The Campaign Builder's Guild

[ic=Treachery]Kaius, some sort of commotion seems to be occurring not far from the drink's table, down below on the dance floor.  It seems that a masked human has asked a handmaiden - a human slave - to dance.  Despite her polite refusals, he has laughed and dragger her onto the dance-floor.  The lilix are hissing to one another and there are murmurs of disapproval from the human guests.  The man is obviously drunk.  He also wears a mask that seems to caricature the visage of a lilix, with six bulging red eyes painted on above the eyeholes and fearsome mandibles around the mouth.

Kaius Alexander - ...This is not right, My Lady. My instincts tell me that something is about to happen.

"Escort that man out," Lady Sarah says.

Kaius Alexander - Of course.

* Kaius Alexander nods to her as he walks swiftly over to the commotion.

Xeved approaches the dancing 'couple,' and says something quietly.  Loudly and obnoxiously, in poorly enunciated Shambles the man tells the courtier to "Piss off."  More angry hissing emanates from the lilix.

* Kaius Alexander approaches the man.

Kaius Alexander - Sir, you have had too much to drink. Allow me to see you outside.

"Fuck off, commoner," the man snarls.  "Before I have my familiar teach you a lesson in humility."

Kaius Alexander - Sir, do not make a scene. I will use force if necessary.

You reach a doorway leading back into the ballroom, Kryz.  Kaius, you spot the lilix Kryzbytn was dancing with and one of her handmaidens coming back into the ballroom - no sign of Kryz.

The magister starts speaking a spell.  Your heightened senses seem to make everything slow down. From across the room, you see Rallin's mechanical eye flicker strangely as he nods to a woman in a dark green dress not far from Mistress Vaeza...

* Kaius Alexander winds his arm back and punches the magister in the mouth.

Kryz, you enter the ballroom to see Kaius punch one of the guests.

* Kryzbytn activates his hazefield generator to avoid alarming anyone.

The man falters as you knock out his teeth, Kaius, but his hex has already been invoked.  An edlritch chill suffuses you, stiffening your limbs, but you shrug off its paralyzing effects.

Kaius Alexander - Xeved! See to your mistress!

* Kryzbytn, unsure of how to treat himself now that he's undisguised, moves quickly towards Kiaus.

Xeved turns round and draws his sword.

* Kaius Alexander reaches beneath his jacket, and draws the Cereblade.

* Kryzbytn sidles through the crowd and attacks the man on the floor.

Your claw lashes out and lacerates the man's chest.  The magisters and magistra scream.

Suddenly, the masked woman in the green dress moves rapidly towards Vaeza.  Her body blurs and shifts nebulously as a glamer is stripped away: in a moment, the guise has evaporated into the aether and in place of the elegant human woman is a lilix female in spidersilk armour, six cruelly curved knives in her hands.  Her familiar - the tentacled thing - metamorphoses into a scuttling spider and leaps from her shoulder, hissing at the lilix courtiers and concubines, who draw back in alarm.  She moves with shocking speed towards Vaeza.

Kaius Alexander - Kryzbytyn! Deal with this man, I must protect Vaeza!

Kryzbytn - Go, Kaius one!

* Kaius Alexander charges at the assassin as he draws the Cereblade.

The Ccereblade mutates in your hand, lengthening into its longsword form.  You push your way through the crowded dancefloor, past magisters and their demoniac familiars, automata with drink-trays, and bewildered, hissing lilix.  The clockwork musicians continue to play.

Kaius Alexander - Make way!

* Kaius Alexander lunges at the assassin.

She darts back, receiving only a shallow wound.  She hisses in fury.

* Kryzbytn dispatches the prone magister with his scything claws.

He gurgles horribly.  Xeved dodges around the hissing spider, chittering.

Kaius Alexander - You have chosen the wrong day to take your mark, assassin!

The assassin's limbs flicker outwards, and Xeved collapses, a tiny scratch on his cheek rapidly turning black.  The dark stain spreads beneath his flesh, making his veins horribly visible: a moment later he topples over, convulsing.

* Kryzbytn keeps his eyes peeled for Cheela.

You don't see Cheela amidst the chaos.  The band still continues to play, the automaton musicians unperterbed.  The party-goers are scattering in a mass.

The lilix assassin turns and lashes out.  She has scratched you with her knives and seems puzzled you're not dropping dead from poison.

* Kaius Alexander smirks at her.

* Kaius Alexander slashes down vertically with the Cereblade, severing three of the lilix assassin's arms. He follows through with a diagonal upwards slash, and drives the point of the blade through her neck. Sending a psychic pulse down the length of the blade, the lilix's head bows outwards releasing a shower of pulped bone and brain.

The curvaceous lilix in the corset that kryz danced with - Cheela, Mistress Vaeza's daughter - appears at the top of the stairs to the balcony.  As the assassin dies she makes an annoyed hissing sound and draws a dagger from between her breasts.

"Must I do everything myself?" she demands in Shambles, moving towards her mother purposefully.

* Kryzbytn looks up at Cheela.

There are suddenly pistols in the hands of the Praetrix, but she can't seem to get a clear shot against Cheela.

* Kryzbytn darts towards Cheela.

Kryzbytn - Not so fast, Cheela one.  You truly have not been with a man from Macellaria before...

* Kryzbytn splays his scythe arms.

"You!  If you hadn't spotted the damn dirigible you'd be having a much more pleasant time right now."

* Kryzbytn can't help but feel a certain twang in his heartstrings, however faint

The guests are dispersing.  Lady Sarah is nowhere to be found.  Vaeza and the muscular lilix woman, the Praetrix, as well as Lexelle, are backed against a wall.  Xeved is having convulsions on the floor as the poison spreads.

* Kaius Alexander exhales in frustration.

Kryzbytn - I'd be lying dead before you. If you think that pleasant, you'll be happy to know you are in for a much more "pleasant" time yourself, shortly.

"Oh, I wouldn't have killed you - at least, not until afterwards."

Kryzbytn - How kind of you. Let us dance once more. I can assure you that this time, I will lead.

* Kaius Alexander moves towards Xeved to see if there is anything he can do.

The courtier is already dying.  It's too late to save him without the correct antitoxin.

* Kaius Alexander curses under his breath and punches the floor.

The spider the assassin had with her scuttles over to the dead assassin's corpse.

* Kaius Alexander trots over to Vaeza.

Kaius Alexander - Mistress Vaeza, I have been assigned to see to your personal security by the Lady Taim. I must see you out of the tower, quickly!

"That would be prudent, I think," Mistress Vaeza says dryly.

* Kryzbytn takes in a deep breath, sharp and painful, then exhales.

* Kryzbytn lunges forward, infused with rage and distraught with a strange mixture of sorrow and bitterness. He stabs his scythe arm into her chest and pulls her close, for one last brief look into her eyes. Steadily, he reaches his other scythe arm around her back and to her throat... "

Kryzbytn '" Goodbye,

* Kryzbytn slits her throat.

As she dies, Cheela reaches round with one of her arms and stabs you in the back with a poisoned knife!

* Kryzbytn falls to his knees in sudden weakness.

Kryzbytn - ...One last kiss, I see...

* Kryzbytn desperately tries to treat the wound, his breath slowing as he tries to cut off the flow of poison.   .

Kaius, you escort Vaeza towards the door, but it is blocked by four ruffians in finery, with drawn swords.

* Kaius Alexander points at them with the Cereblade.

The ruffians back away slightly.

* Kryzbytn collapses to his hands on the stairs, trying with all his might to pull himself back to his feet.

Kryzbytn - ...Kaius... one...

The muscular lilix woman beside Vaeza aims her six small pistols and fires them at the men.

* Kaius Alexander charges at the men as the Praetrix fires.

You cut down one of the men and badly wound another as two more drop with bullets in their foreheads.

Kryz, you feel you've fought off the worst of the poison, but you are weak and bleary.  However, you can see something by the door to the main staircase.  Rallin, the captain of the guard, is standing by the doorway with his blade against the throat of Lady Sarah.  Her face is inscrutable.  Her familiar is dead, a pile of ashes on the floor; her collar is empty.

"Don't move," he growls at you.  "Milady and I will be taking a little trip.  Follow us and she dies."

* Kryzbytn stays where he is.

Rallin backs away, his blade held steadily.

* Kryzbytn clenches his fists in frustration.

* Kaius Alexander grits his teeth as he faces the remaining thug, a look of anger washing over his face.

The Praetrix sees your frustration.  "I will see my sister to safety," she promises.

Mistress Vaeza nods.

Kaius Alexander - Are you certain, Preatrix?

"Yes.  I can handle rogues of this sort."

* Kaius Alexander nods to her.

Kaius Alexander - Mistriss, Maid. I apologize for the course of this evening.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Alexander," Lexelle says.  "Albeit under unhappy circumstances."

Kaius Alexander - You as well, Lexelle.

* Kaius Alexander backs off from the thug and then dashes towards the stairs.

* Kryzbytn raises his hand to steady Kaius.

The thug is badly wounded; the Praetrix finishes him off.  Rallin is leaving '" upstairs, the magistra in tow!

* Kaius Alexander slows as he approaches Kryzbytn.

Kaius Alexander - Kryzbytn, are you well? We must pursue Rallin immediately.

Kryzbytn - ...I am not, Kaius one... I have been stricken with poison.

* Kryzbytn staggers to his feet.

* Kaius Alexander inhales sharply.

Kryzbytn - I am sorry... I have let her slip my grasp...

Absurdly, the automaton musicians are still playing.  Cheela's handmaidens appear to have killed themselves ritually; they lie in pools of spreading blood.

Kaius Alexander - If you cannot continue, I understand. But I must ensure the safety of Lady Sarah.

* Kryzbytn gives a steady look to Kaius, staring at him for a moment.

Kryzbytn - Then I will come, too.

Kaius Alexander - Very well. We waste time. Come.

* Kaius Alexander heads after Rallin.

Kryzbytn - These arms still have their uses... weakened though I may be.

You enter the central stair, just in time to see Rallin enter a doorway several floors above.

* Kryzbytn follows Kaius

Kryzbytn - Kaius one, I caught glimpse of an airship earlier.  I imagine Rallin must be fleeing to it. It was higher above us... if there were a way to get there sooner.

* Kryzbytn breathes heavily as he runs.

Kaius Alexander - Damn him!

* Kaius Alexander continues to race up the stairs.

You reach the door Rallin entered.

* Kaius Alexander throws the door open.

You can see Rallin and Lady Sarah on a balcony at the end of the hall, crossing a gangplank into an airship.

Kaius Alexander - Rallin!

* Kaius Alexander yells, his voice thunderous with anger.

"Don't try and follow me, Alexander!" Rallin shouts as the dirigible begins to lift off.

* Kryzbytn sprints towards the airship.

Kryz, you reach the balcony but the airship is already on its way.  It looks to be called the Bahamut.

* Kaius Alexander exhales in frustration.

* Kryzbytn chitters angrily, but makes note of his observation.

Kaius Alexander - Kryz! Don't be stupid! The ornithopter!

Kryzbytn - They travel in the Bahamut. Come!

A bullet hits the balcony, embedding itself in the spire's living flesh.

* Kryzbytn jumps a little backwards, startled.

* Kaius Alexander heads back to the staircase, going up.

Kryzbytn - Hurry!

* Kryzbytn follows as quickly as he can.

At the top of the stairs a footman lies slumped against a ruptured capillary in the wall, his blood mingling with the violet ichor of the tower.  He has taken at least three bullets to the chest and abdomen; blood trickles from his panting mouth.

* Kaius Alexander strides past the man, intent on reaching the ornithopter.

* Kryzbytn stops for a moment to ease his pain.

You kill the man neatly and swiftly.

Kryzbytn - You have served admirably.

* Kryzbytn whispers, then runs back towards Kaius.

You follow a hall out to the ornithopter.  The ornithopter sits on a high landing pad.  The vbehicle is a beautiful, intricate thing with huge wings like a dragonfly's and a bulbous glass canopy.  The craft is incredibly ornate, adorned with all manner of baroque ornamentation - curlicues and statuettes, ideograms and gorgeous detailing.  A clockwork automaton sits in the pilot's seat.  A door in the back admits entrance to the cramped but sumptuous passenger compartment.  The Bahamut is rising above the spire and heading northwest.

* Kryzbytn leaps in with Kaius.

* Kaius Alexander opens the door, and leans over towards the dash and the automaton.

* Kaius Alexander inserts the key.

The pilot appears to have been sabotaged.  A compartment on its torso has been wrenched open and its delicate gearwork spill from its belly like innards.  Unable to take the flyer himself - lacking the pilot's key - Rallin must have ordered someone to disable the craft to discourage pursuit.  He has clearly left little to chance.

* Kaius Alexander exhales in a hiss.
 
* Kaius Alexander attempts to hastily repair the automaton.

You fail to get him in working order quickly.

* Kryzbytn moves to assist.

Kryz, despite being poisoned and weak, your mechanist's mind can see the missing gears.  Swiftly, you repair the rest of the pilot.

Kryzbytn - Here, this, yes!

* Kaius Alexander inserts the key and turns, winding the pilot up.

Kaius Alexander - Pilot. Take us up, and after that airship!

The pilot sits up and immediately begins activating controls on the console.

* Kryzbytn falls back into his seat, already exhausted and frail, clutching his wound in pain.

You clamber in as the flyer's wings begin to beat and the'thopter takes to the air, pursuing the Bahamut!

* Kaius Alexander seats himself stiffly and stares intently out the canopy.

* Kaius Alexander drums his fingers on the armrest.

Fortunately the ornithopter is far faster than the dirigible, and you quickly approach the Bahamut.

Kaius Alexander - Come in from above, so they don't notice us.

The pilot brings you upwards.  As it does so you catch a glimpse of the carriage with your sharpened senses, still enhanced by Lady Sarah's hex.  There are four men with wheellock rifles inside.  The traitorous captain and Lady Sarah must be in the cockpit

Kryzbytn - Kaius one, do we know what business Rallin has with Lady Sarah?

Kaius Alexander - I do not. And I do not care. His treachery has earned his death.

Kryzbytn - I am concerned for Lady Sarah as well... but likewise, I am afraid to provoke him, should the result end up in Lady Sarah one's death.

Kaius Alexander - I will take care of it.

* Kaius Alexander does not look at Kryz, still staring at the Bahamut.

You're above the dirigible now.  Rallin must not have spotted you.  It's not taking any evasive action.

Kaius Alexander - Pilot, match speed and course with the Bahamut.

Kryzbytn - We should land atop and climb down.  If we can drop ourselves along those vents, we may have a chance at catching them unawares!

Kaius Alexander - Pilot, take us over towards that hatch, quietly. And continue to match speed and course.

Kryzbytn - Oh! Excellent observation, Kaius one.

* Kaius Alexander points towards it.

The pilot moves you towards the hatch.  You're now parallel with the airship.

Kaius Alexander - Aline our egress hatch.

The pilot complies.  You can see inside the cockpit.  Lady Sarah is bound and gagged in the co-pilot's seat.  Rallin is piloting the Bahamut.  He steers one-handed towards the mountains, his other hand holding a three-barrelled pistol.

Kryzbytn - Careful now...

* Kaius Alexander opens the door.

* Kryzbytn looks at Kaius.

* Kaius Alexander conetrates for a moment, then makes a leap, propelling himself forward with a psychic burst generated by his zehrer.

* Kryzbytn also leaps with mantid agility.

You both leap onto the dirigible, but Rallin seems to have spotted you.  He fires his gun, shattering the glass.  The pilot has been hit.

* Kryzbytn leaps back aboard the 'thopter

You leap back aboard the ornithopter just as it begins to plummet groundwards.

* Kryzbytn looks at the pilot, then Kaius.

Kryzbytn - Kaius one! I will keep the ornipthopter steady! Save the Lady Sarah one!

* Kryzbytn yells over the winds.

* Kaius Alexander nods to him and throws the hatch to the dirigible open.

* Kryzbytn frantically patches up the machine as it begins to plummet.

You can get the pilot partially working, but one arm isn't working properly.  Kryz, you're going to have to be co-pilot.

* Kaius Alexander drops down into the cabin, his sword at the ready.

Rallin spins, his gun pointed towards you.  Suddenly, Lady Sarah kicks out with a heeled foot, striking Rallin's pistol-arm.  The gun flies from his grip and hits the ground, discharging; a bullet passes through the ceiling and into the gas-bag.  Rallin curses and leaps for the gun while Lady Sarah hurls herself into a lever on the control console.  The Bahamut pitches suddenly downwards.

* Kryzbytn looks over the controls, trying to take it all in on a moment's notice.

Kryzbytn - Oo-kay... as they say... here goes nothing!

* Kaius Alexander strides smoothly towards Rallin, and lashes out with the Cereblade.

Your blow hits Rallin's breastplate and penetrates the thick metal, wounding him badly.  Lady Sarah has managed to get her gag loose.

"I want him alive, Kaius!"

Rallin picks up the pistol and fires.  The bullet grazes your temple.

Kaius Alexander - I may not have a choice in the matter, My Lady!

You hear commotion on the other side of the pilot-house door.

* Kryzbytn tries to bring the 'thopter up to level again.

You bring it up too far; you are now above the dirigible agin.  Rallin fires another barrel, and a bullet hits your thigh.

* Kaius Alexander grunts in pain.

Out of ammunition, Rallin scrambles for more.  The door to the cockpit opens and a rifleman with a heavy wheellock weapon enters the cockpit.

Rallin desperately begins reloading his pistol.  Lady Sarah utters a word of power and a bolt of puissant energy bursts from her lips.  The rifleman is knocked backwards.

Kryzbytn - Let's bring it down now!

* Kryzbytn madly attempts to compensate.

You nearly collide with the dirgible.

Kryzbytn - Aargh!

* Kaius Allexander lunges.

The dirigible lurches and you miss, plowing into Rallin.  He tries to push you off.

* Kaius Alexander knocks the pistol out of his hand.

Kaius Alexander - Give up, Rallin!

* Kaius Alexander threatens him with the Cereblade.

Rallin growls as the blade touches his throat.

Kryzbytn, you bring the flyer to the correct altitude, but it is still quite far from the dirigible.

Kaius Alexander - Order your men to back down!

"Stay back," Rallin says.  Lady Sarah speaks another spell; her hex hits Rallin and he falls unconscious.

"Cut my bonds, quickly!" she says.

* Kaius Alexander steps over and cuts them.

Lady Sarah speaks a spell and leathery bat-like wings sprout from her back.

Kryzbytn - Bring it in close now.... careful...

You bring the 'thopter closer, clumsily but effectively.  Lady Sarah gets into the window of the dirigible cockpit and alights, flying easily to the ornithopter.  Down below, the ground grows close '" soon the Bahamut will plow into it.

Kryzbytn - Kaius one! Jump!

* Kryzbytn steers towards Kaius as best he can.

* Kaius Alexander quickly shoulders Rallin, and makes a leap.

You grab hold of the ornithoper with one hand, Rallin on your other shoulder!

Kryzbytn - I will not let you fall, Kaius one!!

* Kryzbytn musters all his strength to hoist him up.

* Kaius Alexander grunts as he goes sprawling on the floor of the cabin.

The flyer is about to hit the ground!

* Kryzbytn desperatey pulls up on the controls.

You just manage to avoid crashing!  Rallin unconscious, Lady Sarah Taim safe, and the pair of you battered but alive, you fly back towards the magistra's spire while below the Bahamut explodes in a blossom of orange flame.[/ic]

[ic=Interlude: Interrogation]Kaius Alexander and Kryzbytn follow Lady Sarah and several guards down a stairway and into a subterranean passage.  One of the guards unlocks a heavy door; those with Rallin push him inside.

The room is small and undecorated.  There is a large chair in the exact center, with a bright biolamp above it, glowing an eerie green.

"Now, you lump of excrement," Lady Sarah says viciously, taking Rallin's face in one hand.  "You are going to answer some questions.  Think carefully before each answer.  Lie and I will know it, and there will be consequences.  Allow me to demonstrate."

She steps back and speaks an incantation, her arm extended, hand curled into a claw, fingers pointing at Rallin.  A gasp escapes his lips as a thousand tiny cuts suddenly erupt all over their body.  Within a moment the cuts have closed, scabbed, and scarred.

"A hex of my own devising," Lady Sarah says.  "So far I have developed five variations, each more agonizing than the last.  That was the first.  Answer my questions or you will feel the next variation.  After I have exhausted the five levels I will have to get... creative.  Now.  Did Cheela act alone, or was someone else behind this?"

"Rot in the Hells, you bitch," Rallin snarls.

Lady Sarah smiles and speaks a second incantation, similar to the spell she invoked previously.  This time the injuries are twice as deep; a glimpse of bone is visible.  Rallin shrieks as blood begins to pool on the floor and drain through a small hole while the eldritch wounds rapidly heal.

Kaius Alexander watches, unflinching, a glint of what might be approval in his eyes as he watches Lady Sarah deal with her betrayer.

Kryzbytn, already peaky from the venom the lilix noblewoman's dagger, grows even paler at the sight of Rallin's torture.  He courteously excuses himself from the chamber.

"Let's try that again, shall we?"

"No!  No, damn you... she's in league with the Gossamer Infinitude.  Her grandmother, the reigning Ylzemarr Matriarch, grows close to death.  She disagrees with her mother's beliefs, thinks she panders to the inferior races.  With Vaeza out of the way Cheela would soon come to power and pledge her House to the service of the Infinitude."

"That's better.  Now, why kidnap me after the plan went sour?"

"When the spiders hired me I approached the Sederacs, knowing they'd be eager for revenge.  It's no secret the Sederacs want you dead, but the magister Lucilius... he wanted to torment you first, at his estate in the foothills.  You were the price of their assistance.  One of the Sederac youths would create a distraction while the lilix assassin moved in to kill Vaeza.  Meanwhile, I would subdue you and bring you to Lucilius, so he could gloat over you, let you linger as his prisoner."

"I see.  I think that is everything.  Disappointing, really '" I'd hoped you might hold out a bit longer, that I might savour your screams, but you have earned a swift death... first, however, this is for Tartaruchus."

She speaks another hex, and this time Rallin is instantly flayed of every scrap of flesh, his skin pulled back from his muscles by the eldritch tendrils of the spell.  A moment later his skin begins to re-form in revolting scabrous patches.  He shrieks, his feet drumming against the floor.

"Kaius, would you mind?  His screams are less amusing than I'd imagined."

Kaius nods and unsheathes the Cereblade.  The organic sword glints in the eerie glow of the living lamp.  With a swift stroke the ex-Insomnolent puts the traitorous captain of the guard out of his misery.[/ic]

[ic=Compulsion]While Kaius Alexander makes his way south by airship, the mantid Kryzbytn resumes his wanderings following his recovery from Cheela's poison...

Your wanderings have been long and arduous.  From the city of Skein you made your way south, skirting the edges of the Tallow Plains, staying in cheap inns where you could, or camping by roadsides when none were available.  The mysterious impetus still draws you south.  You considered heading back to Macellaria, of putting this aimless quest of yours behind you, but you were unable.  Your feet seem to move on their own accord, as if you were a wind-up soldier of the type you once fashioned yourself.  The dreams continue, unabated.

At last your perambulations bring you to the edge of the swamps, and you realize, with dawning horror, where your feet have been taking you.  You stand before the ruinous estate of the Man-in-Armour.  Once the place would have been splendid, surrounded by orchards and vineyards and lush plantations.  Now the grounds are overgrown, invaded by poisonous weeds and voracious fungi.  Beyond this toxic morass rises the decrepit edifice wherein the Main-in-Armour himself dwells: a dilapidated manor, its stonework crumbling and choked with vines, its windows smashed or coated in dust, its statuary mutilated and defaced, its plaster peeling and weather-stained, its gilt chipped and tarnished.

Why would your body bring you to this wretched place, full of decay and bad memories?   What masochistic clockwork conducted you here?  Perhaps the answers lie within the mouldering structure before you, beyond the faded, rotting doors.

As you approach the manor you notice that one of the outbuildings - a smithy - has been recently used, based on the glowing coals and the tendril of black smoke rising from the forge, though there is no sign of the smith.

* Kryzbytn looks upon this place with great fear, and regret

* Kryzbytn walks to the smithy, stepping slowly and carefully, as if afraid of stirring something old and dark, though he knows not what.

The tools lie abandoned on the anvil.  The coals smoulder; there is no sign of anything living.  The walls here are covered in creeping dark mould.

Kryzbytn - I have come here for a reason. I have been drawn here like a moth to the flame. I know not if I shall burn...

* Kryzbytn looks towards the manor.

* Kryzbytn walks towards the entrance.

The front doors have almost rotted off their hinges.

* Kryzbytn reaches forward with the slightest tapping of his scythe arm to the door.

There is no answer.

* Kryzbytn waits. After a long while, he pushes open the door.

When you came here before there were guards at the door and in the vestibule beyond.  Now there is only dust and an unwholesome smell of decomposition.  Portraits of long-dead noblemen hang on the walls of the entryway, but fungus has gotten into the canvas, mottling the dignified faces as if with some foul disease.  There are three doors here - two to either side and one larger set leading into a larger foyer.

Kryzbytn - What has happened to this place...

* Kryzbytn slowly draws his scythe and moves to the door to the left of him.

You hear a soft ticking sound within.  The door is slightly ajar.

* Kryzbytn stops for a moment, mesmerized by the ticking, giving him a faint, distant comfort of a time long since passed. He opens the door and looks inside.

A huge grandfather clock dominates one wall of this small drawing room; it still ticks and tocks to itself, the sound eerie and distorted.  A liquor cabinet, table, sofa, and several chairs are the only other furnishings.  The sofa is mouldering and the liquor cabinet is open, the bottles within gathering dust.  As you look about the chamber the grandfather clock chimes.  Something must be wrong with the clockwork within, as it chimes a total of thirteen times.  There is one other exit '" a door to the right.

* Kryzbytn moves slowly and quietly to the door to the right of the room.

This no doubt once-resplendent hall has grown shabby and desolate, its wallpaper peeling off in long, curling strips, its carpet rucked up against a far door, the floorboards beneath splintered and blistered with rot.  There is another door to the right.  You hear a door creak open somewhere else in the house, but you cannot tell where exactly it came from.

* Kryzbytn stops immediately, his body stiff with fear.

* Kryzbytn moves to the door on the right.

You don't hear anything on the other side.

* Kryzbytn opens it with what silence he can maintain.

The foyer, as with the rest of the house, is in far worse condition now than when you previously visited.  Though before the manor was becoming worn and unkempt, now it has a forsaken character - is there even anyone here?  The crystal chandelier still hangs, but the suits of armour have rusted badly, so that they looked as if they are spattered with blood.  The carpet is full of holes, and dust lies thick on the tiles.  Two curving stairs lead up to a small veranda and a set of doors leading to the second floor; one of them looks badly rotten.  One door leads back to the vestibule; there is another opposite the one you entered by.

* Kryzbytn tries to discern where the pull originates.

You concentrate and feel the pull upstairs.

* Kryzbytn moves up the stairs carefully.

Past the double doors a long hall ends in a T-junction, and there are two doors to the right and left along the hall as well.  The carpet has worn away here, leaving the floorboards bare; in the dust you can see relatively recent footprints.  Somewhere you can hear a curious clanking, rustling noise.


* Kryzbytn feels fear grip him tightly. He hears his own heart beat, pounding loudly in his chest, fearful that someone, something, can hear it.

It's hard to localize exactly where the pull originates, but you feel it somewhere on this level, perhaps behind you.

* Kryzbytn turns around.

The foyer is bare as before.

* Kryzbytn turns back around, and heads to the first door on the right.

You hear the sound of pages being turned in the room beyond.

* Kryzbytn opens the door

Books by the hundreds slowly turn to dust on the shelves of this expansive library.  Vermin have infested this chamber, gnawing on the pages, making their nests in piles of mouldy parchment.

Seated at a table in the center of the room is a haggard human with an enormously long beard and equally long, uncombed hair.  He is reading a thick, leather-bound book, its pages half-disintegrating as he delicately turns them, his eyes flickering rapidly over the words with a frenzied gleam.

As you enter, he looks up from the book, an expression of terror on his face.  When he sees you, he seems to relax.

"Kris?" He asks quietly, his voice rasping and dry.  "Is that you?  Is this a nightmare?"

Kryzbytn - It is possible.

* Kryzbytn looks him over carefully.

You have no idea who this man is.

Kryzbytn - Who are you?

"It's Dareon."  As you look closer you recognize the man; he has lost a great deal of weight, and his hair and beard obscured his features.  This is the man who rescued you from the gutters of Lophius and brought you here the first time: he also captained the expedition into Dour Erg.  You had thought him dead, slain by the fetch.

Kryzbytn - Dareon one.... yes, the memories are flooding back.  You died.

"That night in the wastes - I managed to reach shelter before the Rain could turn me, but one of the murderfolk got in, leaped on me.  I killed it, but not before it'd savaged me badly, left me near death.  When I awoke everyone was dead or fled.  I was drawn back to this place, compelled to return by the contract I'd signed.  I resisted for awhile - tried to fight it, to distract myself.  For awhile it even worked, but each day the pull got stronger.  I suppose that's why you're here now..."

Kryzbytn - I believe it is. I do not want to be here.  How long have you been here?

"For some time... The contract he made us sign is ensorcelled: it's a kind of arcane indenture.  It links those who signed it to... to Him.  His family have used the same sorts of covenants for generations, to keep their servants from running away.  It takes no more than a drop of blood to make the contract binding; I'm ashamed to say that when I found you dying in the alleys of Lophius I took a few drops of your ichor."

Kryzbytn - I feel as though more than that was taken from me, old friend. I am... compelled to take it back.

* Kryzbytn pauses for a moment.

Kryzbytn - ...so He is still here.

"Yes.  He is here.  He has grown too large to leave.  I still don't know much about what it was that happened to him; He won't talk about it in detail.  He used to be some kind of nobleman-adventurer - comes from a blueblooded family, used to rule a fief here.  But their money ran out and they took to scavenging the wastes to keep themselves in fine silver and good wine.  He loves to talk about the glory days of running round the desert, looting ancient temples and finding priceless artefacts, but He doesn't like to speak of how He became afflicted."

"I don't know much more than you do, but my guess is He ran afoul of some tribe by pilfering from some holy site or sacred shrine or something, and got cursed for His trouble.  He took it for an affront, a stain on the House honour: He comes from a handsome family, judging from the paintings round this place, so it's a fair bet He thought Himself well-favoured before the curse took Him.  He's tried everything to break the curse, but nothing has worked, and day by day He continues to grow, to mutate.  The armour is an absurdity, now - it hardy hides the fact that He's misshapen.  He's become as mad as His servants, I think."

Kryzbytn - I would wish to ...speak with Him, I think.

"Gods above and below, I urge you not to!  He will try to bend you back to His will... make you His loyal servant once again.

"While you're bound you're in His service until your indenture ends or the terms of the contract are fulfilled.  Normally the contract only lasts for a few years but He's... revised the terms, extended them.  Only a grave-spawn could outlast the period of indenture.  Those bound can't leave this place without His permission.  I've tried a hundred times.  Sometimes I get farther than others, but I've always been within sight of the place.  After awhile my feet just won't obey any longer.  You won't be able to leave either, now that you're here.

"The contract ensures you remain here, but it doesn't make you obey, at first.  The longer you remain, though, the stronger his influence becomes.  I have held out so far, but it grows more difficult each day.  At first they confined me to the dungeon, but after a time they let me free, as if they realized I wasn't a true threat - though I'm as much a prisoner now as when I rotted in a cell.  As for the other servants, they have been worn down, subsumed by his will.  It's driven them mad, made them hollow inside - they're his puppets, now, nothing more."

* Kryzbytn shudders, then, after a moment, raises his scythe again and stands stalwart, though deeply afraid of this place and what he must do

Kryzbytn - A friend of mine once told me that your fear proves your wisdom.  But some fears must be conquered.

His eyes widen.  "You think to face him?"
Kryzbytn - If I must. I have lost my wings, Dareon one. I seek not to lose my body as well.

"There are only two ways to break the contract: either one of you must die, or the document itself must be destroyed. He keeps it close, in a chamber behind His 'throne,' locked safely away and guarded by the two remaining footmen, their minds utterly given over to Him."

Kryzbytn - Is it possible to reach the throne without disturbing Him?

"Only with the utmost stealth... and He would surely sense the contract's destruction, even if you did manage to sneak by."

Dareon has clearly given himself up to despair.

Kryzbytn - Then perhaps it is time I eliminate the middle figure of this equation. I will bring the fight to Him.  Have you no will left, Dareon one?

"I am seeking some other way out, some loophole in the indenture... but so far, to no avail."

* Kryzbytn remembers fondly but for a moment,

Kryzbytn - If there is anything my friends have taught me, it is that, sometimes, a more direct approach works best.

* Kryzbytn grips his scythe tight.

Kryzbytn - Dareon one, I will be leaving you now.

"Facing Him is even more foolish than trying to sneak past Him - but, if you are intent on trying, follow the corridor to the left.  I wish you luck, Kryz.  Truly."

Kryzbytn - I will need more than that...

* Kryzbytn follows his instructions.

You exit the library and follow his directions to a large set of double doors.  Within, you can hear the clanking, rustling sound.

* Kryzbytn activates his hazefield generator and quietly opens the door.

You enter a grand hall with tall columns.  Of all the rooms, this is the best kept you have seen, cleaned of the detritus that clutters the rest of the manor; still, dust lies thick on the floor save in a few better-travelled avenues.  There is only one exit - a small door guarded by a pair of emaciated guards, their eyes wide and glazed-over, their weapons rusting.  At the end of the room is a huge chair, barely visible behind an enormous, variegated form.

The Man-in-Armour sits before you, though the title can no longer be truly applied: once upon a time he might have called himself human, but that time is long past.  The last time you saw him his iron shell was still modest in size, with but a few outlandish protrusions and enlarged segments; the body within must have still been at least vaguely humanoid.  Now, any remnant of the human form has been lost.  The being is a crazed pastiche of twisted metal, gigantic in size, bits and pieces of tightly fitted armour covering whatever lies beneath the gleaming shell.  Bizarre extrusions and appendages clank and clang quietly as they move, radiating out from an enormous central mass sheathed in an enormous, distended breastplate enlarged many, many times, its seams straining to contain whatever lies within.  The suit of armour's helm emerges from this conglomeration of metal, discordantly normal in size.

The armour has long since ceased to conceal the being's affliction to any satisfactory degree, even though it covers every inch of flesh: some strange compulsion, perhaps a deranged species of modesty, perhaps an obsessive form of self-denial, must cause this piteous creature to forever add to its malformed suit.  Half a dozen servants, all of them skeletally thin, slack of jaw, waxen of complexion, and glazed of eye attend to the armour, polishing it with rags and meticulously oiling the joints, their own movements the stiff, jerking twitches of marionettes.

* Kryzbytn sneaks into the room without alerting anyone within, making his way behind the throne.

The door to the room is locked, but the footmen, who guard the door closely, have keys.

* Kryzbytn tries to steal a key.

One of the guards idly turns its head towards you as you attempt to snatch the key.  It makes a hissing sound; the other guard turns its head as well, and the two shamble towards you, halberds ready.  The Man-in-Armour stirs, clanking.

* Kryzbytn stands alert, scythe ready.

The guards attempt to grab you.

* Kryzbytn slashes at one of the guards.

The footman ignores the bleeding gash you give it.  The guards seize you and drag you before the Man-in-Armour.  One of them deactivates your hazefield generator.

"Ah, Kryzbytn, at last," a voice says from the armour - gentle and rich in timbre, almost grandfatherly. "You have returned to me.  Your contract is not yet complete."

Kryzbytn - Hello, my One. You have changed over the years, it seems.

The Man-in-Armour does not acknowledge this comment.

"Many men were lost in the desert.  They must be replaced.  You will go to Lophius, or to Macellaria - both cities teem with sellswords.  Hire mercenaries: promise them gold, bones, whatever currency they desire.  Bring them here, to me.  After more men have been gathered you will lead another expedition into Dour Erg, to take vengeance on the foul witch-doctor and the clan of savages he serves."


Kryzbytn - Yes, the contract... I wish to be freed from it.

The thing within you '" the compulsion '" spasms.  You feel an urge to obey.

"Your indenture is not yet complete.  Satisfy its terms and you will be released."

* Kryzbytn twitches and struggles, forcing himsef to defy the impulse to submit.

Kryzbytn - No.

The single, simple word, backed up by your defiant will, seems to have had a physical effect on the Man-in-Armour.  His second skin of polished metal rattles and clatters.

The armour swells.  Plates begin to pop off; rivets whine and metal bends and rips.  The articulated joints burst.  The helmet buckles and explodes.  The flesh beneath expands.

The thing that you knew as the Man-in-Armour towers before you, a mass of twisted tissue bubbling and bloating nightmarishly.  Grotesque appendages like blubberous tendrils sprout from the being's pallid bulk, writhing and flailing; strange ganglia and conglomerations of skin resembling horrific blossoms bloom all over the thing's misshapen body.  The only vestige of the creature's humanity is its face - a kindly face, a noble face, full of dignity and sadness - and a terrible madness.  The being's features are suspended amidst a roiling chaos of mutancy; they stretch forth from the madness of flesh, straining, as if imprisoned.  The very sight of it gnaws at your sanity.

"You will submit," the withered lips demand.  "We have a covenant: your essence is bound to my own.  There is no escape, no freedom for you!"

* Kryzbytn remains composed despite the horror before him.

 The horrible being reaches out with two fleshy tendrils, as if to embrace you.  You are hit by the tendril, but manage to wriggle free of its revolting grasp, and the hold of the footmen as well!

* Kryzbytn whirls his scythe.

You hew off one of the guards' arms and badly wound the second guard.  Neither seems to notice their terrible injuries.  They hack at you clusmily with their halberds.

Kryzbytn - I am sorry, old friends!

The creature that was the Man-in-Armour surges forwards, multiple tendrils groping. He seizes you in one of His tendrils and constricts, crushing you.

* Kryzbytn cries out in pain.  He squirms, attempting to escape the dreadful being's grasp, but to no avail.

The footman stand inert, merely watching.  The creature squeezes cruelly.

* Kryzbytn writhes in pain.

* Kryzbytn slashes at the tendril furiously.  He slices wildly, stabbing one scythe arm into the writhing tentacle, then using his other to hack it clean off.

Kryzbytn - I will not be contained!

The Man-in-Armour screams horribly and shrinks backwards.  The footmen stumble forward slowly.

* Kryzbytn runs up to him, leaping in the air, and brings down my scythe on him, hissing madly

You slash deep into the creature's unwholesome flesh, tearing a great rent down its blubberous bulk!

The creature swats at you with a tendril, attempting to push you away, but you dig in your heels.  The footmen lumber towards the fight.

The Man-on-Armour sends his bodily tentacles at Kryz in a flurry.

* Kryzbytn deftly strikes and slices each one way from him in a mist of gore and rage.

* Kryzbytn breathes heavily, badly wounded and tiring.

Deprived of limbs, the creature desperately slams into you with its awful bulk, attempting to send you flying!  It sends you hurtling through the air, towards a window overlooking the overgrown grounds below!

* Kryzbytn just manages to grab hold of the edge of the window with one hand as glass shatters and he is propelled through!

* Kryzbytn struggles desperately to pull himself up, the pull and the desire to obey hounding at his every move.

You heave yourself up, back into the throne room.  The creature whimpers pitifully.  Its blood drenches the hall.

Kryzbytn - I will... will not become.... another puppet...

The footmen, imbecilic, stumble towards you still.

Kryzbytn - I may have lost my wings, my One.

* Kryzbytn leaps over the guards and lands, scythe in his hands.

Kryzbytn - But I can still fly.

"My servant!  Do not harm your loving master!"  The abomination shrinks away from you.

* Kryzbytn lands before his once-master and raises his scythe high, but stops before plunging it into the Man's head.  He kneels down.

Kryzbytn - You understand not, my One.  It is you who is imprisoned... I am serving you by freeing you.

* Kryzbytn smoothly slits the Man's throat with his blade.

The blood wells from the wound as the creature squirms and writhes.  Suddenly, the Man-in-Armour begins to diminish.  The horrible extensions and extrusions wither and vanish.  Abruptly, the figure shrinks, becoming nothing more than an old man's corpse, its throat slit.  Blood pools beneath the withered cadaver.  The footmen and other servants collapse.

* Kryzbytn falls to his knees.

A wave of palpable relief washes over you, as the pull within you is expunged.  The sinister clockwork that drove you here has ceased to tick.

Kryzbytn - I am free.

* Kryzbytn walks to the room where the contract was held, unlocking it.

Behind the throne room is a small chamber with a glass case at its center, empty save for a pile of ash.  Rotting tapestries hang on the walls.

* Kryzbytn returns to the throne room.

Dareon has appeared at the entrance to the throne room.

* Kryzbytn stares at him.

He approaches the Man-in-Armour's corpse tentatively.  There are tears on his cheeks.

"He is dead...?"

Kryzbytn - We are free.

"Yes.  Free... I had forgotten what it felt like."

Kryzbytn - As did I, old friend.

* Kryzbytn offers him his hand

He shakes it.  "I would like to put him in the family mausoleum.  It's outside."

* Kryzbytn nods

"He will fit in the sarcophagus now." The servants seem to be reviving, slowly.  They get to their feet and look at one another, bewildered, as you remove the corpse.

* Kryzbytn speaks to Dareon as he helps him carry the body

Kryzbytn '" I'm not sure what to do now, Dareon.

"I'm not sure what to do either," he says presently.  "It's been a long time since my decisions were my own."

The mausoleum is ancient and overgrown with black creepers.  You inter him within.  Dareon is silent, his head bowed.

* Kryzbytn is also silent.

Kryzbytn - ...He saved us.  But for his own personal goals.  I am not sure what he deserves, if anything.

"He was not evil, I think - only vain and mad and selfish."

Kryzbytn '"I'm contemplating burning this place. But I am not sure it deserves such a razing.

"In time the swamp will devour it, like everything else.  It's already on the verge of collapsing..."

Kryzbytn - Do you know much of the history of his people?

"Little.  They were a proud and ancient lineage, fallen upon black times, here at the edge of oblivion.  What wealth they had is long gone, spent on his reckless quest."  He shivers.

"I think I will head north.  I have had enough of heat and mosquitoes."

Kryzbytn - I will head east, in hopes of joining my friends again. You are welcome to join me, if you wish.

"To the Slaughter-lands?  I've had enough death and decay for a lifetime, I think.  I won't be returning that way.  Best of luck to you."

Kryzbytn - Safe travels, Dareon. I have one last thing I need to do here.

* Kryzbytn begins walking toward the house.

 You reach the house.  It seems to sag.

* Kryzbytn heads towards the room with the grandfather clock.

The clock ticks idly, its gears badly warped.

* Kryzbytn attempts to fix it.

With some tinkering, you restore the clock to working order.  It whirrs now with cogs and gears fitted properly together, good as new.

* Kryzbytn looks on it proudly.

* Kryzbytn heads to the entrance, and begins to head home.[/ic]

[ic=Aftermath]Back in the hinterlands of Macellaria, our heroes have just slain a terrible foe, a grotesque, diseased giant responsible for the epidemics currently raging in the City of Bodysnatchers.

* Eareg Maar slings Meteor over his shoulder and walks over to Tarim.

Eareg Maar - If you wouldn't mind holding this for a second.

* Koldobika is tired, sore, thoroughly battered, and still stuck in a place that smells terrible, with the scent of burning filth nearby doing nothing to improve the state of the atmosphere.

* Eareg Maar steps back and twists his arm sharply as Tarim holds and there's a loud pop as the bone sets back into place.

* Eareg Maar grimaces.

Eareg Maar '" Thanks.

* Eareg Maar pulls the staff out from his belt and hands it to Carver.

Eareg Maar - Believe this is yours.

* Mr. Carver takes the staff, and puts it in a leather sling across his back

Mr. Carver '" Thanks, Eareg. Glad we didn't have to use it.

* Koldobika is equally glad the staff still has power '" the Kennel Master would no doubt be terribly displeased if the great Watchdog was forced to remain in miniature.

Tarim - Better not linger here any longer. The place still stinks worse than a butcher's shop.

* Eareg Maar nods.

* Tarim makes his way to exit via the entryway.

Kennel Master Shuck awaits at the entrance to the cleft, restraining the miniaturized Watchdog.

"Is it dead?"

Eareg Maar '" Yeah, it's dead.

* Eareg Maar stumbles past.

Mr. Carver (to Shuck) - The Dog is unharmed?

Oney (who refused to enter the chasm) approaches Wispy cheerfully to nuzzle him.

Wispy - Good work, boy; you are fast learning what it means to be a Jatayi... staying away from trouble that is none of your business. This does mean, however, that you will not receive a large bone tonight; only a small one. Whereas I, for making this my business, receive a thousand obeloi!

* Wispy titters and puffs out his chest.

* Koldobika gladly leaves the source of the dead monstrosity, himself not feeling altogether too happy right now. But, being alive is plenty of reason for him to not complain much about the current situation.

 "He took a pounding, but nothing that can't be repaired.  I trust Officer Gerard is dead?"

Mr. Carver - It would seem so. We're the only ones who were able to return alive.

"A miracle.  Thank the gods you were able to kill that thing '" whatever it was.  What worries me is that chain round its neck."

Wispy - Isn't it great, Tarim, to be alive!

Tarim - Well, technically, I am not.

Wispy - But if you were dead, you wouldn't have the enjoyment of speaking with me.

* Wispy laughs.

Wispy - Never fear- I respect ghul culture.  Thus why I look forward to celebrating at the festival if it is still ongoing this year '" Guardsman, is the festival still to come?

"I don't know, but I expect so.  The Reaper's Feast is for grave-spawn, who aren't affected by illness anyway.

Wispy - I look eversomuch forward to cavorting with cadavers / gallavanting with ghuls / and  singing with shades.

Mr. Carver - To be honest, I have no idea and I hope I will never know. If there is an entire lore on that thing it means there is more than one.  And yes, the chain was peculiar. It speaks of an outside force involved in this matter '" someone who wishes Macellaria harm, no less.

* Koldobika looks at the Kennel Master and nods. Clearly, someone had managed an extremely effective attack upon the city by using this thing '" whatever the hell it was.

Tarim - Regardless, we've completed our end of the bargain.

Mr. Carver - Tarim! Did you examine the chain?

Tarim - Not in particular detail.

Mr. Carver - You do not think such an examination would be prudent?

* Koldobika is alive, but equally pleased that he is not required to indulge in the "enjoyment" of speaking with Wispy. The best of both worlds.

Tarim - The guards can go examine that chain all they want. I have no wish to go back into that shithole of a chasm.

"Let us be gone from this place, then."

* Eareg Maar mounts up on his steed.

Eareg Maar - It was a Banehulk.

* Eareg Maar spits

Eareg Maar - Nasty piece of plaguework.  How it got here I don't know but it's a Poxbringer creation.  

Mr. Carver - You have actually fought these things before?

Eareg Maar - Not fought. Seen 'em... I'm not normally so stupid as to fight one

Mr. Carver - If this was a prime specimen I would say that just seeing one is bad enough luck.

 Variously diseased, battered, bruised, corroded, nauseated, or simply exhausted, the party makes its way back towards the City of Bodysnatchers, debilitated but alive.  Eareg's arm is broken, Kol was nearly pulverized, Tarim's skin is spattered with burns from the thing' caustic regurgitation, and both Mr. Carver and Vetter are mottled with newly-acquired sicknesses; only Wispy remained unharmed, flying above the creature's reach.

With the creature dead, the foul clouds of stinking, infectious fog are already beginning to dissipate.  A dark plume of smoke rises from the hills behind you - the Banehulk's funeral pyre.  As you near the city you see more smoke rising from its districts - no doubt the work of opportunistic mobs and vandals capitalizing on the chaos.  Distantly you can hear the city's din - screams, moans, shouted orders.  The Watchdogs, however, are quiet for the first time in many days.

Mr. Carver (to Shuck) - Do you wish the dog returned to normal size?

"Yes, that would be wise."

Mr. Carver - If you so desire, I could make him larger.  Larger than he was before

"Indeed?  How much larger?"

Mr. Carver - A good deal larger, but I can't give you an exact scale

Tarim - Better keep it to a size manageable by the Lennel Masters.

Mr. Carver - The Watchdogs are already quite large and they seem to manage

Shuck nods at Tarim.  "Too big and he might collapse under his own weight.  Best return him to his normal size."

Mr. Carver - So be it.

* Mr. Carver wields the staff and makes sure twice that the correct rune is lit. With a last mournful glance at the feeble light of the last remaining charge he unleashes the hex stored in the staff on the Watchdog.

Returned to its normal size, the Watchdog pads over to the Butcher's Gate, limping slightly.  The Kennel Masters chain it back to the wall.  Inside the city, things have calmed down marginally.  You still hear gunfire and yells of pain, indicating that isolated pockets of fighting between the militia and looters or Thief Clansmen must still be occurring, but the streets have stilled considerably.  A handful of ghilan, unworried by plague, loot the bodies of those claimed by disease.

Mr. Carver - The staff is dead and so are all the artificers I try to get to look at it. Perhaps the staff bears a suicidal curse of sorts, refusing to be recharged.

Tarim - Few things in this decaying world are made to last. And those that are, aren't always foolproof.

* Eareg Maar takes the time to use his tarp and the shape of his long, thin scroll case to fashion a temporary splint and sling.

Mr. Carver - Let me see that, Eareg.

* Eareg Maar pulls the sling tight with his teeth.

You can set the bone easily, Carver, when you have time.

Captain Sere is waiting at the Pulsetown militia station.  Shuck has accompanied you to corroborate your tale if necessary.

Eareg Maar - We found out your problem.

* Eareg Maar coughs.

Eareg Maar - a Banehulk.

"A what?"

Mr. Carver - Massive creature swimming in disease. Bad thing.

Eareg Maar '" A giant tower of rotten flesh and disease.

Mr. Carver - Rare too.

Wispy - Rarer now.

Eareg Maar '" Aye.

Mr. Carver - Worst of all, it was chained to a wall which I'm quite sure it didn't do by itself.

Tarim '" Yes, it was held in place by a chain of extraordinary make. You might want to send some people to look into it.

"...I see.  You're still alive, so I assume you turned tail and ran from this thing."

Eareg Maar '" No, we did the stupid thing. Or you can ask Shuck if you prefer.

Mr. Carver - I concur.

* Eareg Maar sits down.

Shuck nods.  "It's as they say."

* Eareg Maar takes time to light up his new pipe.

Eareg Maar - Nearly did us in but it's done.  Your bloody problem's gone.

Tarim - We did the dirty deed for you. Time for compensation.

Mr. Carver - Yes, time for you to hold up your end of the deal.

Captain Sere grunts.  "Well then, I have your payment as promised, in several chests in the armoury.  Chained, you say?"

Mr. Carver '" Indeed.

Eareg Maar - Yes... like someone left it there.  Who, I don't know.

"Who could have chained this thing up?  And why?"
Eareg Maar - Why... probably because they don't like you much. Or rather, your city

* Koldobika likes Eareg. If anyone is going to get them paid for their work, Eareg seems to be the one the best to doing so. Except for maybe Kaius. Kaius is much scarier.

Mr. Carver - Ah, I think that is your job to discover, unless you want to depart with more of your bones.

Tarim - Someone who wields quite a bit of power, that's for sure.

"Indeed.  We'll send men to investigate, see what we can find out.  The Black Arrows won't forget this, gentlemen.  You've done a great service to the city.  If we require your assistance again, we'll let you know."

* Mr. Carver tips his hat at the Captain.

Eareg Maar - For the present though you've got your city back.

* Eareg Maar tips his hat, and gets up to go to the armory.

* Tarim heads over to the armoury to pick up his money.

There are several chests brimming with bone coins in the armoury.

* Wispy showers in the money; then puts it in his pack.

Wispy - Oney, we may have to see about getting you a knapsack as well if we keep acquiring useful items.

Oney makes a slavering sound.

* Tarim carefully counts his pay and, having ascertained its quantity, loads the money in a sack he slings over his shoulder.

* Koldobika gleefully takes his money, depositing it wholesale into his pack once it has been counted and set aside.

* Eareg Maar tips his hat at the guards and with some difficulty puts his bones away.

Tarim - Now that this bloody business is over with, I bid you farewell for a time. I must tend to my wounds and dodge the foes on my trail.

* Eareg Maar nods to Tarim.

Eareg Maar - The good doctor here, I believe, wanted to see my arm, and then I have some errands to run myself. Perhaps we will do this again.

* Tarim protects himself with a glamer and heads to the Tower of Moans.

* Eareg Maar hefts his pack letting it jingle.

Eareg Maar - You are all, after all, good for my wallet.

* Eareg Maar will let Mr. Carver have a look at his arm and set it as he can.

* Mr. Carver examines Eareg's arm.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, try to sit still. This might hurt.

* Koldobika is rather uncertain what the plan of action is from this point. Are they not still planning an expedition for one of those gauntlets?

* Mr. Carver wrenches Eareg's arm back in its socket.

* Eareg Maar thanks Carver for fixing up his arm.

Eareg Maar - I think I could use a stiff drink.... come on doctor, I'll get you something. I'm sure you could use it too.

* Eareg Maar repairs to the Laughing Fiend tavern for a well-earned drink.

* Mr. Carver follows.

* Eareg Maar orders a strong alcoholic concoction with a few drops of blood in it to taste.

The bartender is a gaunt man with grafted ram's horns.

Mr. Carver - The same, without the blood.

Mr. Carver - Cheers, Eareg.  Again, good to see you back.

* Eareg Maar raises his mug.

Mr. Carver - And just in time to help us with that monstrosity.

Eareg Maar - Indeed, it's good to be back... better now that that thing is gone.

Mr. Carver - Yes, let's hope that this fugue will in a few days

* Eareg Maar takes a deep swig from his drink.

* Mr. Carver joins him in the drinking.

Eareg Maar - Good luck that I ran into you lot again, I've been doing better monetarily ever since I came across you all.

Mr. Carver - Now, you did miss out on one thing while you were gone.

Eareg Maar - Hmm? What sort of thing

Mr. Carver - We received a very profitable but risky offer and we could use your expertise.

Mr. Carver - It will take us into the Slaughter-lands and beyond.

* Eareg Maar perks up at the mention of the Slaughter-lands

Eareg Maar - you have my attention.

Mr. Carver - A mysterious lady, calling herself Fuligina and refusing to give us audience in anything but total darkness proposed that we retrieve two items for her: two gauntlets from the time before time. Ancient civilizations and antiques and all that. Anyway, they are powerful and invaluable.

Eareg Maar - Well as long as retrieving said items results in good money, I'm in.

Mr. Carver - Oh yes, very good money.

* Eareg Maar finishes his drink and pays the barkeep.

Mr. Carver - One Gauntlet will take us into the Dour Erg and the other to Lophius and across the sea.

Eareg Maar - Well where the money's good you'll find me.

Mr. Carver - Good. Glad to hear we can count on you.

* Mr. Carver smiles inhumanly.

* Wispy, meanwhile, heads to Hexwarren in search of shops to loot in the chaos.

You find a small tissue-shop whose window has been smashed in.  A lone ghul is looting the shop, sifting through reams of arcane notes and scrolls.  Various organs and grafts litter the floor, scattered amongst shattered glass.

Wispy - Ah, Good Ghul. What has brought you to this fine establishment?

* Wispy looks at the name of the place.

The name of the graft-shop is 'The Meatsmithy.'

The ghul looks up and snarls.  "None of your business, Vulture."

Wispy - Well, I have a standing commission from the town guard to arrest any looters and miscreants.

* Wispy levels a crossbow.

The ghul looks like he's going to say something, but at the sight of the crossbow he backs down.  "Alright, alright, I'm leaving, bloody bird-bonce."

* Wispy enters and keeps the ghul covered until it's out of sight. He sets Oney to watch outside. Then Wispy picks up a board from the ground and takes a hammer out of his backpack and begins repairing the structure.

You board up the window, Wispy.

Wispy - Okay, now time to loot.

* Wispy gathers all the papers into neat piles and start placing them back on the tables and shelves, all the while sorting through them for good and useful scrolls.

* Wispy returns to his belfry.[/ic]

He-he. Gentlemanly thievery.

* Kaius Alexander exhaled in frustration (or in a hiss) 22 times, I searched the logs :P.

Only that many?

[ic=Amnesiac's Nightmare]* Tarim approaches the Tower of Moans, making his way through the chaotic streets.

Pellucid greets you at the door.

"My, things have become rather chaotic of recent... you look a bit worse for wear, despite that glamer you're wearing."

Tarim - You could say so.  The good news is that the source of the recent plagues has been dealt with

"That is good news. Do come in and tell me about it over a cup of bloodwine; I've been taking the chance to tidy the place up in Mr. Alexander's absence."

Tarim - The bad news is that I had to involve myself, and got quite horridly inflicted in the process.  I appreciate the hospitality

* Tarim enters the Tower.

Tarim - The mantid Kryzbytn has discovered some knowledge about the whereabouts of Kaius. Last I saw of him, he was planning to depart the city and search for him.

Pellucid hands Tarim a goblet of bloodwine.

"A charming young fellow, if a trifle niave."

Tarim - May he be so fortunate as to succeed.

* Tarim nods.

* Tarim drinks with Pellucid, then goes to examine the clockwork beetle more closely.

The beetle whirs and clicks.  It will obey spoken commands.  Also, it seems capable of spraying flaming oil from its mandibles.

* Tarim orders the machine around a bit, testing its movement abilities.

It scuttles about for a few minutes before winding down again - it will need to be re-wound.

* Tarim studies his grimoire for awhile, then turns in to sleep.

You lapse into unconsciousness after one of the longest days in recent memory.  The Watchdogs are at last quiet, so your slumber is exceedingly deep.

You awake in a different room which seems strangely familiar: a place with walls of ancient stone lined with ebony bookcases and covered in eerie frescoes and hieroglyphs, with a full-body mirror, cracked but serviceable, against one wall.

* Tarim gets up, somewhat alert by the unexpected yet familiar surroundings.

Standing from bed you see that in the mirror you are no longer a ghul at all but a living human once again, your flesh healthy and tanned rather than ashen and grey, your eyes no longer eldritch stones, your nails no longer bronze, your teeth no longer jewels.  Your body, however, remains grave-spawn: only your mirror-image is living.  There is one exit and no windows.

* Tarim looks into the mirror.

You still don't know you're dreaming - this all seems perfectly natural to you right now.

* Tarim is strangely fascinated by his human image in the mirror; seeing as he is features he'd thought lost to his memory.

* Tarim warily turns his attention to the bookshelf by the wall.

It is filled with musty tomes and scrolls.

* Tarim idly skims the texts.

The words on the spines of the books seem to scuttle away when you try to read them, or else melt like black candlewax, dripping all over the floor.

You suddenly realize you're dreaming.

* Tarim blinks, and a frown forms on his face

Tarim (mumbling) '" Surely this is a dream. But how is it that I can know this, yet remain in slumber?

* Tarim focuses on the mirror, trying to will it into showing a way out of the dream.

The mirror shatters, but you are no closer to waking.

* Tarim sighs. He stands still for a moment, then slowly walks out the doorway

You pass from the chamber into a vaulted room, a laboratory-cum-conjury - your past self's arcane sanctum.  Vats of semi-liquid flesh stand in one corner, but the rest of the chamber is occupied by cluttered alchemical equipment.  There is a large stone slab in the room's center.  There are two other exits: one a stairway leading upwards, the other a rusty iron door opening into another room.

* Tarim tries to recall the layout of his old sanctum.

The iron door should lead to the library.  The stairway should lead up and out.

* Tarim moves to open the library door.

The door creaks open of its own accord as you near it.  The library seems to extend far further than it should, the shelves going on and on into darkness.  The floor is damp.  Rats scurry to and fro; they are muttering snatches of obscene poetry to one another in Hellspeak.  Flickering torches between shelves extend for some distance before giving way to complete blackness.  There is a lectern with an open book partway along.

* Tarim approaches the lectern, ignoring the rats.

The book is open on the lectern.  It is a grimoire containing instructions for complex hexcraft - spells of great sophistication and power, some of them far beyond your current capabilities.  You suddenly realize that you created these spells, that this knowledge was once yours.  This text, however, was not amongst those you discovered upon becoming a ghul.

Tarim - How curious. Is this but a figment of my dream, or was it once truly in my possession?

* Tarim turns the pages of the volume.

The spells are artfully designed and seem to be fully workable - if they are figments, they are very convincing ones.

As you read, something big groans in the gloom, and a dry, hot gust of musty air hits you.  The blast of air puts out some of the torches, and the darkness grows closer.

* Tarim quietly turns toward the sound, narrowed eyes scanning the darkness

Your ghul vision doesn't seem to function in the dream-world - or else this darkness is somehow too thick to be penetrated.

* Tarim starts sneaking toward the doorway, half crouched and eying his surroundings nervously.

As you turn to go back, you see that the room has stretched when you weren't watching, and now the door is far away, visible only distantly at the end of a long hall.

* Tarim glares angrily at the far end of the room, reminding himself that it is a phantasm within his mind.

The room contracts, and the doorway is now within easier reach.  The thing in the darkness makes an angry gnashing sound, as if greatly displeased by this.  More torches sputter out, and the darkness nears you, almost swallowing the lectern.

* Tarim dashes as quickly as he can, to rush through the door and slam it shut behind him.

More torches flicker and die just behind you as the gnashing grows louder.

You dash through the door and slam it shut.  Something hits the door hard on the other side, but the door holds.  It has locked itself.

* Tarim catches his breath, staring at the door for a moment. He is angered by the dream taking on the elements of a nightmare, despite it's lucidity. He turns and marches up the stairway.

You climb the stair to find yourself in a rather bare, round room.  There's a puddle of stagnant water on the ground and two exits - one a corridor lit by torches, the other a second stairway.

The corridor shouldn't even be here.  The stairway up should lead out to the city.

* Tarim frowns at the corridor, but dismisses it as a quirk of dreaming. He takes the stairway.

You climb the stairway and find yourself - in the same room.  It's as if you just climbed the stairway from your laboratory.

* Tarim tries again, willing the stairway to lead out of his sanctum.

The second time you hear an alarming rumbling sound and small fragments of masonry start falling from the ceiling.  You make no progress, however '" you're in the same room.

* Tarim stops, frustrated.

* Tarim inspects the ceiling, wary of stepping into the room for fear that it might collapse on him.

The ceiling is buckled slightly, but the rumbling has stopped.

Tarim - Now why would the stonework be crumbling so? Could there be some meaning to it?

* Tarim walks about the mess of rubble on the floor.

The reflection in the murky water is now of you as a ghul, perhaps because you are now lucid.

* Tarim crouches and dips his fingers in the water.

The water is filthy, but nothing alarming occurs when it is touched.

* Tarim moves on, bored. He heads to inspect the corridor that shouldn't be, feeling certain that it is the product of his imagination rather than a true memory from the past.

Frescoes adorn the walls of this passage, but they seem to depict your own life, beginning with recent events: the defeat of the Banehulk, the looting of the crypt beneath Macellaria, the defense of Shan-Szut, the fight at the Pits, and many other episodes besides.  Further along you can see images of yourself arriving in the City of Bodysnatchers, of trekking across the desert, of fleeing Marainein with the priesthood of the Wasting God close behind.  Further still - distant from your current position - you can see yourself waking up as a ghul on a stone slab.  Beyond that, the frescoes continue, but they are obscured by a coating of thick dust.  The corridor extends further, but here the torches have gone out, thick blackness shrouding the end of the tunnel.

* Tarim stops by the latter frescoes, staring at them with intense curiosity. He tries to wipe off some of the dust covering.

As you remove dust from the fresco you hear something growl in the darkness further along the corridor, and gust of dry, musty air buffets you.  The desiccated wind puts out the torches closest to the darkness, so the gloom seems to advance.  It sounds like a sinister wheezing, or like a death rattle.

However, you do manage to clear some of the dust from the fresco, revealing a scene from your life before you were a ghul.  You see yourself - your living self - entering some kind of vast library and copying text from one of the books while eerie machine-men watch; in another, your past self makes a rubbing from the wall of some ruinous temple in the midst of a desert of black sand; in a third scene you are seen speaking to a strange beast with the body of a lion, the head of a man, and a profusion of dove-like wings.  There are many more images further on, still obscured by the dust.

The darkness is perhaps forty feet away.

* Tarim backs away the way he came, trying to will the darkness to stall its advance.

The corridor elongates considerably.  The darkness recedes, whimpering.

* Tarim grins triumphantly.

* Tarim continues to wipe dust from the frescoes.

Here your past self is instructing an apprentice, a youth with cunning eyes.  The apprentice is shown casting hexes and summoning spirits under your tutelage.  Then he is shown ripping a page from a book, and bringing the page to a series of tall, disapproving figures garbed in the robes of the priesthood.  

The snarled exhalation returns, angrier this time, and more torches sputter out.  Your flesh puckers with goosebumps as the darkness draws closer.

 There are yet more dust-covered frescoes, but the darkness is advancing with startling speed, the torches going out two by two.

* Tarim does as he did earlier, backing away from the wall of shadow whilst trying to force it off by sheer willpower.

Tarim - Begone, you worthless illusion!

With extreme effort you force the darkness back, rekindling some of the torches.  More dust and small pieces of masonry fall from the ceiling, as if your changes are making the dream unstable.

* Tarim hastens to uncover yet more of the painted memories.

In this scene you see a pile of books burning while the apprentice watches, now robed like a priest himself.

* Tarim strains to recall the apprentice's name.

The betrayer's name is Thelexean Grell.  The darkness, as if angered by your recollection, advances with redoubled aggression.

* Tarim is startled by the sudden remembering of the name of this apprentice of his, the very existence of whom he had forgotten. Only the sudden approach of the darkness snaps him out of it. His attention quickly turns to this menace.

You push the darkness back ten feet, but the ceiling buckles and a huge chunk of stone falls towards you!

* Tarim leaps to avoid the falling rubble.

You dodge out of the way, but your attention was distracted, and now the darkness has swallowed the furthest frescoes, and continues to advance, barely slowed by your efforts.

* Tarim hurries along the corridor, grabbing a torch and mentally forbidding the flame from dying.

The flame flares hugely, refusing to die!  The darkness grows ever closer, and even your imperishable flame flickers as it nears you.  You can feel the knowledge you gained, the memories you recalled, beginning to slip away!

* Tarim concentrates, forcing his mind to grasp hold of the details.  He sprint forwards, outpacing the amnesiac darkness, and re-enter the round room.

* Tarim rounds the corner frantically attempts to imagine a sturdy door on the end of the corridor.

A door materializes!  Almost immediately there is a loud thumping sound as the darkness somehow slams into the door.

* Tarim glaces about to see if the room has changed

It hasn't, but the floor and ceiling are rumbling, and beginning to close in on one another, as if making to crush you!

* Tarim makes for the stairway.

You rush upwards and find yourself facing another iron door.  The floor and ceiling of the round room behind you slam shut.

* Tarim presses his hand against the metal of the door and focuses. "This door is not locked", he tells himself.

The door is not locked.

* Tarim presses it open

Through the door is a chamber with walls of black stone and bars on the door - a cell.  You remember this place, suddenly: you languished here on charges of heresy before becoming grave-spawn, escaping condemnation only by uttering a false confession.  It was then that they burned many of your most valuable texts, work you never fully restored...

* Tarim curses under the breath as the lost memories resurface.

* Tarim tries hard to imagine his captors locked and languishing in that cell.

Their forms materialize on the walls - two priests and the apprentice himself.

Tarim - Well well, I see the tables have turned

* Tarim taunts the imagined characters.

As you wreak mental vengeance on your former tormentors the barred door creaks open and an Excruciator looms above you: one of the dread torturers of the Inquisition who ply their gruesome trade with hexes and ingenious machines.  The shadowy, robed figure seems faceless here, and taller than it should be - an imposing malevolence.  It moves towards you, cruel hands extended.  The door behind you has vanished, leaving only a blank wall.

* Tarim faces the figure, undaunted. He tries to command it to turn on the captives instead of him.

The figure turns from you and moves towards the others.  A cruel knife is suddenly in his hands, and he sets to work - not asking questions, merely hacking parts of the prisoners off.

* Tarim observes the torture gleefully.

Soon there isn't much left of the first victim.  The Excruciator moves on to the next.

* Tarim looks about if there is any exit from the chambers.

Only the door the torturer entered by.

* Tarim walks through the door, still holding the torch in his hand.

The wails of the tortured fill the air, here.  You stand in a long corridor lined with cells.  In one direction lies a door which you know led to the torture room.  In the other there is only the now-familiar darkness.  Shadowy forms - not real people, just wraiths '" occupy the cells.

* Tarim heads for the torture room, keeping his eyes on the darkness.

Horrible screams emanate from the torture-room - screams in your own voice!  The darkness growls warily and slowly advances, a single pair of lights going out.

Tarim - The voices are mine...? But I am here and not there, though I once must have been. Very well, dream - I will face the horror.

* Tarim walks toward the chamber, determined to see this through.

The darkness groans and advances.  The screams grow louder behind the door.  You can hear yourself raving, confessing to heresy, to trafficking with demons, to blaspheming Yzsch.  Some of these things are true, others completely untrue.  At this point you would have told them anything.

* Tarim grimaces, more due to rising anger than the pain of the memory.

* Tarim steels himself and steps into the room.

You open the door and a torrent of blood pours from the chamber beyond, flooding the passageway with crimson.  The blood fills your mouth and nostrils, your ears: everything is red.  You stop yourself from being swept away.  You think you can swim upwards - there's a distant light, half-visible through the blood, above you.

* Tarim heads for the light he sees, unimpressed by the ridiculously exaggerated quantity of blood.

You breathe in a grateful (if unnecessary) lungful of air as you swim to the surface.  You are in a pool inside a cave.  A short distance away is dry land, and a passage winding deeper into the caverns.

* Tarim glances about the cave even as he makes his way out of it.

You realize that these are the tunnels you tried to flee through the first time you were accused of heresy - secret passages leading from the Necropolis on the outskirts of Marainein to a hidden bay.  The Inquisition was waiting for you, tipped off by your traitorous apprentice.  The passage connects with a rough-hewn tunnel lit by torches.

* Tarim stops to think. He feels unsure if he can remember the way.

Definitely the left-hand path led out.

* Tarim ponders it for a moment, but then feels all the doubt dissipate. He heads to the left-hand passage, confident that it'll lead him towards the city outskirts

Summoned by your recollection, four shadowy figures appear up ahead, shouting and waving weapons.

* Tarim halts and looks for a corner or an alcove to hide from them.

You don't see any.  The passage you entered from has disappeared.

Your torch, doused by the blood, has rekindled itself.

* Tarim freezes, deterred by this obstacle.

The figures close in menacingly, silent.

* Tarim hisses a curse and concentrates, trying to weave his witchcraft into the fabric of the dream.  Black tentacles writhe forth from his fingertips.

All but one of the figures is ensnared by the tentacles!

The remaining Putrefactor-shadow advances, a glaive held in his armoured hands.  Behind you, the groaning returns, and torches begin to sputter out.

* Tarim moves ahead, readying another hex to sling at the free-roaming Putrefactor.

The Putrefactor's limbs shrink as the withering hex hits him and he collapses, dropping his glaive.  The walls of the tunnel shake and begin to close in, slowly.  Behind you, the darkness growls.  Up ahead you can see a faint light, beyond the Putrefactors.

* Tarim increases his speed. As he comes to pass by the withered Putrefactor, he grabs the dropped glaive and jams it against the walls.

You hasten down the passage.  The walls hold just long enough before slamming shut.  The darkness seems to squeal.  Before you is a bonfire, with a huge pile of books - your books - inside it.  Figures surround you, some jeering, some standing with arms crossed.  In the midst of the flames, tied to a stake, you see yourself - your living self.  This is no memory but a fear, haunting your mind even now.

Tarim - You carrion-eating dogs! You never burned me, and never will! I'll snuff the wretched souls out of your flesh and bargain them to some faceless demon of the outer spheres!  Now stop haunting me with these false images! I will not believe in them.

The figure on the stake wavers and evaporates, but the fire and the other figures remain.  The bonfire burns all the hotter, expanding.  Your erstwhile apprentice is throwing scrolls in, to feed the flames.

* Tarim spits at the fire, circling it. Though he knows it to be nothing but a nightmarish illusion, the sight of his precious work being burned rouses his temper.

* Tarim turns to regard the phantasm of the apprentice.

Tarim - As for you - I now have your name. We will meet, one day, and you will learn what it means to cross your master.

* Tarim speaks those words with malicious conviction.

Thelexean grins at you as the flames continue to expand.  They now form a huge column, reaching into the sky.

* Tarim stares at the fireworks, frowning.

The fire continues to grow.  Sweat beads your skin.

* Tarim, having had enough of this, steps back from the pyre. Fists clenched, he attempts to conjure shambling cadavers to wrestle Thelexean and the other figures and drag them into he very fire they've made.

Zombic forms erupt from the ground and seize your apprentice and his fellows.  They are dragged into the flames, which roar hugely, expanding, consuming you as well.  There is a moment when you look down and see your flesh blacken and slough away, leaving only the bones beneath - and then you awake.

You forehead is beaded with sweat.  You are in the Tower of Moans.  Outside, the Banehulk's own pyre still smoulders, and you catch a whiff of its dreadful corpse.

* Tarim grasps his face, feeling the marks of the acidic spray on the skin, but relieved that it is so instead of burned flesh.

The spells you read of in the open book in the dream-library somehow still linger in your mind.  Soon they will fade from your consciousness, but you think that you might be able to copy them down if you hurry!

* Tarim gets out of his bed and sits by a small worktable, lighting an oil lamp. Not bothering to dress first, he sets to work, scribbling hexcraft from memory

You hastily scribble down the spells you remember - but, when memory is exhausted, something makes you keep writing, well into the early morning.  In a  frenzy of writing you devise several new hexes as well, as if the nightmare inspired you.[/ic]

[ooc]Nomadic played Thadeon, the eunuch guard, and was constantly making spot/listen rolls and the like.[/ooc][ic=Perversion]The same night, Mr. Carver prepares to put an end to the Primate of Striga, Malleus Hexen, and so earn himself entry to the Cult of the Bloodletter.  He has treated the painful cysts that resulted from his exposure to the Banehulk, ensuring that they won't fester.

The plagues have certainly put a damper on business in Velveteen Circus, but by nightfall some of the brothels have opened with additional security.

* Mr. Carver saunters through the streets at a leisurely looking for Outcross and his victim.

A five-storey building wedged next to Wormflesh - a brothel catering to grave-spawn - the pleasure-den known as Outcross is luridly painted.  Sensuous murals depicting bizarre, chimerical hybrids lounging in lascivious postures advertise the perverse services offered within.

* Mr. Carver checks his knives one final time and takes a look across his shoulder, lowering his glasses for a second to reveal his glinting mantid eyes.

* Mr. Carver strides into the establishment.

 As you enter Outcross you notice a militia patrol march through the street outside - that won't make things any easier.

* Mr. Carver deposits his glasses in a coat pocket and takes the bowler off and holds it in front of him against his chest.

You enter a large common room or parlour in which a pair of human courtesans and a hagman in its female phase dance before a variegated crowd.  Both human courtesans have been extensively grafted, one sporting an array of writhing tentacles, bulbous, fish-like eyes, and silvery scales, the other a feline tail and paws; the hagman female is even more radically augmented with a pair of very shapely human legs.  The crowd hoots and throws obeloi at the dancers.  The madame of the place is a voluptuous lilix whose six arms have all been replaced with limbs culled from other species: naghini, mantid, hagman, leechkin, zerda, monstrous crab.  She drums the fingers of her hagman hand on a large book and watches the patrons.  A stairway, guarded by a burly bouncer, leads upstairs.

Mr. Carver - Good evening, my fair lady. Busy evening?

* Mr. Carver attempts a smile.

"Not the busiest, hot stuff,"  the lilix says, her Shambles unaccented.  She looks you up and down, clearly admiring your grafts.  "What are you looking for tonight?"

Mr. Carver - I have heard you have a couple of comely leechkin upstairs, no?

"Several, depending on your needs, sugar.  I'm afraid that two of my best are booked for the evening, but if you'd like I can schedule an appointment with Giselle.  'She's' quite the stunner."

Mr. Carver - Ah, sadly, my particular desire is a bit more particular than that. You see, I like to... watch. You say that two had already been hired? Would it be possible to arrange for me to spectate?

"Oh, I'm not sure that would be possible, darling.  This client greatly values his privacy."

Mr. Carver - I'm sure he must be seen coming into your delightful club, no?

"He uses the back entrance - discretion is important to him."

Mr. Carver '" What harm does an extra three eyes pose?  He doesn't even have to know.

Look, I'll go set something up with Giselle; one of the other courtesans won't object to being drained a little, and I'm sure you'd rather watch one of them than our client, anyway - he's getting on in years, if truth be told."

Mr. Carver '" Give me a room next door and I will be quite content to listen.

"Just listen, eh?  Well, I suppose there's no harm in that.  Still, you'll need to pay for the room - it's on the fifth floor, our most expensive.  We usually charge five hundred bones a night in there.  I'll give you a discount - I like your face - but it'll still cost you four hundred obeloi."

Mr. Carver - That's a steep but fair price madame... I never got your name?

"You can call me Lady Myriad, darling.  And what can I call you?"

Mr. Carver - Pleased to meet you. As you just mentioned, we customers value our privacy but you can call me the Listener if it pleases you.  I will have to consider your offer. Could you show me the back entrance so I can draw a short breath of air before I decide? You see, although I'm immensely tempted four hundred bones would make the missus at home more suspicious than is preferred.

"The rear entrance is just down the hall, sweetie - don't mind the brutes back there, they're mostly just for show.  Security and all."  She gestures with her clawed mantid arm.

Mr. Carver - I will go think on it then.

"You won't reret it.  If you change your mind about Giselle, let me know."

* Mr. Carver makes his way to the back entrance.

 The rear entrance is guarded by a heavy-set ghul with a blunderbuss.  His back is to you right now; he's smoking a cigarillo.

* Mr. Carver exits the building, rounds the corner out of sight of the guard, and scrambles up the wall, digging his grafted claws into the mortar.

You scramble up to the fifth level.  Mercifully, the windows are swathed with red curtains, obscuring those within, though you are given the dubious pleasure of hearing a variety of fairly disgusting noises emanating from the rooms of the brothel.

* Mr. Carver tries to find a room without noise.

You find a latched window that's silent inside.  From the left-hand window you hear loud moans; from the right-hand, you think you hear the crack of a whip.

* Mr. Carver tries place himself below the left-hand window to look over the sill.

* Mr. Carver risks a peek inside the room.

Carver, you look in and see a man vigorously fornicating with a scaled demon with half a dozen bulbous, insectile eyes, chained to the wall with silver fetters.  The demon is gagged - the moans are from the client.

* Mr. Carver stealthily creeps to the roof.

The roof is flat, with a small trapdoor.

* Mr. Carver listens at the trapdoor, locked.

 You hear nothing immediately below the trap.

* Mr. Carver heads back to a window and tries to use his knife to force the window latch, jamming it in through the shutters.

 The latch jostles but doesn't open.

* Mr. Carver begins to saw through the latch with the eldritch blade.

 You continue to fiddle with the latch and finally just saw through it, a process which takes several minutes.  As you do so a  militia patrol passes by on the nearby street.

* Mr. Carver enters quickly.

You're in an empty room with a large, four-poster bed and an unlit lamp.

* Mr. Carver puts his weapon away and  saunters out of the room, masquerading as a satisfied customer.

You open the door and enter a corridor with a stairway at one end.  A hulking man in black, nondescript robes stands with arms crossed in front of a wooden door across the hall.  Bald-headed and pale, he carries a heavy blade, his large hands never straying far from it.

* Mr. Carver follows the corridor on the lookout for two things: guardsmen (he will memorize said room) and doors leading towards where he remembers the trapdoor as being located.

The corridor leads to a T-junction with two more halls to either side, and more doors.  The trapdoor was in one corner of the roof; you see a trapdoor, perhaps matching the one up top, at the end of the left-hand corridor.

* Mr. Carver climbs it.

You trapdoor leads back up to the roof.

* Mr. Carver creeps to the edge where the memorized room is located.

You steal over to the edge of the roof.  Below you is the room the man was guarding.  There's a rail around the roof.

* Mr. Carver ties his rope to the rail and makes sure it's reasonable secure. He wraps it a few times around the rail so only a small slip of rope shows over the edge, then lowers himself face-first over the edge attempting to peek into the room.

You can't see inside due to curtains, but the window is unlatched.

Mr. Carver - I gently move them aside with a black-gloved hand.

The scene which assails your eyes is unusual, to say the least.  A half-naked, aging man is tied to a plush four-poster bed while a pair of leechkin slowly drain his blood while cooing filthy nothings.  Somewhat disturbingly both leechkin have been grafted with exaggerated female characteristics culled from human women, and are garbed outrageously in blond and red wigs; one even wears a lace slip.  Judging from the circular scars that cover most of the man's body, this is a regular activity for him.  The room is gaudily let with two crimson-tinted lamps '" the whole place looks sanguineous.  It reeks of blood, leechkin, and... other... fluids.

The participants are fairly occupied by their scenario.  The leechkin are genuinely enjoying themselves as they're being fed; the middle-aged man is wrapt in twisted ecstasy, his eyes half-closed.

* Mr. Carver takes careful aim with a throwing blade.  He hurls the knife towards the Primate's throat.

* Mr. Carver swings elegantly into the room, heedless of any danger. He then proceeds to shroud the room in darkness before continuing his dark work.

Your dagger lodges itself in the Primate's throat and he makes a gurgling sound as blood begins to well from the wound.  The leechkin begin making excited noises, temporarily distracted by the blood.  They move in, their palm-mouths greedily sopping up the blood, as you drop into the room and extinguish the lamps.

One of the leechkin looks up and around, blood dripping from "her" palm-mouth.

Mr. Carver (Whispering) - I apologize, ladies. Don't let me keep you from your easy meal and let me assure your there is no need for partaking in mine as well.

* Mr. Carver finds a small phial from his pocket and attempts to recover a miniscule amount of Hexen's blood.

The leechkin prostitutes are incensed by the blood.  They hiss as you approach the corpse.

* Mr. Carver hisses back menacingly, trying to display his superiority to the whores in a language they can understand, Agony Knife in hand.

The leechkin retreat, cowed by the eldritch blade.

* Mr. Carver backs away and makes a small sarcastic bow and gesture for the leechkin to continue their meal.

You hear the door click open as the leechkin, still incensed, return to Hexen's dying body to feed.

* Mr. Carver stands behind the door.

Thadeon draws his huge sword.  One of the leechkin hisses and backs away.

The other is absorbed in draining the last drops of blood from the man.  "Her" body is hugely swollen, obese with drained blood.

Thadeon raises his sword and brings it down on the feasting leechkin with a look of disgust on his face.  The sword slices into the leechkin; it begins bleeding everywhere and raises its arms to defend itself.

* Mr. Carver slips stealthily away while the eunuch butchers the leechkin whores.

Thadeon grabs the leechkin and hurls it through the open window.

* Mr. Carver  goes to the trapdoor to recover the rope.

Mr. Carver, you pull up the rope just in time to see one of the leechkin fly through the window and descend to the alley below with a sickening crack.

Thadeon proceeds to beat the other leechkin into submission with the pommel of his sword as you make good your escape.

* Mr. Carver packs away the rope and knives and makes sure he looks clean and neat.

You hear shouts from down below - the militia patrol is on its way.

* Mr. Carver returns to the empty room '" hurrying, but not so much as to raise suspicion.  He looks out the window.

There's no one in this alley.

* Mr. Carver scrambles down with his grafted claws and jumps the last few meters when he deems it safe.

Meanwhile, Thadeon takes the unconscious whore and drags it downstairs to "complain."  On the way, he meets the militia, sent upstairs to investigate, and is immediately clapped in irons.  They haul him downstairs while a few go to investigate the murder scene.

Thadeon halts them and tells them to follow him there's a murder scene for them to see.

* Mr. Carver brushes off the dust and proceeds to the back entrance of Outcross.

 You arrive at the back entrance, but the ghul has gone inside; the door is now ajar.  Presumably he's seeing what all the fuss is about.

* Mr. Carver goes back inside. He has to complete his alibi.

You enter the common room and see the eunuch ranting at the militia while they lock his manacles.  The dancers have stopped gyrating and the crowd in the common room are trickling out.

* Mr. Carver waits at a safe distance before he approaches Lady Myriad.

Lady Myriad is trying to placate the militia.  She notices you.

Mr. Carver - Ah, Lady Myriad I have come to a decision and I'm afraid I won't take you up on your offer. Too expensive.

"Looks like we've had a bit of an incident, anyway.  Sorry about that, sweetie.  Another night, perhaps?"

 Mr. Carver - Oh, yes. I can see. Quite the fuss.  Maybe I can save up some coin then.

"Well, we offer discounted rates on the other levels, for those with slightly less specific tastes.  I hope to see you again, Listener."

Mr. Carver - I hope you will sort it all out quickly.

"I'm sure we will.  Have a pleasant evening, sugar."

Mr. Carver - Thank you.

* Mr. Carver then leaves the sordid establishment with the vial safe in his pocket.

Thadeon is ranting and raving about bastard leechkin whores.  He will probably be acquitted of charges but excommunicated from the Sanguine Church.[/ic]

Oi. we've finally reached the infamous "Listener" scene. That was one of the more disturbing parts of CE :D.

[ic=Dire News]The airship Kaius Alexander hired, Apollyn, is passing over the edges of Flense Veldt when a swarm of dark shapes appears on the horizon.  Captain Ellis squints through his spyglass.

Kaius Alexander - Trouble, Captain?

"Jatayi," he grumbles.  "Looks like we'll meet them in the air... damn vultures'll probably beg for scraps.  Still, they might warn us about any dust-storms or the like.

Kaius Alexander - Hm.

The jatayi draw near to the airship and swarm around it.  Ellis opens the carriage door and gestures for one to come inside.  A jatayi female swoops in; you recognize her as Hoona, the woman you and your companions saved from drunken molestation back when the vulturefolk were camped in the shanties of Macellaria.

You!" she says, clearly surprised.

* Kaius Alexander nods to her.

"You are returning to the City of Bodysnatchers?"

Kaius Alexander - I am, yes. I have been away for some time.

"It is fortuitous that we've met.  We have dire news: the city is in terrible danger.  After recuperating at our eyrie we took to the skies, to travel onwards on our great tour, towards Crepuscle and the cities of the north.  On our way, we flew over an army - a huge force of brigands, mercenaries, and marauders, marching under banners of scourged human skin, marked by the dreadful whip of Herruku the Flagellator, the same blackguard whose men attacked Shan-Szut!  He has marshalled a huge force, recruiting savages from out of the wastes and hiring sellswords.  His necromancers have raised his former victims, the pour souls flayed skinless to make his dread flags: platoons of the dead march alongside the living.  Fetch, corralled from the depths of the waste, have been loaded into carts, to be unleashed as feral shock-troops, goaded into battle.

"Beasts have been captured by the warlord as well and pressed into service: dire maggots bloated with the corpses of the slain, sand-rays purged of their goreflies and mounted with gun-howdahs, giant beetles bought from the cockroach-men of the deep waste.  Worst of all, he has dredged some ancient machine from the depths of the Shatters, a Behemoth patched together with jury-rigged gearwork and hexes.  There are other devices as well which we do not recognize.

"They are still several weeks march from the city - perhaps a little more than a month  - but even with the Watchdogs the militia will be hard-pressed to repel such a terrible force.  Surely with such a large army he intends to seize Macellaria for himself, or else loot the city of valuables and leave it a ruin.  Our code... it forbids us from taking part in the wars of the land-bound.  My father tried to convince the other elders to send a messenger, but the other three refused - we have already lost too many to Herruku.  The oaths are clear, and even if it were permissible, we dare not risk losing anyone else.

Kaius Alexander - You bring dire news indeed, Hoona. I will deliver this message to the authorities of the Robber Guilds. With this warning, there should be ample time to prepare appropriate defenses.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to her.

"I will tell my father.  He has not forgotten the kindness of you and your companions."

Kaius Alexander - Could you surmise the numbers of Herruku's legion?

"They are in the thousands - we dared not get close enough to count, for fear we would be shot from the sky."

Kaius Alexander - Troubling. The Black Arrows do not approach such a number.

"I must go - we fly for Crepuscle.  Farewell!"

Kaius Alexander - Farewell, Hoona. You and your father have my gratitude.

Captain Ellis shoots you a look.  "Guess we'd better hurry, then."

Kaius Alexander - Yes.

Some time later, you reach Macellaria, its familiar domes and spires rising out of the desert; you think you can even make out the Tower of Moans amidst the clustered spires of Worm-Hive.  You approach the city as the sun sinks low.  Off to the east you can see some swollen clouds moving in towards the City of Bodysnatchers, looking puffy and feverish in the sanguine twilight.

"We'll set down outside the city," Captain Ellis says.

Kaius Alexander - Of course.

You land outside one of the shanties, near the Witch's Gate.

Kaius Alexander - Captain, the service you have delivered to me has been exemplary. I now see that you did not boast idly when you spoke of your vessel's speed.

"Hmph.  Anywhere round here I could get a decent drink?  I heard they all drink blood down here instead of ale."

Kaius Alexander - Ah, merely a rumour. You may slake your thirst at any number of locations. Perhaps the Blue Orchid?

"I'll look it up."

It looks like the Witch's Gate is under heavy guard, Kaius.  Almost no one is coming in or going out.

* Kaius Alexander approaches the gate.

"Stop there, traveler," one of the militia says.  "Quarantine's in effect.  Only grave-spawn allowed through here."

Kaius Alexander - Quarantine?

"Bloody monster chained up in the hills, or so they say.  Brought a dozen epidemics down on the city, till some band of mercs put it down."

Kaius Alexander - I see. I am a resident of this city, guardsman. I do not think there would be any harm in allowing me in.

"You want to walk into this plague-pit?  I'd stay outside the gates till things calm down."

Kaius Alexander - I am confident that no harm will befall me.

"Why's that then?"

Kaius Alexander - I possess an unusually resilient constitution. I have never been troubled by illness. Now, if you will allow me through. I believe my own health is my responsibility alone, though I do appreciate your warning.

"Look, we're not supposed to break quarantine - fer your own safety, you see - but perhaps if you made paid a small, erm, toll, if you catch me drift, we might make an exception."

Kaius Alexander - You must accept my apologies, I do not possess the requisite funds to bribe you. Not on my person, in any case. My finances are at my place of residence, within the city walls. Unfortunate.

"Indeed it is.  In that case you'll have to remain outside."

* Kaius Alexander exhales loudly.

Kaius Alexander - Guardsman. Your diligence in your duty is commendable. However, you are endangering the continued safety of the city. I have news of dire import to bring to the attention of your employers.

"Oh really?" He sounds sarcastic.

Kaius Alexander - Do you suppose I commissioned an airship to bring me here at all speed if that were not the case?

He frowns and considers.  "I suppose you're right, then.  What's this news?"

Kaius Alexander - Herruku the Flagellator has amassed a substantial force and marches on the city. They will arrive within weeks. Keep this to yourself, we do not want to panic the populace.  Now, if you will let me through?

"Alright, alright, go on through!  You should have told me about this originally.  Just remember, you can't leave once you enter."  He steps aside to let you through.

Kaius Alexander - Of course.

* Kaius Alexander enters the Witch's Gate.[/ic]

[ic=The Reaper's Feast]One would have thought that the outbreaks would have severely dampened festive spirits leading up to the , but if anything the mass deaths seem to have energized the survivors.  Those allowed out of their homes - those without a mark on their doors - throng the streets in frenzied revelry, celebrating their lives fiercely.  Of course the grave-spawn of the city - over a third of Macellaria's population - were wholly unaffected by the disaster: they emerge at night en masse, their revelry subdued at first, then increasingly raucous.  Cestoids, too, have a great resilience for disease, living as they do in the festering tunnels beneath the city.  Suddenly the wormfolk seem more visible, the human and hagman crowds having been thinned.

The Reaper's Feast is now upon you.  As the worn sun sinks gratefully beneath the darkly clouded horizon the city's grave-spawn awake, stretching pallid limbs, and take to the streets in black finery.  Some wear grotesque masks; others adorn themselves with elaborately carved bone ornaments, giving them the look of walking skeletons.  Great swarms of Macellarian ghilan and shades emerge from Worm-Hive and descend upon the streets of Pulsetown and Resurrection Row, on the Skin Markets and Velveteen Circus.  In every window where one of the living dwells a black candle burns, and platters of corpse-matter and fresh blood are left on doorsteps.  Few of the quick can be seen: to venture out on the Reaper's Feast is to attract Death's attention, and given the recent epidemics, none are eager to tempt fate.  It is said that those living souls who leave their homes between sundown and sunrise on the night of the Feast are sure to die within seven years' time.

The festivities are elaborate.  Huge papier-mâché floats of dire maggots, gorgeflies, gigantic mori, and other beings associated with death are drawn through the streets by reanimated horses, while grave-spawn witches project various illusions of twenty-foot tall humanoids with vast scythes and hooded cloaks, or of ghostly spectres that moan horribly.  Passersby nonchalantly walk through these apparitions, much to the evident annoyance of the ghastly phantasms themselves.  Drums and flutes provide constant background music.

The weather has held so far, but inflamed clouds from the northeast have begun to gather; a storm looks to be brewing.

The party has agreed to meet at the Tower of Moans.

* Wispy is going to reapply his ghoulish makeup and put on his sorrow mask on the back of his head and he'll even dress up Oney a bit. Spend ten obeloi on a costume to make Oney look like a ghul dog (tail looks skeletal; some moulding to look like his guts are falling out, etc.).

* Wispy has his bone flute at his side.

* Vetter arrive with eight bones' worth of drink to share.

Pellucid graciously welcomes those arriving.  It has prepared some food and drink for you all on a small table just outside the Tower.

Vetter - Now then, Pellucid. How've you been keeping?

* Vetter helps himself to a large drink.

"Very well.  Mr. Alexander is still absent, of course, but I have every confidence in his eventual return."

Vetter (burping) - Glad to hear it, mate.

* Tarim takes a while to choose one from a number of rather expensive wine bottles to fill his cup with.

A puppeteer with three additional arms grafted to her torso puts on an elaborate puppet-show for across the street.  The show is a mixture of myth and slapstick, a broad, comic scenario involving a tentacled Beast God and two of its slimy denizens fighting a pair of piratical heroes.

* Vetter cheerfully watches the puppets from by the table of treats.

* Koldobika is careful to favour any drink that is non-alcoholic, preferring clarity to Vetter's perpetual haze. Food, however, he is hardly picky about '" being desert-born, he is willing to eat nearly anything.

* Eareg Maar sits in the corner eyes closed, letting the others talk back and forth while he mentally counts all the bones he has now... it's good to not be hopping from scrounge to scrounge in search of money for your next meal.

* Kaius Alexander 's booted footsteps ring across the lonely square as he marches out of the gloom towards the gathering.

Kaius Alexander - Pellucid. I see that you have kept to my instructions. The Tower appears sound.

"I am glad to see you back, master."

* Vetter spins round on hearing Kaius' voice, eyes wide.

Vetter - Well look who it is! Told you lads he'd be alright.

* Kaius Alexander raises his visor.

* Tarim raises his eyes up from his drink, regarding Kaius with a look of mild surprise.

Kaius Alexander - Yes. I am well. Though it seems the city has suffered in my absence.

Vetter - Nah, it's alright, we killed it. Not the city, but yeah. Killed it.

Kaius Alexander - I see.  Did you procure my purchases, Pellucid?

"Yes, they're waiting for you inside."

Tarim - Speaking of killing, good to see you were not subject to it. Almost had us worried there for a time.

* Tarim laughs.

Kaius Alexander - Excellent.

* Vetter turns back to the puppets.

Kaius Alexander - Ah. I will apologize if I troubled you with my absence. An urgent matter came to my attention. I had no choice but to attend to it.

Vetter (without looking round) - No trouble!

The Beast-God has just eaten one of the pirates, Vetter.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Kryz left to seek the Kaius. The Kryz is not with the Kaius.

Kaius Alexander (Flicker) - The Kaius encountered the Kryz in Skein. The Kryz is well.

* Koldobika pauses, taken aback for a moment. He then grins giddily as Kaius returns the words in a new way.

Wispy - Ah, Kaius, welcome back.

* Wispy jumps down from a perch to shake Kaius' hand.

* Kaius Alexander stares blankly at Wispy, and shakes his hand after a moment.

Kaius Alexander - Bird.

Vetter (grinning) - Well! Don't you look a picture, Wispy?

Kaius Alexander - I see you are indulging in the festivities in a peculiar manner, though this no longer surprises me.

Wispy - I'm respecting grave-spawn culture.

* Wispy smiles.

Wispy '" To truly understand a culture, one must immerse oneself.

Kaius Alexander - If you all will excuse me, I must see to my purchases, and then I travel to the Guildhouse of the Crimson Shadows.

* Kaius Alexander steps inside the Tower of Moans.

Tarim - Not in a mood for drinking, I guess.

* Vetter fiddles with his bandana idly.

The pirate-hero has just cut his way out of the Beast-God, Vetter.

Vetter - I think I'd look better in a hat. What do you lot think?

The Tower as been cleaned of detritus and even modestly furnished, Kaius.  It seems Pellucid has been busy in your absence. The demon glides in behind you.

"I managed to gain access to my former master's old nest egg, sequestered away with the city.  I used the funds to re-furnish the Tower."

Kaius Alexander - Ah. Commendable work. I appreciate such diligence.

"You will find your purchases in your chamber upstairs."

Kaius Alexander - Thank you, Pellucid. There has been no trouble at the tower?

"A few looters attempted to gain entry, but I deterred them."

Kaius Alexander - Excellent.

Kaius Alexander - I will be back down in a moment. You will accompany me to the Guildhall of the Crimson Shadows... continue attending to our guests.

"Of course."

* Kaius Alexander ascends the stairs.

Everything has been refurbished and cleaned.  Your armour's modifications are on a desk.

* Kaius Alexander sets to work installing them.

You integrate the components successfully.

Outside, a procession of Lamenters of the Weeping Lady passes down the street, intoning chants and ringing funerary bells. Their faces are tattooed with tears, and they are garbed in white robes.

* Kaius Alexander proceeds back outside.

Kaius Alexander - What is the status of our preparations for our journey to Dour Erg?

Tarim - We have a special permit to leave past the quarantine earlier than the citizenry.

* Koldobika hangs around, eating whatever strikes his fancy, and making sure Vetter doesn't end up unconscious in Kaius' gutters.

* Vetter smiles cheerfully at the Lamenters and raises his glass to them.

* Tarim continues drinking wine, filling his cup again and again.

Most of them give you stern looks, Vetter, but a couple smile.

* Vetter favours those that do with a cheeky wink.

One of the more coquettish nuns winks back.

* Vetter mumbles some crude double-entendre about "shedding a tear."

Kaius Alexander - Good. I will draw up a list of necessary materials, and present a bill for their purchase to our sponsor.  You are seasoned in the wastes Eareg. I will ask for your help in this matter. But now, I must deliver news to the Guilds, and it should not wait.

Tarim - What news is that?

* Kaius Alexander proceeds to lock the door to the Tower of Moans.

Kaius Alexander - Herukku the Flagellator has amassed an army, with which he seeks to threaten our city.

Tarim - The bandit lord?

Kaius Alexander - Yes. He has called many thousands to his side.

Tarim - Alarming. How close are they now?

Kaius Alexander - They are still several weeks away. Two at the least.

Tarim - Good thing then, that we're leaving soon.

Kaius Alexander - ..Perhaps. We shall see.

Tarim - Getting stuck in here for the plagues was bad enough. To be under siege would be worse still, I think.

Eareg Maar - I for one want to get out of here. I'd be happy to settle down for a bit but not with plagues and sieges and...

* Eareg Maar gestures to Wispy.

Eareg Maar - Weird local customs.

* Kaius Alexander steps down from the door.

Kaius Alexander - Come, Pellucid.

Pellucid follows you, Kaius.

Kaius Alexander - You all may remain here and continue to enjoy the refreshments Pellucid has provided, or you may accompany me. However you would have it.

Vetter - I'm up for a stroll.

Eareg Maar - Me too. Some fresh air would be good; or at least as fresh as it gets in this hellhole.

Tarim - Might as well tag along.

* Tarim picks a bottle of wine and a cup as he get up.

* Vetter snatches a bottle for the walk.

* Eareg Maar pulls the brim of his hat down low over his eyes and stands up.

* Koldobika is coming along for the walk.

Wispy - Perhaps I will see you later.  Come Oney!

* Wispy saunters off for a night of mischief and adventure.

The rest of the party heads out into the crowded streets.

* Kaius Alexander sets out towards the Bazaars

The carnival on this street is temporarily interrupted as the Hellequins arrive: menacing figures in red and black motley, with horrifying masks resembling the faces of demons.  These traditional figures, nine in number, are supposed to be envoys from the Hells, come to bring Death's children the kind regards of the infernal realms: in actual fact they are simply well-respected grave-spawn performers.  They ride on skeletal steeds and shriek in Hellspeak, bestowing profane blessings on all those they pass.

* Vetter watches with pleasant curiosity.

* Kaius Alexander raises an eyebrow.

Kaius and Tarim are infused with a sudden burst of strength and energy from the diabolic blessing.

Vetter (Flicker, to Kol) - Their masks are good.

Vetter, you feel an unpleasant, clammy sensation as the Hellequins bless you, but you  shrug off the blessing's ill effects, invigorated by the massive amounts of alcohol already in your tiny, furry body..

* Eareg Maar contemptuously shrugs off the blessing.

Eareg Maar - Not interested in your quaint festival customs, ghul.

* Eareg Maar readjusts Meteor on his shoulder and continues after Kaius.

The Hellequin barks in laughter and spurs his bony steed onward.

* Tarim pours wine on his cup as he walks along, taking sips.

More puppeteers are performing on the next street: grave-spawn necromancers who reanimate corpses and make them dance, fight, or play out simple stories.  The cadavers are dressed in baroque costumes and elaborate make-up, and from a distance they simply appear like actors, albeit rather jerky, twitchy ones.  Exaggerated voices are supplied by skilled ventriloquists who loiter offstage, or by minor hexes.  The entire act is carried out on a mobile stage pulled by shambling servitors, slowly trudging along, followed by a trail of laughing spectators.

The traditional instruments featured in the festival are the drums, the flute, the horn, and the fiddle, but other musicians play guitars, pan-pipes, and other instruments as well.  At midnight the Danse Macabre, the main dance of the Reaper's Feast, will commence.


You pass through a street of ghul-bars and brothels at the edge of Worm-Hive.  The only brothels open tonight are those that cater to grave-spawn appetites, and, in accordance with tradition, the gray-fleshed girls (and boys) provide their services in exchange for donations of any value.  A few young, living men can be seen outside one establishment daring one another to go in while pallid women with yellow eyes coquettishly entice them from the windows.

* Vetter takes a long swig from his bottle, then offers it to Tarim, seeming not to notice he already has his own.

* Tarim brushes Vetter off with a wave of his hand.

Tarim - Already got my drink here, fox, but thanks for the offer, anyway.

Vetter - Pfft, yeah, I'd shed a tear for her. I mean, yes, so you have.

Though they are difficult to make out in the darkness, you can see a few black-cloaked figures on the roofs of buildings, watching the festivities from above - Black Arrows, likely grave-spawn officers, armed with bows, crossbows, and rifles.

* Kaius Alexander ignores their presence and continues towards the Bazaars.

Eventually you make your way through the Bazaars to the Guildhall.  The Guildhall is draped with festival banners, and the guards wear morbid masks.

* Koldobika observes the guards with a mild interest '" they seem there to keep the peace, little more. Or, more likely, to simply keep an eye out for when big trouble happens.

* Kaius Alexander approaches the steps

Vetter - More masks! Love it.

The guards look a bit tipsy.

* Tarim greets them cheerfully, influenced by all the wine he's consumed so far.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Vetter loves many things.

Seeing Eareg, they let you in without questions.  Inside, the Guildhall is mostly deserted.  Yagg and a couple of other Guildsmen are drinking madwine shots in the middle of the room.

Vetter (Flicker, a bit clumsily, sniggering) - The Koldobika loves the boys.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Vetter does not know the Vetter has loved many boys. The Vetter's drink makes it so.

* Vetter is fading fast.  He sits down on a stool just inside.

Kaius Alexander - Yagg. I apologize for the hour, but is Mr. Rasp in the building? I seek an audience. It is an urgent matter.

"Oh, (hic) hello!  Raspy?  Yeah, he' up in his tower, brooding about summat.  Go on (hic) up."

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head to Yagg.

* Kaius Alexander heads towards the elevator.

"Say, when did you grow wings???"

Kaius Alexander - A recent addition.

* Kaius Alexander smirks beneath his visor.

One of the Guildsman begins giggling incessantly.  He holds up his hands and waggles his fingers.  "Sluggy-wugs!"  He cries in delight, twining them together and rubbing them against his face.  "SLIIIMY sluggy-wugs... so moist and, ohohoho, how scrumptious luscious juicy looking..."  He begins to gnaw on his fingers until Yagg stops him.

Tarim - Hm, must be madwine

Kaius Alexander - Clearly.

Tarim - That is why I stick to the more normal stuff.

Another Guildsman starts muttering about scorpion-clowns and the Lords of Mud, then stands up on the table and demands order in his courtroom.

* Eareg Maar walks over and grabs the pitcher and takes a tiny taste

It's potent stuff!

Eareg Maar '" Yup, madwine.

* Koldobika is vaguely surprised Vetter doesn't go join them in their mad hallucinogen.

* Eareg Maar pours it into a nearby planter.

* Eareg Maar sets it on the table.

Eareg Maar - You'll thank me in the morning.  That was a particularly potent vintage, I'd say.

* Kaius Alexander sighs, and continues towards the elevator.

Yagg begins barking like an angry dog at you, Eareg.  He doesn't bite, however.  A ghul Guildsman takes her final shot and begins reciting some form of scripture in the Carrion Tongue, her voice rising to a frenzied pitch as she rattles off obscure astronomical data and stares up at the ceiling.

* Eareg Maar shakes his head.

You all get into the lift and it rattles up the tower.  Upstairs, you find Mr. Rasp, Chaa Ibl, and the Cowl.  Mr. Rasp looks out over the city below and drinks blood from a goblet; the bodyguards turn as you enter, hands at their weapons, but relax when they recognize you.

Kaius Alexander - Mr. Rasp, it is good to see you. Yagg sent us up.

* Tarim bows very carefully, to not spill his drink.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

The leechkin Guildmaster turns.  "Ah, Mr. Alexander and Mr. Maar.  Who are your companions?"

Tarim - It is I , tarim

"A wise precaution," Chaa Ibl says.  "No doubt the disguise has deterred the Cult for some time."

Tarim - They'll find some means to see through it eventually, but I have other spells.

Kaius Alexander - This is Koldobika and Vetter, associates in arms of mine.

* Eareg Maar takes a seat.

* Eareg Maar is a bit surprised '" normally Mr. Rasp is less pleased to see him... must be the drink.

* Koldobika nods politely at his introduction.

Tarim - Anyway, Kaius bears some interesting news for you.

Kaius Alexander - My apologies for the intrusion. But I must bring an urgent matter to your attention, Mr. Rasp.

"Indeed?  Do tell."

Kaius Alexander - I have but recently returned to the city, and on my return became aware of a matter that I find immensely troubling.

"More troubling than our recent bouts of plague?"

Kaius Alexander - Compounded by them, even.

Kaius Alexander - Herruku the Flagellator has raised an army, and with it marches upon Macellaria. He has hired mercenaries, and raised legions of the dead. He has harnessed beasts of all sorts, and has even dredged up a Behemoth from some corner of the wastes.

"You have seen this?  How did you discover this army?"

Kaius Alexander - I must admit to being aware of this only in a second-hand nature. However, my source would have no reason to lie.  In any event, I feel it would be prudent for the city to immediately arrange a scouting expedition, to verify the veracity of this news, and to further determine the army's composition and line of march.

"I see.  If this is true, we are in a desperate situation - the plagues have decimated the Black Arrows, crippled our defenses.  Doubtless Herruku was responsible for the Banehulk as well..."

Kaius Alexander - Very possible.

"Yes, scouting will be essential.  First, however, I will call a Conclave.  You must attend."

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

Kaius Alexander - Of course.

* Eareg Maar sighs.

* Koldobika thinks that sounds really important.

"The Guildmasters and other notables will all be present.  We must move swiftly - tonight, in fact.  I can have messengers send word swiftly."

Kaius Alexander - How many men can the Black Arrows call to arms?

"I am not privy to all of the details, but I imagine only a few hundred.  We have the Watchdogs, of course, but even they will be overwhelmed by such a force."

Kaius Alexander - Should the threat prove true, it will be necessary to organize supplemental divisions.

He looks to Tarim, Eareg, and the others.  "I have heard it said that you were the ones responsible for the Banehulk's destruction.  Is this true?"

* Koldobika nods. Then he nods again for the heavily intoxicated Vetter.

Tarim - We did kill it. A dirty piece of business.

"In that case you should attend the Conclave as well.  It will have to be on neutral ground - the militia headquarters by the Skin Markets will do."

* Tarim frowns.

Tarim - I sure hope there won't be any unwanted incidents between the Guilds.

Eareg Maar - I feel rather disinclined to.

"Oh, you feel disinclined to, eh Mr. Maar?  What if I told you there was an excellent chance of you finding gainful employment at this Conclave?"

Eareg Maar - It would change nothing. You know I don't like being attached to your quaint little city any more than necessary.

"Very well.  If you wish to absent yourself from the proceedings, that is your business. We could at the very least have used your skills as a scout.  But I am sure others will rise to the occasion."

Kaius Alexander - Mr. Rasp, would it be possible to arrange a scrying in advance of the Conclave? It would be to our benefit to acquire as much information as possible.

"We could attempt it if we had a focus, something to link us to the army," Chaa Ibl says.  "It is difficult to scry on strangers without one."

Kaius Alexander - I see. I will admit to unfamiliarity with the intricacies of such witcheries...

* Tarim sips his wine idly.

"Who precisely was your source, Mr. Alexander?" Rasp asks.

Kaius Alexander - I will acknowledge the common perception of unreliability associated with such. I was informed by a jatayi flock in the skies of the Flense Veldt, on my return to Macellaria via airship. They asked for nothing, and so had no gain in spinning such a tale. Additionally, these jatayi were known personally to myself, and we hold mutual respect for each other.

"I see.  I do not share in the racial prejudices so many hold against the jatayi.  The evidence that someone is planning an attack has been mounting already - I think the Conclave will be persuaded.  If there is nothing more, I must get to work at once.  Meet me at the militia headquarters in two hours."

* Koldobika thinks that, at the very least, some scouts would be a damn wise decision on their part, no matter how skeptical they were.

Distantly, thunder rumbles.

Kaius Alexander - I will be there.

* Kaius Alexander bows, and turns to depart.

"I hope, Tarim, that you will also choose to join us.  And you as well, Koldobika and Vetter."

"As for you, Mr. Maar, think over the possibility.  Should a mere lack of patriotism ruin an otherwise sound business opportunity?"

Tarim - I'll attend, but that's as much as I'll be doing for you for now

* Koldobika needs to remember Maar's absolute weakness for money in the future.

Eareg Maar - I am decidedly uninterested in your business opportunities... they tend to have limited value for the danger they tend to put me in.

Mr. Rasp seems to hiss quietly, and says nothing more.  He turns back to the city and speaks quietly to Chaa Ibl, who heads to the elevator as well.

Kaius Alexander - Eareg, I would ask you to reconsider. The threat to our own ongoing business interests is very real.

Eareg Maar - To yours maybe. From my perspective the only thing someone taking over this city changes for me is who I sell my stuff to.

Chaa Ibl departs the Guildhall swiftly to get messages to the other Guildmasters and Conclave members.

Yagg and his companions are now variously unconscious, nude, or muttering about serpents while rocking back and forth.

Kaius Alexander - That attended to, do we have any other pressing matters? No? Then I shall return to my Tower and await the appointed time.

* Koldobika pulls a now near-unconscious Vetter after him.

You step out into the Bazaars once more, where the reverie is becoming frenetic.

As the bells of the Fane of Dust distantly toll midnight the music swells.  The revellers in the street prepare to begin the Danse Macabre.  As the musicians play the eerie, rollicking notes of the song, the sky is illumined by a flash of unnerving red lightning.  The ugly clouds overhead are grotesquely swollen and the blackish-purple of a fresh bruise, streaked with red like veins.  The rumble of thunder is loud and close.  There are shrieks and ululations as the grave-spawn begin their raucous dance and the music assumes a frenzied, darkly joyous character.

A second strike, closer still, strikes one of the spires of Worm-Hive, and the clouds abruptly burst open.  Rain begins to fall - but, in the light of the torches and the lamps of the market, you see that it is vivid crimson and thick as blood.  It spatters the streets, so that the carven, screaming faces underfoot look like they are bleeding.

Kaius Alexander - ...Unusual.

Tarim - Uh, I think we better hurry.

* Eareg Maar sees the Red Rain and ducks into cover.

* Koldobika takes it upon himself to move very quickly when Tarim suggests going faster.

"Red Rain!" Someone shrieks.

Eareg Maar - What the Hells?

People begin scrambling and covering their mouths.

Eareg Maar - Get out of the rain now!

* Eareg Maar yells at the party.

* Koldobika gets out of the rain, yanking Vetter with him.

* Tarim scampers into the nearest place offering some shelter.

* Kaius Alexander ducks under any nearby cover.

Kaius' armour is streaked with the rain.  The party is all under cover '" none of you drank of the Rain by accident.  Within moments, the streets have erupted into panic and chaos.

While the shades of the city are unaffected - their viscous minds too alien to be affected - dozens of ghilan revellers are becoming fetch.  Hundreds of uninfected individuals run through the streets, trampling over one another in their haste, cloths held to their mouths.  The Red Rain hasn't fallen on the Twilight Cities since the Ravishing centuries ago, confining its sanguineous depredations to the Slaughter-lands, but it is here now.

Eareg Maar - This is not good. Come on![/ic]

[ooc]Sparkletwist guest stars as "some girl" in this entry and the next.[/ooc][ic=Downpour]* Kaius Alexander draws the Cereblade, but stays under the awning as the rain continues to fall.

* Eareg Maar points the group to a nearby door under the awning.

Eareg Maar - Come onm let's find ourselves somewhere more defensible.

* Tarim curses and casts Harden the Skin anticipating attacks by the fetch.

Nearby are several possible buildings you could duck into - some kind of shop, a house marked with a red cross (a plague sigil), and a ghul-bar whose windows have been broken.

* Eareg Maar heads for the shop.

Eareg Maar - Come on.

The shop is locked.

* Eareg Maar solves that problem with a shot to the lock.

Several fetch twist round at the shot and approach slowly, drenched in the Red Rain.

* Koldobika fully doubts that any locks will fail in the face of Meteor or Kaius' big, metallic boot.

You enter a shop - one of the outposts of the Resin Merchants, nectar held in racks of syringes along the shelves.  The local dealer does not seem to be in evidence.  Apart from the shelves there is a long bar behind which the shopkeeper would sit.

* Tarim hurries in through the door opened by Eareg.

Kaius Alexander - We must make our way to the Militia Headquarters. It is no doubt well defended, and my intended destination regardless.

Eareg Maar – Let's wait for the Rain to end first.

Screams can be heard outside.  There is one window looking out into the street.

* Eareg Maar fires at one of the approaching fetch.

Tarim - Screw the militia. This town is a goner now, we'd better plan to take outr leave before it gets worse.

Unbeknownst to the party, another festival-goer is hiding in the shop.  She is looking a bit slovenly, not unkempt mind you, but she looks like she's already been through a bit of trouble already looks up at the sound, face stained with tears, and then covers her head and wails loudly when the gunshot goes off

The fetch is immolated.  It snarls and retreats, rolling in the rain, trying to put itself out.

* Koldobika readies his weapon, but otherwise does his best to hide behind Kaius until the numbers of fetch facing them become a note-worthy problem.

* Kaius Alexander pulls the door shut and bars it.

* Eareg Maar looks for something to push up against the window.

You can push a shelf full of nectar-phials to cover it.

* Kaius Alexander perks up at the sound of the wail.

Kaius Alexander - Come out.

Oustide, the Rain falls thickly, and the gutters brim with liquid, the crimson precipitation mixing with the blood of the slain and tormented.  Everyone you look, scenes of horror are in evidence.  A crumpled papier-mâché float of a dire maggot lies on the street while nearby fetch brutally force-feed a reveller her own fingers.  Under the eaves of another building a ghul with crazed eyes pulls the entrails from the belly of a leechkin beggar.  Four others are pulling off the limbs of a still-living cestoid and eating its steaming insides.  The buildings are spattered with sprays of blood, while random gobs of viscera or solitary limbs litter the stone tiles.  Never have their twisted expressions seemed so apt.

* Eareg Maar shoves the shelf against the window.

* Kaius Alexander walks to the back of the shop, peering about, his blade bared.

* Koldobika cringes at the wail. Gunfire he was becoming accustomed to, but that high-pitched sort of sound is not one that he is altogether used to yet.

The girl notes all the activity, and tries to retreat further into shadows, apprehensive at all the new activity.

Eareg Maar - I haven't seen this many fetch in one area for a long time.

* Koldobika hasn't, either.

There is a single door in the rear of this room.

* Tarim grips his rifle grimly, having lost his mood along with his cup and wine bottle.

* Vetter is totally out of it.  The drunken foxfolk leans against a wall and hiccups, drowsing.

* Eareg Maar notices the girl.

Eareg Maar – Hmm, what are you doing in here? You the shopkeep? If so, sorry about the lock.

The girl looks dirty, in the tatters of what was once festive garb, but is now tatters hanging here and there on her waifish body, little splatters of the red rain here and there on the ruined clothing.

* Kaius Alexander stands before her, grimly silent in his now red-streaked armour.

She shakes her head. "No... I'm just... hiding here..." she sobs a little.

* Koldobika looks at the source of the wailing. He is largely unsure of what to do now – Red Rain is not something he is used to.

There is a sound of shattering glass.  Something has broken the window.

Eareg Maar – Well, the best we can do is wait for the Rain to subside and see if we can fight our way out.

* Tarim levels his rifle's sights on the window.

The girl screams at the shattering glass, trying to scamper away from both it and the group.

* Kaius Alexander raises his visor, revealing his pallid face. He grabs the woman as she makes to escape.

Kaius Alexander - Settle yourself. We are no murderfolk.

* Koldobika is content to leave the fighting to the others for the time-being. For now, he is curious in assessing any other potential weaknesses in their defense. Specifically, any form of roof access or underground access.

Eareg Maar - Come on lass, don't be daft – the best chance you have of staying alive is to stick with us... unless you'd rather abandon a heavily armed group and go mindlessly running off to feed some fetch.

* Eareg Maar calmly reloads his rifle.

A hand thrusts itself through a crack between window and shelf and begins trying to pull the shelf aside!
* Eareg Maar shoots at the hand.

The hand is hit and withdraws.  The owner snarls.

The girl shudders violently, then lunges, trying to pull away from the man holding her.

* Kaius restrains her.

Kaius Alexander - Calm yourself. We will be leaving shortly, I think. We will take you to the Militia.

There is a loud bang on the door: someone is trying to force their way inside.[/b]

* Kaius Alexander looks towards the door.

The bang repeats.

Tarim - Take care of the door. I'll watch the window.

* Tarim continues to aim at the still partly covered window.

The girl nods, shuddering with a little sob, as she stops struggling against the strong man.

* Eareg Maar works the action on Meteor.

* Kaius Alexander sticks his head through into the back of the shop, peering about, the woman still held over his shoulder.

She sighs. "F-fine... fine. Let me help, at least, then."

Kaius Alexander - I will put you down, then.

* Kaius Alexander lowers her to the ground.

She stays put, this time, but is obviously apprehensive.

* Kaius Alexander looks through rear door.

Through the rear door is a storeroom full of crates.

Kaius Alexander - No matter, here.

There is a third bang.  The door is beginning to splinter.

* Eareg Maar shouts at the door.

Eareg Maar - Go away nobody's home.

* Kaius Alexander places a revolver in her hand.

She takes the revolver, looking at it. "I..." She almost drops it, not expecting the weight.

Kaius Alexander - Be sure the safety is off, when you mean to use it.

She looks at the safety, carefully clicking it off.

* Koldobika ranges further back, in an effort to secure an easy escape route - or another potential defense.

There's a door in the back of the storeroom, locked and barred.

Eareg Maar - Finding anything useful, Kaius?

Kaius Alexander - Come. The fetch will not be long held by that bar, there is a door back here.

Eareg Maar - Oh good.

* Eareg Maar heads after Kaius.

* Koldobika is merrily trotting along behind the two warriors.

Kaius Alexander - And yet, I still hear the thrum of the Red Rain. We cannot venture out in such conditions.

* Eareg Maar listens at the door.

* Tarim slowly treads toward the back door, still keeping his sights on the window.

The rain its hitting the roof and the street hard.  Outside are more screams.  The door shudders and buckles, about to give way.

Kaius Alexander - No. We cannot go yet. We must hold the fetch here.

* Kaius Alexander turns and strides quickly towards the buckling door.

* Eareg Maar nods and aims for the door, walking back into the main room.

The frightened girl looks at the door and winces, trying to hide behind someone big and strong.

* Kaius Alexander unlimbers his shield, and stands with the Cereblade poised before him.

* Koldobika thinks Kaius should just go stand in the doorway - he's clearly tougher than the door is.

The door shatters and a ghul with blood dripping from his mouth enters, crouched, a broken bottle in one hand.  There are more murderfolk behind him.

* Kaius Alexander telekinetically slams his visor shut as the door bursts open.

* Vetter semi-consciously burbles and hiccups.

* Tarim invokes the Entropic Shield hex, and promptly resumes watching for the window, lest any murderfolk manage to attack through it.

* Koldobika waits until Kaius moves into position before he puts himself needlessly into harm's way.

* Eareg Maar sends a welcoming gift screaming down the barrel of his rifle.

Your bullet takes the fetch in the gut.  He grunts but doesn't go down.

* Eareg Maar works the lever on Meteor, ejecting hot brass which clatters to the floor.

The girl screams in horror as the hideous thing enters the room and gets blasted open. She raises the gun, not particularly confident with the thing, nonetheless firing a shot and probably stumbling from the recoil.

The second bullet takes the fetch in the forehead and he slumps down.  His fellows burst in after him, trampling over his corpse.

* Kaius Alexander chops viciously at the fetch right behind its falling companion

Your blow lops off an arm and the fetch shrieks, a jet of crimson gushing from its shoulder.

* Kaius Alexander follows through.

The fetch cuts at you with a knife.

* Kaius Alexander blocks with his shield.

Another of the murderfolk charges in, picking up the severed arm to use as a macabre club.

* Kaius Alexander slashes at her and she trips, bleeding from a wound to the thigh.

Another arm pushes through the window.

* Tarim turns his attention away from the window long enough to take a shot at the "armed" fetch.

* Tarim's bullet rockets through the back of the murderfolk's head, exiting through her face in a gory eruption of viscera and skull fragments.

The girl in the shop screams (you know, something different from what she's been doing this whole time...).

* Koldobika cringes at the sound of the explosion, and the resulting shower of unidentifiable effluvia that flies at him in the aftermath of the shot.

* Koldobika glances about, then moves to take up a position on the other side of the door, hoping to hamstring any fetches that try charging through the portal blindly.

* Eareg Maar aims at the nearest fetch and lets fly

Your shot hits another murderfolk in an explosion of gore and flame.  Those massed outside scatter.  The arm at the window ceases to grope and withdraws.

The Rain also seems to have let up, at least for a moment.  The odd drop still falls from the bruised, sullen-looking sky, but the downpour has ceased.

Eareg Maar - Now might be a good time to make a run for it.

* Tarim reloads, dropping empty shells on the floor.

* Kaius Alexander peers out into the street.

Tarim - Aye, better that we move on before the rain starts anew.

The girl picks herself up off the ground, and slowly approaches the dead body of the man she shot. "I... I... killed him..." she mumbles, sobbing.

Eareg Maar - You killed a monster, girl... that thing was no longer a rational being. Come on let's go.

Kaius Alexander - He was worse than dead before you killed him.

* Koldobika looks to see if the street is as clear as it appears.

Kaius, Kol, the procession of Sisters of the Weeping Lady appears at the end of the street, but they no longer sing their song of lament.  Their pristine white robes are now sodden with the Red Rain and the blood of their victims, for the nuns have clearly become fetch: their mouths are crimson, their eyes are alight with hate, and they wield improvised weapons.  One nun with a repeating crossbow pins a fleeing shade to the wall of a building with two quarrels and two of her Sisters approach it, proceeding to rip its eyes from its head with their nails before moving on.  Three more of the nuns pause in the street to mutilate a crawling man with a cloth pressed to his mouth whose left leg has been ripped off by other murderfolk.  One Sister bends down and rips the cloth from his mouth.  She kisses the man savagely and comes away with his bleeding tongue in her mouth while the other two nuns almost casually slice at his back.  They move their stolen knives back and forth like young children waving paintbrushes on a canvas, pausing every few moments to admire their handiwork.

* Koldobika points out the oncoming procession as a sign for them to hurry up and move.

Kaius Alexander - Come. Move quickly.

* Kaius Alexander hastens out into the street.

Kaius Alexander - And bring the girl.

She follows behind, whimpering at the gruesome sights.

* Eareg Maar follows after Kaius

"Come, be blessed!" one of the nuns cries out, eyes gleaming with dreadful ecstasy.

Eareg Maar - Come any closer and I'll show you a blessing of my own.

Tarim - We ought to go ahead to the Tower of Moans. It will be one of the safer places here, and we can plan our escape from the city there.

Kaius Alexander - No. Our way is blocked. Militia Headquarters is closer.

* Kaius Alexander continues south.

* Koldobika sticks close to the metal monolith.

The nuns laugh and slowly advance - not running, just moving slowly closer.

* Eareg Maar shoots at one of them.

One of the Sisters goes down.  Her brethren cackle and disperse, but continue to slowly advance.  Up ahead, more fetch mutilate the dead and dying.

Eareg Maar - Well that decides me. I think it's long past time that we took a vacation... somewhere far from here.

* Tarim grumbles

* Eareg Maar takes up the rear, watching the groups back as they go.

A slender form advances towards you, and wherever it moves, fetch die.  Limbs and heads fly through the air; severed arteries spray like crimson fountains, mingling with the sanguineous precipitation.  The mistress of this swathe of bloody destruction is Chaa-Ibl, a cloth wrapped round her mouth, eyes gleaming behind her lacquered red mask.  Her damascened, single-edged blade hums as it shears through murderfolk flesh.

Red lightning flashes overhead.

Tarim - A bad night to be out.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head when they near each other.

Kaius Alexander - Chaa-Ibl. It is good to see you unaffected.

"And you as well, Kaius.  I have sent word to the Robber Guilds and the Rag-and-Bones Cartels," she says, her voice muffled slightly.  "But three of the city's factions have yet to be called to Conclave - these damn fetch got in the way.  The Splicing Consortium, the Fleshmongers, and the hagmen elders of Slimesquallor must all be alerted.  I am trying to find a militia detachment to get word to them, but the streets are chaos.  Could you call one of the factions to Conclave and escort them to the Skin Markets?  If you assist me, Mr. Rasp will compensate you after the Conclave."

* Koldobika is glad to see someone else happily carving through the fetch.

Kaius Alexander - Of course. Who shall we summon?

Tarim - The Splicing Consortium can rot! They want me dead anyway.

"It's your choice.  I'll find a way to alert whoever you don't."

Eareg Maar - come on Kaius, we aren't getting any younger here.

* Eareg Maar takes a pot-shot at a fetch.

The girl winces at the sound of the gun. She's very jumpy.

Kaius Alexander - We will bring the elders of Slimesquallor.

Tarim - If they are able to come, anyway.

Kaius Alexander - We will see.

"Good.  I will alert the Fleshmongers and the Consortium, one way or another."

* Kaius Alexander nods to her and resumes walking.

She steps past you and moves towards the nuns, blade in hand...[/ic]

[ic=Escort Duty]You press on into the city.  The puppeteers you saw earlier are evident down a side-street, their morbid puppets - reanimated corpses in outrageous costumes - no longer playing out festive scenarios and bawdy plays but holding down victims for their fetch masters to eviscerate, cannibalize, or otherwise butcher.  One pair of zombies in swan-masks and feathered costumes that must once have been white pin a shade while one of the puppeteers holds a torch to its dead flesh.  The grave-spawn embalmed body goes up in flames and its necrotic captors let it go.  It runs burning down the street, its host-body blackened and disintegrating.

* Kaius Alexander gives them a sidelong glance,

Kaius Alexander - Ignore them. Do not linger.

* Koldobika gladly ignores the morbid sights and scenes of the poisoned city.

You approach the borders of Slimesquallor.  Fortunately the hagman ghetto was not full of revellers at the time the Rain began.  The green stone temples stand silent and menacing.

* Kaius Alexander looks for signs of recent passage, or any movement.

A couple of hagmen skulk in an alleyway, watching the group.  There are too few of them to attempt an assault on such a well-armed band.

Kaius Alexander - We must find the elders. Does no one know their seat?

* Koldobika shakes his head grimly. This could take awhile if they have no ideas. Maybe they should have asked, first.

The girl is rather devout. In this mad world, you have to put your faith in something.  She hesitates, she doesn't really want to speak up. But, she knows this. "T-the Temple of Agnath..." she says meekly.

Tarim, you're pretty sure it's near the Eel's Gate

She shakes her head. "No idea. I've never been." She shudders a little. She'd never go into that part of town.

Tarim - Should be towards the Eel's. But I don't know specifically where.

Kaius Alexander - Come, we will find it.

The sky crackles and the drizzle around you begins to thicken again as you make your way towards the Eel's Gate.  The few fetch you see in the deserted Slimesquallor streets avoid you.  Up ahead you can see the Temple of Agnath, an impressive stone structure with coiled columns, its roof bristling with idols and apotropes.

Kaius Alexander - Forgive me. I have been remiss in this chaos. What is your name, miss?

She looks at you. "Alexandra... my friends call me Lexa. I-I would definitely consider you a friend, after this. If you would have me."

Kaius Alexander - Of course, Alexandra. Your knowledge has been invaluable, and I am not wont to abandon my companions.

* Koldobika is impressed. Kaius is making friends, not bashing their faces in!

The Rain is now beginning to fall about you once more, a red drizzle rapidly becoming a torrent!

* Kaius Alexander exhales in frustration,

Kaius Alexander - Hurry. We must get under cover.

* Kaius Alexander quickens his pace and heads for the Temple.

* Tarim runs as fast as he can, not looking to see if the others are keeping up.

* Koldobika certainly has no problem keeping pace.

The temple door is shut.

The girl runs with you, and abruptly pauses, giving a loud gasp. She then turns, raising her gun, and firing it at the first person she sees!

* Eareg Maar barely ducks to avoid her shot!

* Kaius Alexander whirls, raising his blade.

* Eareg Maar unfurls his whip and strikes her.

She screeches. "THERE IS NOTHING LEFT! NOTHING LEFT! YOU TOOK IT ALL FROM ME!"

Kaius Alexander - Open the door. I will handle her.

* Tarim hears the gunshot but doesn't slow down; he has no intention to stop until he's standing under shelter.

* Koldobika is confused. While having seen fetch a few moments ago, he really hasn't seen someone abruptly change like this, and it does take him aback.

* Eareg Maar curses.

* Tarim stops by the door, loads his rifle as he leans on the doorframe, and turns to see what is going on with the group.

She screams. "DIE! DIE ALL OF YOU!" She whirls around and fires another shot at whoever seems to be the most threatening to her at the time.

* Kaius Alexander strides towards her. Deflecting the shot with his shield, he raises his sword above his head. Striking, he stabs Alexandra through the chest.

She slumps down.  Her blood begins to pool, mingling with the Rain.

"I thought you said... you... wouldn't... abandon..." she gasps out, a bit of blood oozing from her mouth. Then she collapses.

* Kaius Alexander frowns beneath his visor, then bends down to pick up the revolver.

* Koldobika decides it seems prudent to try to get inside the best way presented – which happens to be one of the small windows – clearly as effective a defence as it is for its obvious function.

Kol, you squeeze through the window and into a dim chamber where a many-armed, adrogynous hagman idol stands.  Several hagmen in hide armour immediately rush towards you, menacing you with ceremonial spears!

"Begone, fetch!" The hagmen shriek.

* Koldobika begins flailing wildly in Flicker, trying to make himself not seem like a mindless fetch.

* Eareg Maar winds up his whip as he makes a run for the Temple

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika is sane. The Koldobika is normal. The Koldobika is here for Elders. Elders will be brought to Conclave. Escorts wait beyond door.

* Tarim, seeing the girl-fetch taken care of, turns to the door and knocks it.

There is no response, Tarim.

* Koldobika points at the door when knocking is heard.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The knocking is friends. The friends are escorts for Conclave.

The hagmen look at you in bewilderment, Kol.

* Kaius Alexander extends a hand to have it hover over Alexandra's rain-slicked face. He closes his eyes and concentrates. He twiches a finger, and one of Alexandra's arms moves. Continuing his motions, she rises, like some perverse marionette.

* Eareg Maar shouts through the door.

Eareg Maar - We aren't fetch but if you don't let us in you'll wish that's all we were.

As you have not done anything violent they are not yet attacking... but they aren't lowering their spears, either.  They don't seem to understand Flicker.

Tarim - Open up! We're here to summon you to the Conclave!

* Koldobika thinks it is highly probable that not a single other damn creature in this city actually knows Flicker.

* Kaius Alexander sprints towards the cover of the Temple.

Lexa's body trundles after.

"What Conclave?" You hear one hagman say.

* Koldobika points at the door. Then he begins miming armed figures marching.

One of the hagmen cocks its head.

* Kaius Alexander strides up the steps towards the door

* Eareg Maar suddenly fades to wraith-like translucency and steps through the door.

Eareg, you pass through the door and into the temple.

Eareg Maar - Stop wasting our time.

The hagman temple guards panic, and a spear passes through your incorporeal body.

* Koldobika isn't being stabbed, and is not in the rain. Either way, this is not a terrible place to have a stand-off so far

Eareg Maar - Would you cut that out? We aren't here to hurt you.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Rasp calls Conclave. The Rasp will see the Elders. the conclave must be now.

Kaius Alexander - The Conclave for the defence of the city. Herruku descends upon us with a horde thousands strong. Mr. Rasp has called for your presence.

The hagmen lower their spears.  One opens the door and ushers everyone else inside, hesitant but convinced you're not fetch.

* Kaius Alexander stands before them. Drops of Red Rain run from his armour, to pool on the floor.

* Eareg Maar slips back into corporeality.

"I will inform our leaders," one guard stammers.  "Remain here."  The hagmen departs, slithering away into the greenish gloom of the temple, in-between the coiled columns.  The others relax slightly, but remain skittish.

* Eareg Maar takes the time to pull out his pipe and light up.

Presently, a thin adrogyne hagman with jewels in its hair appears from a side-door, escorted by a pair of temple guards. Tarim, Kaius, you recognize the elder you once met before, in the old Temple of Agnath.

* Eareg Maar puffs out a few tufts of smoke and looks at Kaius.

Tarim - I hope you have plenty of umbrellas here, for it seems that the weather out there is determined to make travel cumbersome. How about it, hagmen?

* Tarim asks them amusedly.

The hagmen shake their heads, Tarim.  "We enjoy the rain under usual circumstances, ghul.  We do not have any umbrellas..."

* Eareg Maar looks at the girl zombie.

Eareg Maar - Was that really necessary.

* Eareg Maar gestures at her.

Kaius Alexander - It was not unnecessary.

* Eareg Maar shrugs and blows out a smoke ring.

Eareg Maar - True enough.

* Koldobika isn't quite sure who anyone here is, or why there is a Lexa zombie now shuffling around...

"What is this about a Conclave?" The hagman elder demands.  It slithers towards you, leaving a disgusting mucal slick wherever it moves.

Kaius Alexander - As I said, Herruku the Flagellator marches towards Macellaria with a host many thousands strong. Mr. Rasp has called a Conclave to deal with this threat. I suspect this Red Rain is no coincidence.

"Rasp you say?  That damned leechkin devil is always up to no good.  I'm not going to any Conclave of his!"

Tarim - Well, we're not going to force you or anything. Your choice.

Eareg Maar - Of course if Herruku successfully takes the city, you'll probably all be slaughtered.

The hagman grunts.

Kaius Alexander - You would do well to heed his call, this time at least. As my companion says, your lives are in danger.

Eareg Maar - Your choice really, your pride or your lives.

* Koldobika thinks they would rather die with their pride.

Tarim - Of course you could try and flee the city. But crossing the Slaughter-lands might be a bit difficult to your kind.

"Hmph.  I suppose everyone else will be at the meeting.  Where is this Conclave being held?"

Kaius Alexander - Neutral ground. Militia headquarters.

"And you are the best escort that leech filth could drum up, eh?"

* Koldobika snickers. Most convenient, really.

Tarim - The leech was lucky enough to have so much as any escort for you at all.

Eareg Maar – Sadly, all he could find was the group of misfits who singlehandedly stopped the plague. Sorry he couldn't get better for you

Koldobika (Flicker, at Eareg) - The plague is plagues.

* Eareg Maar looks oddly at Koldobika gesturing at him.

Eareg Maar - I don't speak finger.

Kaius Alexander - He said, 'the plague is plagues.'

* Koldobika politely presents Eareg with a very un-polite gesture, wondering if he understands that.

Kaius Alexander - We are capable of ensuring your safety, do not doubt us.

The hagman squints.  "Wait... I recognize you!  I've met you before... you were at the Old Temple that night..."

Kaius Alexander - I was.

Tarim - Were we? I would say that we definitely weren't. No one was there that night.

The hagman grins.

Tarim - And that's the story I'm sticking to.

* Kaius Alexander grunts.

"Of course, of course.  Alright.  You proved yourselves capable as I recall, at that place none of us were at.  We shall leave once the accursed Rain ceases."

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

Kaius Alexander - As you wish.

After a short while the Red Rain lets up again.

Tarim - Let us hope the lull lasts longer this time.

The hagman elder and a small escort of three temple guards exit the Temple of Agnath.

Kaius Alexander - Pellucid. Bring up the rear.

The demon nods and smiles toothily.

The group heads back towards the Skin Markets, through the forsaken streets.  A few hagmen lie dead in puddles of the Red Rain, but the fetch avoid you as before.  For awhile you think you might make it without any additional unpleasant encounters.  Then one of the Hellequins - a shade - rides into the street on his skeletal steed, pursued by seven of his fellows.  On seeing you, three of the motley-clad figures break off their chase and bring their mounts about, hexes on their tongues!

* Koldobika skitters forward, staying well behind the front line, and readies his shortbow, unleashing a hastily-aimed shot at the leading horseman.

The arrow quivers in the fetch's shoulder.  He plucks it away and speaks a word of evil power which manifests as a bolt of greasy black numina, directed at Kol.

* Koldobika rolls, trying to avoid the attack.

The hex hits the cobblestones.  Another hex bounces off Kaius' shield.  The third horseman speaks an incantation and a lance of darkness congeals out of the aether in his hands.

* Tarim stops, seeing the Hellequins attacking them. He gestures with his left hand, holding a rifle in his right, and utters eldritch words. With a resounding command he summons writhing mass of groping tentacles that burst out of the cobbled street like some unwholesome weeds.

Your tentacles pull the skeletal steeds down and entangle them and their riders!

* Kaius Alexander strides towards a Hellequin; he sweeps in from the side with the Cereblade.

* Eareg Maar steps forward as familiar black tendrils weave down his arms tracing the outline of Meteor's barrel before leaping out to anchor to the head of a Hellquin

* Eareg Maar sends a volley soaring towards the creature.

Your bullet wounds the leading Hellequin, Eareg.  Kaius, you hack at the entangled Hellequin and wound him badly; he parries as best he can with a sickle, but you disengage around his attack easily.

The hagman elder speaks a spell of its own and mist begins to descend upon you.

"Let us hasten and leave these riders in the fog," the scrawny creature proclaims.  "Before they can pursue!"

* Eareg Maar frowns as he works the action on his gun, a puff of smoke from his pipe escaping between pallid lips.

* Koldobika finds the attempts to flee to be an unfortunate turn of a coward, and he acts against the suggestion by moving about to find a better angle to strike at one of the fetch from.

The arrow is swallowed by the eldritch mist.

Kaius Alexander - As you would have it. They should be some time in pursuit. Come. We go.

* Kaius Alexander reforms with the party.

* Koldobika regathers with the group.

You hear sounds of crushing bone and strangulation from inside the fog.  Having evaded the Hellequins using clevery witchery, you approach the Skin Markets, still escorting the hagman elder and his retinue.

The Militia headquarters near the Skin Markets is an imposing structure with numerous fortifications - an ancient keep, built by some bygone regime and repurposed by the city's current defenders.  Black Arrows man the battlements and guard the door, a disproportionate number of them grave-spawn, many of the quick militia having succumbed to disease.  All have cloths over their mouths to protect them from the Red Rain.

* Kaius Alexander trudges towards the keep, splashing through puddles of the Red Rain.[/ic]

[ic=Conclave]Chaos still rages in the streets, which are littered with bodies and crimson with blood and Rain.  The guards eye you suspiciously as you draw near.  A scream pierces the air, several streets away, followed by mad, eager laughter...

* Koldobika is on guard for fetch - as the Rain itself is more of an omnipresent threat - the fetch themselves are in some ways more dangerous for their unpredictability.

* Kaius Alexander halts before the line of Militiamen.

One of the nuns bursts from an alleyway, her clothes sodden with blood, a severed hand clutched in one hand by the hair.  Her mouth is streaked crimson.  She stops when she sees the party and backs away...

"Who goes there?" The guard demands.

Kaius Alexander - I am Kaius Alexander. Under the direction of Mr. Rasp, we bring a delegation of Elders from Slimesquallor.

"Ah, yes.  We were told to expect you.  Get in quickly, before more of those redmouthed madmen show up."

Tarim - Don't need to tell us twice.

* Kaius Alexander sheathes the Cereblade, and proceeds inside

* Tarim enters the building, rifle resting across his shoulder

* Vetter stumbles in barely cognizant of his surroundings.

The hagmen slither up the steps, befouling them with mucus.  The Militia guard leads you inside and up a flight of stone steps to a large, austere council room where the other members of the Conclave are assembled - persons of import in Macellaria, the reigning oligarchs of the city, and their many bodyguards, some of them still spattered with blood from fending off fetch in the streets.  Chief amongst the notables are the masters of the Robber Guilds.  Mr. Rasp of the Crimson Shadows sits at one end of the table, Chaa-Ibl and the enigmatic, hooded thing called the Cowl just behind him.  Nazzirr, seven-armed outcast of Dolmen, representing the Tattered Web, scrutinizes the other members with his eight eyes, while the eternally pregnant ghul known as the Matron, leader of the Hungry Ghosts, chats amiably with one of the High Warlocks of the Iridescent Angles, a wiry man in an intricately embroidered cloak whose eyes glow gold with nectar.  From across the table Chaltena Volench, garbed in crimson armour and bedecked with holy symbols of Striga, sneers at the inhumans and grave-spawn, Servius Izar and another Untainted Guildsman behind her.  Servius looks rather pallid and sickly, and has lost a great deal of weight, though he is still enormous in size; he rests his hands across the butt of the maul which killed Gorethirst.  Finally, a Howling Suns lieutenant, proxy to the reputedly insane Guildmaster Lorvo Kaerrel, sits quietly to one side.

The Robber Guildmasters are not the only members of the Conclave, of course.  A thin, long-bearded man in patchwork clothes displays the osseous talisman of the chief-most Rag-and-Bones Cartel, principle guild of the city's merchants.  A man wearing the chimera-symbol of the Splicing Consortium is seated next to the Iridescent Angle Warlock; he bristles with odd grafts, including the arm of a waxborn, shifting from form to form constantly - leechkin, human, crustacean, reptile, avian, ape.  Across from him is an ancient crone with the dark colouration typical of Erebh.  Though she is incredibly aged her large eyes glitter with intelligence, and her features retain a great deal of exotic beauty; through process of elimination you surmise that she is likely one of the senior Fleshmongers.  Near the other end of the table sits the gladiatorial champion known as the Rotten King, a shade, the armour sutured to his body glistening in the torchlight.  Finally, at the far head of the table, three Black Arrows - Captain Sere and two humans - sit sternly.  There are numerous seats: you will not have trouble finding places to sit.

The hagman elder seats itself near the Fleshmonger; its guards linger behind it.

* Kaius Alexander seats himself nearby to Mr. Rasp and raises his visor.

* Eareg Maar leans against the wall.

* Koldobika is careful to avoid the Striga worshipers, all too aware of what happened to their church, and taking no chances that they may think he or his companions had anything to do with it. He observes everyone else cautiously, unaware of any existing relation to his group.

* Tarim remains standing, near the doorway so that he may exit easily in case of any emergency.

* Eareg Maar takes Meteor off his back and sits down on the floor back against the wall still puffing from his pipe.  He idly pulls a small leather pouch marked with a gun shaped brand and opens the flap revealing a number of intricate tools, then begins carefully cleaning his gun.

* Koldobika takes a seat nearby Eareg. In this case, a healthy dose of paranoia and suspicion seems appropriate to replicate.

* Vetter seats himself near the hagmen, staggering into his seat.

The Conclave is convened.

"Leaders of Macellaria, and others of repute," Mr. Rasp intones.  "You have been called here to discuss a matter of extreme importance - a crisis that will make the epidemics seem like a bout of flu and the events of tonight like a party that got a bit out of hand.  I have received information that the petty warlord and bandit leader styling himself Herruku the Flagellator has used his ill-gotten gains to raise himself an army which even now marches towards the city from the north.  Never before has he marshalled such a force: we must assume that he intends either to sack the city or to take it for himself, install himself as despot.  Mr. Alexander, would you please describe what you told me?"

Outside, the muffled moans and shrill cries of the dying can faintly be heard, and the Red Rain patters against the walls, another torrent descending on the city.

* Kaius Alexander gets to his feat stiffly, the gears in his armour grinding.

Kaius Alexander - Delegates. Mr. Rasp speaks truly. Returning to Macellaria by air, I by chance encountered a flight of jatayi in the skies of the Flense Veldt. They begged nothing of me save that I bear their news to you. Herruku the Flagellator has gathered a substantial army, and marches towards Macellaria, bringing with him beasts and constructs of great power. I would not waste your time with such had I thought it unlikely. I trust the source implicitly. In light of the city's recent tribulations, I implore you to consider this matter with great care.

Chaltena Volench, Guildmistress of the Untainted, raises her voice shrilly and addresses the Conclave, cutting in abruptly.  "How can we trust this so-called intelligence?" she demands.  "It comes second-hand from that flock of carrion-feeders who tell lies for a living, relayed to us by a petty mercenary and a leech.  How can it possibly be considered reliable?"

"The Black Arrows have additional evidence which enhances the credibility of the report," Captain Sere interjects, snarling.  "A group of "petty mercenaries", as you put it, present with us at this Conclave, recently made a disturbing discovery while risking their lives to save the city.  I'm sure all of you are aware that a Banehulk was recently discovered outside the city limits, but not all of you may have heard the condition it was found in."  He turns to the rest of the party.  "Tell them what you found."

* Kaius Alexander turns his head to the other members of his group.

* Tarim speaks up, somewhat lazily.

Tarim - The monstrosity was bound with a great chain, marked by sigils. It could not leave its den due to this device.

* Koldobika considers speaking up, but realizes that such a task would be very difficult for him - and most here are probably too lazy to have learned the signs for Flicker. So he lets the more knowledgeable and scary of his associates continue speaking of the situation - something he admittedly knows rather little about.

"My men can corroborate this report," Sere says.

"That is not direct evidence of an army approaching the city," Chaltena grumbles quietly, but she has been somewhat cowed.

"We have already sent out scouts to confirm the report and estimate the army's exact size," another of the Black Arrows says - a bald, gray-bearded man with mismatched eyes (one with a jagged scar around it: probably a grafted replacement).  "But the incident, when combined with Mr. Alexander's information, strongly suggests that Herruku was employing the Banehulk as a biological weapon, to weaken the city's defences.  Indeed, the Red Rain which even now still descends upon the city may well be his doing, somehow.  Who knows what fell witcheries he has at his disposal?

"Until we have direct evidence otherwise we must assume that Herruku has designs on Macellaria; if we fail to act, and act quickly, it may be too late.  So, the question is - how do we plan to defend the city?  We have taken extraordinary losses from the recent troubles; the dead Black Arrows number in the dozens, the injured and sickly in the hundreds, and doubtless dozens more will become murderfolk tonight.  We've got a skeleton guard patrolling the battlements and barely keeping the quarantine in place; those few men not on the walls or at the gates are desperately trying to keep the peace in the streets and stop the fetch from overrunning the whole damn town.  One of the Watchdogs is injured and still recuperating.  In our present state we will be unable to hold off any form of determined attack.  We require additional forces."

"The Splicing Consortium will get to work immediately constructing additional servitors using the bodies of plague victims," the grafted witch says.  "But, as you know, such beings are only of limited combat utility - no match for hardened warriors and sound military tactics.  Still, they may slow down Herruku's army."

"Criminals sentenced to the Pits might be pressed into service in exchange for their freedom," the Rotten King suggests, its voice eerie and rattling.

"Good," Sere says.  "Additional ideas?"

Kaius Alexander - Would it not be possible to call for volunteers? Surely at least some among the citizenry will fight to defend their city.

* Eareg Maar continues working on his weapon paying little attention to the heated conversation.

"We'll certainly accept volunteers, but few are in fighting condition.  Still, everybody with a weapon will be a help."

"We possess a number of weapons that may be of use," the Iridescent Angle Warlock says.  "They will not destroy the army on their own, but they will kill many men."

* Tarim observes the ongoing Conclave disinterestedly. He makes no attempt to get involved.

* Koldobika has few ways to share his thoughts. But with the presentation before him, it is not his way to simply blurt out half-thoughts. He leaves Eareg and moves over to Kaius, patting Kaius' massive armored fist for attention.

* Kaius Alexander turns to regard the zerda.

Koldobika (Flicker, directed at Kaius) - The City is limited in its possessions. A large army must only wait until there no possessions within. The Flagellator must be slowed. Slow outside the city.

Vetter, you are blearily coming to.  For the past few minutes you've been dozing in a stupor, dreaming of those nuns... you awake to find yourself in a council chamber.  There are a lot of people you don't know all around you.

Kaius Alexander - My companion raises the possibility that Herreku means to invest the city. What is the state of the city's granaries? Could we resist a prolonged siege?

"We can resist a siege for quite awhile, if the gates hold," Sere states.  "Supplies are not the problem, but manpower."

Vetter - What... erm. 'Ello there.

A hagman with shrunken heads lopped around its neck and a grafted ghul's eye looks down at you quizzically.

Vetter - I, uh... I'm Vetter. Delighted to meet you.

The hagman says nothing.

* Vetter looks down at himself, checking he's all in one piece, fully clothed, etcetera.

You've got all your equipment, Vetter, but your fur and clothes are sodden with what looks like blood!  You can hear rain outside, very loud, and... screams?

Koldobika (Flicker) - Zerda move freely in deserts. We do not use cities. Cities can be overrun. Need to move for safety. City cannot move. Army must be slowed to make time. Resistance is meaningless without assistance. Resistance only matters if help from without is present. Time is needed to secure without help.

Vetter - So... I know... erm. Look, help me out here, mate, what's going on? Where am I?

"You're at a secret military Conclave deciding what to do about the army approaching the city, you mottled fool!" The hagman whispers.

Vetter - Oh, right. Brilliant.

* Vetter gets to his feet and tries to de-bloodify himself somewhat.

You splatter one of the hagmen behind you, Vetter.

Vetter - Sorry, sorry. I'm just... I'm sorry, alright?

* Eareg Maar mumbles something about turning the army's own tactics against it and giving them the plague.

* Kaius Alexander furrows his brows at Koldobika.

"What was that, Mr. Maar?"  Mr. Rasp asks.

Eareg Maar – Oh, I just figured that it'd be rather amusing to give them a taste of their own medicine; or rather, a taste of their own plagues.

"How do you propose to do that?  Do you have another Banehulk handy?"

Eareg Maar - Well you don't need a Banehulk to make someone sick; in fact the Banehulk itself wasn't making you sick, it was all the plagues it was carrying.

* Koldobika thinks Eareg would rather just ditch the city and not look back.

Eareg Maar - And we still have a Banehulk corpse...

"A corpse that was burned."

Eareg Maar - ...not totally, but nevermind that. Personally I don't care what you do, though if this invader is responsible for the Red Rain I'd be happy to watch him suffer.

* Eareg Maar goes back to his cleaning.

Kaius Alexander - What of mercenaries? It is my understanding that in the south, wars are not fought directly, but between hired companies of brigands and sellswords.

* Vetter idly licks at his grafted claw, giving everyone shifty glances, clearly very uncomfortable.

"It may be a possibility," Captain Sere says.  "If we can't use the Banehulk itself, perhaps some of the corpses of the dead could be used as weapons."

Koldobika (Flicker) - Armies require supplies. Need water. We have much Red Rain here. Sneaks place into Flagellator's supplies.

Mr. Rasp notices Kol's gesticulations.  "Unfortunately, the Rain becomes inert moments after falling," the leechkin says. "A good thought, however.  Spoiling his supplies would hamper him considerably, slow his advance."

Koldobika (Flicker, to Rasp) - Then use fire. Make no supplies.

Rasp inclines its head to the zerda. "You have a head for strategy, little one," the leechkin says from one palm-mouth. "As for mercenaries, the Pale Legion is camped outside Lophius," Mr. Rasp continues, in response to Kaius.  "The City of the Lamprey hired them to take care of some troublesome leechkin tribes; now that their little genocide is over they've been lingering in the City of the Lamprey, whoring and feasting their way through their payment.  The Dead Men were last in Crepuscle tracking down marauders out in the waste, and the Centaurs, I believe, are somewhere in the vicinity of Marainein, escorting caravans across the Mewling Moors and the Barrens.  The other companies of any size are too far away to get here in time to be of any use; even the Dead Men would arrive after Herruku's forces.

"I will see about sending some men to infiltrate his supply lines.  The Crimson Shadows are skilled when it comes to stealth."

* Vetter nudges a nearby hagman

Vetter (sotto voce) - So, is there anything to drink around here? Or eat? I council best after consuming stuff.

The hagman looks at you incredulously.

Vetter - Alright, alright. Just asking!

* Kaius Alexander eyes the representative of the Splicing Consortium.

Kaius Alexander - In regards to your efforts at increasing production of undead servitors, may I suggest arming them in the Northern fashion? I have seen the Phalanxes of Somnambulon in action on the field, and while individually a zombie is no threat, in such a formation they become an anvil upon which to destroy your foes.

"Perhaps you could assist us in the creation of such phalanxes, Mr. Alexander," the Splicer says.

Kaius Alexander - Perhaps I could.

* Eareg Maar pipes in again.

Eareg Maar - Well if you're going to slow them down that, would be a good place to hit. Poison their water sources.

* Vetter sidles over to a wall and sits down on the floor with his back to it, trying to work out what's going on.

Koldobika (Flicker) - Armies move to water. Movements become predictable. Predictability means they can be trapped. If not Red Rain, then poison, even.

* Eareg Maar looks down the inside of Meteor's barrel as he talks

Eareg Maar - Hit enough of them and you could bring them to a halt, even.

Koldobika (Flicker) - Force army to use stored supplies. Then strike stored supplies. Not easy. Better than waiting to die.

Eareg Maar - Well if you poison enough water and destroy enough supplies they would be forced to stop or even backtrack to the Radula to keep the army alive. That'd buy you time to gather more forces.

* Eareg Maar finishes putting Meteor back together and takes out a rag with which he begins carefully polishing the barrel.

Captain Sere nods.  "Trap them yes, and hit their supplies, certainly but by what forces?  I heard talk of mercenaries, but who will be hiring them?  With what funds?"

* Koldobika shrugs.

Koldobika (Flicker) - Death or a pauper.

"With regards to mercenaries, it sounds like the Pale Legion and the Centaurs would be our best bet," Nazzirr says.  "If we levy our members and dig into our treasury the Tattered Web can manage one hundred thousand obeloi."

"The Angles can double that," the Warlock says.

"And the Crimson Shadows as well," Rasp adds.

"The Hungry Ghosts can provide a hundred and fifty thousand," the Matron states.

"And the Howling Suns can pledge another seventy thousand."

"If this threat proves real, the Untainted can provide a hundred and thirty thousand," Chaltena begrudgingly relents.

"That's nearly enough to get the Legion, at least for awhile," Rasp says.

"The Consortium can cover the difference," the grafted fleshcrafter indicates.

"And the Fleshmongers can put two hundred thousand towards hiring at least some of the Centaurs," the old crone says.

"Likewise the Cartels," the bearded merchant adds.

"My people do not have such fabulous sums at their disposal," the hagman elder says.  "But I will see what I can do."

"If we need them for longer we can borrow from Crepuscle," Rasp notes.  "Though we should avoid the moneylenders as much as possible."

"So, we'll hire mercenaries and try and delay the army's advance by raiding their supply lines," the human Militia captain says.  "Even if we can scrape together enough funds to pay the Pale Legionnaires and a band of the Centaurs, we need to send people quickly to make them an offer.  We could send Black Arrows, but frankly, we need as many men as possible to remain in the city. Those that aren't defending it should be sent out to harrass the army's supply lines."

"Why not send these cleavers to hire one of the companies?" the Matron says, gesturing to the party.  "They have proved themselves more than capable in my estimation."

"I concur," Mr. Rasp states.  "I have had dealings with them before: I believe we can trust them with this task, if they are willing to accept it.  I will personally offer them one thousand bones apiece if they agree."
Necks crane towards you, awaiting your response.

* Koldobika likes that idea. It gets him out of the city and gets him very far away from the marauding army.

Vetter - I'll do it, on one condition.

"...Yes?"

Vetter - Someone tell me why I'm covered in gleetin' blood!

* Koldobika puts a paw to his forehead.

Eareg Maar - Don't worry Vetter, I'm sure you'll figure it out once we're outside.

* Eareg Maar stands up.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Vetter drinks too much.

Vetter - (Flicker) The Koldobika does not drink enough.

Koldobika (Flicker) - The Koldobika is not wondering why the Vetter is covered in blood.

Kaius Alexander - If that is the Conclave's wish, I will seek out these mercenaries and secure the city a contract.

Eareg Maar - Bloody hells I'm game I'll be your message-boy - but not because I give a damn about you or your petty city. Because it gets me away from your city. Oh and the money helps too

* Eareg Maar takes a long puff from his pipe the embers lighting his face in a sinister manner.

Tarim - I'll take the job, so long as I'm not required to return to the city with the mercenaries.

"Very well. You will not have enough time to alert both groups.  Which will you make for?"

Kaius Alexander - Which of these companies has the fiercer reputation? Who is more reliable? Will either turn to the enemy, should the prospects of victory favour our enemy?

"The Pale Legion are the more reliable, in all probability," Rasp says.  "However, the Centaurs have tipped the tide on many a battle.  We can find more men to alert the other company, whichever you choose."

Tarim - With things being as they are now, I'd rather head to Lophius.

Kaius Alexander - I too favour securing the services of the Pale Legion. Every army needs a stout force of infantry to provide its core.

Eareg Maar - Why have only time for one? Surely there are enough of us to warn both. Perhaps I should warn the Centaurs and you the Pale Legion. I am the best equipped to survive a trek through Dour Erg.

Mr. Rasp turns to Eareg.  "I'm surprised at you, Mr. Maar.  A bold plan... would you require assistance?  Or would you make better time on your own?"

Eareg Maar - No more bold than normal, lest you forget that I'm more at home in the wastes then you are in your own bedchamber, Mr. Rasp. I'll make the best time on my own.

"Very well.  The Conclave requests that you seek out the Centaurs and hire as many herds you can with five hundred thousand obeloi, while your companions travel to Lophius as soon as possible and speak with Legatus Ulrich Norschan, commander of the Pale Legion.  Hire as many cohorts as you can; you will have one million obeloi at your disposal."

Eareg Maar - I will of course require a mark of proof signed by those who are paying for their services. If they're intelligent mercs they will of course demand such a thing, and supplies for the trip.

* Koldobika believes that living mercs are generally intelligent mercs.

"A chest of bones will be granted to you, but the bulk of the sum shall of course remain here, contingent on their completion of the contract.  Supplies will be granted you."

Vetter - There's a couple of things I will need to complete this mission.

"Indeed?"

Vetter - A top hat.

The Guildmasters exchange looks as if to say... what in the Hells are we thinking?

* Kaius Alexander glowers at Vetter.

* Eareg Maar doubles over in laughter.

Eareg Maar - Oh Hells, give the man his hat!

Vetter - And... no that's it.

* Tarim grumbles about top hats on zerda heads being a terribly poor taste on fashion.

Koldobika (Flicker) - No cane?

Vetter - Oh, thanks, Kol! Yes, a cane would be splendid.

* Eareg Maar redoubles his laughter.

"Ah... I'm sure that can be arranged."  Rasp gives Kaius a look, as if to signify 'who is this clown?'

* Kaius Alexander returns Mr. Rasp's look blankly.

* Eareg Maar is picturing the whole ridiculous idea of a gentleman zerda

"You must leave as soon as possible.  With first light, preferably."

Vetter - Suits me.

"With any luck the city will still be standing when you return," Sere adds.

Kaius Alexander - We will set out upon our expedition with all haste.

* Vetter seems to have regained a little of his swagger now that his demands have been agreed to

Tarim - It'll be good enough if it's still standing by the time we leave.

"I mislike entrusting our city's well-being to these ruffians," Chaletena says.  "But if this is the will of the Conclave, so be it."

* Eareg Maar puts away his things.

* Koldobika wonders how a zerda with a top hat and cane could be considered a ruffian.

Eareg Maar – Yes, and I suppose I can see why you'd not trust us ruffians. I mean after all we only slayed a Banehulk for you and saved you all from the plagues.

* Eareg Maar tips his hat and heads for the door.

Servius Izar glowers at you from behind the Guildmistress, watching you leave.

Vetter (in a mock educated accent) - Slew, Eareg. The past tense, I believe, is slew.

Eareg Maar - Oh hush, you drunk bastard, and come on let's go get your top hat and track down some mercs.

Vetter - Yes sir!

* Vetter hurries after Eareg

* Tarim exits without much in the way of ceremony.

* Kaius Alexander bows to the assembled personages.

Kaius Alexander - I will return with the Pale Legion. You have my word.[/ic]