The Campaign Builder's Guild

[ic=Cold-Fleshed]Some time earlier, in the far south of the Firesong Marches, the scavenger Eareg Maar searches for the legendary city of Chymalea, hoping to retrieve a relic to placate the Guild of Crimson Shadows.

* Eareg Maar searches for shelter after hunting down a few desert animals and finding enough water to keep his waterskin full.

Some sort of settlement is evident up ahead, a rude cluster of huts and hide tents buffeted by the desert winds.  The sanguineous dawn light transforms the desert into a kind of crimson sea.

* Eareg Maar rides off towards the settlement at a slow pace.

As you draw nearer you see that the tents have frames of bone rather than wood.  The huts are of mud and adobe, with scraggly rooftop gardens and scrofulous, dusty patches of earth where sickly-looking trees bear withered fruit.  The little village is centred round a sallow pavilion.  A large well also appears to be a prominent landmark.

* Eareg Maar dismounts and continues on foot, looking about.

The settlement's swarthy inhabitants at first seem bashful or suspicious, lurking in the shadows of tent-mouths or doorways and watching you uneasily with bright, frightened eyes.  When you pass close by, however, some begin to rush out and adopt reverential postures, bowing down or falling prostrate, muttering gibberish adorations.  All of the inhabitants seem to be humans, and non are grave-spawn.

* Eareg Maar raises an eyebrow.

One man comes up to you and bows down at your feet, speaking some garbled prayer.

Eareg Maar - I am passing through and was wondering if I could wait out the sun here until nightfall, if you wouldn't mind.

He stares at you with the wide, awed eyes of a fanatic.

Eareg Maar (to himself) '" Though for all I know you can't even speak Shambles.

"You are one of the cold-fleshed," the man tells you.  "One of Death's Favourites, a Child of the Reaper.  You must speak to the Brethren at once."

Eareg Maar '" Ah, so you do speak. The Brethren, hmm?

"Yes; you may find them in yonder tent." He points to the central pavillion.

* Eareg Maar figures there's not much to do and heads for the tents, idly scratching his bird's head.

The main tent is very large, and guarded by a pair of humans who bow as you approach.

"Greetings, cold-fleshed," one says.  "The Brethren are within."

* Eareg Maar nods and ducks into the tent.

You enter the shadowy interior of the pavilion, a space unlit save by a single low, blue flame which sheds a cold, spectral light; while your grave-spawn vision allows you to pierce the dense gloom the quick would find the darkness all but opaque.  Lurking in the tenebrous depths of the pavilion are six enormously fat ghilan, their bloated bodies perched atop chairs of bone.  Each holds a bowl fashioned from a human skull, from which they sip some sort of broth.  They are clustered around a large cauldron under which the wan flame flickers, making the blubbery visages of the ghilan into pale wraith-faces.  It is the only light within the tent.  The yellow eyes of the 'Brethren' peer at you inscrutably.

"Welcome to our humble little settlement, kindred," the largest of the six half-whispers, his voice rasping.  "Please, join us for a meal.  You look like you could use one."

Eareg Maar - It's certainly been a long journey, yes.

* Eareg Maar removes his hat and sits down.

You are passed a skull-bowl full of liquid.

* Eareg Maar accepts it.

"So, traveler, what brings you to the Marches?  From your garb and demeanour I would guess that you hail from Macellaria rather than one of the cities of the far south."

Eareg Maar - You would guess right. I'm a scavenger by trade, and the wastes are where I'm at home at, though.

"When I was still a living soul I dwelt in the City of Bodysnatchers, though of course my memory of it is all but lost.  I still dream of its streets, at times - of the toll of the black bells in the Fane of Dust, the cries of the merchants in the Skin Markets, the cajoling of the courtesans in Velveteen Circus.  But that was a lifetime ago."

Eareg Maar - What brought you out here to the Marches?
"I do not remember: when I became one of the cold-fleshed my memories of my past existence faded and withered like dying flowers."

Eareg Maar - I will admit I am not a little curious to stumble upon a village of quick being led by ghilan.

"Centuries ago I found this village.  The people here fell to worshipping me as a god... in time, others of our ilk wandered here as well.  Others, partaking of human flesh, have become cold-fleshed themselves - an event they see as the Reaper's blessing.  It has been our custom to welcome any of Death's Favourites who wander in from the waste safe haven here."

Eareg Maar - Well I've certainly seen stranger things on the wastes, and I'd never turn down a safe haven for the day.

"Your weapon," another of the ghilan croaks.  "I can feel its power.  A spirit dwells, or is bound, within it.  If you seek to travel deeper into the desert you will have need of such a weapon.  A beast has been stalking these lands, a creature that kills through fear.  It hunts at night, taking children, livestock, any who ventured out after dark.  Recently it grows bolder.  More and more are being taken, and closer to the settlement."

* Eareg Maar nods.

Eareg Maar - I'm not surprised, you expect such things out here beyond the walls of the cities.

"Some say that it is a demon," a third ghul interjects.  "One of the abominations of the rank, putrescent swampland to the west.  Others claim it is one of the dream-spawn, a thing born of the far-off Suppuration."

Eareg Maar - Well it either can or can't be killed... if it can it will and if it can't why worry.

* Eareg Maar grins.

"Few have seen it and lived," the previous speaker resumes, "but they say it is a serpentine shadow, or a worm with darkness for flesh, that slays with a glance of its single eye.  It curdles the air where it slithers, feeds on mortal terror.  Perhaps, as you are cold-fleshed, as we are, the horror's gaze will not affect you so direly," another ghul mutters.  "For those of our ilk cannot be touched by disease or venom; perhaps, as one of Death's Favourites, the creature cannot slay you so easily."

The fact that the creature slays through fear suggests it is one of the oneiroi, living nightmares.

* Eareg Maar leans back.

Eareg Maar - So then I am assuming from your speech that you are hoping that I would help you deal with this creature. Am I correct?

The ghilan mutter.  "We merely wished to warn you of its presence in this land," the leader tells you.  "Though if you were to slay the creature we would certainly be grateful."

Eareg Maar - People who know me say I can be a bit gruff and no-nonsense, and they'd be right. You don't survive in the Slaughter-lands on fancy words and politeness. So I don't expect that from others. You've offered me a safe place to rest; I have no qualms about paying you in kind, but I don't mind read. You've got to ask, and you do seem rather worried about this thing. Personally I suspect its an oneiroi

"We are indeed most concerned; if one of the nightmare-progeny is loose then the village is in peril.  You are welcome to remain here as long as you wish.  A tent will be prepared for your use."

* Eareg Maar nods.

Eareg Maar - Well then, I shall find some shelter from the sun and perhaps a bit of rest.

"If you require sustenance, merely ask one of the villagers and they will provide for you."

Eareg Maar - Of course.

* Eareg Maar puts his hat back on and leaves the tent.

The reverential villagers conduct you to another tent.

* Eareg Maar hides from the scorching rays inside the tent.

* Eareg Maar spends a half an hour inscribing a sigil into his flesh before resting.

You spend the day resting and refreshing yourself, safe from the sun.  You dream of flames, and a female voice whispering worldlessly in your mind, mingling with the crackle of the fire.  You are awakened hours later by a sudden scream.

* Eareg Maar sits up quickly with the speed of one used to sleeping light in dangerous places and grabs his hat and meteor before getting up and peaking out the tent flap.

Outside, it is dusk.  A pale shape writhes on the ground not far away - it looks like one of the villagers.  The other villagers seem to have fled the area.

* Eareg Maar glances about looking for any attacker

You catch a fleeting glimpse of something coiled slipping into the shadows of oncoming night.  It seems to merge with the darkness, to become one with the gloom...

* Eareg Maar heads out of the tent and approaches the figure on the ground still half watching the escaping phantom.

By the time you reach the man he is dead.  His body lies on the soft sand, bloodless and unmarked, twitching softly in its death throes.  His eyes are open, staring blankly up at the darkening sky; his features are contorted into an expression of mortal terror.

* Eareg Maar frowns, a bit miffed at how the creature slipped in and out like that.

* Eareg Maar closes the man's eyes and softens his expression, crossing his arms over his chest before shouldering Meteor and heading after the phantom.

Eareg Maar - Time to settle the score.

As gloaming thickens night seems to pool in the desert like heavy liquid, to form dense velvet banks of darkness.  Something oozes in the viscous black, a tenebrous presence lurking somewhere amongst the dunes.  You hear a vague hiss of shifting sand.

* Eareg Maar loads meteor and heads towards the hiss alert for any tricks

You are pressing through the desert in the direction you thought you heard the hiss from.  Suddenly you hear more sand shifting behind you.  The night-thing bursts from the congealed desert gloom, a shuddersome blackness that darts across the dunes with uncanny sidelong motion.  It makes no sound but casts its head to and fro, a single baleful eye roving round in its socket, smouldering with a fell violet light.  A clutch of whip-like black tentacles writhe around its eye like grotesque, grasping lashes.

* Eareg Maar turns and levels Meteor at the approaching beast.

A cold feeling fills your body as you look into the monster's single eye.  The creature's tentacles lash out at you like whips, lashing round your limbs and entangling you before you can get a shot off.  The thing bears down on you, hissing like a serpent.

* Eareg Maar struggles, to no avail.

The creature's tentacles begin to constrict, cutting off circulation painfully.  It begins to wrap its tendrils round your neck while others lash your face and body.

* Eareg Maar strikes with the stock of Meteor.

The oneiroi's grip weakens and you slip free.  The creature hisses and darts backwards into the shadows.

* Eareg Maar slashes frustraredly with his claws at the night-thing as it runs.

 The creature shrieks as your claws rake its bulk.  Its flesh feels cold and only semi-solid.  It merges with the shadows, disappearing utterly into the darkenss.

* Eareg Maar listens closely.

You hear the sand shifting off to the right.

* Eareg Maar once again lowers Meteor, but this time he chants forth eldritch words and black tendrils snake down his right arm, enscrolling the barrel before leaping off into the shadows. With a thunderous blast a flaming bullet leaps from Meteor's barrel!

The bullet strikes a patch of heavy shadow and you hear the worm-thing hiss in sudden agony!  It writhes into view; its eye has been destroyed, and its socket sizzles with eldritch flame! It is still somehow alive, but is disoriented and blind.

* Eareg Maar spits some blood from a cut on his lip and works the bolt on Meteor, ejecting a casing.

* Eareg Maar moves silently to the left.

The oneiroi whip the air uselessly with its tentacles.

* Eareg Maar lines up a shot and fires twice.

You put the oneiroi out of its misery, putting two bullets into its head.  The night-thing bleeds a curious ichor, saturating the sand.

* Eareg Maar slings Meteor over his back and walks over to the creature's carcass, inspecting it with satisfaction.

Villagers are now beginning to creep towards you, their expressions frighetned by curious. They watch you with awed faces.

* Eareg Maar stretches a bit and heads backs for the camp

* Eareg Maar stretches a bit, tips his hat to them and heads for the central tent waving to the guards.

They admit you entrance wordlessly.

* Eareg Maar sits down without fanfare banged and bruised.

Eareg Maar - Well the bad news is that you lost another villager. The good news is that should be your last, at least to that beast.

* Eareg Maar sucks the cut on his lip.

Eareg Maar - Son of a leechkin made me earn his corpse though.

* Eareg Maar chuckles

"Ah!" The Brethren sigh.  "We are eternally grateful for your assistance, warrior," the leader says.  "Allow us to give you a gift in return for your help."

He holds out a curiously carved bone charm, cavred into the semblance of a vulture.

Eareg Maar '" Hmm, well getting back at him for it was gift enough, I don't like when creatures snuff out lives out from under my nose... I've got a reputation to keep after all.

* Eareg Maar grins but he does accept the charm.

* Eareg Maar has a faint recollection of Wispy capering about like a loon and snorts.

"Throw down the charm in a time of need, and command it to aid you.  It will transform into a great bird for a spell."

* Eareg Maar nods.

Eareg Maar - Thank you. I was planning on being on my way, but I doubt I'm in any condition right now.

"You may rest here as long as you require.  You have done us a great service."

* Eareg Maar stands up a little shakily.

Eareg Maar '" Well, sorry to rush in and out, but I could do with a bit of cleaning up.

"Of course."

* Eareg Maar leaves and heads for the well to retrieve water to wash his wounds.

You bathe your wounds and recover some of your strength.

* Eareg Maar has something to eat before retiring to his tent to relax for the night.

* Eareg Maar sleeps through the next day, glad for the rest especially since boredom began to set in after the fourth time cleaning Meteor. After refilling waterskins, and having a (for the wastes) luxurious water bath for his face and arms, Eareg Maar bids the ghilian and their village goodbye and once more heads into the Firesong Marches.[/ic]

[ic=The City of Creeping Flesh]* Eareg Maar checks his compass and examines the map.

* Eareg Maar feels hopelessly lost.

You set out to discover the city's exact location but become lost in the shifting sands.  Fortunately you manage to forage for food and water, and discover the protruding walls of a ruin of sickly greenish stone that will provide shelter from the sun while you rest during the day.

* Eareg Maar examines the map for a time as he walks hoping to find what he's after.  After resting he sets out again.

After many hours more of wandering, you at last arrive at your destination: Chymalea, the City of Creeping Flesh.  Its ancient, ruinous bulk emerges from the shifting sands of the Firesong Marches: warped towers and misshapen obelisks of sickly-hued stone, bulbous domes like enormous blisters, and bizarre machines of inscrutable purpose, engines like black-iron ganglia that throb with bilious light and trail cables like veins or plant tendrils.  Here and there statues of the same yellow-green stone as the towers and monoliths jut from the treacherous dunes, their features mottled with meticulously carved pustules and weeping sores.  Much of the city likely still lies beneath the sands.

Night is falling again, and the last dregs of sunlight leave the sky bruise-purple.

* Eareg Maar heads into the city on the watch for unwelcome squatters

The streets are winding and labyrinthine, still choked with sand.  Here and there packrats, overlarge cockroaches, and other desert vermin investigate the weather-beaten stone structures.  You stand right now at an arch with the remnants of a fortified wall to either side.

As you pass through the arch and into the city itself you detect movement up ahead '" a robed, humanoid figure passing across one of the sand-choked streets.  The figure is quite distant and quickly disappears behind a crumbling tower.

* Eareg Maar is unsure about whether he should follow, but with little else decided heads over to at least examine the area where he saw the figure.

You press on into the city.  There are many footprints in the streets here - very recent - as well as larger areas of disturbed sand, perhaps where a larger creature dragged itself.

* Eareg Maar heads in the direction he saw the figure head trying to glean some information from the footprints.

A cluster of figures stands at a crossroads up ahead.  Four wear dark, hooded robes; their hands and faces are strangely jaundiced and unhealthy-looking, and one has weeping sores on his cheek.  These individuals carry cruel knives and wear rings on their gnarled, twisted fingers.  They also have a pack-beast - a huge slug-like thing burdened with various bags and satchels.

Seven more figures, almost preternaturally large, wear bulky armour tumoured in green verdigris; their heads are covered by round helmets with small holes allowing for sight and breath.  Four of these hulking warriors carry glaives, two carry massive swords, and the seventh bears a massive gun with a multitude of barrels, some kind of organ gun or heavy pepperbox rifle.  All of them also have heavy pistols.

* Earg Maar conceals himself and listens.

You are too far away to hear their conversation.

* Eareg Maar slips closer, hiding beind a slanting pillar.

"The Archprelate has demanded we search the ruins for any vestiges of the Poxbringers' power," the robed man with the sores says, addressing the others.  "Some heretics blasphemously claim that they created the Wasting God himself, devising an elixir of holy contagion which the Leprous Divinity then imbibed; while this is obviously a sacrilegious lie, more orthodox minds have suggested that perhaps the Poxbringers were predecessors of our own sacred order, early worshippers of Yzsch.  Whatever the case, they were skilled sorcerer-savants, and their artefacts may have certain holy uses.  Already scum from Macellaria and beyond have rifled the city for treasures, but it is unlikely they were thorough - more probably they simply grabbed what they could easily carry and departed.

"We will search more extensively.  Ordinary Ishmael, take two Putrefactors and begin searching the east quarter; Ordinary Bhael and Proctor Nox, you will do the same for the west and south quarters, while I will take the north.  One Putrefactor will remain with the pack-beast.  We will meet back here after your search is complete.  Understood?"

The other cultists nod.  Each robed figure departs with two of the armoured warriors, heading into separate sectors of Chymalea.  One of them - presumably Ordinary Bhael - heads in your direction with one of the swordsmen and a glaive-wielder.  Close by is a larger tower as well as a ruinous domed structure.

* Eareg Maar waits for Bhael to pass before following them.

* Eareg Maar is a bit curious.

* Eareg Maar does keep some distance between himself and those he is following however... he isn't that curious.

The trio heads towards the domed structure.  They enter via a huge doorway.

* Eareg Maar peaks through the doorway.

Through the doorway is what appears to be a temple.  Eight fat columns support the ceiling, which is adorned with chipped, faded frescoes of various otherworldly, protoplasmic entities destroying a city.  At the far end of the room a gigantic idol of jade squats before an altar.  The statue is of a vaguely feminine figure afflicted with all manner of lesions and growths.  Beneath the masses of diseased tissue you can see that she is shapely and beautiful.  She wears a serene expression quite at odds with the horrific tumours mottling her sculpted stone body.  Apart from the statue the only furnishings are some stone benches and two large reliquaries, huge chests of black metal.  The trio heads towards one of the reliquaries and begins examining it.

"This may hold something of value," Ordinary Bhael says.  He speaks a word of power and the reliqaury opens.

* Eareg Maar continues to watch.

He withdraws a crown of yellowish-silver metal.

"This seems to be warded somehow," he says.  "We will examine it more closely later.  Now on to the other reliquary."

* Eareg Maar ducks quickly out of sight, but his boot squeaks against the floor.

"What was that?" You hear Bhael say.  "You, go investigate.  We will remain here."  Heavy, booted footsteps approach your position.

* Eareg Maar hastily moves to another location, taking cover in the shadow of a nearby tower.

One of the armoured figures - the swordsman - emerges from the depths of the temple.  He looks around and heads off in a different direction, sword drawn.  He's heading back towards the crossroads and the pack-beast, it looks like.

* Eareg Maar heads back down and finds another hiding spot where he can observe within the dome from.

You creep into the dome and conceal yourself behind one of the pillars.

* Eareg Maar sizes up the Ordinary and his remaining bodyguard.

Ordinary Bhael and the remaining 'Putrefactor' appear to have opened the second reliquary and plundered it of its contents.  The remaining bodyguard wields a large glaive.  Ordinary Bhael is engrossed in examining the huge idol at the end of the room.

* Eareg Maar ever so quietly pulls out Meteor and lines up a shot on the bodyguard taking his time to get it perfect.

* Eareg Maar works the rifle, chambering a sickly green wounding bullet.

You can distantly hear footsteps approaching, but they are still some distance away.

* Eareg Maar shakes his head and moves to a position where he is covered from both the doorway and where the priest is.

The footsteps are growing nearer, but there is still time before the bodyguard returns.

* Eareg Maar still waits '" the last thing he wants to do is alert too many people to his presence.

The footsteps draw close, and the swordsman steps back into the temple.  He passes by your hiding-place unawares.

"Well, did you find anything?" Ordianry Bhael snaps.

The guard shakes his helmeted head.

"Very well.  We have found two artefacts already.  We shall continue sweeping this quarter of the city."  Ordinary Bhael takes the two guards and exits the temple, heading towards the tower.

* Eareg Maar waits for them to get almost inside the tower before squeezing off a shot at the glaive-wielding guard.

Your bullet goes wide, hitting the tower and showering the three figures with dust.

* Eareg Maar ducks back into cover and fires off a second shot.

The Putrefactor grunts and staggers as your bullet penetrates his armour at the neck.  He stumbles while Ordinary Bhael and the second Putrefactor cast about in search of their assailant.

* Eareg Maar slips back into cover behind the pillar

You fade back into the shadows of the temple.

"I think I saw him over here!" Orindary Bhael shouts.  Footsteps head off in the other direction.

* Eareg Maar looks out carefully.

The guard you shot is still alive but bleeding badly.  He has a gauntleted hand pressed to his neck.  Discoloured blood is seeping through his fingers.

* Eareg Maar lines him up again and makes a mercy shot.

Your bullets penetrate his helmet and blow it apart, splattering the tower behind him with flaming fragments of bone, metal, and brains.

* Eareg Maar again ducks back just in case.

You hear Ordinary Bhael curse distantly.  Moments later, Ordinary Bhael and the remaining Putrefactor approach again.  They stop at the guard's corpse.

* Eareg Maar lines up the other guard from the shadows.

"Witchery of some kind," you hear Bhael say. "The attacker has probably fled.  We should rejoin the others andalert them to his presence."

* Eareg Maar once again squeezes the trigger and Meteor vomits the contents of its belly forth in a streaming trail of hellish heat.

* Eareg Maar ducks back yet again

You take the Putrefactor at the shoulder.

"There!  Kill him!" Bhael shouts, pointing.  The wounded Putrfecator charges forward, sword raised.

* Eareg Maar lets another volley surge forth from his rifle's maw.

You shoot out the guard's kneecap and he stumbles, bleeding everywhere.  He staggers to his feet and continues towards you, slowed but indomitable.  Meanwhile the robed man shrieks the fell words of a hex!  An energy-sapping miasma coils around you, its touch excruciating.

* Eareg Maar lets fly yet another volley, determined to drop the big brute.  He ignores the draining spell.

Your shots put the Putrefactor out of his misery.  His corpse staggers about for a moment, then falls to the sands.  Ordinary Bhael yells in terror and flees inside the tower.

* Eareg Maar gives chase, entering the tower.

Some kind of diabolical machine dominates this chamber, its components rusted and decrepit.  A central boiler, huge in size, squats amidst a morass of gears and pipes.  A spiral staircase of black iron leads up to the next level and down into gloom.  Residual sand still fills the corners.  No sign of Bhael; he must have gone either upwards or downwards...

* Eareg Maar examines the stairs for signs of passage.

A footprint would seem to indicate the magus ascended.

* Eareg Maar reloads Meteor and heads up the stairs.

Windows overlook the city streets below here.  Several vats full of congealed, putrescent liquid stand to one side.  The stairway continues upwards.

* Eareg Maar looks around for the Ordinary.

You see Ordinary Bhael crouching behind one of the vats.

* Eareg Maar levels his rifle at the priest.

Eareg Maar - Step out here nice and slowly, holy man. Any noise and you die.

"Never, heretic!" Bhael shrieks.  He begins mouthing the words of a spell.

* Eareg Maar smiles.

* Eareg Maar fires Meteor, aiming to wound rather than kill.

Your bullet takes him in the shoulder, but his incantation is already complete.  You dodge aside as he vomits a huge gout of caustic liquid!  A few drops of the acidic substance singe your flesh.

* Eareg Maar points the rifle at the man's head.

Eareg Maar - Last chance before I pull the trigger and you look like your bodyguards down below... I have an offer for you.

Bhael gulps.

Eareg Maar - It has you walking away alive and still with something to show for it.

"How do I know I can trust you, infidel?"

Eareg Maar - You don't have to, but your only choice is between accepting my offer, and having a large hole added to your head.

"Point taken.  I'm listening."  His eyes dart back and forth, lingering on the window.

Eareg Maar - You have two relics on you, I believe. Correct?

"What are you babbling about?" He is clearly lying: you watched him take one of the relics yourself.

Eareg Maar - Oh don't bother denying it, I was watching you while you were grabbing them.

"Hmph.  I suppose you want the relics in exchange for my life?"

Eareg Maar - I am a man of some honor: I don't want to rob you blind, so I propose a trade. You will give me that crown you found and in exchange you can walk away with the other... you can tell the others you fought off an attempt on your life by scavenger scum and even have something to show for it. We both win, and I will leave. I came here only for a single thing; you and your kin can have the rest of what you find. I don't care.

"I see.  Your offer is acceptable.  Very well." He reaches into his satchel and withdraws the crown.  This he rolls towards you.

* Eareg Maar steps out of the way and allows him to pass towards the stairs.

Eareg Maar - Walk out calmly and back to your beast of burden. I will be watching from the window

He watches you carefully and heads for the stairs.  He makes his descent.

* Eareg Maar takes the crown.

This crown of greenish-silver metal bears several red carbuncle gemstones.

* Eareg Maar looks out the window.

A group of the robed men and Putrefactors is heading down a street not far from here, towards your current location. Perhaps they were attracted by the sound of gunshots.

* Eareg Maar slips out of the tower and back through the ruins, avoiding the cultists and their armoured warriors.

* Eareg Maar pulls forth black tendrils from his arm and whips them forth to strike the ground; a skeletal horse bursts forth from the sand.

* Eareg Maar mounts it and heads off at speed.[/ic]

[ic=Pastiche]Back in Macellaria, Mr. Carver returns to his chambers...

When you return to your room above Gristle's clinic, you find an evelope waiting for you just inside: someone has slipped it under the door.

* Mr. Carver gently picks up the envelope with his tentacle and wipes off the saliva.

Inside is a daguerreotype.  The sepia image shows the face of a decaying corpse - a corpse missing one of its teeth.  You recognize the visage: this man once came to Woundtender seeking treatment for a disease contracted in one of the seedier brothels of Velveteen Circus.  The old leechkin aided the man and charged him but a few bones; the patient laughed in the leechkin's face, refused to pay, and beat the doctor horribly.  At the time you were little more than a child, unable to defend Woundtender against the man's attacks; but after the ungrateful patient departed, you followed him.  Through the shadows you skulked, one of Woundtender's scalpels clutched in your hand.  While he pissed against a wall in an alleyway you sneaked up to him and slit his throat with a single precise slice.  It was easier, that time, than it'd been with your first three kills: you knew what you were doing.  The man had spun, eyes wide and disbelieving, while you stood there, shivering in the night, Woundtender's scalpel in your hands and your eyes dark, full not merely of hate but of something cold and inchoate, a hungry shadow.  While he spluttered and died, you took the blade to him again.  Each time the scalpel pierced his flesh you felt the thing within you purr.

You left the man's corpse in the alleyway.  He was found by the militia and interred in the cemetery outside the Witch's Gate.  Whoever took this photograph must have exhumed the body.

On the back is a message:

"Dear Mr. Carver,

We are greatly impressed with your work.  Even this early piece, from your juvenilia, possesses considerable poignancy; you balanced depth of emotion with a precision of technique unusual in so callow a youth.  If you wish an opportunity to hone your talents in the company of those who share your artistic temperament, come alone to the abandoned asylum on Talon Avenue, the site of one of your most recent (and delightful!) exhibitions, at dawn.

Yours in Sincere Admiration,

Your Dedicated Devotees"

* Mr. Carver raises an eyebrow in appreciation, then lights a candle and sets a corner of the letter on fire. Better if it isn't found by anyone.

* With little else to do and with waning interest in Gristle's work, Mr. Carver leaves for the asylum immediately.

The aslyum is not far - in fact, only about twenty minutes walk.  You pass the barricades marking the quarantine zone, hear the coughs and moans of the diseased men and women within.  The asylum juts from the street like a decaying tooth, barred windows like cavities.  The front door is open.  The memory of the fight here flashes through your mind: the Masticator biting into your arm, the joyous thrill as you plunged the Agony Knife into a gangster's flesh.  You don't see anyone outside.

* Mr. Carver continues inside.

In the front hall of the asylum a few bloodstains are the only indication of the battle that took place here.  At the foot of the stairs is another daguerreotype.

* Mr. Carver picks it up and looks at it.

This one is of a woman.  Again she is missing one of her teeth: her necrotic lips have been pulled back so that she grins.  She was one of the Untainted: the scavenger whose murder earned you a place in the Pits.  Her screams were like a symphony.  Only hours before you'd seen her and some of her ilk kicking a squealing cestoid barely past its larval stage: the unknowing thing had accidentally strayed too close to the Sanguine Church, and was being punished for its desecration.  On the back of the daguerreotype is written the word "Roof."

Mr. Carver - Hmm, another clue in the hunt. How thrilling.

* Mr. Carver continues up the stairs. The only way now is up.

The doors along the top floor corridor are all open.  In each one a dead Masticator is displayed, shackled to the walls.  Some bear the deep, brutish cuts of Kaius' sword or Gorethirst's heavy axe.  Others are covered in tiny spider bites courtesy of one of Tarim's hexes, or singed bullet holes from Eareg's eldritch rifle.  Near the end your own comparatively delicate handiwork is exhibited.  At the end of the passage a set of rungs lead up to an open trapdoor.

* Mr. Carver climbs up.

A shadowy figure awaits you on the roof, looking out over the city.  He turns as you get to the top of the ladder, and you can see that his skin is strangely mottled, not by scars or disease but by dozens of tiny skin-grafts: his flesh resembles a jigsaw puzzle.  Around his neck he wears a small dagger on a leather cord.  He is otherwise unarmed, as far as you can tell.  Behind him, the sky is still dark, the city a black, squalling, bestial thing, glimmering with lights like a thousand eyes.  You can hear the Watchdog at the Butcher's Gate baying.

"Good evening, Mr. Carver," the man greets you.  "You can call me Pastiche.  I am glad you decided to join me here.  Before I begin, I would ask that you not share anything I tell you tonight with anyone, not even close friends.  As you have no doubt ascertained, we have been watching you very closely.  Were we to pass on what we know to the militia... well, they might not be so charitable as to throw you in the Pits a second time.  Do not mistake my intentions: I do not mean to threaten you, only to ensure that our conversation will be confidential."

Mr. Carver - On this path of life I think it's only understandable that you are taking precautions.

"I am glad you understand."

Mr. Carver - I see you have put me and my associates' work on display?

"Indeed.  We are all tremendous fans of your work. As one of your most ardent appreciators I was selected to formally invite you to join our organization - the Cult of the Bloodletter.  We are a group of individuals like yourself, who have discovered the Greatest Joy - that is, the taking of other lives.  Some think of us an assassin's guild, others as a group of superstitious fanatics.  It's true that we are paid for our work, and that there is a spiritual level to our activities, but such labels are crude and insufficient to encompass the glory of our enterprise."

Pastiche turns back to the sprawling cityscape.  "We know the secrets of self-authorship are intertwined with sacrifice.  When we move, when we kill, we become avatars of the Divine Murderer; in imitating His transcendental massacres we retrace the path of His apotheosis."  He looks over his shoulder at you.  "We are artists, like you are, Mr. Carver.  We have stared into the abyss of meaninglessness, onto the blank, terrible canvas of creation.  But where others despair or sing their laments to this moribund existence we cut new meanings, splatter the canvas with crimson ink.  In destroying the lives of others, we create ourselves.  Take me, for example."  He holds a hand up to his patchwork face.  "Each scrap of flesh was taken from one of my prey.  They live on as part of me.  With every new addition I become greater than I was before, closer to perfection, greater than the sum of my parts.  An idea I am sure you understand."  He turns back towards you and crosses his arms.

"The Cult can provide you with all you need to continue your metamorphosis, your self-development.  The rewards for each assassination are rich, enough to buy the most powerful and exotic grafts you desire.  You would have a safe haven in which to hide yourself from enemies - our shrine, deep in the Catacombs.  You would have access to an armoury, a laboratory, to the poison kitchens, to the training rooms.  You could learn from others like yourself, continue to hone your craft, to sharpen your skills.  We have so much we can teach you; but you could teach us as well, share your knowledge, your perspective, your expertise.  We could be the family you never had, Mr. Carver, a true family.

"So.  You have heard my proposal.  We are very selective: not just anyone gets invited to join.  This is a rare opportunity.  But if you do not wish to become part of the Cult, we will never bother you again.  What will it be?  Will you come with us and defy the limits of flesh and mind?  Or will you remain amongst the insects, scuttling through their doomed little lives?"  He gestures contemptuously to the city below.  The sun is rising, and the sky in the east is red as blood.

Mr. Carver - Down below us... they are all men. The only thing I do not wish to be. You offer an alternative.

"Yes.  You understand.  With us, you can become a god."

Mr. Carver '" This '"

* Mr. Carver gestures to his own motley body.

Mr. Carver '" was only my attempt to transcend humanity. But it sounds like I could have much to learn from you. I will take you up on your offer.

"Very good.  Now, as to the particulars of your initiation.  Your apprenticeship has been exceptionally promising, but every guild requires new members to produce a masterpiece.  Also, the Cult requires a test of loyalty, part of the ritual of induction into the order.  You must shed some of your own blood, and the blood of another.

"We do not kill for reasons of vengeance, or justice, or for any other base, secular motive.  For the Cult, murder is an art-form, the victim merely a medium.  Thus, we allow our patrons to select our subjects for us.  Only the high priests know who desires a target killed: individual operatives are only given a name.  In your case, the name is Primate Malleus Hexen: one of the foremost priests of the Sanguine Church.

"The Primate is young for such a prominent ecclesiarch, but he is still far from his youth.  Physically, he should be little challenge.  However, he is surrounded almost at all times by bodyguards, warrior-monks pledged to give their life for Striga.  Because of their constant presence, attempting the assassination in the Church itself would be extremely risky, though not impossible.  Fortunately, our organization has gathered a great deal of information on Malleus, and have discovered an alternative.

"Using the utmost discretion, the Primate steals from the Church on a weekly basis, taking with him only a single guard personally loyal to him, a eunuch called Thadeon.  Disguised, Hexen makes his way surreptitiously to Velveteen Circus, where he enters a certain pleasure-house known to cater to certain depraved appetites, a place called Outcross.  It seems that despite his fire-and-brimstone rhetoric on the pulpit condemning the city's leechkin as unclean parasites and abominations in Striga's eyes, the Primate likes having his blood sucked during his private time.  Hexen spends several hours enjoying masochistic love-play with certain individuals the pleasure-house provides at an exorbitant price, before slipping back to the Church.  During this time he is most vulnerable to attack.

"Hexen's next visit to Outcross is this Scabday, in two days' time.  It will be your best opportunity to complete the assignment.  Collect a phial of the Primate's blood and go to the statue in the northwest corner of Tatterdemalion Court, at midnight.  From there you will be conveyed to the shrine, and formally inducted into the Cult."

Mr. Carver - I accept. I will bring you his blood and with that his life.

* Mr. Carver makes a formal bow.

"Excellent.  May the Bloodletter guide your blade."  Pastiche bows in return.

Mr. Carver - If it needs guidance, I will gladly accept it.

* Mr. Carver bids Pastiche farewell and leaves the asylum after one last look out across the awakening city.[/ic]

[ic=Sickness]Kryzbytn has just slain the gladiator known as the Devourer, and the party has made a deal of coin on the fight.  The mantid warrior leaves the Pits wounded but triumphant, amidst cries of "Reaper! Reaper!"

* Kryzbytn nearly collapses as he reunites with his companions

Vetter '" You kill very well! Very well.

Tarim - Well fought! I admit I was getting rather worried for my wager there.

* Koldobika nods greetings to Kryz. He contemplates patting the bug on the back, only to realize that with that much ichor around, it may do more harm than good...

Kryzbytn - My foe was quite strong... yes...

Mr. Carver (just arriving) - How unfortunate that I got here too late to place a formal bet. Seems I could have earned quite a bit of bones.

Kryzbytn - I do fancy the name "Reaper"...

Vetter - It is a good name.

Tarim - A fitting title indeed.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Reaper is appropriate and hard-earned.

* Vetter translates.

Kryzbytn - I will be needing much rest. It feels as though my wings have been ripped anew.

Tarim - You look like you could use some recuperation. Not to mention patching up.

Mr. Carver - I can be of some help on that account.

* Kryzbytn looks at Mr. Carver.

Kryzbytn - I may need your assistance, then.

* Kryzbytn tries to look his best, standing tall and ignoring what pain he can, as a victor should.

Mr. Carver - Can you find a quiet place? The middle of the crowd is not the best place for bandages and clean wounds.

* Vetter looks around to see if there is anywhere nearby he could buy Kryz a congratulatory drink.

In the lead-up to the Reaper's Feast, festivities are abundant.  A series of low tables have been set up outside a local tavern across from the Pits.  Creatures of various races - mostly humans, ghilan, and hagmen - are seated at the tables, with several large bottles of golden liqueur between them and numerous goblets before them.  Currently none of them drink; they stare at one another in anticipation.  A flamboyantly attired announcer shouts out to the crowd:

"How much can your mind withstand?!  Find out in a MADWINE DRINKING CONTEST sponsored by THE MUDDLED SERAPH TAVERN!!!  Pit your sanity against that of your opponents for only FIVE BONES!  THE PRIZE?!?  Half the pool and a free bottle of 'DELIRIUM'S DROUGHT' courtesy of PHANTASMAGORIA VINEYARDS, valued at THREE HUNDRED OBELOI!"

Kryzbytn - I know of a fine Inn called the Blue Orchid... perhaps there? I will cover all expenses.

Tarim - Sounds good. We should get a round of drinks to celebrate your victory.

Mr. Carver - If you think they will tolerate blood in their common room, then by all means lead the way.

Vetter - Fellows... fellows, I think I may have to go and... oh okay then. But you will not cover expenses, I'm buying you a drink!

* Koldobika heard someone mention all expenses paid... so he's in for that!

Kryzbytn - Hmm, yes, they do appreciate cleanliness there... perhaps Kaius' tower? Kaius... hmm, maybe he'll have returned by now.

Vetter - But Kaius's tower ain't got no drink! Let's go make a mess in the Orchid.

Tarim - Just pay them a little extra so they won't mind the mess.

The ostentatious Blue Orchid is close to the Hollow Skull Playhouse, where 'Demon's Child' is just now finishing its run.  You enter the lobby of the hotel; the attendants eye you a bit dubiously but at the sight of coin they soon calm down.

* Kryzbytn pays sixty obeloi to the attendant, covering all of our charges for a nightly stay.

* Vetter heads to the bar, delving into his purse.

The bar is swanky; they look at you a bit suspiciously as you enter, but again, the sight of coin expunges any hesitation on their parts.

* Mr. Carver takes out a small battered wooden box holding what appear to be the tools of a doctor. Bandages, herbs, metal implements of questionable sterility.

* Koldobika has a much... cleaner, kit, should Kryz prefer it instead...

* Kryzbytn eyes the tools dubiously.

* Mr. Carver notices Kryz' apprehension.

Mr. Carver - Don't worry, the bandages are decent enough and I don't need the other things except a needle; and I'm sure there is a candle here somewhere.

Kryzbytn - Thank you, Carver one.

* Tarim casually observes the first-aid over a drink, not at all disturbed by the sight.

Vetter (to the bartender) - I would like one expensive drink and five less expensive drinks.

"Coming right up, sir."  He pours you a shot of expensive liqueur and five cheap whiskeys.

* Vetter brings the drinks over to the group and presents Kryz with the pricey shot, then shares the rest out to the others.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, can't have you falling apart, now can I?

Kryzbytn - Do not worry about me, Carver one. I've been taken apart at least once before.

* Kryzbytn sits back and closes his eyes for a moment.

Kryzbytn - The feeling is familiar...

* Vetter sips his whiskey and cheerfully gawps at the other patrons of the Blue Orchid

* Koldobika wonders how many other times Kryz has been 'taken apart'. "At least once" does not mean only once...

Mr. Carver - I'm not unfamiliar with being taken apart myself, although it is usually on my own terms.

* Mr. Carver smiles.

Carver, as you were treating Kryzbytn you noticed some odd welts forming on his body.

* Mr. Carver inspects them more closely.

They look just like small bumps or plaques.

Kryzbytn - ...Is something amiss, Carver one?

Mr. Carver - Perhaps, give me a few minutes. Just lay still.

* Kryzbytn does as he says.

Mr. Carver - You have some odd welts. What did you fight?

* Mr. Carver tries to touch them.

Kryzbytn - An anthropophagus warrior, one with two large axes and a... oh, a ferocious bite.

Tarim - Do you need some assistance perchance? I could take a look if you don't mind.

* Koldobika abandons the cheap drink in favour of digging his nose into the problem at hand. He may not be particularly gifted with healing, but he has at least a passing knowledge of some of the maladies one can get in the desert.

Mr. Carver - I know little about their kind, but this could be poison or infection. It could be incubation for all I know.

Tarim - That doesn't sound well at all. Perhaps the weapons were treated somehow?

Mr. Carver '" This might sting a little.

Kryzbytn - Wait, what?

* Mr. Carver produces a knife and heats it over the candle and gently punctures one of the welts.

* Vetter observes with interest, drinking and staying silent.

* Kryzbytn writhes a little, but remains as still as he can.

* Tarim leans in to examine.

* Wispy orders a decomposing rat to eat.

A trickle of blood flows from the welt.  It doesn't look tainted.  Kryzbytn, you're not sure, but you remember once seeing a victim of chatterpox you saw in the streets of Lophius.  The man had tiny sores all over his body that assumed the form of murmuring human mouths demanding to be fed.  How you could have contracted such a condition, you have no idea.

Kryzbytn - I think I've seen this before... it looks like... chatterpox

Tarim - Pox? It is contagious?

* Tarim instinctively draws back, despite being grave-spawn.

Mr. Carver - Now I feel even worse for puncturing his welt.

Kryzbytn - Only through saliva, Tarim one. I'll avoid spitting on you.

Tarim - Oh, that's good to hear at least. Assuming that this is truly what is causing those welts.

* Mr. Carver looks at Kryz' mandibles.

Mr. Carver - I don't think I have seen a slavering insect.

Speaking of illness, Koldobika, you feel a little warm.

* Koldobika backs away slowly.

Mr. Carver - Well, I'm not going to argue with the patient over it.

Kryzbytn - It doesn't make much sense... where would I have picked up chatterpox...

Wispy '" Sewers?

Vetter - How do you get rid of the pox?

* Koldobika has mostly ignored the drink brought to him '" and though he feels a bit on the warm side, he seems to be convinced it is because he is covered in fur and indoors.

Kryzbytn - But why would I have gotten the pox and not any of you?

Mr. Carver - It seems to me that a giant mouth, let's say one situated on a torso, might be a perfect source of this contagion. Your gladiatorial opponent seems the most obvious origin.

* Vetter starts checking himself for any welts.

Wispy - You didn't go on a kissing spree after winning the match, Kryz? There's a reason politicians stopped kissing babies here a few years back.

Kryzbytn - A kiss from me, bird one, would probably rip out your tongue.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, chatterbox babies. As if them having one mouth wasn't horrifying enough.

Wispy - Yeah, it was a pretty bad thing when the district alderman infected a tenth of the population of Hexwarren's childer.

Kryzbytn - Perhaps I am misremembering the fight... I do not actually recall him biting me... It was such a blur...

Mr. Carver - He is half mouth, I'm sure he can be excused if he can't keep a hold of all his saliva and spills a few droplets on his weapons.

Vetter - Strikes me the problem ain't so much how you got it as how to not have it?

Koldobika (Flicker) - There is no reason not to see the healer. The illness may be removed. The illness removed is an illness not to be worried for.

* Vetter translates for Kol.

The Blue Orchid staff will summon a healer, if you wish.

Kryzbytn - Have you all checked yourselves?

* Koldobika shakes his head negative.

Vetter - I'm fine, me. Never felt better. Well, that ain't exactly true. But I ain't poxed, I know that much. It's something... other... that ails me.

* Koldobika turns to look at the Vetter.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The other is named.

Vetter (Flicker) - The other is the horror. The horror is of the Box. The Box was in the Catacombs.

* Koldobika nods in response to Vetter, though he is unsure exactly what Vetter is talking about. He remembers something about a trapped box. That must be it.

Kryzbytn - This supposed pox has had me feeling quite unwell...

* Mr. Carver casually checks himself, pretty certain that he isn't infected.

Wispy - No, I have not checked myself. But thank you for asking. Besides, as an honorary gravespawn, until the festival, I am immune from disease.

Kryzbytn - I need to get this treated...

Tarim - I have not felt any sort of illness since leaving the sewers, even though I certainly became intimately familiar with the place '" but then again, I am grave-spawn, and so not susceptible to most sickness.

* Wispy continues eating.

Kryzbytn - I have seen them erupt...

* Kryzbytn clicks, annoyed

Kryzbytn - Just when I finally get a chance to rest!

* Kryzbytn summons an Orchid healer.

For a surcharge of ten bones the chirurgeon will attempt to treat you with some medication.

* Kryzbytn pays for the medicine.

* Koldobika purchases some more basic and general quality medicine for himself. Just to be on the safe side. He had just been crawling through the sewers, so he may have picked up something unfortunate during that jaunt.

You are already feeling better.  The staff are quite edgy, given the epidemic still afflicting Resurrection Row.

Kryzbytn - Ah, yes, that's much better.

Vetter (to the room at large) '" Don't worry boys and girls, as long as you don't kiss him you'll be fine!

* Vetter thus saying, goes to get another drink.

* Kryzbytn chitters.

* Vetter gets a double of the cheap stuff and lingers a little at the bar, curious about the other patrons.

* Wispy heads to his chamber.

* Wispy will smuggle Oney in if he has an open window.

You can get the Hellhound in through an open window Wispy.

Wispy - We're living the good life tonight, Oney. Twice in one week, and this time not even on our own dime! Prospects seem to be looking up.

The patrons seem to mostly be a business crowd - well-heeled merchants, professionals, shopkeepers, and a few scavengers.  Vetter, you recognize some of the merchants as men you worked with before as an enforcer or bodyguard.

* Vetter nods greeting to those he recognises.

Some nod in return, others scowl and look away.

* Tarim chats up some of the scavengers to hear if they got any news on the whereabouts of Eareg.

One of the Blacktongue Brothers (a scavenger gang) claims to have seen Eareg heading southwest, towards the Firesong Marches.

Tarim - I appreciate this piece of information. I bid you farewell.

* Tarim departs to sleep in his room.

* Kryzbytn sleeps soundly.

* Wispy proceeds to take most of Ekwanesu's money, playing at jatayi sticks.

Wispy - Well, Ekwaneseu, you came out ahead nonetheless with the Mantis' victory. Here, as a token of appreciation; ten obeloi for your ride home.

The despondent zerda takes the bones and slinks from the Inn.[/ic]

[ic=Murder Most Foul]The next day, Mr. Carver and Tarim breakfast in the common room of the Blue Orchid.

Mr. Carver - Tarim, I suddenly recall something I wanted to ask you. You are the man of the most occult persuasion in this little group and I have this staff I'm sure you remember. By all accounts it seems to be running low on whatever makes these things work. Can you restore it?

Tarim - I'm afraid I cannot help you with that problem. Although someone of greater mastery in hexcraft may be able to.

Mr. Carver - You know anyone who could do it? And do NOT say Ezekiel Khaan.

Tarim - Perhaps Rhyxin D'abrat would be up to the task. He is an artificer of some repute.

Mr. Carver - I might just seek him out Tarim.

Tarim - You should be able to find him at his shop near the Academy of Witchcraft.

Mr. Carver - You know him personally?

Tarim - I do. Not that I could call him a friend or anything like that. But I have made his acquaintance, as I have with many others of the trade.

Mr. Carver - You could come along. Help me convince him that this is a project worth undertaking.

Tarim - I don't think he'd need more convincing than your coin, really. Assuming that he is capable enough of handling the matter

Mr. Carver - Ah, then you could at least convince him of a discount? My coffers are running a little dry. But if you do not care to go, I will find him myself.

Tarim - Like I said, we are not that close. He doesn't owe me any favours. But I could certainly accompany you if you wish. Might be refreshing to see him again, anyway.

Mr. Carver - I could always use some company.  Let's leave immediately, see if we can catch him before he calls it a day.

Tarim - Very well.

* Mr. Carver departs the Blue Orchid.

* Tarim follows.

A greasy mist has settled over the city, a miasmic fume brought in on a wind from the southeast.  Fortunately the fog is not the bilious yellow-green of Rotmist, but it does carry a foul, acrid smell...

You make your way from Pulsetown to Hexwarren, passing into the curiously charged air of the witch's district.  You arrive at Rhyxin D'abrat's shop in the shadow the Academy of Witchcraft.  Across the street, a scroll-vendor hawks various spells.

* Mr. Carver opens the door.

It's locked.

* Mr. Carver knocks.

No response, Carver... curious.

* Mr. Carver knocks again, harder.

No one answers.

Tarim - Hm, seems that he isn't attending. Or at least not prepared to take any customers at the moment.

Mr. Carver - Where do you think he has gotten to? The Academy perhaps?

Tarim '" Perhaps.

Mr. Carver - Two seconds, I will ask the man across the street whether he has seen anyone.

You approach the scroll vendor.

Mr. Carver - Have you by any chance seen Mr. Rhyxin, who lives across the street?

"Hmm, can't say I have..."

Mr. Carver - Nevermind, good day to you then.

Tarim, you notice a side door in the alleyway that actually looks to be ajar.

 Tarim - Wait, it looks as though he's left a side door open.

* Tarim approaches the ajar door.

* Mr. Carver leaves three bones with the merchant and follows Tarim.

* Tarim peeks through the door.

The door looks to lead into one of D'abrat's workrooms.

Mr. Carver - Perhaps I should go first.

Tarim - Rhyxin? You here?

The witch's alchemical equipment is in a state of disarray.  Broken glass covers the floor.

Tarim - Uh, this doesn't look good at all.

Mr. Carver - I have the knives and I'm less prone to turning to dust if anything dangerous happens.

* Mr. Carver unsheathes the Agony Knife.

* Tarim draws his blunderbuss pistol.

There's a door on the far end of the room.

* Mr. Carver walks into the room.

* Mr. Carver goes to the door and listens.

You hear the buzz of flies, Carver.

Mr. Carver - Definitely not good. I hope he wasn't too dear a friend Tarim, this might be bad.

Tarim - Hells...

* Mr. Carver opens the door, drawing a piece of red cloth before his mouth and nose.

A horrendous stench assails you, Mr. Carver.  A man's corpse, stripped naked, has been nailed to the floor in what looks to be a library.  He was obviously tortured, judging from the mutilations covering his body.  Scratched onto his chest is a distinctive sigil - a staring eye.

Mr. Carver - I'm regretting this tongue graft more and more, although it does add entire new dimensions to the scent that is putrefaction. I assume this is him, Tarim?

* Tarim reluctantly leans close to see whether the corpse is that of Rhyxin.

It is.

Tarim '" It's him.

Mr. Carver - Bad way to go. My condolences, friend.

Tarim - It is indeed him. Such a disgraceful end!

Mr. Carver - I wonder who killed him. Gambling debts?

Tarim - This is no ordinary robbery-turned-slaying.

Mr. Carver '" No, this was planned. Meticulously.

* Tarim sighs.

Mr. Carver - Maybe there are some clues to the nature of his fate.

Tarim - Much as I hate to do this, I need to learn more.

* Tarim places the Collar of Cadaverous Communion on Rhyxin's corpse.

Mr. Carver - What are you doing Tarim?

* Mr. Carver starts searching the library for clues.

You find various grimoires, scrolls, and arcane texts, but no obvious clues.

* Mr. Carver stows some of the materials.

Tarim - Speak, Rhyxin! How did you die?

Rhyxin coughs.  Flies emerge from his mouth.  He stares at you sightlessly with empty, maggot-eaten sockets.

"Tarim...that you... Inquisitors... Wasting God."

Tarim - Yes? The Inquisitors killed you?

"Wanted to know where you lived." He coughs again.  "Knew all about you.  Wanted some kind of book..."

* Tarim curses.

"Talked about someone called Rowys Meth."

Tarim - So they have come after me again... Figures that they would not give up so easily. What did you tell them?

"Told them everything I could... made me talk.  Used m-m-machines.  Implements."  He coughs raggedly and more maggots burst from his mouth in grotesque profusion.

Tarim - Rest now, Rhyxin. If I come across a chance to deal with these whoresons, I will be sure to give them a little extra treatment for what they did to you.

"Th-thank you..."

* Tarim removes the Collar.

Mr. Carver - I have found a lot of old books, Tarim. Valuable by the looks of it. Perhaps you can garner some information from them, I certainly can't.

Tarim - Mr. Carver. It appears that I have more people wanting me dead than I previously thought.  Old foes from my days before Macellaria.

Mr. Carver - I hate to be discourteous to your friend, but if we leave the shop like this won't all his treasures go to looters and thieves?

Tarim - True. Better to burn it all down, along with his remains.

Mr. Carver - As an artificer I'm sure has a few things lying around that are better spared, but we should be careful not to linger.

* Tarim quickly searches the place for any items worth saving.

Most of the alchemical equipment is ruined, Carver, but you find a few unmarked bottles of mysterious liquid (drugs? poisons?).  There's another room adjoining the library, though it's locked.  There's a sigil on the door as well - another Inquisitorial eye...

Tarim - The sigil. It looks like a possible scrying device.

Mr. Carver tries to knock down the door.

The door begins to splinter.

* Mr. Carver tries again.

It groans.

* Mr. Carver rams it a third time.

It's about to come off its hinges.

Mr. Carver - This door does not agree with me.

* Mr. Carver aims a hefty kick.

The door finally gives way after your repeated attempts.

Mr. Carver - Ah, there we go. Hope no one was alerted by the noise. Perhaps you should lock the alleyway door for the time being?

* Tarim goes to close and lock the open door.

* Tarim hurries back to join up with Carver.

Past the broken door is D'abrat's cabinet of curiosities, a motley collection of eldritch oddments and esoteric machines scattered on the shelves before you.  Some of these seem to be merely isolated components of larger devices, but others are fully assembled.  A kind of mechanical gauntlet inscribed with runes rests on one table, wires dangling from its wrist; beside it an automaton beetle the size of a small dog sits with its wing-casings spread.  In the corner an unusually ornate iron maiden stands, slightly open, beside an unusual-looking crossbow hanging on a wall.

Tarim - Hm, looks like some expensive equipment.


* Tarim inspects the mechanical beetle.

It's a fully working automaton.

Mr. Carver '" This is... quite impressive.

Tarim - He was very good with this sort of work

* Mr. Carver inspects the crossbow.

The crossbow is made entirely of glyph-graven metal.

* Tarim pokes the automaton lightly

The automaton does nothing; it is currently inert, and needs to be wound up.

* Mr. Carver inspects the gauntlet.

This mechanical gauntlet is inscribed with various runes and seems to be intended to plug into the wearer's bloodstream.

Tarim - These devices are well worth saving from the flames. Should fetch a decent price on the market if not directly useful to us.

Mr. Carver - What is this Tarim?

* Tarim inspects the runes on the gauntlet.

This an Eldritch Amplifier Gauntlet, able to augment the power of spells by drawing on the caster's life-essence, transmittable via the blood.

Tarim - A useful tool for witches. Aids in the weaving of hexes, although it taps on the vitality of the wearer.

Mr. Carver - Well, I'm no witch. Here.

* Mr. Carver tosses the gauntlet to Tarim.

* Tarim stuffs the device in his haversack.

Mr. Carver '" You take it.  Any idea what this here thing is for?

* Mr Carver gestures to the iron maiden.

* Mr. Carver inspects the iron maiden more closely.

There are some curious Hellspeak sigils etched on it.

Mr. Carver - Demon binding?

Tarim - Appears to be marked at least.

Mr. Carver - Well, I'm not going to lug it around if it doesn't at least do something my knife can't. This on the other hand I'll bring along.

* Mr. Carver takes the crossbow.

* Mr. Carver playfully winds up the crossbow and presses the trigger at thin air.

The crossbow twangs.

* Tarim reads the sigils on the iron maiden.

The sigils indicate a ward placed on the iron maiden: anyone placed inside will receive eldritch regeneration at the same rate they are injured by the spikes, so that pain is prolonged.

Tarim - The iron maiden seems to be hexed to slow down the death of those placed within its embrace.

Mr. Carver - Nasty piece.

Tarim '" Indeed.

Mr. Carver - Probably better if we just leave it here. On the other hand that means one of the Guilds will probably acquire it.

* Tarim grabs the beetle automaton and moves it over to the side-street exit door.

Tarim - Mr Carver, I must request a favour from you

Mr. Carver - Speak then.

Tarim - The men who killed D'abrat are likely to come for me soon. They probably know the location of my shop and might already have broken in there.

Mr. Carver - Go on.

Tarim - I would appreciate it if you would accompany me, in case they are waiting in an ambush.

Mr. Carver - If this murder is indeed the handiwork of the men you say are lying in wait for you, nothing would please me more than turning their ambush into something they'll regret, so by all means, lead the way.

Tarim - If my home yet remains secure, I would make it more so. I could also use some help setting up a trap for when they eventually come.

Tarim - I am grateful that you are willing to help me in this.

Mr. Carver - Well, we have been through a lot already. No reason it should end so soon.

* Tarim takes a jar of oil and sprays it around the shop.

Tarim - We better move swiftly once the fire starts, lest we arouse suspicions.

Mr. Carver - You have a spell at hand I assume? A conflagration up your sleeve?

Tarim - Check that the way is clear and I will start the fire.

* Mr. Carver nods.

* Mr. Carver moves to look out the door.

The alley is empty save for a leechkin vagrant sprawled half-comatose in the shadows.

Mr. Carver - No witnesses. At least none the militia are going to believe.

* Tarim moves to the doorway, tosses a Hellfire Bomb into the largest pool of oil and grabs the mechanical beetle.

Tarim - Let us make haste now.

The oil lights quickly.  D'abrat's body is swiftly consumed.

* Mr. Carver runs down the alleyway, making sure Tarim is behind him.

* Tarim follows Carver as they make their way through alleys and byways away from the scene.[/ic]

[ic=Arsonist's Fever]Koldobika, when you awake you find you are actually feeling exceedingly energetic, almost euphoric, though you also still feel somewhat feverish.  Whenever you catch sight of a torch, candle, or other open flame, you find it strangely hypnotic.

* Koldobika feels awesome. Like a rainbow. On FIRE.

The more you ponder the flame the more you want to start playing with them.  Maybe burning pieces of parchment... or the curtains... or the fine carpets...

* Koldobika begins to indulge in his inner pyromaniac. Starting with small pieces of parchment scrap and extra linen.

* Koldobika begins to get more elaborate. He begins using burning scraps, candles, and a spare vial to make miniature backdraft effects that cause little puffs of fire that are quite assuredly not safe for anything flammable nearby him.

* Kryzbytn continues sleeping.

* Koldobika ventures into the common room, candle in hand, in search of more things to burn.

The common room is fairly deserted this early.  Only a few servers are in evidence.  The bar is in an adjoining room, where a few grave-spawn and other nocturnal folk still nurse drinks.

* Koldobika has just '" inevitably, but quite inadvertently '" set a table to flame through an application of a cloth soaked with cheap whiskey. He grins happily as he watches it.

A server walks over to the table to take your order and sees that it is alight.  She screams and runs.  Kryzbytn, Wispy the screams awaken you.

* Kryzbytn stirs.

* Koldobika is quite content to watch the fire, paying to no attention to anyone or anything else. So long as he does not need to restart the fire.

* Kryzbytn slowly gets to his feet, eyes blinking.

Kryzbytn - ...what... what's going on?

* Kryzbytn says to no one in particular.

* Kryzbytn realizes he's alone in his room, then it dawns that he heard a scream, grabs his scythe, and does his best to quickly, albeit weakly, get downstairs.

Hotel staff rush to put out the fire with buckets of water.  Kol, you feel a flash of intense irritation at them - why are they putting out the pretty flames?!?

* Koldobika grimaces, then scurries off to find the next nearest candle.

One of the servers attempts to tackle you.

* Koldobika easily dodges aside and snatches up a candle.

* Kryzbytn follows the noises...

* Koldobika takes his new precious and begins to hurry in the direction of the bar, taking very great concern to keep the precious, delicious light from flickering out.

Kryz, you follow the sounds of a scuffle to find Koldobika evading a group of hotel staff who have just doused a table that was on fire.

Kryzbytn - Kol one! What are you doing??

* Kryzbytn stumbles for a moment in his sleepy stupor to remember if Kol is mute or deaf.

Koldobika (Flicker) - Whiskey. Cheap. Bottle.

* Kryzbytn looks at him confused, then shakes his head.

* Koldobika's Flicker is more than a little stilted, since he is currently holding a candle in one hand.

The bartender looks at you strangely; the hotel staff aren't far behind, though most are still busy putting out the flames in the adjoining common room.  Nonetheless, he slides over a bottle, just as one of the staff enters the room and shouts "stop him!"

* Koldobika smiles happily as he proceeds to one end of the bar. Should he get there, he will, naturally, pour the drink all over the bar before applying the candle.

Kryzbytn - Kol! Drop the bottle and the candle... put it down gently...

The bartender shouts as you begin upending the bottle.  At the same time the rest of the pursuing hotel staff burst into the bar shouting.

* Koldobika is completely oblivious to Kryz. The fire is all that seems capable of holding his attention.

Kryzbytn - KOLDOBIKA ONE!!!

The bar is now alight.  The bartender reaches for what looks like a wheellock pistol.

* Koldobika is rather oblivious to the impending threat. He seeks more alcohol to lend to the fire.

* Kryzbytn realizes Kol doesn't seem in his right state of mind...

Kryzbytn - NO! Do not shoot!

"Get this bugger out of here or we're calling the militia!" One of the staff yells.  "And you owe us two hundred bones for that table!"

* Kryzbytn begins inching towards Koldobika.

* Koldobika is going to be happily attempting to set fire to the bar '" and the stockpiles of alcohol '" unless someone actually attempts to stop him from his merry spree.

The bartender aims his wheellock.

* Kryzbytn tackles Kol.

* Koldobika easily dodges aside.

* Kryzbytn in his sleepy haze and weakness, utterly fails.

The bartender fires, but his shot misses.

* Koldobika just saw a flash of fire directed at him. Whatever it came from, he WANTS it!

The bartender shouts and fires again, but Kol is already moving too fast.

* Wispy hears a second discharge of the gun, reaches over to his bed side and grabs his Holy Longsword.

* Wispy rolls over. If it's a duel downstairs, it's probably not his problem. If the discharge sounded like it was coming from this floor, he'd be more worried.

* Wispy leans over and jams the hilt against the floorboards.

* Koldobika scampers onto the bar and makes a grab for that delightful pistol.

Wispy - Keep it down down there! This is a louder establishment than the clocktower; no wonder I don't pay for housing, Oney.

Kryzbytn - BIRD ONE! GET DOWN HERE.

* Kryzbytn gets to his feet.

Kol, you snatch the pistol dextrously.

* Koldobika perches on the bartender's shoulders, grinning at the new toy in his hands. He saw fire come out of it, but there is none anymore. He begins trying to make it work, doing everything from waving it around to smacking the bartender in the head with the barrel. Eventually, he pulls the trigger. Amid the flurry of smoke and fire, the recoil propels Koldobika backwards and into one of the alcohol racks, where he flails wildly amid the bottles, wanting, needing to see the fire burning at the end of the bar.

* Wispy pries loose a floorboard.

* Wispy throws a thunderstone down the ceiling.

There is a deafening bang in the bar. Kol, you have been deafened temporarily.

Wispy - Okay Oney, Vicebite, shock and awe. Let's go.

* Wispy opens his room's door and races downstairs.

* Koldobika now cannot hear atop not being able to speak. However, he can still see...

* Wispy bursts into the bar.

Wispy - What's happening Kryz?

Quite a scene confronts you.  A deafened (and mute) Koldobika amidst a lot of broken bottles with a pistol on hand, an angry bartender, a stumbling Kryzbytn, and a swarm of hotel saff running around trying to put out spreading fires.

Kryzbytn - Koldobika one seems to be possessed into burning everything! I cannot reason with him!

Wispy - So he's finally gone mad, has he? We should have expected this, Kryzbytn.

Kryzbytn '" It's always the quiet ones, eh Bird one?

* Koldobika recognizes the glorious wonder to be gained from the spilled alcohol everywhere. With a very wild expression, he points the gun to a liquid pool on the floor and pulls the trigger.

The alcohol is now aflame as well...

Wispy - He who talks the most and he who talks the least both have the most to hide. So certainly, there is some truth in what you say.

One of the hotel staff runs out of the room.

* Koldobika would squeal in delight if he was capable of making noise. Instead, he hugs his fire-starter to his chest and begins to run down to the other end of the bar.

* Kryzbytn attempts to locate and grapple Kol.

Wispy - I take it though that we should perhaps take him down, or else we may risk being run out of town.

* Koldobika easily evades Kryz once again.

* Wispy casts Compelling Wisecrack on Kol, lewdly miming.

Kol's current frenzy protects him from the hex's effects.

* Kryzbytn looks for a large container of ale.

You find a keg of cheap beer, Kryz.

* Kryzbytn hoists the keg above him and attempts to taunt Koldobika with it.

The bar is now totally ablaze, and the bartender desperately swats at the flames with a rag.  The other Blue Orchid staff are hauling water in from the kitchens.

Kryzbytn - Think of how much fire can be made with this, Kol one!

* Koldobika procures a torch form his backpack, sparing a moment to take light to it. He then notices the great cask of flammable liquid that Kryz is holding. He takes off at Kryz as quickly as his small legs can take him. Which happen to be quite quickly, incidentally.

Kryzbytn - GRAB HIM, BIRD ONE!

* Kryzbytn attempts to grab Kol with his scythe arms.

Wispy - Get away from him Kryz! Don't let him light you on fire!

Kryzbytn - What?!? No!

* Wispy shoots bolts at Kol, but the foxfolk is too fast!

Wispy - He evaded my shots Kryz, we should leave!

* Kryzbytn takes the barrel of ale and runs towards the door.

Kryzbytn - Bird one! Run! Use your honeyslick to try and get him to fall!

Wispy - Ok, Kryz... I do this, and if it fails, we should leave!

* Wispy makes an arcane gesture.

Wispy - Honeyslick!

* Wispy points at the ground in front of Kol while taking to the air.

Militia burst into the bar.

* Vetter stumbles sleepily into the bar, a bit hungover from last night.

* Vetter stops and stares in amazement at the scene before him.

Vetter '" What...?

* Kryzbytn continues running.

* Koldobika pursues the mantid and the highly-flammable concoction he carries. However, having his own lit torch in hand, it is not very hard for him to spare a few moments of passing to set other highly flammable things to lightt during his pursuit...

The rug and random chairs are now alight as well.  The hotel staff scramble to douse them, using buckets of water from the kitchen.

Vetter (shouting) - Kol what the gleet is going on?!

Kryzbytn - Bird one! Do you have a spell to bind him in any way?!

Wispy - Nope. He's too stubborn a quarry. Used up all my spells on him...so now's time to worry.

* Wispy takes off and heads to leave the Inn via the nearest window.

Kryzbytn - Vetter one! Koldobika is running around mad, setting fire to all.

* Kryzbytn runs down whatever hallway he finds.

You run down the first floor halls.  Guests start sticking their heads out angrily.  Kol, you are only a few steps behind the mantid.

* Vetter runs after them.

* Kryzbytn has an idea. When he can, he makes his way towards an exit outside.

* Koldobika is giving merry chase, happily brandishing his torch at anything and everything that passes within reach of his short arms.

* Wispy takes Oney and flies out of the Inn, finding a perch to watch as the place goes up in flames.

Smoke is trickling from the windows, and more militia are rushing into the Blue Orchid.

* Wispy tries to keep out of view of the militia, and pets Oney

* Kryzbytn breaks through a window to get outside, using his mighty legs.

You emerge into the bustling streets of Pulsetown.  A sallow, unpleasant fog lies over everything.  Nearby is the Hollow Skull Playhouse.

* Wispy gets out some kernelled-pieces of decayed meat and offers some to Oney; together they watch the happenings.

Shortly, Wispy, you see militia fire brigade members arrive with large quantities of water.

Wispy - You know Oney, with all these militia here, I wonder who's guarding the banks...

* Wispy plans some burglary.

* Kryzbytn yells.

Kryzbytn '" Two hundred obeloi to whoever stops this zerda chasing me!
 
One of the crowd members lunges at Kol, but the zerda evades him.

* Kryzbytn keeps running desperately, fully aware that he himself cannot hope to catch his zerda friend.

* Kryzbytn stops to notice Kol not chasing him.

* Kryzbytn points with his scythe arm.

Kryzbytn - The price is still there! Stop him! ...Using nonlethal force, that is!

* Kryzbytn notices Vetter.

Kryzbytn - Vetter one! Where have you been??

Vetter - Right behind you, mate!

Kryzbytn - Can you stop him? I lack the necessary finesse to do so.

Another crowd member darts forward, but you scurry between their legs.

* Koldobika scurries towards the Playhouse but stumbles and falls prone.

* Kryzbytn drops the keg of ale and leaps on Kol!

* Vetter will try to grab the torch when he gets to Kol.

* Kryzbytn retracts his scythe arms into his chest cavity, so as not to risk hurting Koldobika

Vetter, you're right in front of them now.  Kol's eyes are lit with a strange, feverish light...

* Kryzbytn gets to his feet, staggering slightly at his barely closed wounds.

* Vetter flings himself at Kol as he rises, whipping his head forwards at the other zerda

Vetter, you barrel forwards but Kol numbly sidesteps and you charge straight into Kryz.  More passersby attempt to subdue the zerda.  One of the militia steps through the window of the Blue Orchid.

"Stop there, fire-starter" He yells.

* Kryzbytn puts out his hand to stop Vetter.

* Kryzbytn answers the man.

Kryzbytn - He is deaf, he cannot hear your demands!

The guard curses and runs forward.

* Kryzbytn makes chase with the guard.

* Vetter regains his footing and runs along with Kryz.

* Koldobika leaps over a cart, tumbles through the crowd, and nimbly runs down a side-street intent on finding new objects to burn.

* Kryzbytn continues to yell his offer ahead of him.

Kryzbytn '" TWO HUNDRED OBELOI FOR ANYONE WHO STOPS THAT ZERDA!

Vetter - ALIVE YOU BASTARDS!

A few citizens have joined the chase, but the little zerda is too fast to easily catch.

* Kryzbytn has an idea.

Kol, you come to a fork in the street.  To the left is a dead end - a low wall blocks the path.  To the right the side-street leads into Slimesquallor, the hagman ghetto.

Vetter (pointing) - The wagon! Use it to get up top! Go!

* Kryzbytn nods and makes his leap, hitting the edge of the roof.

Kryzbytn - Arrg, do not fail me, body...

* Kryzbytn tries to pull his weakened self up to follow Kol from the rooftops.

* Vetter follows him up to the roofs, jumping nimbly and hauling himself up with his grafted arm.

* Koldobika, trying to evade pursuit, smashes a nearby window with the butt of his purloined pistol.

* Koldobika scampers through.

* Kryzbytn continues his chase atop the roofs, keeping a keen eye out for any signs of smoke or fire.

* Kryzbytn points

Kryzbytn - Vetter one! There!

There's a trapdoor in the roof that would lead down into the building Kol has just entered.

* Kryzbytn enters it!

You descend into a loft, Kryz, with a stairway leading below.

* Kryzbytn runs towards anything that looks like it might bring him down.

* Vetter leaps down to the street, barely missing Kol.

Kryz, there's a large curtain, frayed, on a  nearby window; you might use that.

* Koldobika is setting furniture on fire.

* Kryzbytn darts towards the curtain and slides down, unintentionally ripping it apart with his scythe arms.

* Koldobika is happy to set the building on fire before knowing that it is better to be OUTSIDE once the highly burny things go up...

* Kryzbytn rips the curtain off its hinges and tosses it over Kol.

* Koldobika scurries out from under the curtain..

* Vetter is scrambling in through the window after Kol.

* Koldobika takes the half second to set the grounded curtain on fire before attempting to flee from those who would deny him his glorious pyrotechnic beauty!

The militia member bursts through the front door and grabs at Kol, at last seizing the wriggling zerda!

* Kryzbytn runs to assist.

* Vetter looks back out the window to see if there are any more militia coming.

No more militia are immediately evident - they're probably tied up putting out the fire at the Blue Orchid.

Kryzbytn - I'm not sure what has come over him! He's usually not like this at all... He must surely be hexed.

The guard uses a cord to secure Kol's hands and feet while Kryz keeps him pinned.

* Vetter goes over and signs in Kol's face: "What is this madness?"

* Koldobika can't exactly respond while bound...

Koldobika - (Flicker, clumsily due to the bonds) Fire.... Pretty... Fire... Burn.... Fire... Pretty.... Fire... Burn...

* Koldobika tries to wriggle free of his bonds.

The guard spots you despite your efforts at subtlety.  He takes a club and hits you over the head.

"Enough of that!"

* Koldobika is hardly going to stop given that this big idiot wants to stop him from burning everything. Not that being in the middle of a building partially on fire is particularly good, either...

* Kryzbytn tries to refrain from protecting his comrade, but realizes he'd be much safer unconscious

"Keep an eye on our little arsonist while I deal with these flames as best I can," the Black Arrow says to Kryz and Vetter.  He begins smothering the flames with the curtain.

Vetter - He's gone bloody mad, Kryz. He said something about fire and pretty and that's about it!

* Koldobika tries to make like an inchworm '" or a turtle '" and wriggle out of the building...

* Kryzbytn restrains him as best he can

Though some of the furniture is burnt the flames didn't have a chance to catch properly.

* Vetter helps Kryz hold him.

Kryzbytn - Vetter one, did he Flicker anything to you when you, err, communicated with him?

* Koldobika resumes trying to free himself from the bonds.

Vetter - Yeah, just, like I said, something about fire. Over and over.

* Kryzbytn occasionally whips his head around 180 degrees to watch the guards.

* Koldobika continues to try and squirm out of his bonds.

* Kryzbytn puts a stop to such attempts.

* Kryzbytn basically sits on him.

Vetter (Flicker) - The escape must stop. The stop must be now.

Kryzbytn - I wish the Tarim one was here to un-hex our friend.

"Let's get this trouble-maker to the gaol, before he manages to wriggle free," the guard says.  The milita member takes hold of Kol and hefts him over his shoulder.

* Kryzbytn shoots a look towards Vetter at the mention of the gaol.

* Vetter shrugs.

* Koldobika attempts to thwart his captor at every opportunity, chewing the bonds.

Kryz, Vetter, you can see Kol struggling and trying to bite his bonds.

Vetter - 'ere, mate, how long will you hold him for? Will you get a witch to look at him?  He's hexed or something for sure, he's gone stark mad just in the last few hours.

"Sure, we'll get someone to dispel anything bewitching him."

* Kryzbytn goes over to Koldobika and tries to wrestle the bonds out of his mouth.

Kryzbytn - Hold him steady...

"That's it, I'm going to knock him out."

The guard gets out his club again.

* Kryzbytn backs away, with noticeable regret.

* Vetter opens his mouth to object, then thinks better of it.

The guard cudgels you heavily, Kol, and you lose consciousness.

"You two friends of his?"

Vetter - That's right.

Kryzbytn - Yes. He is not one to commit arson

"Come with me; we'll want to ask you a few questions."

* Kryzbytn nods.

Vetter - Alright

The guard heads out with an unconscious Kol slung over his shoulder.

* Vetter follows.[/ic]

[ic=Home Invasion]Mr. Carver, Tarim, you arrive at Tarim's home in Worm-Hive.  The unwholesome fog has worsened, leaving everything slick to the touch.  Thin, unseasonable rain is falling.

Tarim - Fangs. Take to your wings and spy my dwelling through the windows. Be stealthy as you can.

Fangs flits up to the window, looks in, and flies back down.

Mr. Carver, you hear a faint, muffled screaming sound, as of abject grief, emanating from the building'¦

Fangs - Someone's in there, but he looks dead!  Some armoured bugger...

Tarim - It appears that they made it here first.

Mr. Carver - Hm, someone is in pain. Or mourning. Not what I expected unless you had visitors when they came around.

Tarim - But what would have killed one of their number? Unless... the hexed chest!

Mr. Carver - What are you talking about?

Tarim - If they were searching through my belongings, they must have opened the chest.

Mr. Carver - Do you want me to stay here or should I try and get behind them by going through the window?

Fangs - I didn't see anyone alive in there.  Maybe they came and went. Probably the chest deterred them.

Mr. Carver - I don't want to leave you here, but if they are planning an ambush it might be good to have an ace up our sleeve '" say a knife behind them.

Tarim - It is not a good idea to enter if the chest has been opened. Its accursed howling will sap your life

Mr. Carver - Hm, that's not something I know how to handle. Can you close it?

Tarim - We would need to render ourselves deaf to approach it safely. Other than that, it should be a simple task to shut it.

Fangs - Or use a silencing spell.

Mr. Carver - You have anything else on hand we can use?

Tarim - Alas, I have not the required hex to use.

Mr. Carver - I'm sad to say that I'm ill equipped for rendering myself deaf.

Tarim - It should not be too difficult to acquire a scroll from any of the vendors here, or even to have the hex placed upon us.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, or perhaps'¦

* Mr. Carver lowers the sack with Rhyxin's scrolls and books.

Mr. Carver - Maybe one of these is what we need?

Tarim - Hm? Allow me to take a look.

* Tarim looks through the arcane texts.

Fortuitously, you find a scroll that will create an aura of eldritch silence, centered on an object or a person.

* Tarim quickly skims through the eldritch writing to ascertain it's the proper hex, then begins to cast it.

You successfully cast the spell; uncanny silence surrounds you.

* Tarim motions for Carver to follow him to the apartment, with his pistol drawn.

* Mr. Carver follows.

The door's lock has been skilfully picked rather than simply forced.  It looks like they didn't have much of a chance to loot the place before they happened upon the chest.  A huge figure in heavy, greenish armour is sprawled on the floor.

* Tarim rushes to close it.

* Mr. Carver walks over to the man to ascertain if he is dead or merely unconscious.  To this end he removes the figure's helm.

The man's face is hideously mottled with a disgusting pox of some kind; his features are barely visible beneath.  To make the horror all the more complete his visage is frozen in a look of intense pain. A grotesque smell emanates from his necrotic, putrid flesh.

He is definitely dead.

* Tarim grimaces at the sight, but there is a bit of a cruel satisfaction in his expression.

* Tarim checks through his stuff to see if anything's missing or damaged.

Nothing seems to be missing, fortunately.  They must have gone straight for the chest.

* Mr. Carver rises and motions to Tarim that they should check the other rooms.

The other rooms are untouched.  The spell of silence dissipates.

Fangs - Probably more came, but fled.

* Mr. Carver searches the dead body.

You find a heavy blade and a stocky pistol.  Both are well-made, but unremarkable. There is some spare ammunition - but that's all.  There is an Inquisition insignia on his breastplate.

Tarim - Too bad that I must wait for the Collar to regain its strength.

Mr. Carver - What is he Tarim?

Tarim, you know this to be one of the Putrefactors of the warlock-priests, the thuggish warriors they use for brute strength; this one was probably assigned to an Inquisitor. No one knows precisely what they look like beneath their armour '" though now you do.

Tarim - One of the bastards that have come for me from my once-hometown, Marainein, which lies very far to the south.

Mr. Carver - Why exactly are they hunting you again?

Tarim - They harbour something of a religious hatred towards me.

Mr. Carver - For being a ghul? If they are afraid that your skin has turned a bit gray I really think they should try looking at themselves in the mirror.

Tarim - It goes back to my time in Marainein. Let's just say that in that city, politics and religion are one and the same.

Mr. Carver - Hm, the last I saw of religion was the Striga church. I don't want to think about what would happen if you gave them an entire city to play with.

Tarim - No, their faith is not like that of the Striga in here.
 
Mr. Carver - I'm sure there are parallels

Tarim - Anyway. Most of them made it away alive, though they are surely weakened for the time being

Mr. Carver - How do we get rid of him? More to the point, what do we do now?

Tarim - They will strike again. I recall that Kaius offered me sanctuary in his tower, should I need to resort to it, though he had different enemies in mind. I guess it would be time to take advantage of that offer.

Mr. Carver - What about your books? Your laboratory?

Tarim - I would move the most important things out at least, and rig the place with some surprises for when they come here again.

Mr. Carver - I can help if need be.

Tarim - I would appreciate that. Doubtless you are better at that kind of work than I.

Mr. Carver '" Oh, that reminds me '" do you have a phial I could use?

Tarim - An empty phial? Certainly, I should have some in my lab.

Mr. Carver - I would appreciate it. As to traps, I have never been much of an outdoorsman, but I'm sure we can cook something up.

Tarim - Very well. I think a combination of oil and caltrops would be something to start with. What do you think? They might need to be concealed somehow

Mr. Carver - I could think of several worse liquids you don't want to enter your bloodstream.

Tarim - Perhaps tripwires would also be useful

Mr. Carver - If you want to conceal it you need something the caltrops can easily penetrate. Oh, by the way, you might as well keep these. He was your friend after all.

* Mr. Carver gestures to the scrolls and grimoires of D'abrat.

Tarim - They might well aid me in destroying the ones who slew him. So, here is my idea: they have probably not been to any of the other rooms yet, so we'll set tripwires to trip those who enter. The floor should be slick with oil, but not easily spotted.

Mr. Carver - Sounds reasonable. After they enter one room won't they be suspicious of the next? Aside from the two unexplored rooms there is the door we know they are going to pick again. Maybe cover all windows so the room is kept in the dark.

Tarim - Concealed caltrops will be strewn about, so that they cannot be seen from outside the room, but will prove painful to those who move within it, and we'll rig the door to the room such that opening it triggers a decoy

Mr. Carver - What sort of decoy?

Tarim - Perhaps something to make a noise, or cast a shadow '" to make them think someone is in the room.

Mr. Carver - Isn't that a waste of door? Although I guess we can make the decoy and a decent trap. Perhaps a tripwire behind the door attached to something fragile on a precarious perch and a selection of nasty devices suspended above the door to be released when it is opened fully.

Fangs - Heh, or a cage of pirahnna rats...

Mr. Carver - No! Not the bloody rats '" I detest those things, and there are always so many of them.

Tarim - Maybe not rats. But some similar surprise would be in order. Come to think of it, they will probably come prepared for the chest's screaming.

Mr. Carver - Maybe we will catch them by surprise even if they came prepared.

Tarim - Definitely, darkness and other impediments to vision would be most effective, if they cannot hear and must rely on gestures.

Mr. Carver - Oh yes, so the chest to keep them on their toes, the darkness to impede them further and a generous distribution of caltrops to make them regret their invasion of your home. Sounds like a good start. Is there anything in the chest aside from the screams of a thousand cursed orphans?

Tarim - Nothing. It held the hoard from the catacomb we plundered, but now it's empty.

Mr. Carver - I see. Could we rig the keyhole? Perhaps just jam the lock and thus force them to break in, maybe alerting the militia in the process. Although they might just get unpredictable.

Tarim - Perhaps. Though I think it better to let them enter thinking it's safe, apart from the chest. That way they will more likely be caught by the traps. Let us get to work preparing a room, shall we?

Fangs - I hesitate to bring it up, but you could always fetch the suicide statuette from beneath that old asylum...

Tarim - No. That accursed thing has given me too much trouble already.[/ic]

[ic=Gaol]In the Pulsetown gaol, Koldobika languishes behind bars while Vetter and Kryzbytn outside his cell.

Vetter (to Kryz) - What happened?

Kryzbytn - I was initially asleep, Vetter one, but I awoke to the sounds of screams and flame.

Vetter - So we don't know what caused it at all?

Kryzbytn - I rushed into the common room to find the Koldobika one in an anarchic state of setting things alight.

Vetter - Gleet... what a mess, eh?

Kryzbytn - He seemed overcome by a strange possession to burn and would not respond to my cries. The bird one threw one of his alchemical stones to deafen the room. Hence the Koldobika one's deafness.

Koldobika, when you awake, you are no longer obsessed with setting things alight, and your fever has broken.  A militia witch cautiously enters the cell and casts a few minor hexes.

"Nothing eldritch affecting him," he says.

* Koldobika really is unsure of what to make of what happened. Admittedly, despite everything, he really did enjoy himself at the time.

Kryzbytn - Nothing at all?

"Not anymore, anyway.  Zerda, did someone hex you?"

Kryzbytn '" What... what was it, then?

* Koldobika seems unsure. After a moment of thought, he signs in Flicker.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika was unwell. The Koldobika purchased medicine. The medicine was purchased at the Orchid.

* Vetter translates, if necessary.

The witch frowns.  "Unwell, he says?  Hmm."

Kryzbytn - Intriguing. I am wont to wonder if the Blue Orchid had tainted medicine...

"Unlikley, but we'll have someone investigate, just in case.  But things don't look good for your friend.  A dozen witnesses at least saw him set a number of objects alight, attack the bartender at the Blue Orchid, and actively evade capture."

Koldobika (Flicker) - The unwell was not the tiny mouths.

* Kryzbytn checks himself for any signs of the welts.

They're diminishing.

* Kryzbytn beckons Koldobika forward and examines him.

* Koldobika does not see everyone here as an obstacle to his watching things burn, so he simply does as told for the time being.

Kryzbytn - We mantids have keen eyes for errors. Perhaps what you had was not a hex but biological...

Vetter - Biological? What do you mean, like some kind of... disease of the brain?

Kryzbytn - The symptoms tell me that you may have contracted a rare disease known as Arsonist's Fever.

Vetter - He did say he was unwell'¦

* Koldobika tilts his head and looks uncertainly at the name. It sounds... quite odd.

Kryzbytn - I do not have much knowledge with the Fever, and only a few select would... it is often contracted in the far south.

"Arsonist's Fever, eh? Good luck convincing a magistrate," the militia witch grunts.  "Next thing thieves will be claiming they've got Pickpocket's Pox!"  He chuckles at his absolutely awful joke.

* Kryzbytn looks at him straight.

Kryzbytn - I assure you my diagnosis is correct.

"Is he feverish now?"

Kryzbytn - Negative.

* Koldobika is more concerned over how he had gotten something that odd in the first place.

"Well, it would be different if he was sick now.  But you're his friend; for all we know you just made the damn illness up!"

* Vetter looks at Kryz as if to say "you didn't, did you?"

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Witch should read a book.

Kryzbytn - I do not blame you for your suspicions, but you should give us at least some time to prove our claim truthful.

The militia witch snorts.  "Talk to the magistrate; he'll be here tomorrow to deal with the case."

* Kryzbytn looks at Vetter and shakes his head.

"I'll tell you now, though, justice doesn't drag her feet here in Macellaria."

Kryzbytn - Nor do I.

* Kryzbytn stands tall before the man.

"We don't have time to go looking up esoteric diseases every time some idiot foxman snaps and goes on a fire-starting spree."

* Vetter growls with irritation.

Koldobika (Flicker, to Vetter) - The Vetter is informed. The Koldobika purchased fever medicine. The medicine was bought in the Orchid. The doctor was in the Orchid.

* Vetter nods.

Vetter '" We'll be back for the trial.  I need a drink.

* Vetter departs the gaol.

* Kryzbytn gets up wearily and makes his way towards the door.

Kryzbytn - Koldobika one, I will return...

* Koldobika gives Kryz a grateful look.

* Kryzbytn heads towards Kaius' tower.

You return to the Tower of Moans. The Worm-Hive streets are adorned with festive decorations in preparation for the Reaper's Feast.  A strange fog has fallen over everything, and a light drizzle adds to the unusual damp.

* Kryzbytn sits and thinks for a moment... something is not right within him

* Kryzbytn explores the tower one last time.

You don't find anything else of note.  Pellucid insists that you not enter the top two floors.

* Kryzbytn heeds Pellucid's words

* Kryzbytn without a word, heads to the hypnowitch.

You head to Hexwarren, to seek out the hypnowitch's shop.

A hagman thrashes along Chrysalis Street, flesh bubbling and semi-gelatinous, limbs flailing madly: the late stages of quiverflux.  Shortly it will become completely gelatinized, reduced to a kind of living aspic, organs pickling in a viscous body turning inexorably into infectious (but, reputedly, delicious) ooze.  Further along a man moves with absurd slowness, every motion made preternaturally ponderous by the strange disease known as Sluggard's Sickness; it takes him a full second to blink his eyes, half a minute to scratch his nose.  Beside him a leechkin beggar continues to moan for blood despite the antlers bursting from its chest and torso.  Clearly you and Kol are not the only victims of unusual illness...

Presently, you arrive at the shop; the bespectacled witch greets you.

* Kryzbytn tosses him a purse with the twenty-five obeloi promised.

"Ready to purchase that symbiont?" He says, catching the purse.

Kryzbytn - No. Thank you for holding it.

"What?  Was it not to your taste?  Were you not satisfied with the spirit's performance?"

Kryzbytn - I was very satisfied; it was quite marvellous. But... I am looking to become satisfied with my own performance, not that of a spirit.

"I see.  Well, my door is always open."

* Kryzbytn thanks the man one last time, then heads towards Detritus!

A man - two men? - walk through the street, with difficulty.  Him/they are a victim of Doppelganger's Malady, almost at the point of fission: a copy of the man has been incubating in his flesh, a schismatic second self that has begun to manifest.  The man has already sprouted extra limbs and a head, and carries on a bickering conversation with his double; soon he will split in two, and the process will begin again for each of the newly separated identical pair.  You hear one of his/their heads mention the word 'quarantine.'

* Kryzbytn stops.

Kryzbytn - Excuse me... what quarantine do you speak of?

The heads sqivel towards you.  "There's going to be a city-wide quarantine, I'm sure of it," one head says.  "The watch'll never be able to maintain it," the other contends. "Too many people trying to leave, the barricades'll be overrun."

Kryzbytn - What has provoked this quarantine?

The man/men gestures to himself/themselves. "These sicknesses, what do you think?"

"The pestilence has spilled out of the Row, somehow." One of the heads sniffs the air. "It's this foul fog, I say.  A miasma."

* Kryzbytn scratches at one of his sores, suddenly aware of his own malady.

A sickly vapour does indeed still cling to the streets...

Kryzbytn - I see. I appreciate the tip.

Both heads grunt and the double-thing moves on with awkward steps, stumbling over itself.

* Kryzbytn nods and makes his leave hurriedly.

You arrive at the ghul's curio shop.

Kryzbytn - Well met, ghul one. Do you remember this Mantid? I once inquired about your generator...

"Yes, of course," the Lorgiss says welcomingly.  "Same price as before."
 
* Kryzbytn puts down the obeloi hastily.

"Very well."  He shows you how to activate it.

* Kryzbytn thanks Lorgiss makes his way back to the gaol.

The gaol is well-guarded.  Inside, Kol still sits in his cell.  The militia let you in to see him.

* Kryzbytn slips Koldobika the hazefield generator surreptitiously.

Kryzbytn (speaking in nearly a whisper) - May this bring you better luck... I may not see you again for some time... but I intend to see you alive and free from the Pits when I do.

* Kryzbytn pats him lightly on the shoulder.

* Koldobika nods in thanks to the gift. Not expressly sure what he is supposed to do with it at this particular moment in time. Keeping it secret and safe seems the most prudent course.

* Kryzbytn shows Kol how to activate it and explains its purpose as discretely as he can.

* Koldobika nods in understanding. Should it be needed, he will not hesitate to make use of the device.

Meanwhile, Wispy has been busy burglarizing shops in Pulsetown, while the militia's attention is elsewhere.  Having made off with a strongbox he has proceeded to purchase a spell in Hexwarren to open the lock.

* Wispy will prepare "Screwsman's Skeleton Key" instead of "Compelling Wisecrack" and then he'll cast it on the lockbox, come next morning.

Wandering the streets of Hexwarren in search of something strong to drink, Vetter bumps into Wispy, who is carrying a newly purchased scroll and a lockbox.  His Hellhound, 'Oney,' pads alongside him.

Vetter - 'Ello there, bird-brain. They've arrested Kol.

Wispy - Not unexpected.

* Wispy nods.

Wispy - When will the execution be? Or to the gladiatorial pits?

Vetter - Trial's in the morning.

While you speak, a cart rumbles down Chrysalis Street, drawn by a reanimated steed.  The wagon is not filled with goods for trade but with sickly-looking corpses, some of them riddled with lesions, others covered in buboes, others still with luridly discoloured skin.  No two corpses seem quite alike.  Clearly the illness that began in Resurrection Row has spilled out of the slums and into the rest of the city.

Wispy - At least Kryz killed off that anthropophagus fellow already; Kol might have a chance with that one done for. How did they stop him?

Vetter - Just caught him, knocked him down, bound him. Me and Kryz were right behind, but we couldn't stop him before the militia got there.

Wispy - Surprising... the militia is more competent than I expected.

Vetter - Shocking, ain't it? What were you doing?

Wispy - Are you planning on attending the trial?

Vetter - That I am. Kol weren't himself, I know that.

Wispy - Well, I wish you luck with that. I'll be keeping myself a bit away from the trial with luck '" I'd rather not be stuck in front of a magistrate again.

Vetter - I won't blame you. What were you up to earlier, though? While we was chasin' and that?

Wispy - I've been here in the market, buying scrolls, see.

* Wispy shows Vetter the scroll of Screwsman's Skeleton Key.

* Wispy's scroll bears an image of a skeleton in a top hat with a hole in the side of its flaming skull that is filled by a man who looks like a twisting screw. In the corner of the scroll is a smiling face with a thumbs up. Surrounding the images is a bunch of miniscule writing that can only be read properly in a mirror.

Nearby, you see a diseased man crawling by the street-side being harassed by some of the city's militia.  The Black Arrows are trying to persuade the man to get indoors.  They seem afraid to touch him.  The man appears too weak to walk.  He seems to be bleeding from his pores.

* Vetter watches with a frown.

Vetter - What d'you make of that, Wispy?

* Vetter gestures to the man and militia

Wispy - Make of what?

Passersby shy away from the man.  After a moment or two a ghul militia member approaches him and tries to haul him to his feet.

Wispy - Ah that. None of our business.

Vetter - Well, why are they trying to get him... I mean, what are they doing? Surely the fella's gonna die or live anyway'¦

The man groans and slumps to the ground, unconscious or dead.  The ghul drops his bloody hand in revulsion.

Wispy - Possibly contagious; necrophagous? Explains the ghul, and his pull, rather than the quick, who would otherwise become sick.

* Vetter shrugs.

Vetter - Oh well. Want to find something in need of being drunk?

Militia bark orders and the ghul and another milita member wearing a piece of cloth oer his mouth and a thick pair of gloves pick up the corpse and carry it over to the wagon of bodies rattling down the street further along.

Wispy - Actually, I was about to head to sleep... when Kol started to peep.

Vetter - Well, I won't keep you.

Wispy - One question before I go, though.

Vetter - What's that?

Wispy - Vetter one, have you seen Carver or Tarim? Do you know where we are to meet? Now that our place has been burnt to ashes in the street?

Vetter - Not since the Orchid, no. Think they might be up to something bothersome?

Wispy - If they return; they will surely be concerned; that we have been burned.

Vetter - Do you know where they might be? I could take a walk on my way to a drink.

Wispy - Not especially.

Vetter - Then they'll just have to worry, won't they?

Wispy - Seems that way; I'll follow the news and see you at the pits or outside the court, depending on the outcome.

Vetter - Right. Night, then.

* Vetter locates a likely drinking establishment to take the edge off the day's troubles.

* Wispy retires to his belfry-tower to rest.

In Worm-Hive, Tarim and Mr. Carver have just finished setting their booby-traps around Tarim's apartment; the grafted warrior returns to his own quarters discretely while Tarim makes his way to Kaius' Tower of Moans, a hex of invisibility concealing his movements lest unfriendly eyes be watching'¦

You find the place empty save for Pellucid.

Tarim - Greetings. Do you know of the whereabouts of Kaius?

"No.  Frankly, I suspect some form of foul play.  We found his helm discarded on the floor, and the door ajar.  In my brief period of servitude, I have not known Mr. Alexander to be a careless man.  That said, I expect he can take care of himself..."

Tarim - I heard about it from Kryzbytn, the mantid comrade of mine and Kaius. But you have not seen him since then? That is indeed worrying.  Quite unfortunate timing, too, for I have come to seek refuge in his tower. He offered me this boon not a day ago.

"Yes, he left me a note giving you access to the first three floors."

Tarim - I must ponder this matter. But for now, I will find a place to store my belongings.

"Of course.  There is quite a bit of room in the library.  Well, what is left of the library."

* Tarim nods.

Tarim, the library has been cleared of detritus and consists mostly of empty shelves.  The windows are boarded up.

* Tarim lays a sack containing assorted scrolls and implements of witchcraft and tattooing equipment in a corner, then checks if the shelves might still have anything worth reading on them.

Tarim, there are some fragments of notes and scorched, crumbling grimoires.  You also find a curious book in another room of the Tower - a leatherbound volume with the title 'The Gibbous Prince' on the first page.

* Tarim takes the tome and places it on a table, then sits down to casually skim through the volume.

You familiarize yourself with the strange play of fools, spells, spirits, and deformed aristocrats.

* Tarim studies the script with interest, before closing it and placing it back on the shelf.

Tarim - A curious story.

* Tarim turns in for the evening after studying his grimoire.

During the night, the Watchdogs' baying worsens.  None of you get a fully adequate sleep, except for Wispy, who, for some reason, sleeps like a baby...

* Oney joins the watchdogs' howls in the morning.

* Wispy stretches.

Wispy - Ah, what a good, restful night... Oney, I suppose it really is better to squat than to pay. When we pay for our rest, we get woken up by burning.

Wispy, the next day you use your spell to open the lockbox and find one hundred and twenty-three bones and a small jade gewgaw or talisman of some kind with the semblance of a bestial face.

* Tarim wakes up stiffly in the Tower of Moans, his bony limbs seeming more cadaverous than usual.

Tarim - Damn dogs!

* Tarim grumbles and goes looking for Pellucid.

You find the demon ascending the staircase from the basement.

Tarim - Still no sign of Kaius?

"None whatsoever.  I think it is now safe to say that he is missing.  The note I found, however, would seem to hint that this circumstance was not entirely unexpected."

Tarim - What note would that be?

"A set of instructions, more or less, detailing who I was to admit to the tower in the event of his absence."

Tarim '" Ah. It figures that he would consider the possibility of an attack by whatever enemies he has. I only know of the ones we have in common.

"These assassins seeking you out?  And the Splicing Consortium?"

Tarim '" Those ones, yes. Although it doesn't seem likely that they would be behind this. They want us dead, not captured. Had they breached the tower and taken him by surprise, he would be dead, not missing.

"That would make more sense, yes."

Tarim - I ought to investigate the matter. I'll try and contact some of my companions.

"The city seems... disturbed.  My former master's creations have been howling nightly, and I have heard other noises out in the streets."

Tarim - Indeed, one can hardly get a moment's rest here anymore. Do you have perchance any insight as to what may cause those watchdogs to be howling so?

"They would only be perturbed by something they perceived as a threat.  That is all I know."

Tarim - They must be aware of some presence that escapes the notice of the populace, then.
"Yes.  They have certain senses which others lack '" a greatly enhanced sense of smell, for example."

Tarim - Well, I better depart now, dangerous though it is. Farewell for now Pellucid.

"Farewell, Tarim."

* Tarim invokes Deceptive Visage before exiting the tower, changing his appearance to that of a human.

* Tarim heads out for the Orchid, which he doesn't yet know to have been burnt.

On your way you see that a horrifying transformation has come over the city.  Here a man retches into a gutter, his skin writhing with the hideous affliction known as squirmhives - a foul skin disease causing the formation of disgustingly mobile cysts or buboes.  Near the diseased human a leechkin idly inspects his own disappearing flesh, the characteristic symptom of spectre-plague.  Another human stumbles down the street, the welts on her body muttering with hideous mouths: the horrifying maws of chatterpox.  Further down the street more victims moan, their faces blackened or bloody, bodies riddled with voracious fungal growths, with spiky eruptions, with pulsing purple rashes.  Clearly no single illness is responsible for this devastation '" some multifarious cornucopia of disease has descended on the city, a barrage of simultaneous epidemics.  Sisters of the Weeping Lady can be seen collecting some of the corpses which occasionally litter the streets.

Tarim - Well, isn't this lovely.

* Tarim tries his best to give wide berth to the pitiful plague victims crawling about.

Tarim, you find the Blue Orchid has been badly damaged by fire.

Tarim - Just keeps getting better...

You also see Vetter and Wispy not far away, at the doors of the local gaol and militia outpost.

Wispy - Good to see you again, Vetter. You weren't standing you here all night, were you?

* Vetter mumbles something incoherent, nursing a headache after a bad night's sleep.

* Tarim is about to go inquire the staff of the Orchid, when he notices the duo.

* Tarim approaches them and, upon getting close, speaks out.

Tarim - It is I, Tarim.  I am in disguise, so do not be surprised if my appearance isn't quite familiar today.

Wispy - I would never have guessed..

Tarim - What happened to the Orchid?

Wispy - Koldobika hapened to the Orchid.

* Vetter gazes levelly at Tarim, looking the least surprised he could possibly look.

Wispy - I always knew he would go bad.

Tarim - Kol? He set it on fire?

* Tarim looks fairly surprised.

Wispy - It, and part of the district.

Vetter - Kryz reckons it's a disease, makes folk fire-happy. He was certainly mad, not himself.

Tarim '" Hm.

Wispy - I've tried that defense before and it didn't save me from the Pits. Now, that was applied to kleptomania, but the concept is the same.

Tarim - All manner of diseases do seem to be festering in this town as of late. What about Kryzbytn? Did he survive?

Vetter - Yeah Kryz is fine. Or, he was last I saw of him.

Wispy - So what did you and Carver get up to last night?

Tarim - Carver and I stumbled upon the work of some of my... old enemies. That is why I must now walk incognito '" too many dangerous men on my trail.

Wispy - Ah; at least they're old enemies. They'll probably die off before too long '" it's the young enemies that one needs to watch out for.

Vetter - Mmm, your lovely pet assassins.

Tarim - Well, I'll just have to catch them before they catch me. Turn the tables and see them lie dead by my feet. But the reason I'm seeking you out today is Kaius.

Vetter - Kaius? You found him, then?

Tarim - To this morning he has not returned to his tower. It seems that foul play is involved. We might want to investigate it, lest we have to depart for the Dour Erg without him.

Wispy - Hm. Is Pellucid a suspect?

Tarim - I doubt it. He is bound to his contract by powerful witchery. I know this, for I was present when the contract was struck.

Wispy - If so, his lies should be easy to see through.

Vetter - What clues have you got?

Tarim - There isn't much in the way of clues, other than we already heard from Kryzbytn.

Vetter '" So... what do we do? Where do we start? I mean, you knew him. Know him, sorry.

Tarim - Presumably, he was either lured out into some sort of trap, or abducted. If he had been slain there would have been some evidence of it.

Vetter - ...and? Who, when, where? Any of that?

Tarim - If he was attacked within his tower and taken from there, as I suspect, then perhaps there were witnesses to the event. Finding them would likely be difficult to to say the least, though

Fangs - It's a bit of a long-shot, but perhaps we could use Kaius' helm as a scrying focus, hire a seer?

Tarim - Hm, that might be more fruitful than trying to locate any passers-by front the time.[/ic]

[ic=The Trial]Outside Macellaria, Eareg Maar makes the journey home...

The return journey from the Firesong Marches is fortuitously uneventful; apart from a narrowly averted encounter with a pod of sand-rays, you were unmolested.  As you near Macellaria atop your skeletal steed, however, you begin coming across the corpses of animals: birds, rodents, lizards, and a few larger beasts.  All of them bear clear marks of disease - pustules or buboes or sickly discolourations, weeping sores or withered skins, jaundiced eyes and patchy fur, missing limbs claimed by leprosy.  Some are seemingly afflicted by more exotic illnesses: eyeblight cankers, eerie osseous growths, bizarre fungal infections that glow with an unsettling greenish light.  Some have flesh turned grey, drained of colour; some have dissolved into puddles of viscous purple slime.  The corpses seem to form a trail, leading towards the City of Bodysnatchers.

At last the Twilight City itself appears, a brownish-grey smudge on the horizon.  As you ride up the Weeping Way to the Eel's Gate, a long line of people - mostly hagmen and humans, with a few cestoids, mantids, and others as well - become visible.  They are trudging southwards, away from the Maggot City, laden with supplies; some have wagons and beasts of burden.  None seem to be grave-spawn: all are quick.

* Eareg Maar gives the line an odd look but rides slowly into the city to meet with Defoin, to get the rest of the money owed him for the jatayi job.

You ride in through the Eel's Gate; the Watchdog growls vaguely, staring out into the waste.  The kennel-masters seem exhausted, their eyes ringed by dark circles.  Inside Slimesquallor, the streets are all but deserted.  A few hagmen slither quickly from building to building.  Some hold sponges or cloths to their vertical mouths.  Sickly fog lingers in the streets, a sallow vapour that trickles into open windows and down into sewer-grates.  The air smells rancid and the air is hot and uncharacteristically muggy.  Flies buzz in even greater numbers than unusual about the dusty avenues.

You arrive in Pulsetown.  Crossing the square to the Hollow Skull, you notice that the Blue Orchid - a local inn - has been badly damaged by fire.

* Eareg Maar shakes his head.

* Eareg Maar continues towards the Playhouse.

* Tarim '" standing outside the gaol, awaiting Koldobika's trial - notices Eareg and approaches the scavenger.

* Eareg Maar slips through the crowd on his steed.

A human in nondescript clothing approaches you, Eareg.  There is something slightly familiar about him, but you cannot quite place his face.

* Eareg Maar gives the human a sidelong glance but waves it off and continues on.

Tarim - So, you have returned. Quite good timing, I might add.

* Eareg Maar takes a second look at the stranger.

Eareg Maar - I know you? Don't waste my time, I'm in a bit of a hurry,

Tarim - Ah, forgive me. I am under disguise, and would rather not speak my name in public.

* Tarim draws closer to Eareg and whispers his name.

Eareg Maar - Ah yes the caster from the Pits. Well, good to see you're still alive,

Tarim - As you can certainly see, the city has become more troubled than usual whilst you were out on the wastes.

Eareg Maar - Not surprising, this city has always been troubled. Only thing that changes is how troubled.

* Eareg Maar sniffs.

Eareg Maar - Perhaps we'll get together for a drink sometime and catch up.

Eareg Maar - You lot are good for my purse, that's worth a drink to me.

Tarim - More things are afoot than this epidemic though. Kaius has disappeared, in a rather uncharacteristic way.

Eareg Maar - Kaius hmm? Ah yes, the walking suit of armour so to speak.

Tarim - Indeed, we better speak of such matter over a drink. Right now though, I must attend a trial.

Eareg Maar - Perhaps we'll have a drink on me at Erubescence afterwards.  For the moment I have things to attend to.

* Tarim nods.

* Eareg Maar heads off to get paid.

* Tarim heads back to the gaol.

* Kryzbytn arrives.

* Vetter looks surly and worn out.

The trial is about to commence: it is being held in a small court-room adjoining the militia station. A stern-looking woman with an austere, flinty gaze officiates - she would appear to be the magistrate. Koldobika is led in, his paws shackled.
* Koldobika has mostly been dealing with matters of suspense, as he is quite unfamiliar with almost any form of legal system or code at all outside of the zerda.

"Let's make this quick," the magistrate grumbles.  "There's trouble in the Row, and elsewhere in the city; I don't have time for every petty crime..."

"The accused was seen by seven witnesses starting no fewer than three fires in and around the Blue Orchid, magistrate," the militia prosecutor states.  "He also assaulted the bartender, stole a firearm, and resisted arrest.  Property damage is estimated at seven hundred and fifty obeloi."

"I see.  Defendant, do you deny these charges?"   

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika does not deny.

Vetter - He does not deny it. But... Well, he weren't hisself, not that you lot'll gleeting care about anything like that...

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Vetter is taking liberty with the Koldobika's words.

"That is hardly a substantial defense.  What, precisely, do you mean, not himself?"

Vetter - Well, our mantid friend here said he thought it was some kind of disease....

* Vetter looks questioningly at Kryz

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Mantid diagnosed a disease. The disease is called Arsonist's Fever.

"Our physician found no evidence of illness." She looks to Kryzbytn.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The disease is irrelevant. The action was performed.

Kryzbytn - ...It is true.

"Do you have any evidence of this supposed illness?"

* Kryzbytn pauses.

Kryzbytn - Take a look around. There are many diseased. Arsonist's Fever is amongst them. This I can assure you, though I do not have any hard evidence to back the claim

She thinks to herself.  "There have indeed been reports of strange sicknesses.  But are we to allow every arsonist, thief, and murderer to blame esoteric illness for their actions?  In short, how can I be sure that the creature is not simply fire-crazed?  I have heard that the foxfolk worship certain fire-spirits..."


Vetter - The spirit of the flame is not something you can just... rip up out of flames whenever you decide something needs torching. It's the sun, the one-fire, y'know? I mean, do you run around trying to start gods all over the place?

"Heathen beliefs can be strange, but point taken.  Defendant, I have read the reports, but I wish to hear firsthand your account of events.  Why did you start the fires?"

* Koldobika is forced to stop and think, trying to recall back to the events of the previous night. He takes some time to consider before beginning to speak.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Vetter will speak the Koldobika's words as the Koldobika's words are.

* Vetter translates basically accurately.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The fires were beautiful. The fires were beyond beauty to observe. They wished to be made to be seen.

"I see.  These words hardly help your case.  Do you still wish to 'make fires seen'?"

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika does not wish this. The fires seemed beautiful. The fires were not, and the creation led to hurt and pain, and shooting for the Koldobika and the others. The medicine seemed well. The medicine made the Koldobika feel well. That is what made the fires seem beautiful.

"Hmm.  What medicine are you talking about?"

Koldobika - (Flicker) The Koldobika purchased medicine at the Blue Orchid. The Blue Orchid provided the apothecary the Koldobika purchased from.

"Have we questioned this man?" The magistrate asks a militia attendant.

"No, magistrate."

"Well, we don't have time to track him down to confirm or deny this."

Koldobika (Flicker) - The mantid purchased medicine from this individual as well.

"Indeed.  Mantid, what can you tell me of this apothecary?"[/b]

Kryzbytn - I was wounded from the pits at the time... I do not recall much.

"Why were you taking medicine?  For your wounds?"

Kryzbytn - I was treated by my friend mainly, who ...specially treated me.

"Your friend.  Are they present here now?"

Kryzbytn - No, but I am also quite wise in the medicinal practice myself. Our work together helped to alleviate my wounds and symptoms, for a time.

"Symptoms?  Were you also suffering from this strange Fever?"

Kryzbytn - No. I suffer from chatterpox, though both illnesses were contracted at a similar time, as I recall.

"I see.  This line of questioning has run its course.  I believe I am ready to make a ruling, unless anyone else has anything to add?"

* Kryzbytn is silent.

* Koldobika remains silent. Not that he has anything to say even if he could speak.

"You cannot acquit the defendant on the testimony of these ruffians!" the prosecutor says.

"With all respect, sir, I can do what I please," the magistrate responds.  "The defendant is technically guilty of the charges, but I am satisfied that he was not in full control of himself at the time.  He will pay the owners of the Blue Orchid Inn seven hundred and fifty obeloi for repairs.  If he cannot come up with this sum, his companions must assist him.  If the offense is repeated, he will be immediately condemned to the Pits.  Court adjourned."

* Vetter does a victory fist-pump with his grafted claw.

* Koldobika nods understandingly, quite content with this particular verdict.

The courtroom empties.  After the Blue Orchid owners have been paid they sniff and leave, noting that Kol is not permitted on or near hotel premises again.

Tarim - I must say, this was an unexpected verdict. I guess it must be crowded in the pits...

* Vetter claps Kol on the shoulder as soon as he is released, with a broad, if tired, smile.

Vetter - You owe me a drink, you fire-startin' loon.

* Koldobika grins and nods, more than happy to repay the debt for the help his friends provided

Koldobika (Flicker) - Drinks may be from anywhere but the Blur Orchid.

* Vetter barks with laughter.[/ic]

[ic=Quarantine]Outside the courthouse, things in the city are not getting any better.  A cestoid flickers in and out of the aether as it scuttles along, stuttering in and out of phase, temporarily incorporeal.  As one shimmering spasm overtakes the creature a stray dog scurries straight through it as if it were an apparition.  The miserable thing turns down a side-street and enters a manhole cover, coruscating directly through the metal rather than removing the lid.  A moment later a woman stumbles out of the same alley.  She staggers and falls to her hands and knees, retching, but instead of vomit a swarm of spiders pours from her open mouth, scuttling into the street.

* Wispy flies down as he sees the group down there.

You head to the nearby establishment known as Erubescence, and find the ghul scavenger Eareg Maar awaiting you.

* Eareg Maar waves Tarim over to a table he has claimed.

Tarim (to Vetter) - I expect that you'll keep an eye on your friend and make sure that he doesn't repeat the pyromaniac scene.

Vetter - Expect away, mate.

* Koldobika snorts unhappily at Tarim.

Eareg Maar '" Gentlemen: a round of drinks on me, yes? And perhaps some catching up.

* Eareg Maar nods to Wispy and Tarim.

Tarim - I appreciate the gesture, Eareg.

Wispy - Ah, Eareg! Welcome back to the Party.

Eareg Maar - Good to see you.

* Eareg Maar actually smiles at Wispy.

* Koldobika is content with something clean and non-alcoholic '" the last thing he needs is find the need to burn things again.

* Eareg Maar plinks down a pile of bones and gestures to the barkeep.

Eareg Maar '" A round for me and my friends, whatever they want. For me something strong and bloody.

Vetter - strong and less bloody for me, ta.

Tarim - A cup of bloodwine.

* Kryzbytn, having noted the worsening conditions of late, prepares himself.

Kryzbytn - Koldobika one, I am glad for your trial, but may I ask for my trinket back? I may need it now...

* Koldobika nods at Kryz and provides the trinket back in return-- he is pleased that it was not necessary. Instead of resorting to Flicker, he instead mimes a more common gesture of appreciation.

* Kryzbytn, incapable of smiling, gives a suitable nod to show his appreciation.

A woman half stumbles, half scuttles into the bar.  At first you think she is some kind of graftpunk, but when she opens her mouth to speak and produces only a strange insectile chittering you realize she is a myrmecothrope, that the antennae and compounds eyes and inchoate exoskeleton are not fleshcraft affectations but symptoms of her incipient metamorphosis.

Eh, get out of here," the bartender snarls.  "You'll scare business away!"

The woman-ant-thing seems unable to understand him.  Agitated, she lurches further into the bar, steadying herself with a chitinous hand.

Wispy - Pray tell me about your adventures, if you have the time, while we pour the wine.

* Eareg Maar watches her and the bartender with amusement.

* Koldobika has exactly zero idea of what problem is skittering its way into the bar right now, but it certainly has his attention.

Eareg Maar - Well I had an interesting time out on the wastes '" and a few scars to show for it.

* Eareg Maar rolls up a sleeve to show some burn marks.

Wispy - Scars... Earned in the wastes or earned in the bars?

A bouncer approaches and claps a hand on the woman's shoulder.  She shrieks and attacks him with her mandibles.  He grunts and smacks her hard, and she hits the floor, a pile of skittering limbs.  He begins dragging her out.

* Koldobika is concerned at the mounting violence, however, given his recent legal issues, the last thing he wishes to do is get involved.

* Kryzbytn is disturbed by the scene.

* Tarim tsks.

* Eareg Maar takes a drink, unaffected by the scene.

* Vetter watches with bland interest.

* Koldobika calms, seeing how unaffected most of the group is by the display '" it they are not concerned by it, then clearly he has no reason to be, either.

The myrmecothrope is forcibly removed from the bar.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The city is filled with problems. Moving the journey time forward appears to bear wisdom.

Eareg Maar - Yes flaming cat demons, night terrors, and some rather irritating cultists. My time away was certainly busy, but now that I come back.

* Eareg Maar grins

Eareg Maar - I see you all have been even busier.

Wispy - Ah, irritating cultists '" that does somewhat define them, but you'll have to narrow it down '" what sect pray tell? Since we ourselves had a fine time irritating cultists.

Eareg Maar - The sect is unimportant; I got what I came for regardless of the fact they didn't want me to.

Wispy - One wonders how there are any cultists left alive these days.

Vetter - They breed in dark corners. Always corners.

Kryzbytn - Pardon me, ones.

* Kryzbytn looking around hastily, leaves.

* Eareg Maar raises a thin eyebrow at Kryz as he leaves

Eareg Maar - You've picked up some odd companions, Tarim.

Tarim - I blame this city.

Eareg Maar - Well you could certainly do worse than this. So what have you been dealing with while I was plying the wastes? Seems the city is rife with disease '" at least more so than usual.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika has yet to witness the mundane in this city.

* Vetter translates.

Tarim - Went to loot a crypt beneath the streets. Bad idea; we had to take a lengthy side-tour through the sewers. I am very much trying to forget that.

Vetter - Yeah that was not the most fun I have ever had.
 
Wispy - Kaius took a swim. He enjoyed it so much.

Tarim '" On the positive side, we did score a nice cut of plunder.

* Koldobika didn't really mind, but he also was not covered in unspeakable goop, either.

Wispy '" Then this one over here (points at Kol) who's not drinking beer, turned sort of queer; and caused many to run in fear. As he attempted to cleanse the city with fire; then he attracted the city's ire; but ultimately, it appears, was not found to be a liar.

Eareg Maar - Whatever happened to our strange graftpunk '" Carver was it?

Tarim - Carver was with us in the crypts. He's still around, going his own ways. Helped me out with a few things just a day ago.

Eareg Maar - Doing that can get someone in a lot of trouble around here.

* Eareg Maar looks at Kol.

Eareg Maar - I prefer to lay low.

* Koldobika looks back. He sniffs at Eareg, trying to commit the scent to memory.

Wispy - He may have perished in the flames Tarim; are you sure he is okay?

Tarim - Carver can take care of himself.

Eareg Maar - An admirable trait to have in a business partner yes.

Tarim - As to the matter of Kaius' disappearance, this happened just recently.

Wispy - Eareg, I understand, us Jatayi call it "flying high" but the concept is the same. Disappearing in the clouds; or going to the grindstone is exactly what to do when guards appear.

Eareg Maar - Well on the topic of business I was wondering if you had picked anything new up, Tarim. I always have the wastes, but money is better with you lot: smaller payouts but much more frequent.

Tarim - Haven't got any business currently. I have to lay low due to some... enemies of mine being about.

* Eareg Maar snorts.

Eareg Maar - Welcome to my world. Don't lay too low, you'll get stepped on. If you need another pair of eyes I'm your ghul. You should bloody well know at this point that there isn't anybody around better with a gun; good to have a shootist around these days.

Wispy - Hm. I wonder if the town needs help executing people with diseases; if you want business you could maybe look into that. People don't want to approach the lepers. So a bullet, or a bow '"

* Wispy raises an arm.

Wspy '" are probably best, and in high demand.

Eareg Maar - I imagine, but I'm not an executioner; I prefer that my target have the ability to fight back.

* Koldobika thinks a ghul in general would suffice '" are they not immune to such things as it stands?

Wispy - Ah yes, that's Carver's duty, no. Apologies, Eareg, Sir.

* Wispy inclines his head.

Eareg Maar - Apology accepted, just don't call me Sir again.

* Eareg Maar finishes his drink.

Wispy - Surely.

Koldobika (Flicker, to Vetter) - The Eareg would rather Ma'am.

* Vetter snorts a quiet chuckle.

Meanwhile, Kryzbytn has headed out to find a seer, and soon locates one not far from Erbuscence '" an eyeless gorgon in an awning.  She offers to read his cards.

Kryzbytn '" I will have my cards read '" but I also need to locate a friend who seems to have disappeared.

The seeress nods.  She takes your coin and flips over the first card.

The Nightmare is dealt: a disturbing conglomeration of multi-coloured eyes, limbs, and shadowy protrusions.  "The Past," says the fortune teller.  "Memories are naught but disturbing dreams that you must wake from if you are to realize your destiny.  Face your past fears; in overcoming them you will break free of the torpor of the past."

Next the fortune teller deals Chaos, symbolized by a cluster of arrows pointing in different directions.  "Present," the gorgon says.  "You are at a point of becoming, but your path is uncertain, your mind divided.  This uncertainty may seem frightening, but it is really an opportunity."

Finally the gorgon deals King Maggot, a hugely bloated worm consuming a decomposing body.  "Future," she rasps.  "To move forward you must look backwards.  Though your future may seem full of death, new life is fostered by decay; the corpse of the past is the meat of the future.

"Now, as to your friend and comrade."

She takes out a pool of water.

"Do you have a focus with which to locate him?"

Kryzbytn - Yes.

* Kryzbytn removes the helmet from his pack.

"Very good."  She places her hands on the helm and speaks an incantation.  The water is clouded, blurry.  The gorgon continues to chant.  After some time, shapes and colours appear in the water.  You see Kaius, apparently unconscious, in some kind of carriage.

* Kryzbytn looks on, transfixed on what is to come next.

* Kryzbytn  leans closer to see.

Kryzbytn - That is him...

You see a shadowy shape next to him - a woman, with close-cropped brown hair and cruel features.  Kaius stirs; he seems to be coming to.  She grins wickedly and prepares a syringe of blackish liquid. This she injects into his neck. The warrior groans and lies still; the vision fades.

* Kryzbytn scans the pool for more.

Kryzbytn - Is that it?

The view tilts slightly.  You catch a brief glimpse of scabrous landscape and a brownish river outside the carriage.

Kryzbytn - That is all I need.

"Very well."

* Kryzbytn returns to the bar.

* Kryzbytn walks to his friends.

Kryzbytn - I'm going after Kaius.

Vetter - What's that, Kryz?

Tarim - We should not take too long looking for a diviner to check on Kaius. With all these diseases running rampant finding one may become more difficult by the hour.

* Koldobika tilts his head and looks at Kryz blankly.

Kryzbytn - I've already done that, Tarim.

Tarim - What? You had the helmet scryed?

Kryzbytn - The city is being quarantined. I do not think we can all make it. I... I may not return for some time.

Tarim - What did you learn? Where is Kaius?

Kryzbytn - As far as I can tell, nearby one of the tributaries of the Radula. With... unwanted company. A woman.

Wispy - What? The city is being quarantined? As in what? No one can come in? Or no one can go out?

Eareg Maar '" Hmm. Well sounds like we should get going then

Vetter - We have to leave. The gauntlets...

Tarim - If it's not too late...

* Eareg Maar stands up.

* Koldobika agrees that leaving would be good...

Eareg Maar - If you're going after Kaius I'll come along. I'd rather not stick around in this place if it's getting cut off '" bad for business.

Kryzbytn - I'm not just going after Kaius.

Vetter - Then let's go, right now, right?

Eareg Maar - I'd prefer now yes.

Wispy - Where did you get this information from, Kryz?

Kryzbytn - A seer... and the quarantine from, well, passersby. It is technically a rumor, but I cannot take chances.

* Vetter hastily heads out of the door.

Tarim - Hate to leave in such a rush, but I've got more than just fevered chaos threatening me in this shithole of a town. It might just be safer out there amongst the bandits and murderfolk and all.

* Koldobika is not altogether concerned about escaping the city '" but there are a few last-minute details he must see to.

Eareg Maar - Well regardless of what we do, I suggest we get out now.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika has tasks to see to, immediately. The place to re-meet the others is unknown.

Vetter - I'm heading for the Eel's Gate, we could meet back up outside there?

Eareg Maar - Let's make for the eel's gate

Tarim - Alright

Eareg Maar - it's a good thing you ran into me, hmm Tarim?

* Eareg Maar grins.

Eareg Maar - Always good to have a guide on the wastes.

Tarim '" True.

* Koldobika wonders if Eareg's skills make up for just how... creepy, he is.

* Eareg Maar makes for the Eel's Gate.

* Vetter rushes along with Eareg

* Kryzbytn activates his hazefield generator.

An eldritch glamer cloaks you, Kryz: you blend into your surroundings.

* Kryzbytn heads for the Witch's Gate.

* Koldobika hurries off to Hexwarren.

The rest of the group heads towards the Eel's Gate.  A group of men armed with clubs, flintlocks, and blades are smashing in shop windows and looting the stores here in Pulsetown.  Some are ghilan, others humans or hagmen with cloths over their mouths.  Some wear crude gasmasks.

* Eareg Maar carries Meteor loosely at his side, looking as intimidating as possible as they hurry past the looters.

* Vetter draws and readies his pistol, just in case.

* Wispy starts squawking "Make way. Make way!"

One of the thugs approaches the group.

"You lot, hand over your valuables!"

Wispy - Our valuables... if we hand them over they wouldn't be our valuables for long, would they? So wouldn't that be a foolish thing to do.

* Eareg Maar levels Meteor at the thug.

Eareg Maar - I suggest you get lost now.

* Tarim glances around to see if the thug has any assistance with him.

More of the looters approach, gathering.

* Eareg Maar speaks an eldritch word and tendrils of red flame wrap around the barrel.

The looter sneers, drunk on the panic, the chaos.

* Eareg Maar shrugs and pulls the trigger.

The man's head explodes in a fiery blossom.

* Eareg Maar levels his gun at the others.

His corpse topples; his comrades back off warily.

Eareg Maar - Don't even try it.

Wispy - He's a deadly shot and I'm a demon!

* Wispy pets Oney at his side.

A group of militia march down the street, headed by a stern, scarred ghul in heavy armour, a clockwork graft terminating in a pepperbox pistol replacing his left arm.   Most of the militia are archers, their arrows fletched with crow feathers; a handful wield halberds or firearms.  All wear black cloaks.  As a looter dashes out of a broken window and scuttles across the street - his ill-gotten gains clutched to his chest - the grave-spawn officer leading the militia discharges his weapon-arm, riddling the man with bullets.

"You there!"  The ghul officer shouts, pointing at Eareg.  "Stay where you are."

Vetter - No time for this gleet...

* Eareg Maar looks to Vetter.

Eareg Maar - Better to let these ones catch up.

* Eareg Maar lowers his weapon and nods to the law officer.

* Vetter sighs and holsters his pistol.

The ghul approaches.

"I'm Captain Sere.  I think I've heard of you - you're one of the cleavers who got the jatayi out for Defoin."

Eareg Maar '" Aye.

"Look, we don't usually farm work out to freelance mercs, but we're up to our necks in shit here and need every man on the streets.  I may have a proposition for you, if you're willing to listen."

Eareg Maar - I'm in a bit of a hurry.

"You're grave-spawn, right?  We're letting ghilan and shades through the quarantine: no chance they'll bring anything in or out.  You'll be fine."

Eareg Maar - Fair enough - then you'll let my comrades here through?

"The offer pertains to them as well.  There could be a rich reward involved.  You won't regret it."

* Vetter glances at Eareg, surprised by the unexpected kindness from one he's only just met.

Eareg Maar - A rich reward isn't much use if they cannot leave afterwards.

"If this works out as I hope, we won't need a quarantine for long, anyway."

* Eareg Maar sighs

Eareg Maar '" Well?

* Eareg Maar looks at Tarim and the rest

Eareg Maar - What do you say?

Tarim - It seems a gamble.

Eareg Maar - Well I'm willing to take it since there's little risk, but it's up to you all if you want to join me or not.

Vetter - Hey, they're offering to let us all out. I say that ain't a bad deal for us.

Tarim - How do we know that they'll make good on their end of this bargain?

Eareg Maar - Well it seems they've already locked the city down so unless you want to fight your way out... it's up to you though.

Tarim '" Hm.

* Eareg Maar nods to the officer.

Eareg Maar - I'm in; my friends here will have to decide for themselves if they will be joining us, though.

Tarim - I would much rather leave better prepared than rush out, if that truly is an option.

Vetter - I'm in too.

* Koldobika, his errands finished, is heading towards the Eel's Gate when he sees the party.  He stops, surprised the group has not yet made good on their escape, approaches warily.

"Alright, let's move, then," Captain Sere barks, turning and heading back to the Pulsetown gaol.

Inside, a dozen Black Arrows sharpen blades, clean firearms, restring bows, and polish armour.  Captain Sere nods at a few of them and leads you into a small office to one side.  The room is rather grim, with no decorations save for a few faded daguerreotypes and a handful of weapons.  The Captain seats himself at the desk and regards you austerely.

"Here's the situation," he growls.  "We're days away from total fucking anarchy.  People're dying left and right, and those who aren't afflicted are rioting.  We've lost control of whole precincts - our men are dying too, to disease and to uppity thugs like those you saw there.  The Robber Guilds have their heads up their asses as usual - they don't have the discipline to maintain any kind of control.  The Splicers have barricaded themselves in their headquarters and aren't doing shit.  In short, the city's on the verge of collapse.  As usual the militia're the only fucking thing between this city and chaos.

"However, we have something of an idea.  What's weird about this godsdamn epidemic is its variety, as I'm sure you've noticed.  One or two plagues at once is a coincidence; every bloody disease this blasted world has seen all at once is a fucking apocalypse.  Something's causing all this sickness.  We think whatever the fuck it is, it's what the Watchdogs are so redmouthed over, barking up a storm for days on end.  The Kennel Masters don't like to let the big fuckers off leash, since they're our greatest defence against attack from raiders and the like, but this is an emergency.  They're willing to unshackle one of the beasties and see if it can lead us to the eye of this shitstorm.

"Now, normally we'd send a full detachment of militia for this kind of thing, but you've seen the situation: we can't spare men right now.  That's where you come in.  So many men are dying that we're going to have a fucking surplus of funds very shortly.  We'd be willing to pay you a thousand bones apiece to accompany one of the Kennel Masters and Watchdog and try to put an end to whatever's causing the epidemics.

* Koldobika believes he knows where this is going.

"Now, maybe's it's too fucking late; maybe now that half the city's infected we're all buggered, and it won't make any difference.  But in that case, throwing some obeloi away won't make things any worse.  Best case scenario, you deal with this shit at the source.  Worst case, none of it matters anyway.  We're that fucking desperate.

"So, what'd you think?  Do we have a deal?"

* Eareg Maar looks at the others for a moment.

* Koldobika is in, so long as there is consensus among the others.

Tarim - And what if the source turns up to be something beyond our capabilities?

"Then report back and we'll make a new plan."

Eareg Maar - You set us up with full supplies for the trip and you have a deal as far as I'm concerned.  Food, waterskins...

He nods.  "You can have any arms and equipment we can spare."

Eareg Maar - You wouldn't happen to have a spare pipe and tobacco on you by any chance...?

"Fuck, you can take my godsdamn pipe, if that's what you need."

Tarim - Will we still receive pay and right to exit if we merely find the cause of this trouble?

* Eareg Maar pops Tarim on the back of the head.

Eareg Maar - Now's not a time to be timid.

"If you only scout whatever-it-is and don't want to help deal with it, you'll get two hundred and fifty each."

Eareg Maar - Well then I'll take it and we'll see to fixing your damned plague.

Vetter - You don't keep... spirits, do you? You know, for medicinal purposes, in case of injury...

Captain Sere fixes you with a dour grin, reaches into a desk drawer, and tosses Vetter a sall hip flask.

"Kennel Master Shuck will meet you at the Butcher's Gate as soon as you're ready; I'll send a messenger down to let him know you're coming."

Tarim - Very well. If we can deal with your problem then we will. If it's too much to take on, then it'll remain your problem.

Sere grunts.  "I suppose that's all we can expect from a bunch like yourselves."[/ic]

[ic=Miasma]Mr. Carver, you arrive at the clinic and find it packed to the limit with various individuals suffering from a wide array of grievances.

* Mr. Carver looks around, casually inspecting the ailments of the crowd from afar.

Some suffer from bizarre plagues - the Sanguine Dissolution, thought to have vanished from the earth centuries ago; harrowflux and chatterpox and eyeblight.

* Mr. Carver dresses suitably for the circumstances.

The snap of a rubber glove resounds in the chamber in between the coughs of the stricken.

Meanwhile, in Pulsetown, the rest of the group prepares themselves for their new assignment.

* Eareg Maar refills on bullets at the armoury, looking in particular for special bullets.

They have some hexed arrows and some masterwork bullets as well as some rubber bullets, but no hexed bullets.  There are also some crude hand grenades and many well-made weapons here.

* Eareg Maar takes some rubber bullets.

* Koldobika examines the tattoos he recently acquired in Hexwarren: on his neck, a spiral warp of the tail of the Zerda trickster deity, its face born in numerous well-known forms within the whorl of ever-changing fur; on his legs, stylized streaks of indigo crystal shards bound in red webbing; on his back, carefully depicted jatayi wings, shown flaring widely, and a chaotic morass of jagged, multi-coloured shards, straining against captivity within a grey shroud; on his chest, the eyes of an unidentifiable race, placed upon the traditional chakra points of the torso; on his left arm, a great Clockwork mechanism, bound within obsidian walls, shaped as a giant shield; and lastly on his right arm, a zerda mark for 'Luck', which is woven into the head of a greatly stylized glaive.

* Tarim helps himself to some hand grenades.

Suitably equipped, you make your way towards the Butcher's Gate.

The corpses of disease-victims litter the streets now, and fewer of the quick races of Macellaria can be seen walking about openly.  Grave-spawn - blessed with immunity to the vast majority of sicknesses - can still be seen, of course, stepping carefully over the bodies.

* Eareg Maar pulls his wide brimmed hat low over his eyes and shoulders Meteor as the group makes for the wastes.

A militia patrol heads down Resurrection Row, the long street that winds through the city's eastern slum.

You're approaching the Butcher's Gate when a quarrel whistles through the air and strikes one of the militia in the forehead, killing him instantly.  The next moment eight or nine men and women tattooed with the tribal glyphs of a Thief Clan pour out of alleyways on either side of the street, brandishing weapons, mostly scimitars of some black metal.

Mr. Carver, you hear sounds of battle outside the clinic.

* Mr. Carver keeps the mask on, grabs a few spare used scalpels, and runs into the street to see what is afoot.

Thief Clansmen are closing in on a militia patrol.  You recognize Eareg Maar, Koldobika, Vetter, Wispy, and Tarim heading down the Row.

 * Eareg Maar sighs.

Eareg Maar - It would be nice if the fighting would wait long enough for us to get five feet.

* Koldobika is altogether displeased by this current course of events '" in particular, the smell of the sickened deceased is singularly unpleasant, and being trapped in with so much... filth, is very much beyond anything the zerda has ever been forced to endure..

* Eareg Maar aims Meteor at one of the approaching thieves and fires. A sizzling gout of fire surges from Meteor's barrel and streaks towards its target.

Your bullet hits a Thief Clansman and immolates him.  He runs fleeing down the Row.

* Koldobika is very much unsurprised at the violence of this city by now.

* Mr. Carver lowers the mask to uncover his mouth.

Mr. Carver - Why is it that I find you whenever there is trouble afoot, my friends?

* Tarim hangs at the back of the group, looking very annoyed. He is fiddling with his rifle.

* Koldobika immediately does what he does best, springing and jumping and scurrying across the ground and through the feet of the bigger folks, moving in on those with the ranged weapons.

* Mr. Carver hurls a scalpel with precision.

Your stained scalpel quivers in the forehead of a charging Thief Clansman. He drops dead.

* Mr. Carver wipes his hands down and draws the Agony Knife.

* Eareg Maar targets one of the thieves with a flintlock pistol and sends two shots racing down Meteor's barrel.

The Thief ducks into cover behind an overturned cart and your bullets hit wood.  The wagon - a plague-cart - has been set alight.

Eareg Maar '" Well, looks like those ones are getting their own funeral pyre.

Mr. Carver - Where have you been Eareg?! Not that I'm not glad to see you, but we've been through a few tight spots where we could have used your help lately. Been hiding in the wastelands?

* Eareg Maar glances at Carver.

Eareg Maar - I'm where I've always been...where the money is!

Mr. Carver - I'm sure you can find more money in Macellaria than the few bribes those poor guardsmen are bound to have in their pockets.

* Mr. Carver re-dons his mask.

* Tarim grumbles about daft robbers not knowing they should stick to picking on weak civilians rather than suicidal attacks on militia. Contemptuously he brings his rifle's sight on one of their heads.

Your shot drops one of the attacking footpads, Tarim.

* Vetter charges forward and launches himself at the nearest attacker, but the man fends off the slavering zerda.

* Mr. Carver slashes, but the Thief Clansman parries his attack.

The militia pelt the Clansmen with arrows, but the Thieves are using cover well.

* Koldobika runs forward, dodging shots and weaving between fighters.  He stabs one of the enemy marksmen in the thigh and he grunts in pain.

He fires at you, but you scurry round him swiftly.  The scimitar-wielding Clansman gives Mr. Carver a shallow cut.

* Wispy casts Honeyslick.

Three of the Clansmen slip on Wispy's Honeyslick and are immediately set upon by the militia.

* Eareg Maar fires once again at one of the thieves, letting two flaming rounds fly.

You wound one of the Clasmen badly.  He withdraws, pressing a hand to his bleeding shoulder.

* Tarim takes aim at another thief and fires.

Your shot blows out one of the Clasman's brains, spraying his fellows with blood and gray-matter.

* Koldobika continues his scurrying and ankle-biting, attempting to make himself the greatest hindrance possible while still causing some form of damage to the Clansman.

He is now bleeding from several nasty wounds.

* Vetter claws at the enemy Clansman, scratching him deeply.

* Mr. Carver's grafted tentacle flails at his opponent, distracting him.

The militia butcher one of the prone thieves.

* Wispy fires at the remaining thieves, grazing one.

The remaining thieves are routed; those prone pick themselves up, and the others turn and run.

Mr. Carver - Remind me, why am I fighting pickpockets?

* Mr. Carver grabs a fleeing man with his tentacle and pulls him close, slitting his throat.

* Koldobika leaps atop the man you wounded earlier and finishes him off, stabbing him in the back.

* Eareg fires again, dropping another thief.

The Militia pursue the remaining dregs.

* Mr. Carver wipes down the Agony Knife.

Mr. Carver '" So, what was this about?

* Eareg Maar reloads Meteor.

Eareg Maar '" Well, shall we get going then? I'd like to get out of the city if possible '" preferably before someone else has the bright idea to try mugging us.

* Koldobika eagerly makes with the stabbing, marvelling that, were it not for the rampancy of disease, he would probably not mind sinking his teeth into the corpse for a few bites. Such a dismal waste.

Mr. Carver - Anyone? no? You just came by the neighbourhood by chance?

Vetter - We've been hired by the militia. They want us to find out what's causing all this.  They're lending us a Watchdog to do it. Hence, we're off to the Butcher's Gate - just got interrupted by these sods. They're paying us a thousand bones apiece.  You should join us, mate, they're bloody desperate. We're on our way to get the doggie now.

Mr. Carver - Well, I will take you up on your offer then.

* Tarim goes about the site of the skirmish like a vulture, stopping by each of the intact corpses to work hexcraft upon them. Each one he touches stumbles back to its feet, an empty stare in its eyes.  He takes care only to reanimate dead thieves and plague-victims.

The diseased and the larcenous shamble behind you, a grim entourage.

* Eareg Maar waves the group on.

* Koldobika follows in the wake of the carnage, though the shambling, lifeless husks tailing the group do bother him. For the time being, he hovers nearby Carver, if only for the man's own apparent penchant for being sneaky and quiet.

The group arrives at the Butcher's Gate. The enormous Watchdog bays incessantly while the Kennel Masters struggle to maintain control of it.  One of the black-cloaked figures approaches you - a sturdy human in a dented iron half-helm who's somehow managed to evade infection and remain healthy.  He carries a flail.

Mr. Carver - Who is our contact?

Vetter - This bloke, I think.  The Captain back at the station said he'd sent word to a Kennel Master.

"You must be the bunch old Sere scraped off the streets," the Black Arrow says.  "Can't say that I agree with his notion but I suppose the situation can hardly get worse. You ready?"

Eareg Maar - Let's just get the hell out of here.

Alright.  We'll need mounts to keep up with him."  Shuck jerks a thumb at the Watchdog.  "They don't get walkies very often.  Last time one got let off leash was two hundred years ago, when a Gorgefly wandered in from out of the waste, attracted by the reek o' the Skin Markets.  Took two of the hounds to take the thing down."

More militia arrive with horses.  Two stay mounted; they will be accompanying you.  The others dismount, offering their steeds.

Eareg Maar - That won't be necessary for me.

* Eareg Maar strikes the ground and a skeletal horse erupts from the earth, scattering stones everywhere.

* Eareg Maar saddles up.

* Mr. Carver mounts a horse awkwardly.

* Mr. Carver raises an eyebrow as Eareg's steed erupts from the cobblestones.

* Koldobika chooses to cling to someone else-- he is unused to swift-moving mounts, knowing only the plodding spped of the alrge tortoises.

* Tarim mounts a horse.

* Wispy hovers above Oney.

Wispy - Thank you for the offer / but I have no need / I already possess a demonic steed.

Shuck, noting Tarim's minions, jerks his head to a wagon.  "Ye can keep yer, er, associates over there in this thing."

* Tarim speaks a command in Corpserattle and the zombies climb up the wagon.

The Kennel Master shouts instructions at his fellows and the dog-keepers unchain the Watchdog.  The grave-spawn beast stretches its huge, malformed limbs and howls.  The two militia riders tether their beasts to the cart of zombies.

The Watchdog it bounds off to the south, still barking madly.  Despite its oddly angled limbs the Watchdog is extremely fast.  You will have to spur your steeds to a gallop to keep up.  The wagon rattles some distance behind.

The Watchdog slows as it nears a range of craggy hills.  It begins clambering up the hills as best it can, but soon runs into difficulty - the hills are too steep for it to manage.  It growls in frustration and pads back towards you as the rest of you catch up.

This is as far as it can go," Shuck says, bringing his mount to a halt.  "Unless you've got some witchcraft what can shrink him down, heh."  The Kennel Master chuckles.

Mr. Carver - Are you serious about the witchcraft, Kennel Master?

He looks at you, eyebrow raised.

Mr. Carver - I can indeed make your precious beast smaller.  And return him of course!

* Eareg Maar dismounts and begins sizing up the hills for a way up.

* Mr. Carver whips the staff out and points it at the Watchdog.

Mr. Carver - Last chance to say no Kennel Master.

"Go ahead, just make sure no harm comes to him!"

Mr. Carver - I make no promises, but the transformation will be harmless

* Mr. Carver activates the staff.

The staff makes a strange whining sound, but the Watchdog shrinks.  Now merely the size of an exceptionally big hound, the Watchdog sets out for the hills.  You can see a narrow path that winds up through the hills.

Eareg Maar - This way.

* Eareg Maar leads the group over to the path.

The Watchdog wags its grotesque tail and waits for you as you clamber up.

* Tarim hisses a command, herding his grave-spawn chattel on the path.

* Koldobika finds the transformation of size does nothing to make the hound any more appealing, visually...

The barren, treeless hills here are deathly quiet, deserted of all life.  As you scramble up one rocky hummock you discover an entire flock of birds - ravens, by the looks of it - stone dead, their rotting corpses strewn across the hilltop, as if they simply fell from the air en masse.  Watchdog sniffs some of these little bodies, barks, and continues to press forward.

* Eareg Maar heads after it.

* Mr. Carver makes sure the mask is tied firmly.

The Kennel Master dismounts and leads his horse up the hills; the militia do the same.

Corpses of other animals litter the hills, lending it a horrific carrion stench.  Some are recent; others have putrefied almost beyond recognition.  Flies buzz in dense black clouds about the dead.  The terrain becomes steeper, rockier.

"This is too steep for the horses," Shuck says.  "I'll remain here with 'em.  You lot go on."

* Eareg Maar is already following up after the hound

A terrible stench suddenly assails your nostrils, somewhat like rancid meat.

Mr. Carver - I should never have bought that tongue...

Tarim - While I do appreciate the culinary qualities of necrotic flesh, I must say that this stench is anything but appetite-inducing!

Up ahead, the Watchdog growls at the entrance of a narrow cleft in a sheer cliff.

* Eareg Maar peers into the cleft.

A thin, malodorous vapour drfits from this chasm.  The cleft winds and twists, preventing you from seeing any further...

Mr. Carver - I do not like this

* Koldobika feels that this seems very likely to be something of interest, and the ominous feeling of the moment is worrisome enough.

* Eareg Maar sighs.

Tarim - Perhaps our feathered comrade could do some scouting?

Eareg Maar '" Well, let's get to it.

* Eareg Maar steps into the cleft cautiously.

* Eareg Maar walks a short way in and looks about.

Inside, the air is foul and the horrid mist becomes progressively thicker.

* Eareg Maar walks back out of the cleft.

Eareg Maar - The mist is really thick in there; it gets hard to see very quickly.

Tarim - Taking the dog through that would not be a good idea, if there is no larger exit.

Mr. Carver - Why? If it can get in it can get out, no?

Tarim - But how much use is it when reduced to that size?

The Watchdog seems hesitant to enter.  It actually whimpers.

Mr. Carver - A big powerful dog? I wouldn't want to fight it even at this reduced size... but it doesn't seem to want to go on.

Tarim - Verily, it does seem that the source of this pestilence is within.

Eareg Maar - I don't like the look of it.  Suggestions?

Vetter - The miltia offered to pay us two-fifty apiece just for the recon, if we have to retreat...

* Koldobika wonders what is making even the Hound whimper so. Maybe the ghilan should go in first...

Mr. Carver - I'm not sure this is something the militia can handle.

Eareg Maar - Someone give me a torch. Even my eyes have limits.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The source may be known. The reason is yet unknown.

* Eareg Maar waits for a torch or lantern so he can explore the cave.

* Eareg Maar takes the torch and heads in along with Carver and Wispy.[/ic]

[ooc]Probably the party's most epic fight yet.  The Banehulk had excellent Regeneration: only fire damage or hitting it in the vulnerable cysts (problematic to get through in melee combat) dealt permanent damage.  It also had a number of special attacks - a rage attack, boulder-hurling, mephitic breath, cloud of flies, and corrosive vomit.  It never got a chance but it could also swallow characters whole (if Kol hadn't wriggled free of its grasp at one point, that would have been his fate).  Even though it nearly killed Eareg and Kol and injured some other party members, though, the group took it down after 2 sessions of solid combat.

I very much designed it as a "boss monster" - going for a Shadow of the Collosus or Zelda feel, only more horrifying.[/ooc][ic=The Banehulk]Those entering the crevice are soon assailed by a terrible stench like rancid meat.  Those who wait outside watch as the others disappear into the mist-clotted crack.  The Watchdog is outside, still shrunk down, along with a militia member and Shuck - the other Black Arrow is watching your mounts.  The zombies Tarim raised are with you as well out here.  Oney refuses to enter the defile.

* Vetter anxiously watches the others vanish into the crevice.

Eareg, Carver, Wispy, the mist grows thicker, more putrid.  It clogs your nostrils and forms a greasy film on your clothing and skin.  Up ahead the cleft opens up once again, into a fell or depression in the hills, shrouded in the fetid fog.

* Eareg Maar tells Wispy to go get the rest of the group.

* Eareg Maar peers out into the fog.

* Wispy heads back and relates what he saw back to the rest of you.

Tarim - Let us go in. The dog, too, if it can handle the stench

The Watchdog growls.

* Koldobika is unsure if this is a good idea '" but he consents to going into the small confines.

Shuck whispers soothing words to the beast and it enters the cleft.

* Tarim guides his zombies through the cleft.

* Vetter proceeds along with the others, drawing and readying his pistol.

Eareg, you hear a vague panting sound from up ahead, like rasping breath.  You think you see something in the fog... a dark shape, nebulous and towering...

* Eareg Maar pulls Carver back into the shadow of the cleft and points, whispering what he sees.

The rest of the party has now caught up with the advance scouts.

* Eareg Maar quietly points Tarim towards the shape in the fog and urges him to listen.

Eareg Maar - There's something there.

* Tarim nods.
You hear a dull groan, unmistakable.  It trails off with a choking sound, like someone being strangled.  Even muffled by the fog, the sound is quite loud.

* Tarim frowns at the noise and invokes his Harden the Skin tattoo.

Eareg Maar '" Well, if we're going to make the watchdog bigger again now's the time.

The Watchdog, still miniaturized, barks loudly.

Tarim - If there is no alternative exit, it might be stuck here. That would get us in trouble with the militia.

Eareg Maar - Perhaps our fine feathered friend could fly up and scout the area for us, see if there's another way out.  I would rather not face that.

* Eareg Maar points at whatever it is.

Eareg Maar - Without the Watchdog.

* Wispy nods and flies up into the air.  He returns a moment later.

Wispy - Nothing but mist.  I can't see another way.  Perhaps we'd better turn round and fight another day...

Tarim - Perhaps indeed. We have no obligation to fight this thing.

* Koldobika wonders what it is ahead of them. Perhaps against sound, rational advice, he hunkers down and begins to sneak forward, hoping to catch sight of the otherwise unknown beast.

The Watchdog growls and suddenly bounds forward into the mist.  Shuck cries out in alarm.

Vetter - Gleet...

Eareg Maar '" Well, looks like our decision has been made for us, hmm?

Tarim - Not our fault if the dog couldn't be controlled. Though I'm not so sure the militia officers will see it that way.

You hear the dog barking, followed by a dull roaring sound; a blast of foul air hits you.  You hear the Watchdog whimper.

Eareg Maar - Well bugger this.

* Eareg Maar lowers Meteor and fires at the shape.

* Vetter advances and also fires with his pistol into the mist.

One of Eareg's bullets whines off into the fog, followed by Vetter's shot, but Eareg's second bullet produces a loud hiss of pain from whatever is beyond.

* Eareg Maar works Meteor's action.

* Koldobika, having seen more than enough to warrant some kind of report, hurries away from the.... thing, with as much speed as is safe, trying to hurry to the others.

* Vetter reloads hastily.

* Tarim loads his rifle, reluctant to engage this unknown enemy.

* Koldobika spares no time in moving to Vetter, the only one who can reliably understand him. Immediately, he grabs Vetter's hand and begins making basic Flicker signs - hopefully to counter-act the gloom's effect on perceiving sign language.

Koldobika (Flicker) - Chains. Big Beast. Prisoner. Wards. Hurt. Trapped.

As Kol hurries back through the fogthe shape materializes out of the mist.  It moves towards you, wrapped in a shroud of the foul mist, is a vast being that might once have been humanoid but whose body is now a warped, nightmarish mass of tumorous tissue.  The ulcerous monstrosity is easily fifty feet tall, with hulking shoulders and a hunched, torturously bent back.  Its flesh is a revolting, sickly yellow and is covered in scores of boils and weeping sores which constantly close and reform, seething across its bare skin with unsettling speed.  The creature's face is almost indescribably hideous - a mask of twisted horror, features malformed and crude, obscured by disfiguring growths.  The gigantic figure is both incredibly piteous and infinitely grotesque; its jaundiced eyes are full of brooding anguish and brute hatred.  It emanates an unholy reek, and a black swarm of flies flickers round it like some diabolic halo.  A number of pulsing blackish-green cysts throb across its titanic bulk; sometimes they skitter bizarrely along its limbs or torso, as if with minds of their own.

The creature, however, is not the most disturbing sight to greet your eyes.  More unsettling still is the fact that the abomination has been imprisoned here, its neck encircled by an enormous collar of dark metal graven with mysterious runes; chain runs from the collar and back into the fog.

* Vetter raises his pistol to fire again, but then notices the chain and hesitates.

* Eareg Maar stops.

* Tarim orders his zombies to form a defensive line just in front of the party. Then he levels his rifle at the repulsive thing and fires.

Your bullet takes the monstrosity in the face.  Tainted blood flows from the wound, which almost instantly begins to close again.  The creature has some sort of healing capability '" the same regenerative ability that keeps the diseases afflicting it from killing it must be healing its wounds as well!

Tarim - How can we take on this... thing?

* Mr. Carver readies his knives and moves off to the right, adopting a flanking position.

The militia officer shoots an arrow at the monster.  The arrow hits one of the huge cysts.  It bursts, and the being roars in agony.  The open wound where the cyst once was does not close as fast as the gunshot wound did.

* Vetter moves towards cover and takes another shot, trying to aim for a cyst after he sees the effect the militiaman's arrow had.

Your shot only hits in putrid flesh, not the cyst.

* Koldobika does the absolutely most reckless thing he can '" scurrying forward as swiftly as he can, he actually tumbles in under the hulking monstrosity, seeking some form of protection from it by being very much under-foot, looking for more of the cysts that seemed to be a potential weakness.

There is one on its lower leg.

* Koldobika dodges a massive footstep and leaps onto its leg and clambers up its putrid bulk, trying not to breathe in.

* Eareg Maar lines up the beasts right eye and a familiar tendril of black lashes out from the barrel of meteor, anchoring it to the creature's eye.

Your bullet takes it in the eye with a sickly pop.  Fire sizzles in its socket.  The wound begins to heal, but the horror clutches its ruinous eye, temporarily blinded.

Shuck yells and runs into the mist in search of the Watchdog.

* Eareg Maar takes a step back into the cleft.

The creature lurhces forward, towards Eareg, groping with one massive hand.  The chain round its neck, however, chokes it.  The wards on the collar glow, and the monstrosity groans in obvious pain.  Frustrated in its attempt to reach the gunfighter it exhales a huge cloud of miasmic green vapour.

* Tarim tries to ignore the horrible miasma as he croaks the words of the Haste spell. After unleashing the hex he utters a command, ushering his zombies forward to attack the hulking monstrosity.

The zombies move forwards, quickened by your hex.

* Mr. Carver retreats towards the cleft and throws his staff to Eareg.

The militia warrior fumbles his attack, overcome by dread.

* Vetter stumbles to the nearest cover, gagging and sobbing with revulsion, and sores mottle his body.

A thick cloud of flies covers the creature, Koldobika.  They clog your nostrils and mouth and make it difficult to see.

* Koldobika overcomes his nausea and swats away the flies, then messily stabs into the cyst, popping it like an overripe carcass '" thankfully the nasty liquid oozes past him, but he looks about for another glowy bit within range...

There is another cyst further on, up its thigh.

* Koldobika clambers up its diseased flesh, using his blade like a piton.

* Eareg Maar is messily sick, nauseated by the being's pestilential breath.

* Wispy takes to the air and fires at the abomination.

The creature seems to feel the bolts like bug-bites.  The monstrosity, seeing the zombies approaching, mauls at them with its huge arms.  One is sent flying and becomes a wet stain on the hillside. Another is crushed and barely remains animate.  The remaining zombies claw at the thing's legs.  They gnash their teeth and rend its flesh, to little avail.  Still, they are distracting it from the rest of you.

* Tarim grimaces and twice blasts with his rifle, aiming at the cysts.

Another of the pulsating cysts bursts and the being shrieks in terrible agony.  It turns towards you, Tarim, a murderous look in its eyes.  The milita warrior peppers it with arrows, rather pointlessly.

* Mr. Carver runs up and attempts to follow Kol's lead, leaping onto the thing and climbing up in search of a vulnerable cyst.

* Vetter forcing back the nausea, grimly raises his pistol and fires again.

Your shot goes off into the fog.

* Koldobika attempts to rupture another cyst, hoping to do so in a fashion that may leave less of the ensuing ooze explosion flying at his face.

You again avoid the bursting ooze, dealing yet more damage to the creature! It groans and straightens up, no longer concentrating on Tarim.

* Wispy shoots again, taking careful aim.

One of Wispy's bolts hits a cyst on its head, bursting it.

* Wispy cackles triumphantly and flaps his wings.

* Eareg Maar sends a volley of flaming projectiles soaring at the thing with a vengeance.

Your bullets rain fire down on the creature; one passes deep into its body and lights in flesh on fire.  You can see the wound burning from within.  The monster screams - a truly horrifying sound.

* Eareg Maar straightens up, unaffected by the screams, and casually spits the last bit of bile from his mouth as he loads a wounding bullet into Meteor.

* Eareg Maar scoops up the staff.

The Watchdog suddenly lopes from the mist, Shuck behind it.  The creature is limping but appears to have been revived by the Kennel-Master's attentions.

The creature grabs at Koldobika and seizes him with its fist, crushing the tiny zerda.

* Koldobika stabs at it but its grip doesn't weaken.

It crushes one of the zombies underfoot.

* Eareg Maar sees Koldobika.

Eareg Maar '" Tarim, shoot it's hand!

The zombies continue to mindlessly claw at the behemoth, tearing off hunks of putrid flesh.

* Tarim moves to stand near the militia warrior, then invokes a hex to hurl a crackling stream of black puissance at the beast.

The Darkbolt hits the horror's central bulk and it groans dully.

* Mr. Carver slashes at the thing fruitlessly.

The militia officer misses his shot.

* Vetter growls, seeing Kol's predicament, and advances again, firing for the cysts as he goes.

The flies buzz around your face, filling your ears, nose, and mouth.

* Koldobika wriggles himself free of the titantic grasp, only to scurry up the hideously deformed forearm, aiming for another cyst. However, running along a massive creatures arm is not as easy as most expect it to be, and his attempt to destroy the cyst fails '" even if he does manage to nick it and cause it to ooze slightly.

* Wispy flies around, taunting the creature and firing madly.

* Eareg Maar reaches for something on his belt and withdraws a sickly green whip that snakes out spraying venom before he hauls around and strikes at the creature.

Your poison has little effect on the monstrosity.

Shuck appears to be trying to haul the Watchdog back to the defile - he doesn't want the abomination to hurt it any more.  The creature lurches forwards and lunges at Tarim.

* Tarim jumps back to avoid the blow of the beast's huge arm. He hastily retreats away from the grotesque being, beyond it's striking distance. From the safer postion he unleashes Corrosive lash, sending a bolt of hissing acid at the thing.

The acid eats away at the creature's flesh.  Enraged, it moves forward, straining at its collar to reach Tarim despite the wards that pain it.  Frustrated, it growls and attempts to grab Carver.

* Mr. Carver avoids its grasp, then climbs up its bulk and drives the Agony Knife deep into on of its cysts.  He is sprayed by the oozing fluid and cries out in pain as weeping sores mottle his body.

 The milita officer sticks an arrow into the creature.

* Vetter aims for a cyst and fires.

The creature hisses hideously and half-turns towards Vetter.

* Koldobika reaches into his pack, quickly procuring one of the vials he had taken from the Sanguine Church - hoping against hope that this foul - and truly smelly - creature is the epitome of anathema to anything properly holy, he casts the vial of water into the beasts face.

Unfortunately, the holy water has no effect.

* Wispy peppers it with bolts, shooting a cyst.  Pus sprays everywhere.  The bird-man circles the giant, laughing maniacally.

* Eareg Maar moves back from the creature and out of the cloud of flies and fires a hexed, wounding bullet.

You puncture a cyst above its brow, and it roars again in horrendous pain.  

Shuck has pulled the Watchdog forcibly back into the defile despite its barking.

The thing lurches forwards towards Eareg, straining against its collar despite the awful pain, enraged beyond reason.  The abomindation swats you, sending you flying.  You hit the cliffside hard.

 The zombies are trudging after it obediently.  Unfortunately they're too slow to keep up, even when hasted.

* Tarim takes a step back, chanting eldritch syllables. With an arcane gesture he completes a spell, and is suddenly surrounded by several copies of himself. The group of turbaned grave-spawn level their rifles in unison, taking a shot at a pulsating cyst on the horror's putrid skin.

The bullet buries itself deep in the monster's putrescent hide.

The Black Arrow continues his futile fusillade.  His arrows bristle out of the creature's flesh

* Mr. Carver clambers onto the thing's shoulders.

* Vetter reloads, hands shaking, and fires off another shot.

You hit a cyst on the creature's back.  Fluid oozes down its bulk.

* Koldobika drives his blade deep into a cyst and wrenches it upwards, spraying infected pus everywhere.  He is hit by the spray but manages to keep his balance despite its swaying.

* Wispy continues his barrage.

* Eareg Maar moves around the edge of the clearing and lines up a shot with the horror. With a thunderous report great blinding red shots scream from the barrel of his rifle.

The beast is badly injured by Eareg's bullets and the continued bombardment of the party.  It begins to retreat, back into the mist.

* Tarim orders his zombies to charge blindly into the miasmic cloud. He grips his rifle and walks forth, nearing Eareg's position.

Mr. Carver, you lose your balance as the creature runs, and are thrown from its back.

* Mr. Carver leaps and grabs onto a ledge of rock as he falls.

The beast is moving rapidly towards a high crag.

* Mr. Carver scrambles down using his grafted claws and pursues it.

* Vetter inspects his new sores and groans in combined panic and horror.

* Koldobika remains on the creature as it lumbers forward.  He tries to scramble to the ground.

* Eareg Maar makes his way around the edge of the opening trying to stay out of its range but still get a better view of the thing.

* Eareg Maar shrugs, figuring this is the best he'll get, but decides to fire anyways.

* Eareg Maar mutters a few words and Meteor's barrel stops glowing; he'd rather not draw more attention to himself with fire at this point.

* Eareg Maar grunts and sends a flurry of shots flying towards the beast.

You hear a dull groan from out of the fog.

A huge rock comes hurtling out of the mist towards you, Tarim.  You dodge aside and avoid all damage.  The Black Arrow is not so lucky.  The rock hits the ground hard; he throws himself to one side to avoid it, but it crushes him like an insect.

* Eareg Maar starts to reload.

* Tarim snarls as he rolls out of the way of the incoming rock. Getting back on his feet, he rushes over to Eareg's side and takes shots at the partially visible horror.

The being groans again.  The being has taken shelter behind a high crag; its chain terminates in the cliffside behind it, driven deep into the rock by a huge spike.

* Mr. Carver clambers back onto the creature's diseased form and stabs at the nearest cyst.

The monstrosity hisses in pain as you stab the cyst.  The boil bursts, and a huge stream of diseased pus nearly covers you, but you dart aside just in time, still clinging to the horror's body.

* Vetter drags his attention away from his affliction with a curse, and scurries off towards the beast, pistol at the ready.

* Koldobika drops down from the creature's body and runs to safety.

* Wispy flies forward, takes careful aim, and fires two bolts at the vulnerable cysts.

The creature screams in pain as you rain down bolts upon it.

* Eareg Maar squints and fires.

Your bullet hits the creature in the head.  Mr. Carver, you can see that it hit its eye, only now healing from the previous wound it took there; the monstrosity clamps a hand to the wound, once again half-blind.

* Eareg Maar grimaces a bit, still trying to shake off the pain of being tossed like a child's plaything into a stone cliff and takes the time to load his gun again.

The creature staggers, moaning piteously; for a moment, you it might fall.  Then the giant begins to quiver.  Its twisted veins swell and blacken; its jaundiced eyes bulge and incarnadine with burst blood vessels; its muscles, already titanic, bloat and stretch with an excruciating tearing sound.  Through some surge of profane chemical ferocity it remains on its feet, its strength and tenacity redoubled!  It picks up another rock and hefts it.

The boulder slams into Eareg.  There is a sound of snapping bone.

* Eareg Maar lets out a loud grunt of pain as the boulder impacts him.

* Tarim shivers, still feeling horrified by the abominable scream. He staggers back instinctively as he sees the boulder hit Eareg. Dropping to one knee and leaning on his rifle for support, he invokes one of his eldritch tattoos, drawing upon its power.

* Mr. Carver clambers up the disgusting beast and stabs its eye.

You draw blood!  The creature is now near-blind, its eyes severely injured.  It seems to barely feel the pain in its rage.

* Vetter continues to stumble-scurry towards the great beast, hoping to get a clear shot.

* Vetter levels his wheellock and squints, aims for a cyst, and lets off a shot.

Your bullet hits just to the right of a cyst and buries itsef into the creature's body.

* Koldobika runs past Vetter and takes cover while readying his short bow.[/b]

Vetter - Just gleetin' die you massive bastard!

The zombies are now climbing up towards it.

* Eareg Maar groans and strains and shoves the boulder off his body then stands up weakly and looks at Tarim while holding one arm, which is obviously pointed in a direction it shouldn't be pointed.

* Eareg Maar wipes at the blood dripping from his mouth.

Eareg Maar '" Well, I hope you wouldn't mind too much if I exercised the better part of valour.

* Eareg Maar hefts Meteor and makes a stumbling run for the cleft opening and safety.

The creature claws at its face, attempting to dislodge Mr. Carver, but the creature, half-blinded, fails to remove the graftpunk

* Tarim rises up to his feet and raises his arms in an eldritch posture. The activated tattoo upon his skin is glowing and crawling restlessly as he utters the mystic formula of a hex. With a sudden burst he unleashes the charged-up puissance, a sickly beam of necromantic power darting like a serpent towards the hulking beast.

The creature's swollen muscles shrink and wither.  It staggers.

* Mr. Carver stabs its eye again.

Its eye pops like an overripe grape, spewing humours down its diseased visage. It sobs horribly.

Mr. Carver '" Oh gods that thing is nasty! And yet, we pity it, poor thing.

* Vetter grimly reloads and fires again.

* Koldobika shoots with his short bow, puncturing two of the remaining cysts.

* Wispy likewise fires with everything he's got.

Eareg, you've reached the cleft.  You can hear the creature groaning and screaming on the other side of the fell.

* Eareg Maar ducks into the safety of the cleft and rests up against the wall.

* Eareg Maar takes the time to fully reload Meteor.

* Eareg Maar coughs weakly as he works trying to recover.

The creature shudders horribly; it is severely injured.  It makes a disgusting retching sound and abruptly vomits up a huge torrent of infectious bile mixed with tainted black blood; the stream has considerable pressure, and whatever it touches is eaten away by acidic juices.  The monstrosity doubles over and shakes its head from side to side, spraying the vile regurgitation everywhere.  Koldobika and Tarim are hit full-on by this caustic blast.

* Tarim takes one final shot at the monstrosity before retreating away from the flow of regurgitated fluids.

You puncture a cyst on its neck, and at last the monstrosity tumbles with a final behemothic roar, its enormous, disease-ridden body descending with agonizing slowness, hitting the ground with a resounding thud that echoes through the fell.  Dust rises in a huge cloud, mingling with the foul fume that is the creature's breath.

* Mr. Carver leaps to the ground nimbly.

For a second, the creature stays still - but the sores on its body continue to close and reform; the cysts continue to erupt.  The giant twitches.  Its leprous eyelids flutter; its limbs begin to stir.  The terrible wounds on its body begin to close.

Vetter - Yes! Die you gleetbag! Die die... wait, what? No!

* Eareg Maar wonders what the huge booming sound was as he stands there catching his breath.

Wispy '" Consecrate it? Or alternatively; curse it?

* Tarim grabs one of the frag grenades he picked up at the militia armoury.

Tarim '" Let's see how well these work.

* Tarim throws the grenade at the corpulent remains.

* Vetter dives flat.

The grenade detonates and diseased flesh flies everywhere.  The explosion seems to have been somewhat effective - the charred bits of the wound are not healing.

* Vetter peers over to inspect the damage.

The creature groans dully, still clinging to life.

* Eareg Maar staggers out to see what's going on when he hears Tarim talking calmly.

* Vetter drags himself off the ground.

Its left hand forms a fist, unclenches...

Tarim '" Should be easy enough. Grab this, zerda!

* Tarim tosses a jar of oil to Vetter.

* Vetter catches the oil and staggers towards the monster, fumbling in his belt pouch for his flint and steel.

Wispy - Oil... Do you need me to spill it? Or does Tarim have enough to cover this monstrosity?

* Eareg Maar sees the thing lying there and sees what the group is doing.

The creature's eyes have reformed.  The cysts are starting to scab.

* Eareg Maar speaks a word to Meteor and the barrel glows bright red.

* Wispy figures they have it under control, so he hoards his oil and flutters a bit farther away.

Eareg Maar - I suggest you do it quickly.

Tarim - We better make sure that every part is burned.

* Wispy also reloads.

* Eareg Maar aims at the thing's head for awhile.

* Vetter douses as much of it as possible with the oil and then strikes a spark...

* Tarim reloads his repeating rifle.

The being's body begins to burn with a truly appalling stench.

* Vetter pulls his bandana from its place on his head and re-ties it to cover his snout.

* Eareg Maar looks kind of odd standing there bracing the rifle against his dislocated arm while watching the flames.

* Vetter reloads his pistol and fires once, spitefully, into the conflagration.

The creature's eyelid opens!  It breathes in, its breath rasping, and begins to shift!

* Eareg Maar fires into its head.

The flames spread as the titanic thing attempts to get to its feet.  As the being's diseased form chars and blackens its skin splits and a huge cloud of greenish-yellow vapour rises into the air.  It screams one last time and collapses in a great heap of burning putridity.[/ic]

[ic=The Clockwork City]Elsewhere...

Kaius, over the course of the last week you have recovered from the worst of your wounds - your body recuperating with startling speed - and trekked deeper into the mountains to the town of Highspire to find passage on an airship.  You parted with Mikhail after finding another group of Awakeners who managed to evade the forces of Nactheim and make it through the tunnels to the Baronies.  Now, you stand in the passenger compartment of the dirigible Choronzon, looking down on the sprawl of the City of Silk below.  It has been nearly nine years since you last trod the manicured streets of Skein; back then you stayed in the Violet Ward, ensconced in luxury.  Now you descend towards the greasy shipyards of the Indigo Ward.  It and its neighbouring districts - the Ebon Ward with its overflowing slums, the industrial center of the Sepia and Damask Wards - are a blemish on the otherwise immaculate face of the city, but it is there, amidst the smoke and the raucous calls of the roustabouts, that you may convince an airship captain to take you south, back to the City of Bodysnatchers.

Kryzbytn, you approach Skein by boat, having booked a cabin on the steamer Twisted Sentiment back in Crepuscle.  Your journey here has been arduous and long.  Ever since you slipped beneath the arch of the Witch's Gate, your hazefield generator cloaking you from the attention of the stern Black Arrows maintaining the quarantine, you have felt a strange sensation, a curious impulse to head not north towards Kaius but south.  This inexplicable desire dogged you as you pressed onwards, along with a number of disturbing dreams - memories of Dour Erg and the dark deeds done there, filled with the warped shrieks of the fetch, the heavy patter of the Red Rain, the blurred forms of your former comrades.  Other times you see to hear the voice of your erstwhile employer, the so-called Man-in-Armour, beseeching you - though when you awake you cannot remember what it is he asked.  Whatever the reason for these nightmares and the eerie pull on your mind to turn around, you have resisted so far, driven to find Kaius.  With the aid of hedge-witches and vagabond seers you have scried him several times, trading food or small favours for their hexcraft.  You saw him once running through a black forest, once with a lantern raised in a black and terrible tunnel somewhere beneath the earth, pursued by foes.  Though he seems to have evaded capture he is still clearly in danger.  Based on conversations on the road you guess that he is near the Slouching-devil Mountains, just north of Skein.

You will arrive in the city's docklands, in the Indigo Ward.  You have heard that Skein has many skilled practitioners of the eldritch arts: doubtless you can find someone able to locate him.

* Kryzbytn is fatigued from his journey, stretched taut in both mind and body, feeling the pull wearing him down slowly, but presses onward... he looks for a seer to locate Kaius

* Kaius Alexander nods to the attendant as he walks down the gangplank, departing the Choronzon.

Skein: the City of Silk, the Clockwork City.  A place where demons walk the streets with men, led on leashes by masked nobles, and none bat an eye; a place where beings of semi-sentient clockwork patrol the streets and tend to the needs of their masters; a place where the impoverished masses hopelessly toil in the factory districts while their overseers look down from spires of unholy flesh, living monoliths plucked from the plains of Hell itself.  Where Macellaria is an anarchic pit of bickering factions and ruthless individuals, where might makes right and the corrupt authorities barely maintain control, Skein is eminently civilized - though, at times, no less deadly.  Also unlike Macellaria there are few grave-spawn here: while Hell-kind are abundant, ghilan, shades, and others of the nightfolk are notably absent.

The Indigo Ward itself is less orderly and well-kept than the other districts of the city.  Dozens of boats make berth here, so the docks bustle with cargo-handlers and their taskmasters, shifting crates and barrels or barking orders.  Kaius, you are by the airdocks near the outskirts: long hangars where cigar-chomping pilots and captains loiter wile mechanics tend to their craft.  Kryz, your lodgings are along the riverside (you arrived yesterday evening); nearby the warehouses and other shipping offices can be found, as well as various seedy drinking establishments with names like The Foetid Crocodile and The Jewelled Monstrance.  North are the slums of the Ebon Ward; south, the factory distracts of the Sepia and Damask Wards.  Several long bridges arch over the Radula, leading to the better-heeled districts on the west side of the river.  East is the sprawling Cemetery where the ignoble dead are interred and the city's few grave-spawn squat.

The Choronzon is heading back north tomorrow.

* Kaius Alexander raises his visor and inhales deeply.  He sets out, hoping to locate a bar for aeronauts and the like.

You find your way to The Foetid Crocodile, Kaius.  The Foetid Crocodile is dim and foul-smelling, packed to the gills with greasy dockhands and shifty-looking individuals tattooed with gang insignia.  Many carry weapons openly - mostly wicked knives and small pistols.  A sturdily built woman tends bar.  Various airship pilots and captains are distinguished by their goggles and jackets.

* Kaius Alexander stands near to the bar, observing the crowd.

The crowd chatter to one another boisterously in a smattering of languages.  The bartender asks if she can get you a drink.  There are some men playing cards nearby, another group playing at dice.

* Kaius Alexander orders a glass of water.

The bartender grunts and pours you one.  You hear a portly man with orange muttonchops and a fat cigar bragging about the speed of his dirigible, the Apollyn.

* Kaius Alexander examines the man for a moment, and then walks over.

Kaius Alexander - Sir, I could not help but overhear you speaking of the swiftness of your vessel. Tell me truly, are there none faster?

The man sips a whiskey and takes a puff on hsi cigar.  "Aye, she's the speediest vessel in the skies... who's asking?"

Kaius Alexander - I am Kaius Alexander. I seek passage to the city of Macellaria. I wonder. Do you consider private charters?

The man exhales smoke.  "That can certainly be arranged - for a price.  There're reasons aeronauts don't like flying close to the Slaughter-lands: the evil storms that linger there love to prey on dirigibles, and there are other things as well that haunt the skies.  Gorgeflies, rare as they are, sometimes confuse airships with other gorgeflies, seeing them at a distance, and fly up to mate; when they figure out the dirigible ain't one of their own kind they'll destroy it out of sheer bloody-minded frustration.  Got 'em riled up for nothing, see?

"That all said, I'll make the trip if you make it worth my while.  Seven hundred and fifty crowns'll do it.  You won't find a lower price anywhere."

Kaius Alexander - This is an acceptable price to me. How long will you remain in Skein? I will have to secure the requisite funding.

"Dirigible got damaged up in the mountains, so I'm here for four days while she's repaired."

* Kaius Alexander nods.

Kaius Alexander - That length of time is sufficient. I did not catch your name.

"Captain Ellis," the man says, extending a large hand.

* Kaius Alexander extends his own gauntleted hand and shakes firmly.

Kaius Alexander - A pleasure to meet you, Captain.

"You too, Mr. Alexander."

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to Captain Ellis.

Kaius Alexander - If you will excuse my briefness, I shall set out immediately. Where will I be able to find you?

"You can find my ship in airdock 22.  I'll be over there, or in here."

* Kaius Alexander nods.

Kaius Alexander - Until then.

Captain Ellis nods in return.

* Kaius Alexander finishes his water in one long draught, setting the glass down on the bar.

"On the house," the bartender says sarcastically.

* Kaius Alexander raises an eyebrow.

Kaius Alexander - ...You have my thanks, madam.

* Kaius Alexander departs the bar and heads into the city, heading towards a Watch station in hopes of finding a bounty poster or the like.

You follow the twisting streets of the district but take a wrong turn, finding yourself, somehow, at a dead-end - a blank wall covered in Hellspeak graffiti.  You hear heavy steps behind you.

* Kaius Alexander turns swiftly, his hand on the hilt of the Cereblade.

Behind you are five burly toughs, thuggish humans in rough garb, some of them bare-chested, the better to flout tattoos both hexed and mundane.  All have augmented themselves with clockwork.  One has a rotary gun where his left arm should be, another a flail attached to a generator at the end of his right wrist; a third sports a pair of lenses instead of eyes, a fourth has a torso more gearwork than flesh, and a fifth scuttles about on spidery metal joints instead of legs.  All have sutured metal plates to their heads and faces cast in the semblance of skulls.

You think you recognize one of these individuals from the bar - he must have followed you.

"This is Brass Skull territory," the scuttling gearborg thug proclaims in accented Shambles, waving a blunderbuss.  "There's a toll to use the street - ten gold crowns, or we'll sell your guts to the ghilan."  Two other thugs have firearms; the others are the flail-wielder and a burly tough with a spanner used as an improvised club.

Kaius Alexander - You will get no crowns from me, even had I a single one. I will not abide a threat.

* Kaius Alexander draws the Cereblade.

* Kaius Alexander telekinetically snaps his visor down.

Kaius Alexander - I offer you one chance. Leave me be.

"Not very likely," the flail-wielding thug says, powering up his generator with a tist of a mechanism.

The thugs open fire on you.

* Kaius Alexander bears the rain of gunfire silently.

Kaius Alexander - My turn.

* Kaius Alexander advances.  He smirks as he notices a gap in the flail-wielding thug's defences; his blade sweeps in low.

The eldricth Cereblade nearly hews the man in two!

Meanwhile, Kryzbytn searches for a seer to track Kaius down.  Kryz, you're having trouble finding anyone who speaks Shambles.

* Kryzbytn attempts to speak with the locals as to where a witch may reside, relying heavily on charades and body language, but to little avail.

Kryzbytn (chitters to himself) - I am far less fit for travel than I previously thought... It seemed so easy those years past...

* Kryzbytn wanders about the docks, thinking that surely someone must speak Shambles... or even Bugspeak.

You find a beggar who speaks Shambles.  He shrugs at your questions and suggests you try across the river.

Kryzbytn - Hmm...

* Kryzbytn looks for a bridge.

There's a bridge a ways to the west, Kryz.

* Kryzbytn looks at the bridge in the distance, then to a nearby water taxi, and examines the taxi.

Kryzbytn - Excuse me, one, do you speak the Shambling tongue?

The attendant looks you up and down suspiciously and squints at you.  He says something in Hellspeak.

* Kryzbytn asks if the man knows Bugspeak in Bugspeak.

The man takes a step back, Kryz, alarmed by what to him must sound lke menacing chittering noises.

Kryzbytn - Hm.

* Kryzbytn motions with his four arms to the ship, trying to charade it crossing the river.

As you wave your scythe arms the attendant gasps in fear and shrinks back.

Kryzbytn - Oh no, sorry! I did not mean...

* Kryzbytn backs away.

* Kryzbytn sighs and looks towards the bridge. He makes his way towards it, looking around for other water taxis.

Kryzbytn, as you're making your way to the bridge, you hear gunshots down a side street.

* Kryzbytn snaps his head around, looking nearly behind him as he approaches another water taxi.

The other people in the Ward seem to pay the shots no attention.

* Kryzbytn looks around, somewhat surprised by the lack of action, and yet also not so.

* Kryzbytn actiavtes his hazefield generator and skulks towards the noise, curious.

Kryzbytn, as you skulk closer you see a group of men augmented with clockwork fighting someone.  You can't get a good look at him, but he's just cut someone nearly in half.

* Kaius Alexander twists his blade free from the collapsing thug, and follows through with another swing.

You hack off the second gearborg's right arm.  He shrieks as blood spurts everywhere.

* Kryzbytn notices the fight unfairly pitted against the individual, thinking that maybe by saving the individual he can help him around Skein

* Kryzbytn draws his scythe, unpowering his generator, and spits his words at them in Shambles.

Kryzbytn - Stand down, or face the wrath of the Reaper!

More bullts from the blunderbuss and the rotary-gun pepper you, Kaius, mostly bouncing of your armour.

* Kaius Alexander does not hear Kryzbytn, as he is assailed by another hail of bullets.

* Kryzbytn adopts his favorite stance, raising his scythe above his head and splaying his two scythe arms outward at them, crouching low, ready to pounce at them on his mighty legs.

The thug with the spanner turns around towards you, Kryz.

* Kryzbytn slashes viciously and gives the man a terrible wound.

Kaius, you hear the man's cry of pain and realize there's someone else fighting the gearborgs.

* Kryzbytn hisses as his blade cuts into the strange concoction of a man.

* Kaius Alexander calls over the heads of the thugs as he swings at the armless thug in front of him

Kaius Alexander - I did not look for help in this situation, but you have my gratitude! With your assistance this scum will shortly fall.

The man dodges aside, blood spurting everywhere.  He flees.

Kryz, you think you recognize the voice... Kaius?

* Kryzbytn calls out as he locks his target in combat.

Kryzbytn - Kaius one?!?

* Kaius Alexander cuts at the man's leg and he collapses in the street, badly injured and bleeding out.

The remaining thugs turn to run.

* Kryzbytn gives the fleeing man a second wound.

* Kaius Alexander steps over the dying man and raises his visor.

Kaius, you hear a clanking sound approaching from round a corner.

Kaius Alexander - Kryzbytyn! It is you. What are you doing here? This is most unanticipated.

Kryzbytn - I'm looking for you!

Kaius Alexander - I am humbled.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

Kryzbytn - You seem.... in better condition than I previously expected, Kaius one.

As you speak, a clanking automaton approaches, flanked by four armoured officers of the Watch, all bearing elaborate repeating wheellocks.

"What's all this then?" The Watch sergeant loudly demands, in Hellspeak.

* Kaius Alexander turns towards them, and sheathes the Cereblade.

Kaius Alexander - Yes, Kryzbytn. I suspect we have much to talk about... but...

* Kaius Alexander motions towards the officers.

* Kryzbytn spins on his feet, bloody scythe in hand.

* Kaius Alexander puts his hand on Kryz's scythe to lower it.

* Kryzbytn quickly forgoes his combat stance...

Kaius Alexander - Sergeant. I am a guest in this city, newly arrived. I have been assailed by ruffians claiming themselves members of the Brass Skulls, I was forced to defend myself.

* Kryzbytn puts away his scythe.

Kaius Alexander - My companion here happened upon me in time to offer assistance.

"Hmph, a likely story.  We don't tolerate turf-wars in this city.  You'll be coming with us."

* Kryzbytn looks at Kaius.

Kryzbytn - What is going on?

Kaius Alexander - I must protest my innocence Sergeant, but I will deign to go with you. I am sure this can be resolved.

"Indeed.  Come along then - and your friend, too."

Kaius Alexander (to Kryz) - We are being detained. Come, do not resist.

The other Watch officials get out shackles.

* Kaius Alexander offers his wrists.

* Kryzbytn does so as well.

Clapped in irons, you are escorted through the streets by the Watch and their clanking automaton.  You cross one of the slender bridges over the Radula: before you, the living spires of Skein rise in all their alien glory, stone buildings clustered around them.  The patrol conducts you into the depths of the Azure Ward, into an administrative district.[/ic]

[ic=Etiquette]Kryzbytn - Kaius one... where did you go? What happened?

* Kaius Alexander exhales slowly.

Kaius Alexander - It is no simple matter, Kryzbytn.

Kryzbytn - Few things are.

* Kryzbytn feels the pull against him.

Kryzbytn - These days, at least...

Kaius Alexander - I was corralled against my will into returning to the north, to be judged.

Kryzbytn - Judged? Of what crime?

Kaius Alexander - It was... a family matter, you might say. My... family...  is notoriously strong-willed. I had little choice in the matter.

Kryzbytn - Oh. I imagine you are not on the best of terms with them?

Kaius Alexander - No. I am not. Suffice to say, I was forced to extricate myself from their custody. And here I am.

In contrast with the ruffians and workers who thronged the Indigo Ward, the Azure Ward is peopled by masked noblemen and noblewomen, attended by elaborately sculpted clockwork servants as they walk the streets, chained demonic familiars following beside them.  Some of the magisters and magistra stop to stare at the pair of you.

Kryzbytn - And you have escaped them?

* Kaius Alexander nods.

Kryzbytn - I imagined you to be in much worse condition... I feared I would need to intervene.  I am glad to see you did not require rescuing after all.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, had things gone differently I might well have needed your assistance.  I too am glad. Your company is most welcome.

Kryzbytn - Yes, yours as well, Kaius one.

You approach a stern, austere building with the insignia of the Watch above its doors (an armoured fist holding the scales of justice) and numerous officers standing guard; it adjoins a large domed structure which might be the city courthouse, based on the clerks rushing in and out.

Kaius Alexander - But it seems we are to be faced with more difficulties...

Kryzbytn - I think I may have been the one actually needing saving this time.

* Kryzbytn chitters.

Kaius Alexander - Is that so?

Kryzbytn - I could not make my way around Skein for the life of me.

Kaius Alexander - Ah. Well, it has been long since I walked these streets. Things have changed, and some Wards I was never familiar with.

Kryzbytn - Perhaps I was a little overzealous in looking for you - I have never been very far north. But I am glad I came nonetheless. It's... revealed something to me.

Kaius Alexander - Has it? Certainly, our chance meeting was serendipitous.

Kryzbytn - Yes. What I thought was a method of proving my worth, my being, to myself by looking for and finding you, I realize that there is something much more hidden, embedded within me, or rather... a lack thereof. As I move further north, I am pulled further south... as if a part of me does not move with me

Kaius Alexander - I have seen you prove yourself many times over, Kryzbytn. Whatever it is that faces you, I am confident you will overcome it.

* Kryzbytn is flattered by the comment from Kaius.

Kryzbytn - Truly?

Kaius Alexander - Truly. Know that I will stand at your side, should you need me.

Kryzbytn - I think I must return to a place I vowed never to go again. I fear it greatly.

Kaius Alexander - We all must face such places, in time. Your fear proves your wisdom. But some fears must be conquered.

* Kryzbytn nods in silence, and thinks.

"You'll be placed in a cell for a few days 'fore your trial," the sergeant informs you cavalierly as you arrive at the doors of the Watch building.

Kaius Alexander - Indeed? I trust that all possible haste will be made. My presence is required elsewhere.

* Kryzbytn looks to Kaius for translation.

Kaius Alexander (to Kryz) - We are to be held for several days, and then we will be tried.

Kryzbytn - It is as if I cannot escape these trials no matter where I go...

* Kaius Alexander grunts.

"Hmph.  You're going to be behind bars for awhile, miscreant."  He gives you an ugly grin.

* Kryzbytn suddenly misses Vetter and Koldolbika and the others.

As he bustles you towards the gaol, a voice cuts through the crowd: "Sergeant, release those men at once."

The speaker is a slim young woman of perhaps seventeen or eighteen years.  She is garbed in ostentatious silk garments of dark purple and wears a large amount of silver jewellery set with glimmering orange fire opals, as well as an elaborate half-mask made entirely of gold filigree.  Her skin is extremely pale and her lips and nails are painted bright green.  Round one slender wrist she wears a silver manacle attached to a chain; this runs to a collar encircling the neck of a bizarre creature resembling a kind of grotesque hairless cat with a barbed tail, spined frills round its neck just above the collar, and monstrously huge toad-like eyes.  She holds the demon in her arms; it purrs contently as she idly strokes its frills.

"Milady Taim," the sergeant says, bowing.  "With all respect, thse men are criminals.  We caught them red-handed, standing over the bodies of similar rogues in the Indigo Ward.  Fighting in the streets is strictly prohibited."

* Kryzbytn looks up at the woman, unaware as to what is going on.

"You fool," the magistra says.  "They are in my employ, and were in the docklands on important business for my House.  Doubtless they were assaulted by the blackguards you described and merely defended themselves.  It is your job to protect citizens from such scum.  In fact, you should be rewarding these two for ridding the city of known villains."

The sergeant blusters.  "We've already made the arrest, milady.  If things are as you say, I'm sure they'll be acquitted of their crimes, but for now they must be incarcerated.  Justice must be served."

"Must I remind you, sir, that I am close friends with Chief Justice Shenn?" She continues.  "Just last night at dinner he told me that the courts are severely backlogged.  If you do not release these men to me immediately, I will be forced to report this incident to him.  Then you can explain to him why you decided to unnecessarily bother the courts with such matters, how detaining two individuals whose innocence has been vouchsafed by a magistra of the blood is 'serving justice'."

* Kaius Alexander wrinkles his brow, an inquisitive look on his face.

The guard mumbles something.

"What was that, sergeant?" The magistra says.  "Speak up, man."

"Release the prisoners," the sergeant says.  His men undo your bonds.

"Come, good sirs," the magistra says to you.  "We have business to discuss."

* Kryzbytn looks around, utterly confused. He turns to Kaius.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to the magistra.

Kryzbytn - The manner of justice here is surely different from what I've experienced before... What sort of ritual is this?

Kaius Alexander - My Lady. You have my gratitude. Your assistance was most timely.

"I am merely repaying an old favour, Mr. Alexander.  It seems it was my turn to rescue you."

She holds out her hand to Kryzbytn and says in flawless Shambles, "Lady Sarah, of the House of Taim."

* Kaius Alexander eyes widen, as he realizes to whom he speaks.

* Kryzbytn extends his hand in return.

Kaius Alexander - Lady Sarah... I am heartened to see that you are well.

* Kaius Alexander bows stiffly.

Kryzbytn - Kryzbytn, the Reaper of the Pits, of no House.

* Kryzbytn looks at Kaius, then imitates a stiff bow.

* Kaius Alexander doffs his helm, to carry it beneath one arm.

Lady Sarah smiles at you both.  "Charmed.  Now, you both look as if you could use a cup of tea, or perhaps something more potent."

Kaius Alexander - Ah. Yes. Rest would be welcome.

Kryzbytn - Agreed. A strong tea would be most favorable, Lady one.

"My home is nearby.  Follow me, gentlemen."

The magistra leads you through the streets of the Azure Ward to one of the monolithic spires.  A pair of footmen, both carrying curiously shaped polearms, open the door.  Inside, the spire shimmers with bioluminescence, the living walls nacreous, riddled with sculpted pipe pumping them full of nutritive liquid.  Lamps and furnishings are embedded in the organic tissue.  The magistra leads you up a spiralling ramp and into a round parlour.  A delicate automaton, its features cast in the semblance of a human man, brings out a tray of cakes, tea, and cucumber sandwiches, its gilded features unmoving but its motions eerily lifelike.  The magistra seats herself daintily on a divan, her familiar curling up in her lap.  She takes out a cigarette case and a jade cigarette holder from a side-table, speaks with a word of minor witchery and conjures a flame to light it.  She offers both of you a cigarette from the same case.

* Kaius Alexander accepts her offer.

She lights the cigarette for you with the same flame.

Kaius Alexander - Thank you, my lady.

Kryzbytn - I, uh, cannot... err, no thank you.

"Ah of course, how silly of me," she says.  "So, Kaius, how have the years treated you?  And what are you doing in Skein?"

Kaius Alexander - Truthfully, Lady Sarah, they have been filled with chaos. But I still live, and find myself grateful for that.  As to my presence in Skein.

* Kaius Alexander thinks for a moment.

Kaius Alexander - I found myself once again embroiled in the business of the Lords and Ladies of Somnambulon. It seems to be my lot in life. Dirigible via Skein was the most expeditious method of extricating myself.

"I see.  Do you plan to remain here?"

* Kryzbytn admires the strange building idly.

Kaius Alexander - No, sadly not, My Lady. I have taken up residence in Macellaria, and seek to return.

"A long journey.  Have you considered chartering an airship?"

Kaius Alexander - Indeed. That was my first thought, I have contacted a Captain Ellis of the Apollyn, and expressed my intention to do just that. I had just set out to investigate the procurement of funding when I found myself beset by the Brass Skulls. And here we are.

* Kaius Alexander sips from a cup of tea.

"If yourself in need of coin, I would be happy to cover the expense.  I remember how you protected me that day, eight years ago.  I would be happy to repay the favour by purchasing your passage back to Macellaria.  First, however, I would beg your assistance in a small matter, if it is not inconvenient for you...?"

* Kaius Alexander nods to her.

Kaius Alexander - I am glad to see you well, My Lady. You have grown into your position strongly, I see. I had worried about you, upon our parting. But I see those worries were misplaced. I would be most willing to offer you any assistance I could.

"Thank you."  She smiles again and turns to Kryzbytn.  "But first, good sir Kryzbytn, tell me of yourself.  What brings you to this fair city?  We do not often see your people here."

Kryzbytn - I was looking for my friend, Kaius one. I have traveled thus far... but I do not think I will be returning with him, knowing now that he has safe passage to our comrades.

Kaius Alexander - Kryzbytn is a stalwart friend, My Lady. I trust him with my life.

Kryzbytn - Likewise, Kaius one.

"I see.  Well, you are welcome to remain here as long as you please, as a guest. If you would be amenable to assisting gentle Kaius, you would be handsomely compensated, to the tune of one hundred crowns."

Kryzbytn - Certainly. What would you have me assist him in?

"This will take some time to explain." She sips her tea.  "First, some background."

* Kaius Alexander settles back to listen.

* Kryzbytn laps his teat from his mandibles as he listens.

"Relations between Skein and Dolmen have never been friendly: ideological differences, more than anything, have strained things between the two cities."  Lady Sarah daintily taps her cigarette holder, emptying the ashes into a porcelain tray.  "In recent years, however, certain progressive factions amongst the spiderfolk have emerged who are willing to do business with us godless infidels."  She smiles wryly.  "In particular, the lilix family known as the Ylzemarr, who hold to the tenets of a moderate sect in a liberal diocese, have become recent commercial partners and allies, exchanging valuable spidersilk armour, as well as certain eldritch formulae, for Skein automata, analytical engines, and firearms.  The Ylzemarr represent a new movement amongst the lilix, one that yearns to break away from the stagnation and conservatism of the orthodox powers-that-be.  A trade delegation, consisting of the eldest daughter of the Ylzemarr family - one Mistress Vaeza - has just arrived in Skein.  Tonight they will be fêted here, in the main ballroom.

"The Ylzemarr have committed no heresies or treasons: the Archonesses of their sect know how to bend dogma to suit their purposes without ever transgressing from holy doctrine.  Thus they ensure they are safe from official censure.  Nonetheless, the reactionary factions of the City of Spiders consider the Ylzemarr and their allies traitors and blasphemers.  There have been numerous assassination attempts on Vaeza and on other moderates.  It is rare for the Assassin's Guild to send its operatives far from Dolmen, but likewise it is unusual for lilix traders to do business abroad: most insist that foreign merchants come to them.  I think it not only possible but probable that they will make an attempt on Vaeza's life while she is in Skein - potentially at tonight's reception.  The Great Web snares all whom it touches.

"To make matters more complicated still, my own family is currently feuding with another noble House, the Sedaracs.  They would do anything to sabotage our dealings out of no other motive than spite and wounded pride.  It is said that they were responsible for my uncle's poisoning, a circumstance which left me as the head of my household, my aunt having succumbed some years ago to the tragic depredations madwine and the nectar of Moroi can take on the mind; they had no children, so I succeeded my uncle as magistra praesertim of the Taims.

"Of course, my men-at-arms will be stationed around the spire, and the captain of my house guard, Rallin, assures me that he will deal with any problems.  Vaeza will bring her own bodyguards and courtiers, as well.  However, I have suspicions that the some of the guard, or possibly the servants, are secretly in the pockets of the Sederacs, though I do not know precisely who.

"The task I would ask of you is simple.  Come to the ball tonight and stay alert; make sure no harm comes to Vaeza.  If she comes under attack, help conduct her to safety."

Kaius Alexander - Of course, My Lady. I would be glad to ensure the safety of your guest to the utmost of my ability. I fear that my current garb might be... unsuitable to such a formal setting, however.

"I will have the staff prepare suitable garb, and some unobtrusive weapons, if you have none of your own."  
   
She looks to Kryz.

Kryzbytn - It shall be done, Lady Sarah one.

"Wonderful."  She exhales a tendril of smoke.  "It would be best if you were to disguise your species, good sir - I am sad to say that your people are not well regarded in this city.  A simple glamer will suffice.  I can perform it just before the ball begins.

"After you have been suitably attired and equipped, find Rallin - he'll probably be on the first floor somewhere.  You'll know him by his mechanical eye, lost in his mercenary days during the Adumbral War to Phenex Viletongue himself, or so he claims.  He'll brief you on security matters.   Then meet me in the library, and I will brief you on the etiquette that must be observed: I am sure you will both behave as perfect gentlemen, but the lilix have strange customs, and will take great offense even at accidental slights.  But for now, let's finish tea."

Kryzbytn '" Certainly.

* Kaius Alexander drains his cup slowly.

* Kryzbytn is a little disturbed by the idea of looking as something other than a mantid.

"So, Kaius.  Tell me something of this 'chaos' which has filled your life these past eight years."

* Kaius Alexander sighs.

Kaius Alexander - I am sad to say that My Lady Genevieve has recently passed. A wasting illness... there was nothing I could do. To this day I suspect the ministrations of the Parsevandes of Crepuscle involved themselves somehow... but that is a sordid tale.

"I see.  My condolences."

Kaius Alexander - I have found myself in many places over the years, and now take contractual work in the City of Bodysnatchers.  At times... yes, it is distasteful, but I find it can be rewarding.

"Would a more stable position be more to your taste? "

Kaius Alexander - It might... someday. But I have obligations I must attend to before I can consider such things.

"Of course, of course.  You introduced yourself using an interesting title, Kryzbytn.  How did you come by it?"

Kryzbytn - The Pits of Macellaria.  I bested an anthropaphagus in combat with my scythes: they chanted my name as "Reaper"

"Oh indeed?  You must be a skilled warrior - I have heard the Headless are fearsome combatants."

Kryzbytn - I suppose I am.  I was a toymaker before.

"Indeed?"

* Kryzbytn motions to his scale armor.

Kryzbytn - These were some of them.

She examines your armour with interest.  "Why did you melt them?"

Kryzbytn - I had no armor to protect myself for where I needed to go. My toys were deemed unfit for the children, too sharp and dangerous. I still miss them

"A sad story.  You must create new toys some day.  I am sure they will please many chidren."

Kryzbytn - I do not know. I would like to, but I seem more fit to make weapons.

* Kryzbytn pulls out his "Perforator" gun with pink and blue childish designs on it.

Kaius Alexander - I think in time you may find it in you to again make your toys, Kryzbytn. It is honourable work.

"In life, we should do what pleases us most.  Still, it is a beautiful weapon - and small enough to conceal.  I hope it will not be necessary for you to use it tonight"

Kryzbytn - I hope so as well. What is that creature you hold in your arms?

"Ah, you mean Tartaruchus here!  He is my familiar."  She pets the demon.  "All magisters and magistra summon one and bind it to their will, on their fifteenth birthday."

Kryzbytn - Hmm... I very much like it.

Kaius Alexander - Certainly, demons are interesting and varied creatures. Tartaruchus seems a loyal companion.

"You are too kind," the demon answers in Hellspeak, with a toothy grin.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to the familiar.

Presently, an automaton enters the parlour.  "Garments and equipment have been prepard," the machine-man croaks.  "Please follow me."

"One more thing, before you go," Lady Sarah says.  "If we are attacked and for some reason you can't get Mistress Vaeza out via the servant's entrance or the front door, there's an ornithopter on level nine. It's piloted by an automaton, who'll need to be wound up before take-off: here's its key."  She takes a small key out of the side-table.  "It's the only copy, so keep it safe."

* Kaius Alexander nods to her as he accepts the key.

Kaius Alexander - I will guard it vigilantly.

As I said, meet me later in the library."

Kaius Alexander - Of course. Until then.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to her.

* Kryzbytn nods.

The automaton leads you from the parlour to a central stair that seems to wind throughout the entire spire.  You follow it up a flight of stairs to the fifth floor to a block of rooms.

"These are your chambers," the automaton says, gesturing with its gilded fingers to two doors.  "You will find your accoutrements within."

Kaius Alexander - May I place my belongings within?

"Of course."

* Kaius Alexander enters the room.

Inside you find a mid-sized and lavishly furnished room with a four-poster bed, a chest of drawers, an attached bathroom complete with claw-foot tub, and a balcony overlooking the Palace of the Moth-Kings and the rest of the Azure Ward.  Distantly you can see the Slouching-devil Mountains.

Laid out for you on the bed is a fine suit of clothes, all brocade silk and ruffles and ornate embroidery, predominantly grey and purple in colour.  There is also a suit of padded armour that will fit beneath this clothing.  Beside the clothes are a small, four-barrelled pistol of ingenious make and a long stiletto dagger with a ruby pommel-stone.

* Kryzbytn removes his armor, and examines his new weapons.

The weapons are masterfully made, Kryz.

* Kryzbytn wonders what he'll look like this eve.

* Kaius Alexander begins to strip off his armour, and lays it out neatly along with his weapons.

Kaius, as you pick up the dagger you see the Cereblade on the bed warp and twist, feel something twinge in your mind.  The psychic sword has somehow compacted itself and is now the size of a long knife, perhaps picking up on some subconscious desire on your part.

* Kaius Alexander raises an eyebrow and picks up the Cereblade.

Kaius Alexander - Curious.


* Kaius Alexander immerses himself in the water and scrubs vigorously

You soon clean yourself of grime and blood.

* Kaius Alexander dresses himself, and conceal the Cereblade and the pistol on his person.  He goes to Kryz's room.

Kaius Alexander - I believe we are now to meet with Captain Rallin. When you are ready, of course, Kryz.

You arrive at the front hall, where guards and security automata attend the door.  There are two adjoining chambers to either side.

* Kaius Alexander approaches a guard.

Kaius Alexander - Pardon me. Where might I find Captain Rallin?

He jerks a thumb to the door on the right.  "Think he's in there."

Kaius Alexander - My thanks.

* Kaius Alexander proceeds through the door.

You find Rallin in the armoury, cleaning a disassembled wheellock pistol, his good eye squinted up, his mechanical eye telescoped to give him better vision of the minute cogs he scrubs.  The walls of this room are lined with racks of weapons, from clockwork firearms to the curious glaive-like spear-swords favoured by the Watch.  The captain of the guard wears a studded leather vest over the purplish livery of the Taims.

Kaius Alexander - Captain. I understand you are to brief of us on security at the reception.

"Ah, you must be the pair of scoundrels I heard Lady Sarah rescued from the Watch.  Hell if I know why she's taken into her head to assign you two to security, but it's the magistra's job to give orders and mine to follow.

"The Taim house guard consists of seventeen men-at-arms, excluding me.  Four of these will be present in the ballroom on the second floor at all times.  Eight will patrol the other levels of the spire to make sure troublemakers don't try and get in via the windows or balconies and sneak downstairs.  Three will man the front gate and two will guard the servant's entrance.  I'll split my time between the ballroom and other locations.

"We also have two security automata.  One will be discretely placed in the ballroom, the other in the front hall; they'll be programmed to activate only in the event of an obvious attack.

Kaius Alexander - What are their capabilities?

"They're armed with rotary cannons and hexed nets that will subdue anyone they touch with an electric shock."

* Kaius Alexander nods.

Kaius Alexander - Let us hope their use is not necessary.

Kryzbytn - Indeed.

Kaius Alexander - How many are to be in attendance?

"Should be one hundred and twenty all in all.  The guests will be checked at the front gate.  No weapons'll be allowed for guests except for the spiders' bodyguards and the like.  Absurd, of course - the familiars of most of the guests are deadlier than any blade or pistol, but we cannot prevent them from entering with their masters.  In the event an intruder makes it inside somehow, we'll get the guests out in a controlled manner."

* Kaius Alexander nods again.

Kaius Alexander - I understand. A difficult task, to watch over so many. But I will endeavour to be as vigilant as possible.

Kryzbytn - I understand.

"Any other questions or details you two need to know?"

Kaius Alexander - No, I do not think so, Captain.

"Good.  Look, my men are hand-picked.  We can take care of any problems, so if something occurs, make sure you don't get in our way."

Kaius Alexander - I will keep that in mind, Captain. But Lady Sarah has been specific in her instructions. We shall see.

Rallin grunts.  "Very well.  Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do."

Kaius Alexander - Of course. Until later, Captain.

* Kaius Alexander turns and seeks out the library.

* Kryzbytn follows in suit.

The library is on the eighth floor: a room with three levels, connected by spiralling ramps.  Bookshelves of dark wood line the walls, all of them full of neatly organized books on a wide variety of topics.  Magistra Sarah Taim sits at a small desk looking over a grimoire by lamplight.  Her familiar, Tartaruchus sits at her feet, lapping at a small saucer of something.

"You both clean up nicely," she laughs.

* Kryzbytn looks at some of the books curiously.

Many of them are books on demonology, Kryz. Others seem to be volumes of poetry.  Still others are of esoteric mathematical matters.

Kryzbytn '" Interesting.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, rarely do I comport myself in such finery. It is good to know that I have dressed myself properly, at least.

"So, you met with Rallin?  I trust he did not give you any trouble?"

Kryzbytn - Oh - no, he seemed reluctant to have us, though.

Kaius Alexander - Yes, we have met with him. He did not, although I sensed some reluctance in regard to our presence - yes.

"Yes, he can be a trifle proud, and gruff.  Still, he is capable.  Do you require anything else for tonight's reception?  Equipment of any kind?"

Kryzbytn - I don't think so. I feel naked without my scythe, but I should be fine. Guns have never been much trouble to me.

Kaius Alexander - Hm. I do not think so. Perhaps though, you possess a spell to heighten the senses? Rallin has informed me that there are to be a significant number of guests...

"Indeed.  I can provide you with such a hex, when I attend to Kryzbytn's glamer.  So, on to etiquette.

"First, language.  You may speak to the lilix females in Hellspeak or Chattelchatter, but never Shambles or Spiderchatter - the former they consider coarse and uncouth, while the latter would be blasphemous.  Other guests can be addressed in Shambles, but try not to speak the tongue in earshot of the lilix if you can help it.  Do not speak to the human slaves of the lilix.  You may speak to lilix males, but do not neglect the lilix females if you do so.

"Follow so far?"

* Kaius Alexander nods.

Kryzbytn - I do not speak many tongues, lady one. I shall likely commit myself to silence.

"Perhaps you will do best if you mingle with the human guests."

* Kryzbytn nods.

"If you remain silent the whole evening, you will invite suspicion.  An assassin will spot you immediately as a guard."

Kryzbytn - Perhaps I could play the role of Koldolbika...

* Kryzbytn chitters.

Kryzbytn - He is a mute zerda friend of ours.

Kaius Alexander - I am sure you will be fine, Kryzbytn.

"You have many interesting companions, Kaius."

Kaius Alexander - Ah, well. They are certainly varied, but for the most part reliable.

"Second, conversation.  When conversing with the lilix, some topics are safe, others are not. Of the latter category, religion is most prominent: do not mention any gods or spiritual philosophies of any kind, swear no oaths, make reference to no temples or shrines, and ask no questions pertaining to Verlum or her worship.  Political talk is also to be discouraged, but if the lilix brings up a political matter, state your opinions succinctly and truthfully: if you lie to agree with the lilix, or dissimulate your true thoughts, she will likely see through your attempt to ingratiate yourself.  Do not discuss any details of the trade agreement.  Needless to say, make no inappropriate advances or suggestions: gentle flirting, in the form of tasteful compliments, is permitted and indeed expected.  Good topics to dwell on include art, travel, and the marvels of Skein.  Jokes are alright, but do not be surprised if the lilix do not share in your sense of humour; racial jokes that besmirch other species are a safe bet.  Strive to be deferent without being slavish: remember the lilix consider us to be racially inferior, and while members of the delegation are liberal for spiderfolk, this basic assumption remains.

"Is everything clear with regard to conversation?"

Kaius Alexander - I believe so, My Lady.

Kryzbytn - Will I need to be this careful around non-lilix ones?

"No.  We are a more open-minded sort and in fact most of the guests would be greatly amused by vulgaity."

Kryzbytn - Vulgarity... Hmm.  I will have to adopt a different pattern of speech.

"Third, dancing.  Do not ask any of the human handmaidens to dance - they are slaves and are not supposed to have wills of their own.  You may approach the lilix women and ask them to dance, and in fact if they are not asked frequently they may be insulted; they like to think that they are far more beautiful than any human women, and that human men secretly lust for them.  The proper form of request is to bow first and politely ask to have the honour of a dance - again, use Chattelchatter or Hellspeak only.  If the lilix consents, take her topmost left hand and place the other round her waist.  If she refuses, bow a second time and withdraw; do not, under any circumstances, touch a lilix without her permission.  While dancing, it is customary to let a lilix female lead.  Essentially, the lilix will believe she is humouring and delighting you by allowing you the honour and intense pleasure of dancing with her.  The correct mode of address for Vaeza is 'Mistress Vaeza' or simply 'Mistress.'  Address other lilix women as 'Madame' if they are married - they wear wedding rings, one for each husband - and 'Maid' if they are not.

Kaius Alexander - Understood, though I have little experience in dancing.

"Kryzbytn, you should ask either myself or Kaius to translate for you if you wish to ask a lilix to dance."

Kryzbytn - Clockwork craft seems simpler than this.

"Do not worry - the lilix will lead, and you will pick it up easily enough.  Fourth, refreshment.  Clearly, becoming intoxicated is a bad idea, though I'm sure that goes without saying.  Not drinking at all will be seen as odd, however, and you want to blend in.  When eating, do so as cleanly and delicately as possible: the lilix are disgusted at the sight of chewing solid food.  The ball will not include a dinner: you can find some supper beforehand with the servants.  I myself will have only a bite or two in my solar.

Kryzbytn - I have four arms, though. Even with a glamer, how will that function?

"Your arms will seem to meld into your body while the glamer is active.  If you make use of them by interacting with an object, the spell will be broken and the glamer will fade."

Kryzbytn - Ah, I shall tuck my arms away then.

"That would be best, yes.  That should be enough information for you to survive the evening.  In general, let the rules of common sense guide your conduct.  You may adopt aliases if you wish, but I advise to tell the truth as much as possible: Kaius, you may introduce yourself as a childhood friend of Lady Taim; Kryzbytn, you can simply be his associate.  The Great Web fashions most lilix into superb liars, and they can spot amateurs easily: thus, try to avoid outright falsehoods.

"Are there any other concerns either of you might have?"

Kryzbytn - Shall I mention my name at all?

"The lilix aren't overly familiar with our naming customs, so it shouldn't be an issue.  'Reaper of the Pits' you may want to forego."

Kryzbytn - My mercenary companions from since past had referred to me as Kris. True mantid pronunciation seemed difficult, though I am glad my newer companions make the effort .

"That would be perfect."

Kaius Alexander - Shall I inform them of my residence in Macellaria? Am I to be a visitor to this city, a guest of yourself?

"That makes the most sense; there is no reason to lie, but do not reveal you are security personnel."

Kaius Alexander - Of course.

* Kryzbytn nods

"Now, Kryzbytn, shall I cast a glamer on you?"

Kryzbytn - Yes, if it pleases you.

Lady Sarah takes out a small syringe from a desk drawer.  The syringe is filled with a viscous amber liquid.

"This will allow me to extend the hex sufficiently," she says, finding a vein on her forearm.  "It's a good thing I'll be wearing long gloves later."  She injects the serum - the puissant drug known as nectar - into her bloodstream, and for a moment her skin glows golden.  Her pupils dilate noticeably and her irises blaze with white light.

The magistra proceeds to speak an incantation and the air around you shimmers, Kryzbytn.  Your form flickers; a strange, tingling sensation causes you to break out in gooseflesh.  Your flesh ripples beneath your clothes, changing in hue and texture.  Your scything limbs fold into your chest and seem to meld into your torso.  Your mandibles warp and become a human mouth; your compound eyes grow smaller, develop pupils, irises, sclera.

Kaius, Kryz now resembles a human man.  Curiously, he is almost recognizable beneath the human features: though his skin is now pale and brownish instead of greenish and his insectoid characteristics are gone, he looks as Kryzbytn might if Kryzbytn were human.

"And now, to enhance your senses."

* Kaius Alexander raises an eyebrow a Kryzbytn.

Kaius Alexander - Do not worry yourself over your appearance, Kryz. It is admirably done.

She speaks a second incantation and suddenly everything seems clearer, sharper.  You can hear everything - the pulse in the walls, the lapping of the familiar, the sound of distant conversation downstairs..."

Kaius Alexander - Ah. Perfect, Lady Sarah.

* Kryzbytn looks at his hands, nonplussed at his new features. He feels his face.

The experience is bizarre.  The illusion is tactile as well as visual.

Kryzbytn - My thanks, Lady Sarah one - I mean, Lady Sarah.

Kaius Alexander - How long do we have to eat? When will the guests begin to arrive?

* Kryzbytn 's speech feels naked.

"The ball is not for several hours.  You will have plenty of time to eat."

Kaius Alexander - Good. Good.

"A chime will announce the reception's beginning."

Kaius Alexander - Noted.

"Now, I must get ready for the ball."  She stands, gathering her familiar in her arms.  "Until this evening, gentlemen."

Kaius Alexander - Until then, My Lady.

Kryzbytn - Eat... Kaius, how do you consume food with no mandibles...?

* Kryzbytn opens and closes his mouth.

Kryzbytn - Fascinating...

* Kaius Alexander begins to walk towards the servants' kitchen.

Kaius Alexander - Well, there is really nothing to it. Think of it like grinding your food with a mortar and pestle.

* Kryzbytn follows idly, checking out his new bodily functions.

Kaius Alexander - There is a slight... oscillation to the teeth.

Kryzbytn - These must be teeth, then?  Strange, you insert whole food and chew once it is in your mouth...

Kryz, you find if you don't concentrate on the specifics of your actions, they come quite naturally, as if the illusion were interpreting your thoughts for you.

Kryzbytn - ...I think I'm doing it! How bizarre, it seems... natural.

Kaius Alexander - Yes. I can only assume it is an unusual sensation... to feel as if you are doing one thing, when in reality you are not. Perhaps best to not dwell upon it.

* Kryzbytn chews idly on what must be his tongue... delicately so as not to damage it.

The cooks serve you a simple but delicious meal of roast fowl and vegetables seasoned with a variety of exotic spices.

* Kaius Alexander compliments them on their cooking and thanks them graciously.

* Kryzbytn occasionally accidentally drops his food before it reaches his mouth, unused to the idea of his mandibles not reaching out to grab it, but quickly adapts.

A chime sounds.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, it is time, then.  Let us proceed to the ball room.

Kryzbytn '" Right.[/ic]

[ic=Revelry]The ballroom is enormous - a vast circular chamber with a vaulted ceiling, glittering and pulsing gently.  Automata fashioned into the semblances of handsome men and women move about the room with serving trays, tending to the crowd beginning to trickle in through the large double doors.  Two curving stairways opposite the main door lead up to a balcony-level overlooking the dance floor; there are two other doors to either side of the ballroom on both levels, as well.  There is also a large table of drinks and another of refreshments.  A group of automaton musicians, supplemented by humans playing woodwind instruments, provides music, while another automaton - bulkier and more dangerous-looking, though encrusted with baroque ornamentation - stands by one of the side-doors, a repeating gun jutting from its chest, just above the slot where punch-cards containing its program can be inserted.

Kaius Alexander - Well, it looks like we are in for an interesting night, Kris.

Kryzbytn - Surely, Kaius... Kaius.

* Kryzbytn coughs softly.

* Kaius Alexander nods.

More guests begin to arrive.  A great number of the rich and powerful of Skein seem to be in attendance.  Magisters and magistra stand around, masked and manacled, their familiars perched on their shoulders or standing discretely to one side, sometimes holding drinks or plates of canapes.  A woman in a dark green dress with a familiar like a bundle of tentacles and a monstrous beak chats with a tall, dark haired man, his familiar bearing the guise of a flayed humanoid with a face like a fleshless skull.  Beside them, a thin, elderly magister in a leering gargoyle mask converses with a pair of tall twins in contrasting outfits of black and white; one has a vaguely crustacean familiar with a horrid near-human face, the other a beast all eyes and hooved limbs.  Lingering by the drinks table a dwarf magister, too short to reach the liquor, is served a goblet of madwine by a shapely demoness plated entirely with glistening chitin.

Not all of the guests are nobility.  One scarred man with a pince-nez speaking to a magistra with ice-blond hair and a vivid crimson dress does not wear a mask, though he does have a familiar, a crimson-furred, horned monkey with too many teeth; he bears a number of tattoos on his arms and sports a clockwork gauntlet-prosthetic in place of his left hand.

Lady Sarah Taim enters the ballroom, looking every inch a magistra.  She is now garbed in a dress the colour of midnight, with long gloves and a mask in the semblance of a gorgon's visage, sculpted black snakes fringing the edges; her lips and nails have been freshly painted dark red.  Her familiar walks daintily beside her.

An automaton approaches you.  "Drinks, gentlemen?" It requests, its voice flat and mechanical.

Kaius Alexander - A glass of wine, please.

Kryzbytn '" Certainly.

"At once, sires."  It shuffles off and returns with two goblets of extremely fine wine.

* Kaius Alexander takes the goblet gently and tastes the wine.

* Kryzbytn takes the glass daintily.

Kaius Alexander (to Kryz) - Well, perhaps this night will not be entirely onerous.

It is a superb vintage of gloomwine from Erebh with hints of bloodwood.

* Kryzbytn carefully brings it to his mouth and sips.

It tastes delicious, Kryz.

Kryzbytn - This is very good!

Kaius Alexander - Let us say we are hmm, fashioners of clockwork, our business based out of Macellaria.

Kryzbytn - Ah, perfect.

Kaius Alexander - There is certainly truth, there.

Kryzbytn - I can discuss much on the subject of clockwork.

After speaking to several other nobles Lady Sarah approaches you.  "Good evening, gentlemen."

Kryzbytn - Good evening, Lady Sarah.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

Kaius Alexander - Lady Sarah, you are radiant this night.

"Thank you.  You both look very nice yourselves."

Kaius Alexander - Ah, well, our thanks to you for that.

* Kryzbytn nods

Kaius Alexander - Will the lilix delegation by arriving shortly?

"Yes, they should be here soon.  In the meantime, do mingle."

Kaius Alexander - Of course, of course.

* Kryzbytn looks around nervously.

"I am afraid that much of the evening I will be occupied with other guests.  Still, I will check in with you every hour or so, if I can."

Kaius Alexander - We understand, it is an important evening for you.

"That it is.  I am confident you too will conduct yourselves with perfect gentility."

Kaius Alexander - We will give it our very best. Come, Kris. Let us find ourselves a conversation.

* Kryzbytn finds himself inclined to bite fingernails he never knew he had.

Kryzbytn - Yes, yes of course.

* Kaius Alexander approaches the fellow with the clockwork hand.

* Kryzbytn follows.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, sir. A wonderful evening, is it not? Lady Taim has outdone herself.

The man looks up and says in Hellspeak, "Ah, hello there.  I don't believe we've met.  Professor Felix Rhadcuth."  He extends his hand.  "And yes, a wonderful reception."

Kaius Alexander - A pleasure to meet you, professor.

* Kaius Alexander extends his own hand.

* Kryzbytn suddenly retracts what he was about to say, realizing he does not understand Hellspeak.

Felix shakes it warmly and shakes Kryz's hand as well.

Kaius Alexander - I am Kaius Alexander, and this is my associate, Kris.

Seeing Kryz's confusion, he says in Shambles, "My apologies, sir!  I should have realized you are not a native of Skein."

* Kryzbytn flags down an automaton in Shambles for a drink while addressing the man with a polite nod.

Kaius Alexander - We are mechanists, based out of Macellaria. I am a guest of Lady Taim in this city. We were friends in her childhood.

Kryzbytn - Ah, my thanks, kind sir.

* Kryzbytn chuckles.

"Ah, how delightful!  I am something of an enthusiast myself, though I teach aracana rather than the mechanical arts."

Kaius Alexander - We could not help but marvel at the craftsmanship of your prosthesis.

Kryzbytn '" Indeed. It is most exquisite.

"Yes, I designed it myself.  Lost the hand to pirahna rats.  Damn blighters.  That was back in my adventuring days, of course.  Long ago."

Kaius Alexander - Ah, we have had encounters with those. They are villainous creatures.

Kryzbytn - I have faith this gauntlet will serve you better than any hand!

* Kryzbytn smiles.

"Yes, disgusting vermin.  Ran into a swarm while I was in the Deep Waste."

Kaius Alexander - Hm, I have never been. Do tell.

Kryzbytn - Adventuring days, you say? Intriguing

Felix is about to reply when the lilix enter.  There are a little over two dozen in their party all told: six lilix females, eight males, two albino human handmaidens for each female, and a single freedwoman.  Five of the males are garbed in garments of black satin and white spidersilk and bear slender blades at their waists; four are attired in diaphanous garments that accentuate their heavily muscled physiques, six arms bared and bulging, though these carry no weapons.  The lilix females wear elaborate costumes of black and red lace, leather, and mesh, some of them quite revealing.  All six, in contrast with the svelte males, are inclined to voluptuousness or even slight chubbiness, with one of them  - a slightly older female - is truly rotund, though she moves her considerable bulk with incredibly ease and lightness of step.  Indeed, all of the spiderfolk possess an unsettling, inhuman grace.   The freedwoman wears a modest black dress, and has six red eyes tattooed on her shaven head.  The handmaids are clothed in simple black garments, decidedly immodest.

"It looks as if the guests of honour have arrived," Felix says.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, yes. It seems so. Perhaps we will continue our conversation later, then?

"Oh, I'm sure there're plenty of people they'll need to talk to before they get to me."

The lilix begin to spread out about the room.

* Kryzbytn watches them, transfixed.

* Kryzbytn glances at Kaius.

"As I was saying, the Deep Waste... I was trying to find the heart of a Behemoth, one of those rusting machines in the Shatters.  I had a whole expedition with me, but I lost half of them to the marauders that live there, worship the Behemoths as gods..."

Kaius Alexander - Yes, the slaughter-lands are an unpleasant place. Though I have never been so far east.

Kryzbytn - I'm terribly sorry for your loss.

"Oh, thank you.  It was some time ago."

Lady Sarah raises her glass and taps it gently with a spoon.

* Kryzbytn looks to her

"Ah, it seems we're supposed to be quiet now," Felix chuckles softly.

"I wish to propose a toast to our esteemed guests," Lady Sarah begins, her voice subtly magnified by a minor hex.  "Soon the sun will set for the last time, never again to rise, and the earth will grow dark and cold, and all shall perish.  We should not live out our last years squabbling with one another and fighting over our differences; we should not waste our energies and pointless and bitter competition.  Rather, we should join our efforts in cooperation with one another, to better enjoy the time we have left.

"Common wisdom holds that the spider must devour the moth: that is its nature, the way of the world.  And yet, if we examine things more closely, we see that sometimes the two are not merely predator and prey.  There is a species of moth found on the Bluebottle Archipelago that has evolved in such a way that it can land safely in the web of a spider, without being caught.  The moth's wings have markings which attract others insects, who sometimes mistake it for a flower.  These insects, drawn to the web, become ensnared and are subsequently devoured by the spider.  The moth, meanwhile, lays its eggs in the spider's web and so gains valuable protection and a safe place to bring its young into the world.

"If moth and spider, who seem so naturally opposed, can befriend one another in nature, surely we can attain a similar mutualism.  Ladies, gentlemen - to symbiosis, and the continued prosperity of our two great cities!"

* Kaius Alexander raises his glass with the others.

* Kryzbytn raises his glass.

Everyone in the ballroom drinks.

Presently, one of the lilix women, attended by a pair of handmaidens, approaches you, Kryz.  She is dressed in a tight corset and garments of black lace which do little to conceal her ample figure; she wears three rings of platinum, signifying three husbands, though none are in evidence.  A fist-sized spider sits on her shoulder like some monstrous jewel.  She says something to you in what you recognize as Chattelchatter.

* Kaius Alexander speas in the demoniac tongue.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, I am sorry Madame. My companion is unfortunatly unfamiliar with the tongues of your realm, for which he is most regretful.

* Kryzbytn bows out of respect.

She now attempts Hellspeak.

"Would you care to dance, sir?"

Kaius Alexander - Ah. Again, my friend apologises. He is a recent visitor to this city and so is also not familiar with Hellspeak. Shall I convey your request, Madame?

"Ah, not to worry," she says in only slighted accented Shambles.  "Will this tongue suffice?"

* Kaius Alexander looks to Kryzbytn.

Kryzbytn '" Indeed.

* Kryzbytn smiles.

"Many of my kind consider Shambles, ah, indelicate - but I confess I am enamoured by its brutish grammar and queer pronunciations, and consider myself a student of the language.  I am hopeful that during my time here I can speak it more than usual."

* Kryzbytn is taken aback by her comment.

"So, sir, would you care to dance?"

Kryzbytn - I would love to dance with one so beautiful.

Her chelicerae quiver (a lilix smile?).  She promptly whisks you off to dance with surpising strength, while her handmaids stand silently by, one of them holding her spider.

* Kryzbytn tries his best to remember... taking her uppermost left hand and placing his hand on her waist...

"I have heard these lilix women can be... aggressive," Felix comments softly to you, Kaius.

Kaius Alexander (to Felix) - Yes, I have heard as much myself. It seems we have confirmation.

"My name is Cheela - I am Mistress Vaeza's eldest daughter," the lilix says to you, Kryz.  "What may I call you?"

* Kryzbytn throws a discreet, headlong glance of worry back towards Kaius.

* Kaius Alexander winks at him.

Kryzbytn - Kristofer, if it please you.

Cheela dances well, leading firmly and decisively, leading you around the dance floor. You stumble once or twice but the lilix doesn't seem to mind at all.

The song ends and the music changes from a spirited waltz to a moody nocturne, but Cheela does not release you, instead pulling you closer.

"Perhaps this is more your speed," she says.  "So, what brings you to this city?"

Kryzbytn - I am a mechanist of sorts... though I come from Macellaria.  I apologize for my lack of linguistic skill.

"Ah!  I have heard so much of the City of Bodysnatchers, though I have never been there.  Tell me of it!"

Kryzbytn - Oh, it is quite marvelous! The city is rife with all manner of folk, though few of your fair kind, I am sad to say. I have, unfortunately, gotten wind of a terrible wave of illness washing over the city.

"A tragedy."

* Kryzbytn does his best to sound somewhat positive about the city.

Cheela is leading you to the edges of the ballroom.  She seems to be exuding a curious pheromone scent, a subtle musk discernable beneath her perfume.  Her hands are also beginning to... wander.

Meanwhile, a lilix male approaches you and Felix, Kaius: slender-limbed and fine-boned, with ivory skin and eight dark red eyes, a blade at his waist.  He wears a cuirass of spidersilk and tight-fitting black clothes beneath which emphasize his sinewy musculature.

"I pride myself on my eye for distinguishing human breeds," he says in flawless Hellspeak to you, Kaius.  "And of course, I note you go unmasked.  Do you hail from the Baronies, sir?"

Kaius Alexander - Ah, your eye does not decieve you, sir. I am indeed of Northern stock.

"You are one of the Barons yourself, of course?"

Kaius Alexander - Of some relation, indeed. Though I have lived in the south for many years.

"Truly?  Whereabouts?"

Kaius Alexander - I am something of a traveller, if I might say. I have at times lived here in Skein, in Crepuscle and in Macellaria - my most recent home.

"Macellaria, hmm?" The courtier says to you, Kaius.  "The midden-heap of the Twilight Cities, or so I've heard.  What brought you to that scrap-yard?"

Kaius Alexander - Business opportunities, of course. I am a clockwork mechanist by trade, and the Macellarian market is woefully underserved.

"I have heard as much.  So, you are here in Skein to pick up goods for trade?"

Kaius Alexander - No, that is not a specific intention of mine. I am in Skein for pleasure, it has been some time since I have visited, and long have I been parted from the company of my dear friend, the Lady Taim.

"Ah.  Well, the city has many pleasures, I have heard.  Speaking of which, I think I will try some of this madwine I have heard some much about.  Will you join me in a glass, gentlemen?"

An automaton waiter brings a tray of the yellowish wine.

Kaius Alexander - A curious experience, I must say. I would be delighted to.

The lilix and Felix both drink.


* Kaius Alexander takes a glass and sips from it.

You easily shrug off the effects of the madwine, Kaius.  Apart from a few weird flickers in the corner of your eye you don't experience anything too lurid.

"Hmm, strange after-taste," the courtier says.  "Though the effect is... interesting."  He drains the rest of his glass.

Kaius Alexander - Sir, you must forgive me. I have neglected to introduce myself. I am Kaius Alexander.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

"Ah, very good to meet you, sir.  I am called Xeved."

"Felix Rhadcuth," says Felix, shaking one of the lilix's hands.

Kaius Alexander - A pleasure, Xeved.

"For now, I think I will ask one of the ladies to dance, but we will speak more later, I hope.  Excuse me, gentlemen."

Kaius Alexander - Of course. Until later, then.

* Kaius Alexander nods to him politely.

Cheela is still doing things that Lady Sarah didn't cover in her etiquette lesson, Kryz, though now she's complaining about her husbands as well...

* Kryzbytn frantically tries to follow as cooly as he can, keeping up with whatever she does. Likewise, he tries simultaneously to follow the flow of conversation as best he can.

Out of the crowd you hear something curious, Kyrzbytn..  A woman in a dark green dress with a tentacled familiar is asked to dance by another guest and refuses; after he departs you could swear you heard you curse - in Spiderchatter.

* Kryzbytn tries to keep an eye on the exchange.

"Tell me more about yourself, Kryzbytn," Cheela says.

Kryzbytn - Ah well... I'm an esteemed clockwork specialist from Macellaria. I've developed many arms and armors in my time, but I, uhh... lost something special to me. A creation of my own design... you could say it was almost like a part of me. I've been... looking for it ever since. It may prove to be a fruitless endeavor, however, but it serves to keep me devoted. I admit that I have not travelled much, as you might be able to deduce from my lack of, umm, linguistic skill.  I do very much like what I see here, though.

"I like what I see too," she says suggestively.

* Kryzbytn smiles romantically, or what he hopes appears to be romantic.

* Kryzbytn struggles to divert his attention between the room and his lilix partner, becoming increasingly transfixed upon her.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Cheela asks.  "Care for a drink?"

Kryzbytn - Yes, please, I would love one.

She flags down an automaton and selects a glass.  There is madwine, absinthe, white wine, red wine, and some kind of turoquise drink on the tray.

* Kryzbytn sweeps up the turquoise drink and nods a thanks.

The drink tastes strongly of alchohol, with a slight fizz.

"I have heard the view of the city from the spires is impressive," Cheela says.  "Perhaps we should seek out a balcony?"

* Kryzbytn hesitates for a moment.

Kryzbytn - The balcony... yes.

* Kaius Alexander observes the room, paying specific attention to those among the lilix delegation.

Kaius, several of the lilix are now mingling with the rest of the party, but a cluster remain around Mistress Vaeza.  Two of the lilix women are dancing with magisters, the familiars of the noblemen artfully stepping around the couples with practiced ease, carefully and elegantly avoiding entanglement in such a way that they become a part of the dance itself rather than obstructions.  One of the lilix, of course, is already dancing with Kryzbytn.

Three remain without dancing partners.  One is Mistress Vaeza herself, a woman enormous of hip, bust, and buttock, though shockingly light on her feet.  She wears a luxurious dress and gloves of black silk - no doubt a choice designed to flatter her hosts.  Handmaidens feed her specially prepared jellies and ply her with drink, or fan her with folding hand-fans.  Currently, she is speaking with Lady Sarah and two magisters intently.

Not far from Mistress Vaeza stands a muscular lilix female garbed not in the risqué or sensual garments of the other spiderfolk women but in a tight-fitting bodysuit of black leather, still formal and definitely cut for a female but not as typically feminine as the garb of the others.  She is far from mannish, but she radiates strength and physical power and her build is toned and athletic rather than fleshy and soft.  It is difficult to read lilix expressions, but there is something slightly stern and also coolly calculating about her gaze.  She does not seem to be a bodyguard - that role falls to the male courtiers - but she does hold herself with a warrior's bearing.  She seems to be intimidating the magisters, by and large a rather effete lot, who seem to be avoiding her gaze.

A young, willowy lilix woman lingers at the edge of the dance-floor; she seems to lack the easy confidence of the lilix who whisked Kryzbytn away.  She wears a dress of black lace which she tugs at frequently, as if somewhat self-conscious; though far from skinny she is perhaps slightly leaner of build than the other lilix females.  She seems particularly disturbed by the familiars of the noblemen: once a magister approaches her and asks to dance, and she shies away from his demon (a squat, pinkish thing with a huge mouth, a single eye, and a mass of many-jointed limbs radiating out of its head) and politely refuses.  She has no rings on her fingers and thus must be unmarried.

The males are clustered either around Vaeza or are dancing with magistra.

Kaius Alexander - Excuse me, Felix. Enjoy your evening.

"You as well, sir.  A pleasure.  Perhaps we will see more of each other while you are in the city."

* Kaius Alexander approaches the young lilix woman and bows to her.

She regards you rather shyly.

Kaius Alexander - Maid, may I complement you on the elegant cut of your dress, and perhaps have the honour of a dance?

She nods. Her handwomen take her drink.

* Kaius Alexander takes her topmost left hand, and places his other around her waist.

She is very quiet, but leads tolerably well.  You dance very well and the lilix woman seems to be put at her ease.

"I am Lexelle," she says.  "What are you called?"

Kaius Alexander - I am Kaius Alexander, it is wonderful to meet you, Lexelle.

Cheela leads you through the crowd, Kryz, towards a door on the second level of the ballroom.  Kaius, you catch sight of Kryz being pulled away.

* Kryzbytn looks around frantically, if discreetly.

One of the guards stationed by the exit opposite the one Cheela is leading you towards seems to be fiddling with the security automaton.  After looking from side to side to see whether anyone is looking he pulls a lever and ejects the current punch-card supplying the clockwork construct with its program.  He then takes out a new punch-card from his pocket and inserts it into the automaton.

Cheela pulls you by the hand through the door and into a corridor.

Kryzbytn - Cheela, my sweet, I have almost forgotten - my drink. I admit I was a little too focused on the task at hand.

* Kryzbytn smiles.

Kryzbytn '" May I slake my thirst before we... depart?

"Oh, do not worry, I will send a handmaiden to go fetch it!"  She barks an order in Chattelchatter and one of her slaves goes back into the ballroom.

"You are not one of the magisters," Lexelle states.

Kaius Alexander - No, Maid, I am not. I hail from the Northern Baronies, but have found myself in the South for many years.

"I have read a great deal concerning the Baronies.  I've heard rumours of restlessness there recently - some group of malcontents, bucking against the Revenants' rule."

Kaius Alexander - Yes, the Awakeners. A thorn in the side of Somnambulon.

"I have heard it said they are led by some of the Barons themselves, or their kindred."

Kaius Alexander - I have heard as much myself '" Lords still not cowed by their defeat in that ill-fated rebellion, so many years ago.

"Indeed, the Uprising.  I know little of military matters.  That is the purview of my aunt."  She gestures to the muscular lilix woman.

Kaius Alexander - A formidable woman, surely.

"Indeed - the Praetrix Kallezia.  One of the Gynocracy's finest military minds."

Meanwhile Cheela pulls you out to a balcony at the end of the hall.  Her remaining handmaiden stands with her back to the doorway so that you will not be disturbed.

Kryzbytn (to Cheela) - Oh, my sweet, may I ask a quick favor? My good friend and associate may be alarmed at my disappearance... can I ask that you inform your handmaiden to find the unmasked, pale northerner with the stern expressio, and tell him where I'm in... good hands? Also, one of the automatons seemed to be malfunctioning.  I would hate to see it in a state of disrepair, and he'd love to examine it.

She tsks, slightly annoyed, but sends her other handmaiden away to do as you ask.

Kryzbytn - It will put to rest my clockwork heart, dearest.

* Kryzbytn smiles.

"You are being very familiar," she says, flirtily.  "In Dolmen, usually it is we ladies who must be aggressive, and the males who play coy."

Kryzbytn (smiles, flirting) - You have not been with a man from Macellaria, then.

"Indeed not.  Where are you staying in the city, Kris?"

* Kryzbytn is caught unawares by the comment.

She gestures to the expansive cityscape below.

Kryzbytn - Ah, I'm just a guest here - I have no proper residence in the city to speak of, currently.

"Oh, you have a room in the spire?"  The handmaiden sent to fetch your drink arrives with your glass, and two more.

Kryzbytn, as you turn to get your drink, you suddenly see that there's an airship that looks like it's docking on the other side of the spire, several floors above you.  Its lights are off, so its difficult to see, but out here you're close enough to make it out.

* Kryzbytn hesitates to comment, then the airship catches his eye.

Kryzbytn - Pardon, my sweet, but what is that...?

She looks up, following your gaze.She curses in Spiderchatter '" and then suddenly lunges as if to push you off the balcony!

Kaius, the dance ends.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to Lexelle at the end of their dance.

She nods.  "Thank you for the dance."

Kaius Alexander - You are a skilled dancer, Lexelle. You have my thanks as well.

* Kaius Alexander smiles at her and parts from her company with a slight bow.

Rallin has entered the ballroom from below, Kaius.  A handmaiden now approaches you; she delivers her message.

* Kaius Alexander nods to her, though he is somewhat confused, and proceeds casually over towards the automaton.

The automaton is currently inert, Kaius - not doing anything.

* Kaius Alexander examines it.

The automaton is in perfect working order.

* Kaius Alexander furrows his brow.

Kaius Alexander (quietly to himself) - Most unusual. Why would Kryzbytn send me such a message?

Lady Sarah approaches you, Kaius.

"Where is your friend Kris?" She says quietly.

Kaius Alexander - Ah, Lady Sarah. I must admit I have lost track of him... though I observed him being dragged away from the party by a lilix woman.

* Kaius Alexander raises his eyebrow at this last.

Kaius Alexander - I have just recieved a curious message from him, that this automaton was malfunctioning... but I see it is in perfect working condition.

"Malfunctioning?  Hmm.  A message, you say... who delivered this message?"

Kaius Alexander - A handmaiden of one of your lilix guests.

Kaius Alexander - Has Rallin reported anything unusual?

"No, nothing out of the ordinary.

Lady Sarah ejects the automaton's program card and examines it.  "This program card isn't correct," she says quietly.

Kaius Alexander - That does not bode well.

"Someone has swapped it.  I don't know what this one was supposed to do, but I doubt it was
wholesome."

"No, keep an eye on Vaeza."

Kaius Alexander - Of course. I will remain vigilant.

Outside, Cheela has just pushed you over the balcony, Kryz. You break the glamer as the lilix woman rushes into you, pushing you over the rail.

* Kryzbytn does not realize he has broken his glamer.

Kryzbytn - Cheela! What is the meaning of this?

You fall downwards, toppling over the side!

* Kryzbytn grabs onto the balcony on the floor below.

* Kryzbytn gasps.

* Kryzbytn, breathing heavily, adrenaline coursing through his body, pulls himself up, and reenters the spire.

You manage to pull yourself up before Cheela thrusts her head over the side.  You're in an organic hallway; there's a short ramp leading upwards.  You can hear the party vaguely.

* Kryzbytn heads down the corridor, back towards the ballroom.[/ic]