed in with no sign of life inside.

They soon found themselves in the heart of Old Korvosa, a maze of run-down buildings and crooked, narrow alleys. In one street, a pack of feral dogs eyed them warily; in another, brutalized bodies hung on display from the lampposts. They paused at an intersection to try to get their bearings. “I think Eel’s End is over that way,” Nat said, pointing hesitantly. “Or maybe over there. Where is this place?” Laori shrugged. “You’re the ones who live here.”

The truth was that ‘a warehouse in Bridgefront’ didn’t narrow things down very much. A new debate started over which way to go next; Jax thought it was probably near the water; Erin thought not; Wren wanted to start a door-to-door search. Nat struggled to think of something Salvator might have with him that could be the subject of a Locate Object spell.

Tomas had no patience for this bullshit. Still reeling from the discovery that this elf-chick might have been talking to his brother’s skull, Tomas just wanted to get away. Leaving the others arguing behind him, he set off in a random direction - if he found something, great; if not, at least he wouldn’t have to listen to their yammering. His head was down, his thoughts consumed with memories of his brother’s death, and he practically walked right into the welcoming committee coming the other direction.

“Well, well, well – wot the ‘ell diya think yer doin’ in the Empr’s territ’ry?” came a gruff challenge. Looking up, Tomas saw six to eight rough looking men headed straight for him. They were dressed in mismatched bits of armor, and carried axes; some were true battleaxes, but others looked like re-purposed woodsmen’s axes. Tomas immediately began backpedaling, and the thugs picked up their pace. “’old it right there, boy!” their leader demanded. “We’s gonna have to take youse to see the Empr’!”

Tomas put two fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle as he backed through a narrow corridor where three alleys met. His comrades looked from their geography argument and saw him backing their way, drawing an arrow from his quiver, then saw the lead thug turn the corner, quickly closing the distance.

Shadow was closest, and he wanted to avoid a confrontation; if they needed to find the Emperor’s Palace, these folks could certainly lead them to it. The problem was, they looked like they might need some persuading to be helpful. Normally, Shadow would just crank up the charm, but these guys didn’t look like the type who would respond to a winning smile, so Shadow elected to go with Plan B. He strode confidently past Tomas, and as he reached the lead thug, he held up his hands, which now sprouted three-inch claws. “We just want to have a little chat with the Emperor,” he said menacingly, “and I think you’re going to lead us to him.”

The thug went pale, but if Shadow thought he was going to scare him into compliance, he was wrong. Without saying a word, he swung his battleaxe at Shadow, catching the sorcerer off-guard and sending a spray of blood against the nearest wall. His mates, seeing him swing, rushed to the attack without question; one hit Tomas while two more surrounded Shadow, drawing more blood.

Shadow realized that he’d made a serious error. He now had four very large men swinging axes in his general direction and that was not a good tactical position. Taking a step back, Shadow cast a Web that covered the narrow alley with sticky strands. He himself was caught in his own web, but so were most of the thugs who were trying to kill him. Tomas wasn’t caught, but the webbing was so thick he knew he couldn’t shoot through it. Erin stepped up behind Tomas and stabbed at the thug who was at the edge of the web, while Jax came running up from behind, hoping to defuse the situation. “Stop your fighting!” he urged. “We just want to talk!” His words seemed to make things worse. One of the thugs in the back, who hadn’t been caught in the web, gave a bellow of rage and tried to charge, only to immediately become entangled. One of his fellows began trying to cut him free, while the last in line reversed direction and went running off out of sight around a corner.

Nat saw the clustered, immobile enemies, and gave an evil chuckle. “Fire in the hole,” he said so softly that no one else could hear him, then unleashed a Fireball that was centered on Shadow! As the flames exploded around him, Shadow clenched his eyes shut and instinctively covered his groin, expecting to be immolated. But the flames formed a bubble of cool air around him, and when they cleared, he found himself unsinged, and saw Nat give his newly-purchased Selective Spell Metamagic Rod a quick twirl.

The Emperor’s thugs were not so lucky. All but one of them were dead amid the smoking remnants of Shadow’s Web. The lone survivor was badly burned, rolling on the ground whimpering in pain. Shadow strode forward and stood over him. “As I was saying, we’d just like to have a talk with the Emperor. Will you take us to him?”

The man rolled to his knees, and dropped his head to the ground. “He’d chop my head off! But please don’t kill me! And please, for the love of gods, do you have anything for these burns? They hurt so bad!”

Wren was already starting to dole out healing, and she gave the thug a shot from the Wand of Cure Light Wounds. But before they could continue persuading the thug that his only chance of survival lay in helping them, they heard war cries from another alley. The thug who had run off had apparently called for reinforcements, and now four more were charging up the narrow alley. Tomas feathered the one in the lead with arrows, but Shadow just stepped to the mouth of the alley, shaking his head. “Seriously?” he muttered, then blasted a Lightning Bolt through the column of attackers. They continued stumbling forward, at least until Nat conjured another Elemental Wall in the alleyway. This one was made of acid, and it dissolved all but one of the thugs, who turned and limped away as fast as he could.

“Let’s go!” Jax said impatiently, but just then another gaggle of thugs came roaring around the corner behind them. They’d apparently planned to catch the party in a pincer move with their friends from the alley, but they’d arrived at the party just a tad too late. Tomas once again feathered the leader, then Nat blocked their path with another Elemental Wall of acid. As they screamed in pain, a column of fire and (un)holy light shot down from the heavens. “Yee Haw!” they heard Laori chortle from behind them. They’d made her promise to behave herself on the way over here, and had all but forgotten her in the chaos of battle up till now. Tomas couldn’t see through Nat’s wall of acid, but he took aim at where he remembered seeing a thug and sent a series of arrows flying through the acid. They heard three wet thunks, followed by a death rattle. The last thing they heard was the sound of running feet.

As Nat dispelled his wall and Wren completed her healing, Shadow turned back to their captive thug. “So … about those directions.”

Being a life-long survivor, the thug led them through the maze of slums. As they walked, they became aware that they were attracting an entrouage: dozens of the Emperor’s thugs emerged in small groups from alleyways and abandoned buildings, following at a respectful distance (apparently word had spread quickly that this was not a group to be bullied).

At last they reached the ‘Palace’, an abandoned warehouse. Their guide pointed to the open door of a vacant house. “Youse go in there, then upstairs ‘n across ta the Palace.” They could see rope bridges connecting this house to another, then on up into an area atop the warehouse covered by a brightly colored tarp. Erin took the lead. The first house had been gutted; they climbed the stairs to the second floor, where a hole had been knocked in the wall to provide access to the rope bridge. She crossed the bridge had found herself in what had once been the attic of the second house. Across from her, the second rope bridge climbed steeply up to the roof of the warehouse.

Unlike the first house, this one was not empty. Four burly thugs stood guard in here. “We’re here for an audience with the Emperor,” Erin said confidently.

One of the thugs nodded. “That’s what we ‘eard. The Emperor will see you, but you ‘ave to leave your weapons here.”

“Let’s see,” Erin said, as if thinking about it. “No.” She began to cross the room to the other bridge.

The leader stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “I said, you have to leave your weapons here.”

“And I said no.”

The thug leaned down; he towered a full head and shoulders above Erin and outweighed her by a good eighty pounds. He put his face in front of hers and glared at her, his onion breath in her face. Erin glared back, not blinking, as her friends stood silently behind her. They stood like that for a full minute, neither giving an inch. Then with a quiet Hmmppf, the thug stood up and took one step to the side. The path was clear.

The PCs earned 6,400 XP, putting them at 42,543, with 50,000 required for Level 9.