The Kingdom Mine - Let's Play Betrayal at Krondor!

The door was unlocked. James entered the small house and looked around. "Odd..." he murmured, noticing a few items which seemed a bit more expensive than a farmer might be expected to own. Alerted by the incongruity, something told him to investigate the farmer's belongings further...




James slipped from the home and towards the barn, motioning Owyn and Gorath to follow him as he pushes the small inset door open and slipped inside.




"All right," James growled as they left. "Let's have another talk with Feeber..."

The farmer was still in his field. Looking up at them suspiciously, he pushed the sweat drenched hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand and waited, his eyes narrowed as they drew closer. He didn't seem pleased to have guests.

"So Max, do you often make it a habit to go digging in graveyards?" James asked, stepping in close to Feeber and glaring.

Feeber blinked hard, taking a half-step back and trying to bluster. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," James said, lifting the ragged piece of stinking cloth, "that the three of us found this and we think you have something to do with all this evil that is going on around here. You've been desecrating graves haven't you?"

"You broke into my house!" Max spluttered, reddening quickly. "I'll tell the constable for this!"

"If he were still living in town I might feel threatened," James said, smiling with much less wamrth this time, "but I rather imagine you've already managed to scare him off. Now talk, or I'm going to have a cozy little chat with a friend of mine named Nivek - Prince Arutha's tax collector - nice fellow. I think the two of you will get along marvelously..."

Max paled, lifting both his hands and waving them furiously. "One grave! One grave only, I dug up. I don't remember the fellow's name now, but he used to own the Six Toe Tavern before Nia took over the shop. I thought that maybe I could scare her into moving out and selling to me but she's too darn stubborn."

The squire stepped in fast, grabbing the farmer by his collar. "What did you do with the corpse?"

"No corpse about him!" Max sputtered. "He was down to his skeleton. I tried to rebury him but I never found one of his hands. It's bound to be near the graveyard. I think I may have dropped it when I was near old Hershel's house."

"What else?" James hissed, shaking the farmer hard enough that his teeth clacked loudly.

"That's it! That's all I know!" Feeber protested, flailing at James' grip. "Honest. Dug him up and then I reburied him..."

James considered the farmer for another moment, then let him go with a hard backward shove that dumped Feeber on his ass in the corn. "We'll need to find that hand then and bury it. No thanks to you. Good bye sir and I would advise that you stay away from the Six Toe Tavern from now on. I doubt you will be warmly greeted."

"Where to now, then?" Owyn asked, frowning. "Hershel said he'd seen someone poking around behind his house. Looking for the hand?"

"We were back there already, and I didn't see any sign of a skeletal hand. Besides, if it was there for any length of time scavengers would've scattered the bones to the four winds and we'll never find them. No..." James murmured, drumming fingertips against his jaw before his head snapped up sharply. "That innkeep in Malac's Cross...the old woman...they mentioned a rogue who looked like me and was travelling in this area...damnation, where did they say he'd be hiding...?"

"Darkmoor," Gorath murmured, "And he would respond if we claimed that Ivan Skaald sent us."

The Squire sighed. "Well then," he muttered, "off to Darkmoor then. We'll use the temples to cut time off our trip. Let's go."



The return to Darkmoor was uneventful, and they made good time, finding the community barn near mid-day. The barn door was closed tight, and James walked up and rapped sharply. "You in there, we wish to speak with you. Ivan Skaald sent us!"

There were rumblings from inside the barn, and after a few moments the door began to swing slowly open.

Ch.1 Introduction, Part 2




"What do you mean?" The young man asked, offering a smile that was almost convincing and reminded Owyn eerily of the squire's own. "I don't..."

"Stop the idiot act, Lysle," James cut him off, sighing. "I know you have something to do with the Mockers in Krondor. A few months ago, I was abducted by a band of cutthroats dressed as Nighthawks while I was investigating a rumor in the sewers. At the time I thought they had abducted me because I was close to Arutha, but that wasn't the case at all, was it?"

Lysle's smile disappeared and he nodded slowly. "That must mean things have gotten even worse than the Upright Man imagined. When he sent word for me in Kesh..."

"Excuse me..." James said, raising an eyebrow, "but did you say Kesh, as in the Great Empire Of?"

Lysle snorted. "You of all people should know that the Upright Man has contacts everywhere, including under the Empress' nose. He couldn't very well operate the single most powerful guild in Midkemia without them. But as I was saying - he sent for me in Kesh and asked for me to take a boat into Silden and check on a group of thieves who operated there. I can't really say more, but I confirmed the Upright Man's suspicions. If you should get to Krondor before I do, tell one of the thieves - a boy named Limm - that I think the Upright Man's right, though I am quite positive now that the Crawler is not Jocko Radburn. He should give you a reward for the information."

"If there is something in the offing that threatens the Prince..." James said, his frown matching the other man's almost exactly.

"Don't worry your head," Lysle said, smiling wryly. "The Nighthawks in Krondor were likely sent into Krondor to kill the Upright Man after I fumbled up matters investigating in Silden, not go after Arutha. This Crawler fellow that's running the new thieves' guild is determined to expand his empire, but he's been busy infiltrating other guilds. He's the shadow prince behind half a dozen, most notably the new Guild of the Romney. He's also training his men in magic..."

James blinked, hard. "A whole band of thieves trained as magicians?" he asked, both eyebrows going up this time. "I don't like the sound of it at all."

"Neither do I, though for much different reasons," Lysle agreed. "I'm still working on finding out who's training them. Last trail I followed, I heard word that someone in Lyton wished to buy glory hands - magic artifacts I had heard something about. I found this skeletal hand near Sethanon and I sold it to a fellow in Lyton named Glover. I figured if they were magicians, they'd spot the substitution and perhaps I would have a lead..."

"...But they bought it from you and killed your lead," James finished. "How did you find the skeletal hand?"

Lysle looked pained, and was silent for some time before answering. "You'll probably find this a bit distasteful, but...I was going to dig up somebody from the Sethanon graveyard and just borrow a hand. Since that part of the world has been deserted for quite some time, I thought it would be my best bet to find what I needed without getting caught."

He shrugged. "Fortunately, some old ghoul saved me the trouble. I have no idea what this fellow was up to with the corpse, but he was dragging it through this field like he was headed to the graveyard. At one point he apparently got tired or thirsty and left the body for a bit and I went over to liberate this dead man of his hand, but before I could finish, the old man came back. Since I nearly had the hand off, I came back the next day to see if it had wiggled loose in the transport..."

"...And so you found it and sold it to Glover in Lyton," James said, nodding in satisfaction as the story completed the picture he had already half-assembled.

Lysle nodded. "Just so, but my troubles didn't end there. There were a few men in Lyton who recognized me, apparently men working for the Crawler. Seems that he's issued a death token on my head after I was spotted in Silden. So, since then, I've been lying low."

"Understandable..." James said after another long silence. When he spoke again, he was more tentative. "Someday, if we should meet again, I would like to talk to you some more. Find out more about where you came from."

"You mean, find out if we're brothers?" Lysle asked, shrugging. "It's not likely. I was born in Tulan and only came to Krondor about three years ago when the Upright Man sent for me. I was never sure why he sent for me, but apparently he had heard of me. But, he is odd that way. I doubt I'll ever understand the way his mind works."

James smiled. "That makes two of us. Thank you for this talk at least, Lysle. You've been quite a help to us and it's been interesting seeing how others see me. I hope we can meet again."

((As you can see, even this game isn't immune to the "You must do X as quickly as possible! Oh, you want to spend five months doing sidequests? No problem!" syndrome. It's a fine tightwalk in RPGs but that's a design discussion for another thread. At least the temple system gives me a storyline way of doing it without straining the timeline TOO badly.))

"We're going back to Krondor," James said as they left the barn. "The Upright Man needs this information,"

"What?" Owyn said, turning to grip James' sleeve and tug the squire to a halt. "Hold on, you said we had a month to get to Romney. It's been almost two weeks and now you want us to go all the way back to -Krondor-?"

"We can use the temples again. Ruthia to Sung, then Sung to the chapel of Astalon at the palace. It'll also let us take a trip to visit Brother Marc at Sarth. I want to talk to him about a few things, such as the Final Rest spell the priestess of Lims-Kragma discussed, and that Abbar gambit Skaald mentioned. We could still use the funds, and with the temples this should only take us two or three days."

Owyn fell silent at the prospect of a new spell, but Gorath seemed unhappy, his face grim as they returned to Ruthia's temple and once again traversed the Mandala network, appearing at the temple of Sung between Sarth and Krondor.




Elvandar

Brother Marc hove into view. Still wielding a hoe in his hammy fists, he gestured to James with it.

"Discovered!" The monk exclaimed, grinning as he set his tool down and leaned on the handle. "I fear you will think me a farmer that only masquerades at being a monk rather than the other way around. How are you?"

Owyn made to reply, but James stepped forward and offered the brother an easy smile. "Once my young squire Owyn here forgets that he has feet, I believe we shall be well enough."

Brother Marc chuckled. "If he has aches at his age then imagine what complaints he shall have at mine! He shall have to be carried everywhere he goes!

"He practices to be the Emperor of Kesh, no doubt," The squire replied, and smiled when Owyn flushed.

"So what question will you now pose of Sarth, traveling friends?" the monk asked, raising an eyebrow at the companions.





The monk nodded at once. "No self-respecting Keshian library would be without one and as the Abbey was founded by Keshian wanderers..." he said.

"...it stands to reason you have something," James finished, nodding back. "Wonderful. If you could dig something up for us, I would be very happy to pay a finders' fee for anything you can find on chess moves."

Marc nodded again, running fingers through his tonsured hair. "It's a fairly special request so I may have spend a while digging and I do have another project I need to handle this evening. Would you be willing to pay a hundred sovereigns?"

James considered. "Hmm, well...I think in this case it might be worth the expense," he finally said.

"I will see to it your money is well spent," Marc promised. "If you will wait here, I will return as soon as I have found something of interest..."

James held up a hand to stop the monk. "Before you go, would you have anything up in the Abbey about the Guild of Death? As I recall from when I visited your abbey years ago, your collection of books was quite extensive. I wanted to find out how it is that some of them become Black Slayers."

"No need to search the vaults," Marc said, his smile fading slightly. "Many of them worship Kahooli, who, occasionally, will grant them a near-deathless state in exchange for total dedication to the god of revenge. It took us a long while to learn the spells that keep a Nighthawk from rising from death."

"So there is a spell?" James asked, noting Owyn's sudden focus on the conversation. "We had thought you had to hack the body up and burn it to bits."

"An unpleasant solution, and time consuming," Marc replied with a little shudder. "After the Great Rising was over and the moredhel went home, we were able to work with the priests of Lims-Kragma to create a spell to keep a Nighthawk from becoming a Black Slayer or to keep a Black Slayer down once he was slain. If you would like, I can probably dig the spell up in the Vaults. Are you interested? There will be a hundred sovereign fee."

"I think it would be a wise investment," Owyn said before James could answer, but the squire made no protest.

"Very well then," brother marc said, clapping his hands together. "I'll be back as soon as I can with what you asked me for."

The priest returned several hours later, waddling down the hillside with a beribboned parchment stuffed beneath one of his arms. Collecting the money owed him from James, he cheerfully handed over the scroll who in turn handed it to Owyn. "There you are," he said, smiling. "That should come in handy if you ever do run into one of those dreadful creatures."

"So, what did you discover about chess moves?" James asked, his mood improving with Brother Marc's reappearance. "Anything we can use?"

Marc frowned and burrowed in the folds of his robe. "I found that there appears to be no difference between lin-lan, pashawa, cock-fighting, daerts, pokiir, King's Mountain, dice, shomshone, Four-Hands Down, and chess as far as our cataloging system is concerned. They are all still considered just games at this point."

James shrugged. "Oh well, nice try. I just wish we hadn't wasted our time."

Brother Marc pulled a scroll out of his left sleeve and laid it in James's lap. "It was no waste of time. You haven't seen this particular scroll," the monk said with satisfaction.

"Pardon?" James blinked at the parchment, then at the priest. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that the scroll in your lap is known as the Saaha Bela'hi, the Victor's Soul," the monk said, glancing almost furtively back up the mountainside. "It is perhaps the rarest and most valuable writing on the subject of chess ever put to paper. Unfortunately, it is also exceedingly rare. I get chills just thinking what we had to do to get it. This is our only translation available and it was the only work I could find with reference to Abbar's Turn. Read it and quickly, before Brother Anthony finds I've taken it."

James smiled and unrolled the scroll, studying all the details of the move carefully. Once he had absorbed the material, he produced the gold he owed Brother Marc and handed both it and the scroll over.

"I promise I won't forget your efforts, brother," the squire said, smiling.

The priest nodded, then snatched up the scroll and coin. "Let's just hope Brother Anthony can," he muttered.

"Well, it seems we at least have a few things to think about," James said, reshouldering his pack and gesturing for the others to do likewise. "Thank you, Brother Marc."

"Always a pleasure to help," the monk replied with a smile as he took up his hoe. "Come back and visit me again."

"Perhaps we will. Goodbye!" James said, turning back towards the road south.

Krondor



Their return to Krondor was extremely swift, and in less than a day they stood once more at the door to the sewers.

"Why are you so intent on getting this information to the Upright Man?" Owyn asked James as the heavy door swung open. "He's a criminal, and you work for the government of this city and for the Prince now, don't you?"

"Yes, but..." James started to say and then trailed off, finally shrugging.

Under the City

"It's hard to explain, but I owe the Mockers," he said as they made their way down the winding and slime-slick stairs. "They took me in, kept me from becoming another beggar or worse, gave me an education and training. If not for them I'd not have ended up with Arutha, and they may be crooks but they're...well...honest crooks. The Upright man knows that too much violence and trouble in the city's good for business, and in his own way he cares as much about public order as the Prince does. From what little we've seen I doubt the Crawler shares his concerns."

Owyn considered that quietly as they made their way back down into the darkness of the sewers. It wasn't long before they found who they were looking for. Once again Limm was guarding the first intersection, appearing out of the darkness to stop them and then relaxing when he recognized them.

Ch.1 Intro, Part 2

"Hello there, Seigneur," the boy said, grinning. "The Highway is yours, for the time being anyway. Keep a watch out though for the Crawler's men."




"He said something about a reward," James said, raising an eyebrow.

The boy shrugged. "I'll give you the seal he asked for," he offered, "course if you ask me, it's a piddling price for it. Me, myself, I don't think I would've asked for anything less than a shiner, and a good quality one at that."

James took another of the forged Glazer seals and nodded. "We need to be moving on now, Limm. Thanks once again for your help."

The boy laughed. "If you were truly grateful, you'd tell me how to get into that palace of Arutha's so as I could get me a few shiny bits."

James smiled, but his voice was level when he replied. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that and we'll call it even. Take care of yourself, Limm."

Malac's Cross



From Astalon's shrine it was a quick trip back to Malac's Cross, and James grinned as he entered the Queen's Row once more, producing one of the emeralds from the chest near Highcastle. "Now then," he murmured, "let's see about that game."

The squire gestured to Ivan, and the young innkeeper soon hurried over, canting his head slightly to look James over. "Well, what brings you back to the Queen's Row?" he asked.




James bounced the emerald on his palm and smiled. "I've got the gem. Let's play," he said, raising an eyebrow and following Ivan to one of the free tables. The game began...

...The barkeep was oblivious. While pounding James's leftward defensive positions, Ivan hadn't noticed the seigneur's subtle adjustments to his rightward formation of a pawn, a priest and his queen.

Ivan grinned as he tossed a pawn from the board. "Seems I'm inside your line. Ready to surrender yet?"

"Not exactly," James replied, sliding his hunter piece to the opposite side of the board. "Have you ever heard of Abbar's Turn?"

Abruptly the barkeep's face went pale as he studied the pieces. "You couldn't. You did." For the next three moves he made feeble attempts to regain the strength of his position but at last gave it up as vain hope. "I surrender," he sighed, producing a large and flawless emerald he handed over to James. "A good game, and I'll know better next time," he said.

"I'm sure you will," James replied, grinning as he pocketed both gems, "but we need to be getting on the road. Take care, Ivan, and thanks for the game."

Malac's Cross



As they left, James surprised Owyn by turning right and heading back towards the Abbaye Ishap.

"Why are we heading back there?" the young mage asked, frowning. "We're nearly back to where we started and all this hopping about is going to train our funds fast."

"I know," James said, "but first I think we should get our equipment blessed. We've the funds now, and it might just give us the edge we need to do what we need to do."

They returned to the temple and quickly found the acolyte in charge of administering blessings. James searched his pack while the priest watched. "Which of your items would you like blessed today?"

A priest accepted the item. Carefully, he laid the squire's rapier on a low table covered with a white cloth while he opened a book which he retrieved from a cluttered bookshelf. Flipping through its tattered pages, he found a column of numbers and ran his finger down them.

"I've always wondered why the price of a blessing varied from item to item," James said, watching the priest. "Does it have something to do with the gods?"

"Rather more to do with how the item was made," the priest explained. "If there are any special metals used in its construction or spells used to bend the metal, then they become factors in how difficult it will be for us to make a blessing stick." Leaning closer to the page, he stabbed at a figure. "Ah! Here it is... for your rapier, it will be one hundred thirty-five sovereigns," the priest said.

James paid, and then gestured the others forward. Each provided his weapon and armor save for Owyn's staff, and James paid for each item in turn before they all settled back to wait. Far off, he could hear the low chanting of the priests in their alcoves, their prayers weaving the fabric of the enchantment. It seemed the better part of the day had passed away as he listened to the sonorous whispers rising and falling in the near dark. Suddenly, the doors to a great chamber were thrown open and the priest emerged, the blade/armor laid in his arms, swaddled in a white cloth.

"Your weapon/armor has been enchanted," the priest said with a bow. "Use it as your place upon the Great Wheel bids you."

((This is the cheapest place for the strongest blessing in the game, and the 15% bonus to hit and damage is quite helpful. I'll have to enchant Locklear's gear at a much higher markup, if I can at all, but by then I'll have too much money for it to matter.))

It was another short jaunt to the temple of Lims-Kragma, and they spent the night near the temple before moving on towards Lyton. There were signs of a pitched battle west of the village, but no men in evidence, only the churned mud and abundance of crows speaking to where bodies had lain before being retrieved for cremation or burial. Steel glinted in the grass as well, and it seemed clear that the mercenaries plaguing the town had been permanently dealt with.



They found the house Lysle Rigger had told them about easily enough, and knew they'd found the right place when the man at the door flew into a rage the moment he got a good look at James' face.

"YOU!" he shouted, pointing at James. "That hand you sold me was totally WORTHLESS! It wasn't a glory hand at all!"

James took a step back. "I'm afraid you have mistaken me for someone else, I really have no idea what you are talking about. But did you say something about a hand? We'll buy it back from you."

"I tossed that worthless thing into the dried up well back in the middle of town," spat the man, and James took another step back to avoid the spray. "150 sovereigns! That's how much I paid for it. You telling me you'll give me my money back if I retrieve it for you?"

James nodded. "Certainly."

The man looked at them suspiciously, threatened to have them strung up if they weren't around when he returned, then left, coming back half an hour later with a small burlap bag. Placing it on the table with a thunk, he turned to James. "Here's your hand, now give me back my gold."

"I didn't take your gold, so let's call this a 'sale,' shall we?" said James.

"Call it whatever you like - where's my bloody money?" the man bellowed.

James retrieved the money from his pouch and dropped it on the table. The man scooped it up greedily and demanded they stay until he had a chance to count it all...




They turned west one final time, approaching the graveyard at the new settlement of Sethanon as the sun was setting. They found the grave, and once more the earth gave way easily before James' shovel until the blade clunked on wood. Using his hands to push away the soft, unpacked earth, he wiped perspiration from his forehead with the back of his sleeve and stepped out of the hole he had just created.

He motioned for someone to bring him the hand as he carefully pried open the pine lid of the decaying box. Then, without looking inside, he dropped the hand and quickly closed the lid, part of it crumbling in his fingers.

"Rest in peace now, Jared," whispered James. "Come on, let's fill in the grave and get out of here."

Inn

They crossed the road to the Six-Toe Tavern, and were startled when an exuberant Nia greeted them.

((Why yes, I AM trying hard to catch back up to where I stopped playing. Then I can knock off for the night and relax...by playing Planescape: Torment for the Fun Club. By the way, Nia's store is pretty much the best place to sell almost anything for most of the game except for Romney during the Guild war and it's always the best place to buy rations and other supplies. It's knowing stuff like this that can make the difference between running out of money and starving to death (which I did several times the first time I tried to play this game) and ending the game with 25,000+ in sovereigns the way I do these days. One of the strange things about this game is the way that relatively small changes in your approach and strategy can make the difference between "too hard" and "too easy". Sort of a balance problem...or not, if you just want to experience the story.))

They spent that night at the tavern, and the next morning James and the rest of the party was waiting patiently by the door to the shop. Less than a minute after they arrived, Nia hurried over from the Six Toe with a large set of keys jangling on a brass ring in her hand.

"I'll have that door open for you in a jiffy," she said as she began to search for the proper key. "Ah. Here we go..." She inserted the key into the lock, jiggled it a few times until it clicked, then she pushed open the door.





James examined the sword, then slipped it and its sheath over his shoulder before bidding Nia farewell. They turned east towards Lyton and by noon were approaching Lord Lyton's manor.




The servant showed them in and James barely had time to offer a curt greeting before Lord Lyton was on his feet. "Wonderful!" exclaimed the lord with a huge smile. "I don't know how you did it, but all I can say is thank you!"

"Glad we could help," said James through gritted teeth.

The lord began to rummage through some of his belongings in a cedar chest in the corner of his house. "Let's see, what do I have here that I could offer as a reward."

"That won't be necess--"

"NONSENSE!" he snapped. "I want to help out. Ah, here we go. These things aren't much, but you may find them useful." He placed a virtue key and a parchment note on the table. They thanked the man, took the items from the table and placed them in their packs.



((And I'm not showing you the note, because it's just the solution to three of the next moredhel chests we'll run across, and what's the fun in that? And NOW we are all caught up. I'm going to be able to actually play the game again. Sorry if some of the last section feels rushed, but I really wanted to get the LP moving again. We're back on the road to Romney with a few false guild seals that should let us in past the feuding guilds to take advantage of the price hikes there, and in the meantime the sleazy port-town of Silden is just ahead, home of the Crawler...))

I remember way back when I played this, relying a heck of a lot on Owyn's lute-playing abilities and doing lots of pub-crawling to scrap up cash.

((Ok, this is the last one for tonight, and something for you all to ponder while I go do the Mortuary and as much of the Hive as I can. Have fun!))

Riddles and Locks

River for the first one?

I'll buy that. (The logical opposite of SALMON.)

2: ICE
3: SWORD, or something similarly stabby (KNIFE?)
5: an obviously-telegraphed DELEKHAN (follow the capital letters)

Thorn for the last one.

4.Alcohol

((Since you guys solved those so fast, here are the ones for the rest of the chapter! Have fun, and I'm going to go ahead and finish out Chapter 2 today I think, so we're ready to begin one of my personal favorite chapters.))

Riddles and Locks

3. Bard
4. Holes

1. EGGS

They pushed east from Lyton's manor, and the day was pleasant. After the biting chill of lingering winter at the Teeth of the World the balmier climate of the Kingdom's southern reaches was a relief, and their moods rose with the temperature. As the terrain began to slope down towards the river Rom, Owyn pointed out a glint of metal and a set of low angular shapes half-hidden in a thick grove of trees.

It's a Trap




Sure enough, it was a set of moredhel wordlocked chests. The trap protecting it was laughably simple, and soon they were opening the chests and stowing the arms, armor, and funds that they contained. James raised an eyebrow at a small ruby, slipping it in with the pouch of gems he was collecting. "The moredhel are using gems to hire Quegan mercenaries to look for us," the squire murmured, glancing to Gorath. "And at least some of them were being brokered through that gem dealer in Loriel...but where is Delekhan getting them?"

"The Tsurani use gems for currency in many transactions," Owyn said as they returned to the road, "and those grey warriors that stole Makala's ruby weren't the only ones to cross through the rift. Maybe more of them than we realize are ending up in the Northlands?"

Gorath shrugged. "I do not remember seeing many Tsurani at the muster at Sar-Sargoth," the moredhel murmured, "but it is possible. Still, given the volume of gems he must have a greater source than a few scattered deserters. I do not know..."

Jimmy the Hand

The dark elf trailed off, and his thoughts were interrupted only a few minutes later when a tall and shaggy figure appeared on the road coming from the direction of Silden. "Greetings," said the man in a thick Keshian accent, "I am Abuk, Master of Locks."




Abuk grinned. "Perhaps not by you," he agreed easily, nodding, "but one skilled in the arts of subtlety, he may know how to penetrate even the most difficult of locks. It is a matter of patience."

"I don't care how patient you are," James said, shaking his head and speaking with more heat this time, "a Webber lock cannot be picked. You're making idle boasts."

"And what would Abuk gain telling strangers a fact that was not true, eh?" the Keshian asked with a broad shrug. "I merely say these things so I may advertise my services and you might make use of them one day. I state simple fact. There is no lock in this Kingdom of yours that Abuk cannot pick. None."

James raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" he said slowly. "Perhaps you could teach us how to pick Webber locks..."

"It would take more time than I think you would care to spend. I spent five years at the foot of my master Caliphad in the shadow of mount Ashunta learning the art," Abuk said, shaking his head. "But I could perhaps improve whatever skill you may already possess. A small fee of seventy gold sovereigns should pay for my time."

"Seventy gold pieces for a lesson in lockpicking?" the squire exclaimed. "That's nothing short of robbery."

Abuk smiled. "You are wise. I should not cheat myself in this fashion. Eighty sovereigns, but I cannot raise my price any higher, despite the great deference you show to my person. Is the arrangement to be sealed?"

The squire sighed. "All right, Keshian. Eighty sovereigns, but I am warning you...I doubt there's anything you can teach me."

Abuk bowed and stepped forward, producing an intricate practice lock and a tiny silver probe. "You must open yourself to new things. This is the first learning. Without this opening you will not be complete. Opening your self is like opening a lock. If you cannot open, then the lock may not open. You should understand that there is no difference between yourself and the lock that you pick. All these things I will demonstrate with a test lock that I carry with me. Now I want you to observe."

"Keshian double..." James began, then blinked as the complex lock snicked open. "...talk. Wait a minute, how did you do that? I couldn't see...Do that again."

"That is it," Abuk said, and both probe and lock disappeared in the folds of his robe once more. "You have received your first lesson, darkeyes."

"That was too fast," James said, fists clenching in frustration. He'd been one of the best hands with a pick in the Mockers in his time and seeing someone work a lock with still more skill was far from comfortable. "I couldn't catch what you were doing."

"In time you shall realize what was done. In your mind, the events will unlock and thus your hands will unlock as well," Abuk said, grinning, bowing, and then stepping past the companions. "I must go now. Good bye."

"Wait..." James said, but the Keshian was already well down the road.





They followed the road east, and then south towards the port of Silden where it perched on a high bluff. The wind was blowing from the sea, and so it wasn't long before the smell hit them: tar, rotted wood, dead fish, salt water, and all the myriad other stenches of a port town with a busy harbor. The first glimpse and the odor was so striking, in fact, that they almost missed the approaching trio of rough-looking men.

The men charged them. Withdrawing strange packs from their tunics, they pelted Gorath and Owyn with globs of brownish-green material that smelled horrible. Confused at first, James examined the material and then paled when he realized what was happening. "It's a Quegan battle tactic!" James shouted, charging. "They're throwing disease-infected mulch! We've got to take them down fast!"

Charge into Battle



The fight was quick and vicious, but not quick enough. Owyn's first blast of magic missed, sizzling out over the river while James and Gorath sent poisoned bolts winging into the shoulder and stomach of two of the three thugs. The mage's second ball of flame struck the third man moments after James ran his opponent through, and while the flames killed the last two enemies it was already too late. Even as they caught their breath and Gorath moved to begin looting the corpses, each could feel a slight palsy starting to enter their fingers and sweat beading on their brows. Whatever the mulch had been laced with, it acted unnaturally fast, far faster than any disease should be able to infect a new victim.

((Nice, guys. #1 stumped me for-fucking-ever when I played this as a kid.))



"What do you think?" Owyn panted as they searched the men who had attacked and infected them. "Who are they?"

"They're the Crawler's," James said, frowning as he examined the twin lock-boxes the three men had apparently been guarding or opening. "With most of the trade going through Cheam on the other branch of the Rom, Silden's the biggest smuggling port in the Eastern Kingdom, and for the past while the Crawler's been the biggest rat in Silden...hah, here, see?"

The squire held up a note from one of the chests and read it aloud:

Crawler,

The seals are perfect. We should have no trouble getting into Romney with these. Too much activity to store them here, though. Moved the whole lot to a barn outside Lyton. Paid a gold grubbing farmer to watch over them.

-Delton

James crumpled the note and Gorath snorted. "Perhaps we should return and give Max Feeber a second visit," the moredhel suggested, but James shook his head and stood, tossing the note back into the open chest.

"I'd love to, but we don't have time. We need to hurry to Romney now, and we need healing soon," he said, grimacing as the skin of his forehead prickled. "Whatever this is it's hitting us too fast for it to be any normal ailment. We need a temple and need it soon."




A quick scrying from Owyn revealed more chests hidden nearby, and it took less than a quarter hour to find the trio of moredhel chests hidden in the lee of a low hill by the roadside. The contents were mostly unremarkable, but one chest contained a virtue key and an odd note that Owyn kept after reading aloud.

Given to Isunatus of Cavall Keep, the quantity of five hundred rubies and two hundred golden sovereigns, totalling a value not in excess of twenty thousand and two hundred sovereigns.

"That's a Quegan name...he's a money-lender and banker," Owyn said slowly, frowning. "I wonder what a receipt from a banker in Cavall Keep is doing in a moredhel lockchest just outside one of the biggest criminal centers in the Kingdom."

Silden




Owyn shivered as they walked down the blackened, tar-soaked planks that made up the Silden boardwalk. It wasn't the obvious seediness of the town that made him uneasy, or even the roughness of its inhabitants, but the wares on display at the dockside shops. The blacksmith's shop had the usual blades and myriad small works needed for equipping a ship, but it also prominently displayed shackles and chains that could only be used for the conversion of ships for slaving. A thin Keshian man displayed his dexterity with a bright green ball and a series of lacquered wooden cups, swirling them about on a crate while a few inexperienced sailors attempted to guess which cup held the ball when they came to a stop. James tapped Owyn's shoulder and pointed to an alley a few yards from the gambler's crate.

"See those rather large gentlemen there?" the squire asked, and Owyn nodded as he saw two huge shirtless brutes leaning against a low building. James smiled without humour. "They're there in case someone guesses right. With games like that, the player ALWAYS loses..."

Owyn nodded, then blanched at the front of a store whose sign proclaimed it to be "Hakha's Cajunlo". It obviously sold the components for mages of the Lesser Path as well as charms, potions, and the like, and he felt queasy as he saw an entire cluster of Glory Hands hanging from lengths of twine like some grisly holiday decoration. He turned back to James and sighed. "Let's get off the street for a bit," the young mage suggested, shivering. "I can't say I care for our chances of finding a decent inn, but I need a rest."

James nodded and gestured towards a large building with a sign in the shape of a bed. "We can try, at least," the squire said. A Keshian man looked up from the goblets he was washing and smiled in their direction as they entered, obviously happy to have more customers. But his welcome expression changed to a mixture of fear and outrage and he began to scream at them in a language James didn't understand.

"Ruthi a'dibi abas! The contagion! The contagion!"

Horror




"Please..." James tried after his first question only provoked another tirade he couldn't follow, "my companions and I are ill and in need of help. Where might we find someone who knows how to heal us?"

"None may heal you!" snapped the innkeeper, forking an intricate hand gesture at them and backing away. "The Dancer Through Men's Hearts has marked you for her dance and none may save you! Go now, please before you infect me!"

"If a goddess has marked us, then only a goddess may be able to save us," Owyn said, hoping that his calm might help the man regain his composure. "What temples may be close by? Who is the local patron goddess?"

"You have crossed paths with those who work for the Crawler. All who cross him die. I am content as a living man," spat the innkeeper, shaking his head even more violently. "My men will be here soon! You will regret waiting!"

Gorath stepped forward, towering over the lean man. "Tell me where the nearest temple is," he hissed through clenched teeth, "or I will come over there, pin you to the floor and my companions and I will take turns spitting down your throat until you crawl with this disease! Where is a temple?!"

The innkeeper leapt back so hard that he almsot stumbled, and when he regained his balance the fight seemed to have gone out of him. "The Mist Devil is anchored in harbor and it sometimes will take passengers to the Temple of Eortis on Temple Isle," he sighed, forking another of the unfamiliar signs at them. "The man on board will ask for ten gold pieces. I hope the boat crashes and takes the three of you to your deaths! Now be gone!"

"And none too soon," James said, turning to go. "Expect another visit from us, barkeep."

James followed the innkeeper's directions and soon found the dock number he'd been given. Appearing at the railing of the ship, a golden haired man waved down to them, advising them to stand clear of the net that was coming over the side.

"This the Mist Devil?" James shouted up.

"That she is," the sailor replied proudly, pounding the railing with a fist. "Only ship fast enough to have slipped away from Captain Trenchard! We're readying sail for the Isle of Eortis at the moment."

The squire considered for a moment. "How much for passage to the Isle?"

"30 golden sovereigns," the sailor called down. "Are you interested in making the trip? If so, come on up the gangplank."

They boarded the ship and paid, and within minutes of weighing anchor the Mist Devil sped across the narrow channel which separated the Isle of Eortis from the mainland. After an eternity of the distant horizon seeming to grow no closer, they eventually docked with the help of a river pilot.

Temple




As they entered the temple a priestess emerged from the inner chambers and moved to intercept them. She looked each of them over in turn, and when she spoke her tone was grave.

Mourning




The woman sighed, shaking her head slowly. "You have been misinformed," she said. "I am not a priestess of Sung and Eortis concerns himself solely with the denizens of his kingdom of the sea. He may act only on their behalf. Thus is his purpose as deigned by the will of Ishap, the One Above All."

James thought hard. "When I was young," he began, "I was fortunate enough to have learned something about how the temples all worked. I thought I remembered that a god can sometimes be compelled outside his purpose in return for a duty of obeisance."

"That is true," the priestess agreed, "but Eortis is but a shadow of what he once was. Upon a time, before the Valheru warred with the gods of Midkemia, his influence was as the depth and breadth of the seas and all that moved across them. When at last he vanished, Killian assumed control of his realm but here some essence of what he was still survives. We can not communicate with a god that is lost."

"But if we were to act on his behalf, do you think he would grant us favor?" Owyn asked even as he reached up to scratch at a rash that had begun to creep up his forearms.

She shrugged, and it was a long time before she answered. "I cannot know. If there were more than an essence of him in this place, perhaps we could commune with him and learn his thoughts, but we of the order of Eortis are the servants of a vanished god. We see his will only in very small ways."

James glanced at his companions and sighed. There wasn't time to reach the temple of Lims-Kragma, and that goddess was not particularly concerned with healing in any case. "Perhaps we are here to serve that will. What can we do to help you?"

"I can see no harm in your request, but I can guarantee you no measure of success or failure in your efforts," the priestess responded, shrugging very slightly. "I can depend only on what the omens may tell me. Perhaps Eortis will stir from his slumber to grant his favor. Until then, the Mist Devil will bring you no longer to this Isle."

James sighed. "Could you at least give us an idea of where to start?" he asked. "You may be able to read the god's will in the falling of a sparrow, but some of us are not half so clever."

"Of late, we have had many tell us the rusalki who sometimes linger near the rivers have become disturbed," the priestess said. "If you may find them all and lay them to rest, it might serve your purposes. I will warn you however that many of these sisters of Eliaem are wily and will find ways to hide their presence. Many do not wish to be sent into the halls of Lims-Kragma. You will need to be clever in finding them... This is my advice. When you have done this, return here and ask for High Priestess Beyla. If the ability to heal you has been granted to me I will do what I can for you."

As they filed out of the inner sanctum, Beyla suddenly dropped to her knees behind them. They rushed to her side but she had already gained her feet as they reached her.

"I am sorry," she said breathlessly. "Eortis' touch is sometimes overwhelming. Though I cannot understand the meaning of it, something in you has aroused his interest and he has smiled on you this day. Good luck to you."

Oh, I remember those. Specifically, I remember spending forever and a day finding all of them.

I see I wasn't the only one.

Back to the chests: #2 BRIARS?

((I'm at 26% of my monthly bandwidth limit on photobucket? What the hell? That HAS to be counting "months" in terms of 30 day increments since I signed up, and that's still crazy. And yeah, the Rusalki are a pain in the ass to find. A few only come out at night, and one...well, you'll see. I'm omitting most of the fights for the sake of bandwidth and time conservation.))



It didn't take long. Less than three hours' travel north of Silden they saw the shimmering blue grey figures drifting inland from the River by an old abandoned fishing cottage. "Well, here goes nothing," James muttered, sliding his rapier into his hand and gesturing the others to his side. "We'll rush them. From what I remember, Rusalki -can- be destroyed or laid to rest by iron or steel..."

They caught their opponents by surprise. Rushing forward, Owyn desperately tried to recall what little he knew of temple magic. He regretted not having spent more time studying the texts on the creatures and domain of Lims-Kragma. Within seconds they were upon the ashen-faced creatures.

It's a Trap



The air filled with a rippling layer of sound, a sussuration that came tantalizingly close to whispered speech before falling away into a sound like the rush of water over stone. And then it was pierced by a shriek as the rusalki writhed and twisted towards Gorath and James, balls of a glowing liquid that wasn't quite water striking them both and making them gasp in pain as they were nearly overcome by a momentary surge of cold and pressure. Owyn countered with magic of his own, but the Rusalki his flamecast struck absorbed the full heat of the blast, its pretty young female face twisting into something inhuman for just a moment as its form seemed to boil and then subside. It was unmoved, but then James leapt forward, extending arm and torso together in a smooth lunge that impaled the spirit on his blade, and suddenly there was nothing there but a great column of water splashing to the ground.

Gorath followed suit, but his great two-handed blow simply passed through the Rusalki, spilling a fan of its watery substance without fully dispersing the creature. It retaliated, and again balls of glowing water flew and struck the warriors while Owyn cast again and made a second rusalki boil with trapped energy. A third casting, and one of the rusalki finally failed, exploding in a cloud of steam and a disturbingly human wail. James lunged again, driving his blade deep into the third spirit, and as it tugged back from the painful bite of the steel a bolt from Gorath's crossbow turned its girlish face into a cloud of water droplets, sending the entire "body" of the spirit crashing down in another gush of normal river water. A final ball of roiling flame from the mage, and it was done. nothing was left of the spirits save for a few puddles and spots of wetness on James' and Gorath's armor.



The abandoned cottage became their resting place for the night, and if not for Owyn's ability to make even damp wood burn and his healing poultices not one of them would have rested. As it was, their sleep was fitful, and they awoke near dawn wracked with chills and a bone deep ache. "We must deal with these Rusalki and return to the temple soon," Gorath said, wincing slightly as he rolled his sleeping blanket back onto his pack, "or else we will not be able to."

Not far north of the large group of rusalki they came across another potential threat. A trio of thugs were engaged in an odd pattern of movement, seeming to patrol a tiny patch of ground near the turn-off to two roadside inns. The three mercenaries paced a slow circle perhaps one hundred meters across, and Owyn stared at one of the men in particular, the familiar pouches at his belt and the runes inscribed on them marking him as a mage.




James heard a belch. Ahead of them, a mercenary took a last swill from a bottle of alcohol before throwing it aside. "We've got us a nice arrangement here," he said, "me and the innkeeper at the River Pilot's Folly. Too bad you've decided to muck about with my water pretties. You'll be sorry you crossed swords with Crenard!"

Fight to the Death



Crenard was slow. While the drunken mage was still fumbling through the first passages of his first spell James planted a poisoned bolt deep in his gut, doubling him over with a scream. Gorath, meanwhile, engaged one of the lackeys, and his two-handed blade swept up from a low guard towards the mercenary's stomach. The man parried low and thrust his blade up along Gorath's, angling his wrists up to dip his sword's tip towards the dark elf's eyes. The moredhel was ready however and instead simply stepped back, twisting his wrists and using the leverage of the light greatsword's long hilt to twist and loop the blade, sliding it inside the mercenary's guard and laying it across his neck before a simple lunge opened his enemy's jugular.

Meanwhile, the squire dropped his crossbow and twisted away from the second mercenary's clumsy lunge. His rapier could not take the full force needed to deflect the blows of the heavier broadsword his enemy carried, and so the squire instead lashed out in a quick twist, feinting his tip towards his foe's eyes. When the mercenary flinched back the squire twisted his wrist and opened the back of the sellsword's hand so that his broadsword fell from his jerking, crippled fingers. James turned away then, leaving the crippled mercenary for Owyn to finish while he opened Crenard's throat with a single quick slash. The battle was over in moments.

((Ok, I probably lied and won't finish tonight. However, I have the rest of this chapter uploaded- no peeking guys -and will get the rest written pretty soon. It just took me longer than anticipated to put all the images together.))

"Well, it's getting late anyway," James said as he cleaned his blade on the tunic of one of the corpses. "Shall we see what the River Pilot's Folly has to offer?"

"Yes," Gorath said, stripping the mercenary mage and snorting as he ripped a moredhel brooch from his cloak. The clasp marked Crenard as a mercenary who'd served at least once with Murmandamus' army. The dark elf tossed the brooch to James who added it to his increasingly heavy pouch of gems, and they moved on towards the two inns.



Inn



The innkeeper smiled as they entered. "Welcome, gents! It's going to be dark pretty soon, you should think about spending the night. Dangerous out there!"

"Dangerous?" James asked, the lightness of his tone not mirrored in his eyes, though the innkeeper seemed not to notice. "Why is that?"

The innkeeper leaned forward and whispered, "The dead have taken up refuge in these parts. They stalk the roads by night and have been attacking travelers. If I was you, I'd think about staying here tonight, and getting an early start in the morning. Of course, I've had to hire magical protection to keep my customers safe. Still, I'm sure your lives are worth a great deal, aren't they, gentlemen, and I can guarantee that you'll sleep here safe from any revenant for a measly twenty five sovereigns each."

"We'll...think about it," Owyn said, guiding James away from the other man and towards one of the tables. A fat man in fine clothing sat at the table and glanced up at them for a moment before returning his attention to his ale mug. When the three sat, he sighed and looked up. "The bastard's right. Rusalki roam the hills lookin' for weary travelers to prey upon. And truth be known?" he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'll bet my last sovereign the bastard has somethin' to do with it."

"What makes you think that?" James said with a tilt of his head.

The man looked around, "People say he knew where the Rusalki were hemmed in during the day, and that he hired a fella named Crenard and a few of his companions to protect it!"

"Thank you," the squire said, smiling very slightly as he stood and glanced towards the innkeep. "Thank you for your kind offer, but I think we'll take our chances."

As they left Gorath turned to James, "Shall we deal with the innkeep as well?" he asked.

"Not now, no. When we get to Romney and deal with the Nighthawks there will be plenty of time to send a few soldiers down this way to chat with the proprietor about men who engage in what amounts to highway banditry by seance..." James replied, grimacing. "With Crenard dead and those Rusalki slain, we should be safe for the night. We'll push on another hour or two then make camp. We'll make a final sweep for Rusalki tomorrow and then head back to Silden to take the cure."



They'd barely turned east when Gorath spotted several chests tucked in a thicket behind the inns. A careful search turned up a rather unusual collection of items.




"Yes," muttered James as he stowed the poison, "I'll definitely be avoiding the food at these places in the future."

They passed a sprawling manor and farm and followed the river as it bent east, stopping just past the huge property for a night of uneasy sleep. They all dreamt, chaotic fever dreams that robbed their sleep of most of its healing potential so that they woke sore and bleary-eyed.

"Half a day," Owyn said, and if we don't find any we have to get back to Silden and hope we found them all. There's no time for anything else now, I think."

They continued east, and stopped when Owyn held up a hand, pointing with his staff towards an unobtrusive cottage. "I feel...something from that hut," he said, frowning. "We should investigate."

A man appeared in the doorway. His raven hair dusted with grey and the lines around his eyes hard, he looked on them with gravity, the weight of his stare deep and penetrating. "This is the house of Madame Haphra," he rasped. "Futures, speaking with the dead, rumors. We will require a payment of fifty gold. Do you wish a session with Madame?"

James produced the requested amount and handed it over, following the tall man. Just before pushing aside a curtain, he halted and whispered to them.

"Do not question some of the things my wife may say or do," he said. "We have recently lost a daughter and it has shaken Haphra's belief in some of her...abilities. Please, if she asks for acceptance, no matter what she may have said, please treat her kindly."

Without another word, he shoved aside the curtain and allowed them into a rear room where Madame Haphra waited. Seated at a table, she wore a woven brocade vest over a lightly dyed peasant's blouse, and her hands and neck were ornamented with bright wooden beads.

"Please have a seat," she muttered, waving a brightly nailed hand at the rude chairs set across from her. As she spoke, her eyelids fluttered, as if she were speaking through an alcoholic haze. "I may provide three services for you. We may speak of local rumors, I may tell thee the future, or I may speak to the dead. Which would you have of me?"

They exchanged glances, and James spoke. "What can you tell us of local rumours then, Madame?" he asked, canting his head slightly and frowning as the woman seemed to shudder.

"Rumors," she repeated, quietly. Leaning forward in her seat, she met Owyn's gaze and held it, allowing her voice to harden. "Rumors? I will tell thee of the only rumor about which I know. Many have come and spoken to me of Rusalki that roam the lands near the River Pilot's Folly at night, but these are lies..."

Startled with the ferocity with which the woman had bitten off the last word, James shrugged his shoulders. "I had not heard anything of them..." He started to say, exchanging another glance with Owyn.

"Do not seek the Rusalki!" she continued, her voice still frantic. "They are of no harm to anyone!"

Although he had remained quiet as Haphra had begun to rant, Bella moved forward and touched her on the shoulder, seemingly relieving the wildness that was overcoming her. "These gentlemen are friends," he said quietly. "You will not be injured."

Taking his hand, she nodded once, then looked back at James. "You will forgive me. This has...touched our lives, but I can explain no further."

"...All right," James murmured, "in that case can you read our future?"

"Very well," Haphra said with a weak smile, her posture relaxing visibly as she leaned back into the overstuffed cushions of her sitting chair. "We shall tell your future..."

Regarding James, the look on her face slowly changed, turning into a mask of pain and regret. "You will die a slow and painful death, alone and in starvation," she said somberly. Those upon whom you thought you could count will abandon you in your hour of need and in death they will believe you a disgrace to your station."

Folding her hands in her lap, she looked on them serenely, her face beginning to resume the look of her age. "This is the fate I see for you," she said, the slight tremolo in her voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "The fates have spoken through me..."

Ignoring Bella's warning and provoked by her obvious lie about the rusalki, James snorted his contempt for the old woman's prediction. "I could have said any of the same things. I've heard virtually all those things from street lunatics..."

"Haphra!" Bella shouted, but was shoved aside like a mere twig as the old woman lunged to her feet, her eyes blazing fury. Raking James's face with her sharpened nails, she howled in a voice that no longer sounded human. "I am Haphra! You will believe! You will believe..."

Weeping openly, Bella moved behind his distraught wife, but rather than trying to console her, he lifted a stick of fire wood and struck her to the floor. Standing over her unconscious form, he seemed poised to strike again...

"Wha... ," Confused, James flashed a horrified stare at Bella, but suddenly drew back in shock as another form began to materialize around Haphra's crumpled body, taking on the shape of a young girl. For a moment it hovered, its expression glowering as it stared at Bella. Then, with a hateful screech, it flashed through the air to pass through the walls of the house.

"Go after it," Bella sobbed, dropping to the ground to cradle his wife. Go and kill it. We are finished with the rusalki now. Go!"

Nearly tripping over the clutter of the small house, they rushed outside and prepared their weapons for the rusalki who now awaited to kill them all.

It's a Trap



Despite the creature's ability to dominate the old woman, it appeared weak when confronted directly. Turning to face them, the last rusalki was able to muster only a single blast of its enhanced substance, striking James before the companions poured a steady fire of crossbow bolts and magical flame into the fleeing spirit. It twisted, writhed...and collapsed into a puddle that was seared out of existence by the final passage of Owyn's magic. Bella said nothing as he let them inside. Next to the door, Haphra was sitting up, her frail fingers clutched in her hair and a distant look on her face. As she regarded them, she looked more relieved than pained for her injury.

"She is dead?" the old woman asked, fingers raking slowly over her scalp.

"Yes," James replied. "Dead. Or at least we may assume so. What exactly did we witness here?"

"A foolish old woman who didn't wish to let her daughter go," she said, her voice trembling. Grabbing hold of Bella's hand for support, she continued on bravely. "After our daughter died, I sought to find her with my talents. I thought if I could seize on to her, we could keep her with us."

"But that's not what you found," James replied.

Haphra shook her head. "No it wasn't. Instead, I found the spirit of the rusalki who promised that she would bring our daughter to us, if we would allow her to live through me, to inhabit this body. For a while we believed her, but after several weeks...we knew we had been trapped by the creature."

Feeling awkward in the woman's presence, James touched the woman's shoulder lightly. "I am very sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "You have freed us of a curse and now we can begin to rebuild our lives without my daughter. For this, I shall grant you a true prophecy, or at least one as true as I am capable."

Looking deep into James's eyes, Haphra spoke slowly. "There is one you seek who hides in many guises. He will trick you and guide attention away from himself, but he is marked by his smell. He shall be the one who holds the key to an important mystery."

"What is his name?" James asked, intrigued by the answer.

"I do not know," the woman replied in shame, looking to the floor. "In truth, my powers are quite limited. I have told you all that I can truly see."

"Enough," Bella said. "It is time you had some rest, Haphra."

Understanding that the man wished for them to leave, James nodded thankfully to the fortune teller and her husband. "Good luck on your new life together," he said, closing the door behind them. "I think you deserve it."

Silden




The return to Silden was rapid and nearly silent, each of the travelling companions lost in their own thought as the smells of the river and the roadside gave way once more to the stench of the dock town. The Mist Devil was in the harbor, and within minutes James had negotiated another passage to the Isle of Eortis.

Temple



Gamina

The high priestess smiled as she noticed them enter, her silk garments swirling as she crossed the stone floor to greet them. "I have been expecting you for hours now. My auguries have shown strangers that walk in the favor of Eortis. I assume that you must have completed your rites."

"It had very little to do with ritual, High Priestess, and much more to do with slaying spirits," James said, "And now, are you ready to heal us or not?"

"You sound somewhat distressed," Beyla said, frowning. "Be assured that you have slain no one, but have freed those from this world which were unnaturally bound here. The Swimmer of the Deeps is pleased and has allowed I may grant you a boon. So long as you all shall live, any of you that come and petition before me shall be healed of anything that ails you. Such is the nature of Eortis' favor. You will find that your ills already heal as we speak. You shall feel fully restored by the time the Mist Devil returns you to Silden."

Owyn blinked, and realized that for some time now the aches, rash, and light-headedness of the unnatural sickness had been fading. "Wait," he said, "I'd like to speak to you more about your god..."

"While I appreciate your desire for knowledge, young mage," Beyla said, "I am afraid that we must dedicate ourselves to listening to our god's voice, not spreading his wisdom. Not yet, at least. Take care on your journey."

The next few days passed without incident. They pushed north quickly, rising early and making camp late, avoiding inns and even the small wayside town of Sloop. James pushed them all forward, reminding them of the deadline as they followed the winding river and slipped between the




Inclindel Gap

The way ahead was blocked. From among the men who were guarding the bridge, a man stepped forward to confront them. Resting one hand on the hilt of an ornate rapier, the well-dressed man looked at the party carefully and frowned.




"...and who are you to block the road?" the squire added after another moment's thought. "You don't have the look of a guard captain about you. In fact you look more like one of the local reeves..."

The man sighed, the hand not on his sword lifting to massage his temples. "Right enough. I'm Mitchel Waylander, His Grace the Duke's Reeve and master of the Glazer's Guild. And under normal circumstances I wouldn't be guarding the road but the whole of Romney's lost its senses."

Waylander let out a humourless laugh. "I'm surprised you haven't heard, but then again, a child scraping his knee in Romney seems more important here than does a coronation in Rillanon. It all started when the Guild of the Riverpullers was pushed out of Silden by a splinter guild, the Guild of the Romney. When the Riverpullers tried to recoup their losses by raising fees in Romney, the Glazer's and Dyer's Guilds refused to take the brunt and we contracted the splinter guild to bring in goods. Unfortunately the Riverpullers asserted they had royal grant of exclusivity to the river and burned two Romney Guild rafts. Three members of the Glazer's Guild were killed in the fire as was the chief reeve of the Dyer's Guild."

"Good gods, man," James exclaimed. "I'd heard there was conflict between the guilds, not that there was open warfare. Where's the duke in all this?"

"At his estates about a day's ride from here," the man replied, sighing. "He's here now, but when all this broke out he was there, and by the time he got here the bridge had been damaged. He had to go all the way to Cavall Run and march his men down the east bank of the Rom. In the meantime, the Riverpuller's Guild took charge of the other labor guilds and surrounded Romney. The crafts guilds tried to fight their way out and it seemed a losing battle until the King's men came up from Bas-Tyra. They managed to pacify the Riverpullers' leader, and by then the Duke arrived and was able to put a lid on things, but I can't guarantee how much longer he'll be able. Until things are more stable, we don't need any trouble from outside sources either in the form of troublemakers or rumours, so my men and the Duke's have been controlling the roads in and out."

The squire nodded. "Makes some sort of sense. Where can we find the King's men from Bas-Tyra?"

"They'll be holding up in the Black Sheep Tavern for a celebration of some kind." The guild master said. "I believe I heard one of them say they've found something they were looking for. I'm not sure what it's all about."

James grinned. "Oh? I think that may mean good news for us as well. Good night, reeve. We're on into Romney..."

As they crossed the bridge Owyn turned back to James. "What do you think?" He asked, glancing towards where Waylander's men guarded the northern end of the span. "Is all this guild trouble coincidence?"

"In the north, a moredhel general raises the banner of Murmandamus and prepares for another invasion of the Kingdom, a new thieves' guild rises to challenge the Mockers using magic, and the biggest inland trade hub of the Kingdom erupts in in-fighting. Both nefarious elements hire Nighthawks, and the Nighthawks move through Romney..." James replied, shaking his head and sighing. "It could all be coincidence, but if it is it's the damndest set of coincidences I've ever heard of."

Romney



They passed along the twisting cobbles of the so-called Murky Mile, and Gorath frowned at the storefronts. While the stores were well-appointed and well-stocked, the bulk of the city's business was done in the vast warehouses by the riverside and at the headquarters of the various guilds. In fact, the signs of the recent trouble were everywhere. Windows were broken and boarded up, hard men with short swords or long staves of oak stood by the entrances of businesses eying the passing crowds, and the entire district One building, however, seemed particularly busy. A crowd was gathering out front, and as they passed Owyn's attention was drawn by the sounds of a loud argument going on inside.

"I was here some time ago with my father," he said, gesturing for the others to follow him, "and this is the meeting hall for the guildmasters. If you want to know what's going on here this is as good a place as any."

The meeting hall was full. Assembled in the room were a dozen grizzled looking men, all seated around a long table at the head of which sat a young man sporting a goatee. As the entered, a servant quickly pointed them to a bench off to the side, indicating that a meeting of some import was underway.

"I don't care what Mitchel Waylander may or may not be doing," the bearded man said sternly." I am the Duke of Romney and you will do as I request, else I will call up others from Bas-Tyra. Do you really wish to call King Lyam's attention to this matter?"

Unsettled by the vigor with which the young Duke made his point, the various guild leaders shifted in their seats. One, a tremendously overweight man whose clothes tested their seams, leaned forward, careful not to spark too much of a response. "It is entirely possible that the leader of the Riverpullers was assassinated by the leader of one of the other guilds here. It's even possible he sits in this room with us..."

"If you have someone in mind, Botho, why don't you simply come out with a name!" another man replied, leaning across the table to grab the obese guild master's shirt. "Talk, you overweight cat's innard!"

"Enough!" Slamming down the tankard of ale which sat at his right hand, the Duke turned his piercing blue eyes on all who assembled. "I want peace on the Romney, and I wish it today! The fact that the Ironmonger's Guild will not come to a negotiations table is irrelevant. If I hear another word of a possible uprising in Romney, I swear to you, I shall make each and every one of you pay for it..."

Having heard enough of the heated words in the chamber, James turned and whispered to his companions. "If Arutha were here, he'd have this lot at the gibbet for even thinking of open rebellion..."

"The fact of the matter is that Prince Arutha is not here," the Duke replied tersely, evidently having overheard the whispering. "And I will not deal so cavalierly with those who are as much my family as my serfs."

Snapping his fingers, he motioned to a pair of guards who stood mute behind him. "Sergeant Yearly, see to it that these gentlemen are let out, seeing as how they yearn to get to a part of the world where Prince Arutha rules..."

James scowled but didn't resist, and Owyn and Gorath followed suit as they were hustled back onto the street. "So much for that," he said, "but at least we know that the Nighthawks are involved in this. The Riverpuller's guildmaster must have been killed recently for Waylander not to have heard. They're trying to escalate this into full-scale war again."

Gorath nodded. "The black sheep is just ahead. Hopefully there will be answers waiting for us there," he said, gesturing to the heavy stone building at the end of the murky mile.

James nodded back, allowing himself a small smile. "If nothing else it will be good to rest, eat, and bathe with a roof over our heads again," the squire said as they reached the inn, grabbing for the door handle....

Shock

Chapter Title Card



Mourning





Gorath remained silent even as the squire's fist slammed into his open palm with a smack that echoed off the walls, audible even over the roar of the hasty funeral pyre that the Duke's guards had arranged on James' instructions.

"The only explanation, seigneur, is that you are mistaken," the moredhel replied, his voice level. "Before your friend and fellow squire took me prisoner I had not been south of the Inclindel-"

James cut him off with a slicing motion of his hand, and Owyn flinched when he realized that the gesture had ended in a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of the squire's sword. "While we carried the dead from the Black Sheep Tavern, a tavern boy informed me that a man answering to your description called on three unwholesomes dressed in black, all of whom wore the trademark silver rings of the Nighthawks. He heard them refer to the moredhel as Gorath!"

James began to pace, his movement and the dancing firelight making his shadow jerk and shudder across the walls of the surrounding buildings. "It seems that this moredhel paid a sizeable sum of money to those Nighthawks before departing, enough perhaps to arrange the death of a company of the King's soldiers?"

"He may well have paid a king's death, but I know nothing of it," Gorath said, again keeping his voice calm, though that calmness began to erode as he continued to speak, "I realize it may impress little upon you, but Gorath is a passing common name in the Northlands and oft as not your Kingdom fellow folk have mistaken me for an elf! The barkeeper was likely deceived by enemies of mine."

It was Gorath's turn to move, and he strode towards James, halting him in mid-stride as he continued to speak. "If I had cause to mislead you or your Prince, I would have found a far less convoluted means of confusing the royal sanity. Look elsewhere for your enemies, James. While we may not be friends, I mean you no harm."

"I shall look where I wish until you are no longer my responsibility," the squire shot back, but he seemed calmer when he looked away from Gorath's gaze. "We may not be able to strike at the Nighthawk stronghold, but if we can locate it, we may still be able to get inside and find the information Prince Arutha needs."

Gorath frowned. "The Nighthawks will shun Romney for a time," he said. "However bold they may be in their murderous nights, they flee when daylight breaks."

"No one walks without leaving footprints and these men are no different," James said, staring into the fire now. "However skilled they may be at assassination, they have never been any good at covering their tracks. Let me see those things you found in the tavern."



"Good," the squire murmured, taking the objects from the dark elf's hands and inspecting them by firelight. "Those are our footprints. Of all the items we found on the dead company, both those items seemed conspicuously out of place and may be related in some way to our elusive murderers. We begin our hunt for the Nighthawks with a spider and a spyglass."



((And here begins one of my favorite parts of the game. You've been presented with several leads and potential sources of information in Chapter 2. There are places both magical and mundane to go for information, and some are obvious and some not-so-obvious. I will provide hints and list options if you really want, but for now I'm going to leave this open aside from saying that we can speak with the Duke of Romney now in the meeting hall. After we talk to him, where we go next for information is up to you.))

I note that we appear to have missed the solutions for lockbox 2 and lockbox 5 in the most recent set.

((Mmm-hmmm. Care to take a crack at it?))

The plot thickens! <sfx: dramatic crescendo>

I gave a suggestion for 2 as a footnote to a different post. (Briars? Seems like a better match than thorns.)

5 is vague enough that it's tricky without seeing the available letters. Probably something that an adult has but a newborn doesn't - four letters long, so hair fits.