The Campaign Builder's Guild

First player character death.

This fight was very, very close.  An early sunder gave Servius the edge and Gorethirst was being seriously batted around at first, but it made an enormous comeback by unleashing its berzerker powers and using a suicidal strike and other combat challenges, dishing out over 40 damage in a single round *without critical hits*, nearly enough to make Servius save for massive damage.  I was convinced that the next step would essenitally be the coup-de-grace, since Servius had been dealing between 10 and 20 damage a round and even with a full attack would be very unlikely to kill Gorethirst, who still had 44 hp, whereas Servius had 4 hp. A single bite from Gorethirst would have sent him below 0.

Then Servius got a lucky critical hit with his maul, which has a x3 multiplier.  His maul was a size larger than normal (he could weild it because he had the Mighty Build trait), and he hit with his second attack as well on a full attack (Gorethirst had severely compromised defense).  The result was a 12d6+bonuses crazy attack that dealt 68 damage, immediately sending Gorethirst below -10.

Llum very fairly insisted that the rolls not be fudged and the punches not be pulled.  Thus, Gorethirst is no longer with us.  Next session will begin when you receive the leechkin's body and equipment.

[ic=Quenched]On the appointed day you head to the Fighting Pits of Pulsetown and are admitted into the arena.

* Gorethirst leaves Corpsegobble outside the arena. Entering carrying only his axe and wearing the Helm of Urus.

The iron doors open; the arena awaits.

*Gorethirst steps out into the harsh sunlight.

Servius has swapped his silks and fine clothes for battle-scarred banded mail that gleams bronze in the sunlight.  The towering man carries an enormous maul, propping the hammer against his shoulder.  He looks geological, so massive is his bearing.

You recognize the gladiatorial champion known as the Rotten King, a shade swordsman who has never been defeated in the arena.  The gladiator is shaded by a heavy black umbrella in a private box, attended by a retinue of other pit-fighters.  Its host is a lithe, sinewy corpse outfitted with spiked armour plates, barbs, spines, studs, and oddments of metal.  These augmentations are not grafts but crude additions simply bolted or nailed into the cadaver's  leathery, mummified flesh, which is darkly stained with embalming fluids and ripples occasionally with the shade's presence.  A simple blade is strapped to the shade's bony back.  Its head is sutured into a battered helmet from which a topknot bristles, dyed a bilious yellow-green.  The Rotten King's body looks somehow too lean to support such heavy accoutrements.  It watches inscrutably from dead eyes.

Mr. Rasp is seated at another box, the lilix Illiszan and the thing called the Cowl behind him.  He raises a hand in greeting, watching intently.

* Gorethirst waves towards Mr. Rasp.

The magnified voice of the pit announcer resounds through the warm air.

"LADIES, GENTLEMEN, and OTHERS SUNDRY: we present, for your viewing pleasure, a duel between two warriors of CONSIDERABLE RENOWN: the leechkin gladiator known only as THE GORETHIRST, SLAYER of WAXBORN, DRINKER of BLOOD, versus the champion of STRIGA, SERVIUS IZAR, called THE HAMMER of THE GODDESS, of the HOUSE OF UNTAINTED FLESH!"

The arena is how you remember it.  Bones bleach in the sun.  Old stains crust the sand.   Discarded weapons, notched swords and broken spears, an old battleaxe, turn slowly to rust.  The air smells of metal and blood and seems to echo with the screams of the fallen, the triumphant cries of their killers.  The crowd roars in appreciation, bestial, baying for violence.

The familiar columns thrust from the arena floor, crowned by the nameless gods of battle.  The Sanguine Church may be Servius Izar's place of worship, but this is your holy ground.

Your foe moves to meet you wearing a mask of grim determination that cannot conceal a bloodlust every bit as terrible as your own, fuelled not by hunger or even rage but by pure hate.

* Gorethirst crouches slightly, ready for battle.

"Bloodletter take you, parasite," the monster snarls.  "You will be punished for your desecrations."

Gorethirst - I will drain you dry human. Your blood will fill my belly this night!

*Gorethirst unlimbers its axe and charges across the arena.  Its axe sings, burying itself in Servius' torso, penetrating the human's thick armour and inflicting a wound that would fell a lesser man.

* Gorethirst roars as it draws first blood.

He grunts in pain and brings his own enormous weapon to bear.  With a mighty swipe Servius breaks your axe in two, splintering the haft and twisting the blade.

* Gorethirst drops the shattered bits of greataxe to the ground.

Gorethirst - You are quite eager for me to taste your blood human!

He favours you with a cruel grin.  "Your sacrelige will no go unpunished, leech."

*Gorethirst moves to attempt to disarm Servius to equal the odds, but the human is too swift, smashing his maul into Gorethirst's chest and sending it flying.

* Gorethirst gathers himself from the ground, wary now.

He approaches you slowly, hefting his enormous weapon, and attempts to hit your legs.

* Gorethirst rolls to the side and Servius' weapon pounds the arena sand.

* Gorethirst creeps forward and then makes a sudden lunge, leveling its horned helm and goring Servius with its horns and tearing at Servius' unarmoured areas with its teeth.

Servius pummels you with his maul, attempting to cripple your arms, but you shrug off his blows and continue to fight.

* Gorethirst ducks under Servius' blow and again attempts to wrench his weapon away, but the human pushes it off and keeps his maul in hand.

The gigantic man laughs as he continues to batter you about the arena.

* Gorethirst, yowling bestially, enters a berzerk fury, striking at Servius with bite and horn.  It impales the enormous human warrior with its horns while simultaneously ripping off his cheek with one of its palm-mouths, savouring the taste of blood, drinking from the warm, liquid flow.

Servius Izar staggers backwards, blood steaming from his ruined face and from the dual wounds on his chest where you punched through his armour like it was paper.

For a moment it looks as if the duel is over.  Though bruised and winded, a few of your ribs cracked, you struck a series of decisive blows against your opponent.  Servius' face is pallid from blood-loss; his breath comes in shallow gasps, and the wounds on his chest bleed freely.

Then the hate in the Untainted Guilsdman's eyes shines again.  As you move in to finish Servius off, the warrior gathers his strength for a final, suicidal strike.  Staggering, barely able to remain on his feet, his face hideously mutilated and his body punctured with awful injuries, Servius Izar hefts his maul for a final, terrible blow.

* Gorethirst crouches, poised to finish off the human warrior, but the maul descends in a lethal arc.

Surprised by the sudden vigour of Servius, you are caught off guard and the maul comes crashing down on your skull, shattering your helmet.  There is a sickening crack, and you falls as everything goes red.  Blood seeps from your shattered head - more blood than one would imagine a being of your size could possibly possess'¦

Servius takes an additional swat at the fallen gladiator, spits, and stalks off, bleeding profusely, swaying.  For a moment the crowd is silent; then the Striga-worshippers and other leech-haters cheer.  Others - fans of Gorethirst's - boo and heckle.  Mr. Rasp has disappeared from his private box.  The Rotten King is quite inscrutable.

Gorethirst dies as it would have wished - in the arena.

Finally, the leechkin thirsts no more.[/ic]

Nooooooooooooooooo gorethirst!

RIP, mighty Leechskin :(

I'll second Nomadic: NOOOOOOOO!!!
Not Gorethirst! A terrible loss, really. He was a pretty cool character... Also, he was probably one of the people Carver would consider a friend after their mausoleum adventure.  
Also sad for Mr. Rasp who had just located his long-lost brother and is partly responsible for his dead... Although I don't know if leeches think like that.

Leechkin definitely don't, but then again the entire idea of familial affection is alien to them.  Mr. Rasp is intended as a totally atypical member of his species.  More forgiving leechkin would consider him mentally ill; judgmental ones would consider him a traitor and abomination.  A few "progressive" leechkin might hold a bit of grudging admiration for him, but most would just be disgusted.  They might still mourn Gorethirst's death, however.

I agree taht it's a big loss... Gorethirst was a very distinctive, inventive character.  I'm sure, however, that Llum's next character will be equally interesting.

Hmm, I just remembered I also lost all my money

The only silver lining to Gorethirst's death is that you can sell some of his equipment if you want, to recoup your losses.

What sort of funerary options do we have? It seems Macellaria is very inclined toward all manner of 'recycling' when it comes to handling the deaders.

You could certainly bury or cremate the body (the Sisters of the Weeping Lady are the best ones to go to, though there are cheaper cemetaries around in the other shanties; in the city proper there are plenty of private tombs but no actual graveyards).

Most Macellarians have a very pragmatic view of death and prefer to sell dead relatives or friends in the Skin Markets (though a badly injured body may command a lower price, as may a leechkin body, as they have a tough, chewy, rubbery quality), most likely in the Court of Flesh.  As a side-note, dead ghilan are often lain to rest in the catacombs beneath the Fane of Dust if they were of the faithful; others are cannibalized in wake-like feasts.

Leechkin do have a strange funerary custom of their own, but you'd have to research it, and it might be rather involved given your location...

A few days earlier...

[ic=Second-Story Job]Cacophonous-Whisper-of-the-Desert is still in Macellaria, doing what he does (filching, rambunctious wandering, feasting on the dead, etcetera), having blown off Sebastian and the others in a fit of caprice.  He sees a street-vendor selling human meat on a corner a little way up.  Looks as likely a place as any - and cheap'¦

As you seat yourself at the low bar by the street-vendor a pair of distinctive individuals emerge from the Pulsetown crowd and sit down to either side of you.

One is a powerfully built, utterly hairless man whose pale skin has been tattooed with thousands of tiny spirals, the other a petite woman whose only distinctive features are her eyes, which shift colours every few seconds.  They lack any obvious intentions, either malign or beneficent.

"You are the rogue jatayi?"  The woman says.  "The one called Cacophonous-Whisper-of-the-Desert?"

Wispy - Roguishly handsome.

*Wispy prepares to leap out of his seat, and also cocks his arm, ready to throw meat in their face.

Wispy - So, you've come to meet the meat, or to gleet and greet?

"I am called Astragal," she says.

"And I am Mezzanine," says her companion.

"We would like to engage you on a certain task..." Astragal continues.

"...a task that requires your particular abilities," Mezzanine finishes.  "May we speak in private?"

*Wispy looks around, then speaks in Jatayi.

Wispy - Okay, you speak this?  Now we're speakin' in private.

Astragal shakes her head.  "The secret tongue of the jatayi is not known to us, bird-man.  Please, finish your meal.  Then we will take you somewhere it is safe to talk."

Wispy - Care to join me?

*Wispy offers a finger digit.

"We've just ate," Mezzanine says, unfazed.  "But thank you."

He puts a coin down on the stall, paying for your meal.  They patiently wait for you to finish.

*Wispy finishes up the meal.

Wispy - K. I can come, but I've got a question-- one.

"Yes?"  They speak simultaneously.

Wispy - Where did you get that coin?

"From my purse... why?"

Wispy - But before that...

"Well.  From certain funds my association supplies me, I suppose..."

Wispy - Hm.

*Wispy shrugs and jumps.

Wispy - K.   No alleys though.  Or allies, right.  Just you two.  I pick the abandoned building to meet at.  And we'll talk there?  Is that fair?

"If you wish, that is acceptable, though unnecessary.  We would lead you to a more comfortable location, though perhaps you are wise not to trust us.  Is there nothing we can do to prove our good intent?"
 Wispy - Well, if you were a female jatayi, then maybe we could work something out, but naaaah, too many people want jatayi in general dead- nothing personal.  I didn't stay not a ghul this long by trusting people- once again, nothing personal.

"We do not share in the petty bigotries of most humans for your kind - quite the opposite.  But very well."

*Wispy will look around for a scaffolding that is off the ground and he'll try to jump up to it.  He flies up to one and then lowers the scaffolding down.

Mezzanine and Astragal clamber up.

Wispy - So let's sit, talk, walk and squawk.

"Very good," says Astragal.

"Word has reached us of your talents," Mezzanine says.  "Your ability to separate objects from their owners, as it were.  For certain political reasons, the Thief Clans would be unsuitable for the job we need completed."

Wispy - Gotcha.

*Wispy nods, bobbing his head like the head bobber does over the glass of water in most offices.

"There's a witch by the name of Ezekiel Khaan," Astragal continues.  "He lives in the outskirts of Macellaria, in a mansion behind a wall of maggots."

"He's an eccentric, and a genius," Mezzanine interjects.  "An alchemist of unparalleled skill.  He's made a fortune here in Macellaria, trading his concoctions through middlemen."

"The Splicing Consortium would sell their own mothers to the Fleshmongers to get hold of his formulae," Astragal resumes.  "But we don't represent them."

"In fact," Mezzanine expands.  "We'd rather our masters remain anonymous, for the time being."

"Ezekiel is a collector," Astragal explains.  "He has amassed quite a number of eldritch artefacts, squirreling them away in his house."

"There's one item in particular we want you to liberate from his possession," Mezzanine says delicately. "A chest, rather nondescript in fact - small, black wood, iron-bound, carved with a single glyph."  He shows you a piece of parchment with a glyph carefully drawn on it in red ink.  It looks a bit like an '˜M,' or a '˜3' on its side.

"We wish you to procure this item."

"The chest is the only item we wish to procure," Astragal notes.  "Any other objects you picked up while inside would be yours to keep."

"In addition, we would be willing to remunerate you generously, to the number of fifteen hundred obeloi."

Wispy -  Maggots.

*Wispy shakes his head.

Wispy - My worst enemy- you know, they ruin dead flesh.

"A defence you are also uniquely suited to bypass.

"Thus far few would-be burglars have penetrated the outer walls: anyone trying to breach the perimeter by arcane means, including hexed flight, alerts the Master of the Guard, Nybias, a demon Ezekiel employs as gatekeeper."

Wispy -  Well, you know the real reason the cestoid Imperium fell then- good on you.

"We were thinking you might fly over, rather than trying to, um, eat your way through."  Astragal smiles slightly.

Wispy - I suppose I wouldn't want to gorge myself.  So, where would I drop this thing off?  You come to me? Strongbox? Or I come to you?

"There is a certain establishment known as the Errant Nautilus, in Hexwarren.  You may find us there, and drop off the item."

"Do not try to open the chest, under any circumstances," Mezzanine continues.  "You wouldn't be able to open it anyway, without the right key, but we strongly advise against any attempt.  The chest is warded.  It will protect itself."

Wispy - Oh, I think I could peck out a solution, but don't you worry, I'll be professional.  Does this demon of theirs watch the sky?

"If you approach from the correct angle, you'll be safe enough.

"Once inside witchcraft can be utilized freely, of course: otherwise Ezekiel would set off alarms every time he tried to cast a spell.

"Unfortunately we cannot give you a map of the mansion's interior, as the floor-plans are unknown.  Ezekiel designed the house himself and built it through unorthodox means, using conjured and reanimated labourers.  However, we know that the chest is probably on the upper floors.

"We advise against attempting to penetrate the lower vaults, where certain esoteric hexwork has been placed. You would likely not return alive from such a venture - the lower levels are where Ezekiel keeps his most secret recipes and texts, and conducts his most radical experiments."

Wispy -  Hm. Speaking of a map, you got any parchment?  And a pen.

Mezzanine gives you both.

Wispy - Great. (he bobs his head) How much is a map o' this place worth?

Astragal smiles again.  "To us?  I suppose we might give you a small bonus.  Perhaps another five hundred obeloi."

Wispy - I think it's worth a bit more than that...

"You are an enterprising creature, jatayi," Mezzanine says.  "You drive a hard bargain.  Very well: seven hundred and fifty."

*Wispy smiles.

"A pleasure doing business with you, Mister Cacaphonous," both say in eerie simultaneity.

Wispy - Well, then I guess we're nearly set here. Although this seems frighteningly similar to the set-up that landed me in the gladiatorial pits- I'm always willing to try, try again.  Anyway, it's like they say: "Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice, I don't get fooled again."  Hehe- you're good fellows- I'll totally eat your flesh after you die of natural causes.

"Thank you.  You are too kind."

*Wispy bids them adieu.

*Mr. Carver appears down the street, demoniac tendril writhing on his shoulder.

Wispy - Hehe- Mr. Carver was it? Decided to ditch Sebastian too?

MrCarver - Hmm, yes, not terribly fond of him.  Might come back later.  He did offer us a certain sum of money after all.  But no reason to hurry

Wispy - Yeah, he didn't like ghilan, didn't like birds, probably didn't like graftees either.  What a racist.

Mr. Carver - Well, the divine economy, I'm not much for humans as it happens.  So it all evens out.  

Wispy - Well, at least humans taste good when they're dead. That's something anyway.
 
*Wispy shrugs.

Wispy - So even if you don't like their presence, they're worth having around.  My mama always taught me tolerance.

Mr. Carver - So, where did you take off to after our fateful day in the arena sands?

Wispy - Take off.  Well.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, yes, I think that's a solace only the Jatayi can rely on...

Wispy - Hm... I suppose you'd be a cannibal if you ate that... Lots of diseases you can get from cannibalism.  Mad Human Disease and all that.  So I'guess you're right.  

Mr. Carver - Well, I have eaten man before. It's not that. We just have a more pronounced line between food and friend I believe.

Wispy - The best food is former friends... who have died through completely natural means, of course.

Mr. Carver - They taste... better?

Wispy - They're tasty because you have good memories- it settles the soul and dulls the pain of the loss.  But back to me.  I wandered around, got some meat since Sebastian wasn't too accommodating, and I met some folks'¦ Say- you lookin' to cash in on something big!  I got a great offer on doing a job.

Mr. Carver - Always (smiles).  What kind of job?

Wispy - Basically, I've gotta steal sommat from a wizard fellow.

Mr. Carver - Interesting.

Wispy - Now, I've got an easy way to get in, sneak down and get out.  BUT - and here's where you come in - the guy's got a demon guarding his stuff on the one hand - maybe we can avoid it, maybe we can't.  Part II however, is that I'm also getting some money on the secondary market for mapping this guy's pad.  We can spread out and mark where he keeps all his valuable stuff, then sell the map to other thieves. Sort of a marauder's map guide, if you will.

Mr. Carver - You can do that quickly enough for us to move through undetected while you map?

Wispy - That's why It's good that you're here.  Four hands make easy work of things.  Also, there's Part III- and this is the best part, I wasn't going to do it, but now that you're here - There's the lower vaults, where this wizard dude keeps his most secret recipes and texts, and conducts his most radical experiments.  Guys who hired me said I'd die if I went down there.  But they thought I'd be alone.

Mr. Carver - so you assume we can get to the lower vaults?

Wispy - I'm sure that with two of us, we could hack apart any demons that are there, grab some stuff and run.

Mr. Carver - Seems like a risky endeavour, but possibly worth it.  What is the item we are actually paid to acquire?  And where do we enter? You said you had devised that part of the plan already

Wispy - Yeah, I fly up top.  And you... I'll drop.  On the ground, you'll stop

Mr. Carver - and let down a rope perhaps?

Wispy - Yeah, we could do that too.

Mr. Carver - Probably better for my general welfare.

Wispy - You've got a good head on your shoulders.  Better than my last partner.

Mr. Carver - Oh, who was he?

Wispy - ... partners.  She was... late.

Mr. Carver - Late?  When was this?

Mr. Carver - Before you got sent to the pits?

Wispy - Oh yeah.  Totally before then.  She said she'd meet me at the bar- The Juice-Addled Octogenarian I think it was.

Mr. Carver - Long before or is it possible to draw a more direct causal line between those events and you ending up in the pit?

Wispy - ...Potentially you could do that you know.

Mr. Carver - So, what went wrong?  She didn't show up?

Wispy - Oh she showed up; like I said she was "late" - not too smart - she didn't use the magick.

Mr. Carver - I do not like to ponder what tastes they attempt to satiate in that place...

Wispy - So, I figure there'll be a lil' Wispy wandering around somewhere.  Out with the other Jatayi, y'know.  Good luck gettin' me t' pay chick-support!

Mr. Carver - wait, you took her to the Octogenerian and... fucked her?

Wispy - No no no... that was long before the Octogenarian got involved.

Mr. Carver - Oh. Good.

Wispy - That was... well probably... it was at the - Nubile Greyface.  But, enough about me - what about the plan?

Mr. Carver - It sounds good. At least the part about getting unto the roof. But where do we go from there?  He's a witch as you previously stated so I assume he has certain defences in place.  I'm guessing we can't just stroll in and grab what we want

*Wispy looks confused.

Wispy - That's what I usually do.  It's never gone wrong for ME in the past...

 *Wispy hesitates.

Wispy - Oh yeah... old partners... yeah, we need a better plan.  I've got spells.  You look like you can fight.  And we've got rope.

Mr. Carver - I've got this.

*Mr. Carver flahses the Agony Knife.

Mr. Carver - And some useful skills

Wispy - Suchastellmeaboutit?

Mr. Carver - But maybe we should discuss the plan while we move towards our destination, no?

Wispy - Yeah, let's carve out a plan.

Mr. Carver - And I have a certain competence at staying unseen.  Also I know the city well

Wispy - Very useful for this.

You head towards the Eel's Gate, the closest gate to Ezekiel's manor.

Mr. Carver, you know the following about Ezekiel:

An eccentric (some would say deranged) witch who lives on the outskirts of Macellaria, Ezekiel Khaan is a wealthy and obsessive individual. Outwardly he appears human, though rumors persist that he has forged infernal contracts or else preserved himself with alchemical treatments, unnaturally prolonging his life.

Ezekiel's manse is located on a hill southeast of the Eel's Gate, ringed by a tall, solid wall of writhing maggots, constantly squirming, erupting from the ground in a quivering profusion of pallid larval flesh.  The "gate" of the manse only parts for welcome visitors, those who can prove that they have an appointment with Ezekiel to the demon gatekeeper Nybias.  Most of these visitors are outlandish themselves: mysterious men and women with odd grafts or lurid garb, adventurers and scoundrels and fellow hexers with stitched servitors or chained familiars or hulking bodyguards armed with unwieldy weapons.

Ezekiel's income is generated principally from his ingenious inventions and his alchemical concoctions, sold in the Hexwarren district of the City of Bodysnatchers. The Splicing Guild considers the witch a threat to their business but have been unable to infiltrate his manse; they would pay a small fortune to any willing to do so and return with Ezekiel's secrets.

Wispy - Seems similar to what I've heard from parties of interest- you don't happen to know them d'ya?  Mezzanine and Astragal were their names... and still are unless they've met an untimely end, or they gave aliases-- and one of those two propositions is almost certainly true.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, Ezekiel is it? I have heard rumours about that man; if indeed he is a man.

Wispy - Well, witches can be male as well.  But I was wondering if y'knew my contacts.

*Mr. Carver shrugs.

Mr. Carver - I don't know your friends, but there is a chance they are working for the House of Iridescent Angles.  Their names seem to suggest that.

Wispy - Neat.


Mr. Carver - Powerful players.  But then again, our mark is likewise powerful.  So, this woman in the Nubile Greyface, she also Jatayi? Part of your old crew?

Wispy - Yeah, she's Jatayi.  Some cute street chick I met one night.

Mr. Carver - What's her name?

Wispy - (lies) Chickadee.

Mr. Carver - Cute name.

Wispy - Yeah.

*Wispy shrugs.

Mr. Carver - What happened to her? She ran? You ran?

Wispy - man, I totally ran. One thing you gotta do here is you can't get tied down or else all your bad debts get caught up-- hey I wish her fine, I even bought her wine so she'd miscarry, but she wasn't hot on that.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, I can imagine.

A few rude shacks are clustered about the Eel's Gate, where one of the three elephant-sized Watchdogs pads absently, crows picking at its preserved flesh.  The shanty-town consists largely of simple dwellings but also includes a cheap brothel and a saloon called The Pickled Serpent.

Wispy - Hm. the pickled serpent... you might enjoy that place Mr. Carver- they've got a few graftee girls and guys there-- if you're into that sort of stuff.  No Jatayi though; you don't see too many of us in brothels. Has something to do with the maternal egg-bearing instinct.

Mr. Carver - You have sampled the wares I take it?

Wispy - I tried.  But like I said, no Jatayi.

Perched on a bluff overlooking the City of Bodysnatchers, Ezekiel Khaan's mansion is surrounded by a seething, rustling, squirming, undulating wall of maggots, a living fortification composed entirely of larvae.  Behind this nauseating battlement the house itself is just visible - a mass of mismatched spires and minarets protruding above the constantly shifting, fifty-foot fence.

Mr. Carver - Ah, we are not good enough for you? (smirks)

Wispy - Even though other races are cool to eat and stuff, I wouldn't do it with them that way.

Mr. Carver - Understandable.  But we have some more pressing matters at hand Mr. Wispy.

Wispy - Yeah- think we should go at night- or does it matter?

Mr. Carver - Primarily, how do we scale a living fence without being spotted.

Wispy - He's a wizard so he can probably see just as good then.  But at least other guys can't see us.  No need to scale. I'll fly up.

Mr. Carver - Can you carry me across?

*Wispy looks at Carver.

Wispy - Yeah, probably.  You're slim enough.  Not like Gorethirst.  Who's cool and all, but he's a fat-ass.

Mr. Carver - Hah, no, Gorethirst is in a different weight class altogether.

Mr. Carver - I see no reason to wait for night, if we approach without being spotted.

Wispy - Yeah, let's head out now.  They'll never expect something by day.

Mr. Carver - No. Many households have fewer guards and patrols in the day too.[/ic]

I can't wait to see what happened with wispy after I left. That was very touch and go improv.

[ic=Breaking and Entering]You skirt the edges of the walls till you're well out of sight from the gate.

Wispy - I think this guy just has his maggots and the demon.

Mr. Carver - A demon counts for a lot, I should think.

Wispy - Any other guards probably got eaten by the maggots... vile creatures.

Mr. Carver - Seems unlikely, but I'll entertain the notion for now.

Wispy - Okay, so I suppose we are going to try to go up.

*Wispy flies slowly, but steadily, hauling Mr. Carver up with some difficulty, huffing and puffing.  The pair alight on the mansion's roof.

Within the walls you can get a better look at the mansion itself.  While not as variegated as the deliberately pastiche headquarters of the Splicing Consortium the house is decidedly chaotic, a madcap aggregation of disparate parts joined tenuously together without immediately obvious rhyme or reason, with oddly shaped windows each tinted a different colour.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, I have a feeling that this is the kind of entrance one could expect from a Defoin play...

Dozens of faceless statues are evident as ornamentation, most of them posed in strange contortions of vaguely sexual postures.  It makes you a bit queasy just to look at the edifice.

Wispy - Lillix can really get creative, can't they.  What with all their legs.

There are plenty of upper storey windows - the place has three stories.

Mr. Carver - Yes, they are gifted with a few more... options.

Wispy - Yeah, that one with all the legs stuck in one place... That's particularly disturbing.

Mr. Carver - Mr. Carver - We're going through a window?  Wouldn't there be some kind of roof entrance? A hatch?

Wispy - Why would he have one of those?  You're welcome to look though. But I figure that would almost certainly be trapped.  Unless he's a fool, he should realize people can fly in.

Mr. Carver - Maintenance I assume?

There are two chimneys '" a large one and a smaller, slender one.

Mr. Carver - Well, the same goes for the windows.

Wispy - At least you can usually see the traps there.

Mr. Carver - Then get one of them open so we don't have to stand out here in the open.  Damn it, you have infected my speech patterns bird...

Mr. Carver - Thought you were a thief?

Wispy - Yeah, I'm a thief- a bird-burglar.  We go in through chimneys, not windows.  That's why we don't set off alarms.  If you've got a problem with the chimney, I've got a grappling hook.  I can get you down safe.

*Mr. Carver scrutinizes the windows, noting glyphs carved into the frames.

Mr. Carver - You know witchcraft right? There are some glyphs carved into the sill.  But if we can't avoid them I'll take my chances with the chimney.

Wispy - Yeah, these glyphs... they'll set off alarms.  That'll lead to harms.

Mr. Carver - And you can't get them off?

Wispy - Do I look like I'm a witch who has a research lab and can make cool gleet like this old gleeter?  No. I doubt I can out-magick him.  But what do you expect - he took the hard route of earning money.  We take the easy route.  There are always shortcuts.  Ifs, ands, and buts.

* Mr. Carver sighs.

Mr. Carver - Chimney it is.

Wispy, you make it down fine, carefully folding up your wings and contorting yourself, but Carver gets stuck halfway down.

Wispy, you're in the hearth of what is presumably the kitchen, based on the pots, pans, and other food preparation tools on hand, as well as the cauldron, bags of flour, and spice-rack.  A pantry is evident through a side-door.  The cook seems to be absent.  There are two exits.

Mr. Carver - This... is not what I had hoped for.

* Wispy looks for butter.

There's butter in the kitchen, and plenty of lard in the pantry.

*Mr. Carver struggles to squeeze down, but only gets more stuck.

*Wispy takes the lard and clambers part way up the chimney, greasing Mr. Carver, who squirms and slips down in a puff of soot.

*Wispy tumbles out of Carver's way and gets out his parchment.

* Mr. Carver attempts to dust soot off his jacket, his fingers coming away with lard, which he then tries to wipe away on his pants... it has little to no effect

Mr. Carver - What you don't do to survive. But thanks. That was close.

There's a door opposite the hearth, another to the right.

* Wispy listens at the door on the right.

It's quiet.  Very quiet.

Mr. Carver - I hope his demon doesn't navigate by smell...

*Wispy checks the other door and hears distant footsteps, not close.

*Wispy goes out of the first, quiet door. Opening it slightly.

This seems to be a fine dining room, with expensive china in a glass cabinet against one wall  The tables and chairs are all created out of sewn-together corpse-parts.  One scuttles on necrotic fingertips and toes to pull itself out for you, sensing your approach.  There's one door again to the right.

'¢ Mr. Carver draws the Agony Knife and follows the Jatayi.

*Wispy looks around for something valuable-looking, then listens at the door.  He doesn't hear anything but does snatch a crystal decanter.

Mr. Carver - Not so many doors to choose from this time.  Hear anything?

* Mr. Carver follows

Through the door you find yourself in a corridor, with a door to the west and a corner that turns north.

* Wispy listens at door.

You can hear a voice speaking quietly somewhere, in Hellspeak.

"Damn Nybias, making me mop these floors, bloody sei'irm.'  The voice breaks off into a stream of muttered curses....

* Mr. Carver drops his voice to a whisper.

Mr. Carver - What do you hear?? Are we going this way or back?

Wispy - Sounds like a servant's there.

"Don't see why I have to clean up the mess every time an experiment gets loose..."

Wispy - We could jump him, or we could go to the corridor.  You choose, executioner- execute a plan.

*Kaius Alexander stands up from the chair he is seated in halfway across the city and grimaces horribly, almost as if he can sense the shenanigans that are currently underway.

Mr. Carver - If he is merely a servant I say we go this way.

* Mr. Carver gently opens the door.

* Mr. Carver peeks through.

You peer into a large room.  Based on the big doors to the left, this is the foyer or front hall. The hall is ostentatious and elaborately decorated, with strange, mismatched suits of armour.  One suit is encrusted with what look like barnacles; some are made of lacquered wood, bone, or other exotic materials.  A large central stair leads up to the second floor, and two arched doors lead to other parts of the first floor.

A squat, almost frog-like horror with pale, blubbery skin, bulbous red eyes, and a wide, slit-like mouth full of teeth is mopping up some greenish stains on the floor.  It is garbed in white livery and bound with chainless silver manacles.

Mr. Carver - A servant? That's a demon! ...of course, one doesn't rule out the other.

Wispy - Then he's even more likely to know where the treasure's at.

* Mr. Carver drops into a crouch and stealthily sneaks towards the abomination.

*Wispy readies a spell if necessary.

*Mr. Carver stands just behind it and stab it quickly twice in the back of its neck, but his knife is turned by its rubbery hide.

* Wispy casts DISCOMBOBULATION!

Wispy's hex hits it full in the face as it turns.  The demoniac servant is dazed momentarily.

*With surgical precision Mr. Carver inserts the Agony Knife into the creature's neck and wrenches.  A spray of black blood covers the walls and floor, as well as Carver himself.  The demon dissipates in a brimstone puff.

Wispy - So much for questioning it.

Mr. Carver - Probably better this way, I do not believe that interrogating a demon can be trivial matter...

Wispy - Eh, my mama did it all the time.

Mr. Carver - I could really use a bath after this, bird.

Wispy - Let's go up.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, I reckon the second floor would be a good idea.

* Mr. Carver walks up the stairs.

Through the door on the second floor is an anteroom with two other exits to the east and west.  A huge glass tank occupies the middle of this room, filled with murky water.  Inside a pair of vaguely humanoid fish-headed things with needle-like teeth idly swim, gnawing on old bones.  They ignore you completely.

Mr. Carver - So... left or right now?  Our benevolent employers didn't give you any useful directions perchance?  I admit that would make the idea of a map seem sort of obsolete, but I'll take what I can get.

* Mr. Carver checks the eastern door.

You hear purring.

* Mr. Carver keeps his eye on the eastern door while moving across the room towards the western door.

You hear many voices babbling, spitting, cursing, whining, weeping - a veritable chorus.  None of them are excessively loud, however.

Wispy - No directions. That's why the map.  So you heard purring at one and a lot of people at the other?  Neither choice is good.

Mr. Carver - Yes, something like that.  And I can only agree with you on that.

Wispy - But I bet the one with a lot of people's really just a talking table.  Or a wall of souls, you know.  Still, souls can scream.

 Mr. Carver - Or a dark hole of lost spirits...

Wispy - Wanna go back downstairs?  Maybe his stuff's in the forbidden basement.  At the least we can steal some expensive junk.

Mr. Carver - No, I think we are better off checking this floor.  At least if we are to get our reward.

Wispy - Okay, then your option. Once again, execute your plan.

Mr. Carver - We'll go with the purring.

This long, tiled hall is filled with plush, comfy-looking furniture.  One wall also has dozens of silver saucers set on the floor, some containing what looks like milk, others water, others meat.

Lounging about the room, sleeping on the furniture, eating and drinking from the saucers, and generally luxuriating are countless cats, all of them with vibrantly coloured fur, each of a different shade.  There are three doors - one to the north, two to the south.

Mr. Carver - You think these are dangerous?

Wispy - Let's go north.

* Mr. Carver moves carefully into the room eyeing the cats.

The cats twine lovingly about your legs.  The north door is locked.

Mr. Carver - Disturbing, but hardly for the reasons I had feared.  Any skills with locks then bird-burglar?

One of the smaller kittens is trying to climb up your legs, Wispy.

*Wispy and Mr. Carver head through one of the other doors.

A coverlet conceals a tall object in this room.  There are no doors or windows.

*Wispy shuts door behind them, to keep cats out.

Mr. Carver - I have bad feeling about this

Wispy - Hey Carver, watn to check that out?

Mr. Carver - We might as well... but we should be careful.  Can't you read if it's bewitched or something like that?

Wispy - I ken dowse hexes once a day.

Mr. Carver - Oh, to gleet with it.

* Mr. Carver walks up and flings off the coverlet.

You expose a body-length mirror.  Looking into it, you see a version of yourself, horribly altered.  Your body is decayed and putrefied, swarming with maggots and flies.  Your expression is one of grotesque delight, your eyes wide and manic, a carious grin disfiguring your features.

*Wispy is not looking at it.

Wispy - What d'ya see?

* Mr. Carver staggers back away from the mirror, falling to the floor in the process.

* Wispy hears the bump.

* Wispy opens the door to the kitten room.

Wispy - Y' all right Carver?

Wispy, you hear another voice in the kitten room, cooing in Hellspeak "Here you go my dearies.'

Mr. Carver - What.. what.. what was that? Some kind of spell... Gleet, that was disturbing. Like seeing your own death. Why the hell would anybody keep one of those around?[/b]

Another demoniac servant, this one in an apron, is putting out fresh cream for the cats.  You spot a ring of keys at its waist.

Mr. Carver - Something you can handle?

Kaius Alexander: ooc: Kaius does not approve of murder in the presence of innocent kittens >:

One of the cats has entered the mirror room and is hissing at its zombic reflection.

*Wispy uses "Randomized Magical Trick" [Prestidigitation] on the demon to make images of floating colorful kittens appear in front of the demon's face, so that the demon can't see him, then he readies his jatayi bolts.

The demon stumbles back, startled at the bizarre image, then sprouts one of Wispy's quarrels from its face.

*Mr. Carver leaps into the fray.

The demon plucks the quarrel angrily from its visage.

*Mr. Carver tries to replace it with a knife, but the demon flails, knocking his arm aside.

*Wispy fires again, and a second quarrel quivers in the demon's chest.

The demon claws at Mr. Carver, raking his torso.

*Mr. Carver attempts to trip the servant with his tendril, but cannot grasp the creature's foot.

*Vicebite, Wispy's clockwork ID-Bird familiar wakes up and pops out from under Wispy's elbow.

*Vicebite begins harassing the demon, but to little effect.  Vicebite returns to Wispy's shoulder.

*Wispy reloads, a quarrel loosening from his wings.  He is aided by his familiar.

*Wispy fires again, finally felling the servant.  Likes its fellow it dies in a sulphurous burst.  The keys clatter to the floor.

Mr. Carver - Quite a trick you got there.

Wispy - To reach those difficult, hard to reach places.

* Mr. Carver snatches up the keys.

* Wispy leads the way out the door and heads west.

Mr. Carver - We could actually use the guard, although he probably doesn't know anything.

There are two doors on either side of this corridor.  Lamps provide illumination, while suits of armour stand sentinel in niches along the walls.

*Wispy listens at the left hand door.

The lock of the large, iron door has been sculpted to look like a screaming spectre, with the ghost's mouth as the keyhole.  You don't hear anything, though.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, the lack of guards is a bit unnerving. Perhaps your mask will yet do you some good.

 You hear footsteps approaching from round the corner, and a whimpering sound from the other door.

* Wispy uses one of the lamps to scramble up to the ceiling and tries to hold on with his feet, spread-eagled.

Mr. Carver moves silently towards the corner where the guard will arrive.

* Ezekiel Khaan appears, obviously the source of the footsteps.

* Mr. Carver ducks into a shadowy niche holding a suit of armour.

 A flamboyantly dressde man with brightly coloured hair and beard appears.  His eyes are bright, mischievous, yet also sinister.

Wispy - Vicebite, go for the eyes!

* Ezekiel Khaan grins wickedly at the jatayi.

Ezekiel Khaan '" What do we have here, an uninvited guest perhaps?

* Ezekiel Khaan makes a violent gesture and Vicebite is paralyzed instantly.

* Mr. Carver remains in the shadows, watching the scene unfold.

Ezekiel Khaan - Come down now, unless you would rather I knock you down.

Mr. Carver - ooc: Probably true... but I'm like right in front of him. Are there any nooks or something like that?

* Ezekiel Khaan gestures to the jatayi on the ceiling and there is a green flash.

 Wispy, you're instantly stunned and fall to the floor.

Wispy - Urp.

* Ezekiel Khaan whispers a short phrase.

A demoniac servitor appears quite suddenly

"Yes, Master?  Shall I dispose of this intruder?"

Wispy - Iib!

Ezekiel Khaan - We have a guest who hasn't been shown to the unwanted guests quarters'¦ please make sure he is nice and...

* Ezekiel Khaan grins darkly.

Ezekiel Khaan - Comfortable.

 Wispy, you are dragged by the guard through the corridors and down staircases.  Eventually you reach what seems to be the basement level of the mansion.

*Mr. Carver slinks away while the guard drags Wispy off.  He skulks down the corridor and reaches a door of black wood, which he tentatively opens.
 
This chamber appears to be a conjury, based on the carefully carved symbols on the marble floor, the black candles, and the lingering tang of sulphur, ozone, blood, and singed flesh.  There are no demons swaggering about the circle, however.   A stone pedestal with a large black gemstone and a book is evident before the circle, and a staff made of exotic, glistening metal is set in a holder in a niche. One section of the staff seems to be able to rotate.  This section is inscribed with small glyphs, one of which glows at all times.  Another set of small runes is evident near the tip of the staff.  Most of these are dim, but twelve are glowing.

 A staircase in the floor spirals downwards.  You can hear a whimpering sound downstairs.

* Mr. Carver prods the gem with the tip of a knife and if it doesn't spark or anything he grabs it.

* Mr. Carver also takes the staff.  He then descends the staircase.

A young girl of perhaps ten years of age is held in a cage of silvery metal in this large, round room.  She is clothed in a ragged dress and looks gaunt and sad, her eyes hungry.  A golden key hangs on a peg nearby.  The walls here are covered in what look like finger-paintings in dark red paint.  "Please, let me out," she begs.  "The bad man comes and hurts me!  Please!  Let me out before he comes back!"

Mr. Carver - "Who are you?"

"My name is Lamia.  Who are you?  Will you let me free?"

Mr. Carver - And why are you here?

"The bad man, he stole me off the streets!   He's kept me here..."

* Mr. Carver eyes the finger paintings apprehensively.

She rattles the bars.

Mr. Carver - Where these... made by you?

"Please!  Please, take me with you!  He makes me, he makes me do them.  If I make them he doesn't hurt me so much."

* Mr. Carver takes a sudden step back

Mr. Carver - You're not human.

"What do you mean?  I'm a little girl!  Let me out!"

She begins to weep'¦ but the tears are not clear.  They are crimson.

Mr. Carver - No, no, you're not. Gleet, I have to get out of here...

* Mr. Carver grabs the key and leaves the room hurriedly.

The child '" or whatever it is '" screams shrilly and curses in Hellspeak.

The walls and ceiling of this long hall are covered in mouths of every type and description: child's mouths, old mouths, pouting mouths, fanged mouths, snarling thin-limped mouths, toothless mouths, mouths with forked tongues.  The mouths all babble simultaneously, a chorus of voices constantly murmuring, cursing, cajoling, whispering, ranting, laughing, seducing.

There's a door at the far end, two others along the wall to your right.

* Mr. Carver stays in the middle of the corridor, puts his fingers in his ears and move towards the door at the end, which he opens and ducks through.

You're back in the room with the glass tank and the fish-things.

* Mr. Carver back-tracks through the hall of mouths and opens one of the other doors.

This long hall is lined with shelves or cubby-holes, all of them containing what look like globes of glass or amber.  Imprisoned inside each globe is a miniature person or creature, from coiled cestoids to armoured human warriors to sand-rays, and everything in-between, standing stock-still; perhaps they are miniatures of some kind.  There are two other doors, to your right.

* Mr. Carver takes the cestoid and bags it.

* Mr. Carver takes one of the doors out.

This room is filled with musical instruments: lyres, mandolins, trumpets, even bagpipes.  There is also some sheet music nearby.  Poised as if to play the instruments are half a dozen skeletons.  The only instrument not clutched in skeletal hands is a flute that looks to be made of bone, which rests on a pedestal next to an empty chair.

There is one other door here.

* Mr. Carver, lacking ability to discern magic, perceives the flute as something of value and bags it.  He moves to the other door.

You hear voices in the other room.

* Mr. Carver listens at the door.

You hear a voice saying "Be off."  It sounds like Ezekiel.

* Mr. Carver peers through the keyhole.

Wispy is ducking through a window of some kind while Ezekiel watches sternly.  There seems to be a strange, otherworldly landscape beyond.

Mr. Carver '" (whispering to himself) Better get away from this door. The bird will have to fend for himself now...

* Mr. Carver leaves the room and ducks into the Hall of Cats and waits for a moment.

One of the cats - bright green in colour - meows pitifully at you.

* Mr. Carver eyes the cat cautiously.

The kitten purrs at you.  It appears to be quite mundane, except for its brightly coloured fur.

*  Mr. Carver takes out the staff he found.

* Mr. Carver puts on a glove.

* Mr. Carver then carefully places a single finger on one of the glowing runes.

A burst of light is emitted from the staff, striking the kitten, which promptly doubles in size.  One of the twelve runes near the top of the staff goes dim.

The kitten, unperturbed, continues to paw you good-naturedly.  It is now the size of a large dog...

* Mr. Carver avoid its suddenly overlarge claws.

Mr. Carver - AH!

* Mr. Carver runs into the aquarium room and closes the door behind him.

You hear scrabbling sounds under the door as the enlarged kitten scratches at it.

Presently the scratching sounds stop.

Mr. Carver - There must be a way to get this thing to work... Where is the gleetin' ghul witch when you need him.

* Mr. Carver tries turning the rotatable part of the staff, careful not to disturb the glowing activation rune.

The glowing rune flickers off and a rune beside it lights up.  There's a "click" sound as the section snaps into place.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, next hex.

Mr. Carver peeks through into the Hall of Cats.

The large cat is gleefully eating all the cat food left out for it.

Mr. Carver points the staff at it and activates it.

The cat shrinks drastically, such that it is now small enough to fit in the palm of your hand.

Mr. Carver - Hah!  Just what I needed. But for good measure...

* Mr. Carver shifts the rotatable section to the third rune and activates it.

The cat returns to its original size after being hit by the staff's eldritch glow.

* Mr. Carver heads stealthily back upstairs via the staircase and slinks towards the room with the glass maze, with the tiny chest at the center, careful to elude eldritch guards along the way.

You stand on the glass, still scrawled with Wispy's chalk designs.  The insects and other "guardians" are dead, killed by Wispy's arcane smoke, which was now dissipated.

* Mr. Carver shifts the staff to the shrink hex and points it inwards toward himself. Then he activates it.

You diminish in size; fortunately, the staff shrinks with you.

You are now well under a foot in height.  You also hear footsteps - huge, booming, gigantic footsteps - echoing down the corridor outside.

Mr. Carver - Definitely not good.

* Mr. Carver dive into the maze and try to hide behind a wall.

You scramble down into the maze in the floor just as the door opens and a blubberous, pallid demon of the type you encountered earlier walks in.  The demon doesn't seem to see you, but does squat down and tap at the glass, frowning.  A moment later it heads back out through the door it just came through, mumbling in Hellspeak.

* Mr. Carver breathes a sigh of relief and follows the chalk path.

You hurry through the labyrinth, eventually arriving at the central chamber.  The chest sits on a pedestal in the center.  The crumpled corpse of what to you looks like an enormous praying mantis lies slumped at the entrance.

* Mr. Carver kicks it for good measure.

The bug twitches but does not get up.

* Mr. Carver jabs his knife into the insect, just in case.

Any quivering remnants of life in the "giant" insect flicker and die...

* Mr. Carver checks the pedestal for any traps.  Finding none, he makes to take the chest.

You hear footsteps returning.

* Mr. Carver hastily replaces the chest and hides.

The door opens and the demoniac guard enters with what looks like a small cage.  The guard mutters something and stoops down.  You hear a hissing noise and the sound of the cage being opened, but cannot see from your angle what he has placed in the maze.

The creature chuckles nastily and exits.  It still didn't see you, however.

* Mr. Carver grabs the chest again.

You hear a faint hiss somewhere off in the maze...

* Mr. Carver takes the chest through the maze, following the chalk and looking carefully around every corner.

The hissing is growing louder.  Whatever it is, you're getting nearer to it.  At last you catch a glimpse of a scaly tail disappearing around a corner.

Mr. Carver '" (whispering) Shit. Can't afford to take any wrong turns in here.

* Mr. Carver slinks past with preternatural stealth.

The exit is in sight.  You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief.  As you inhale after this long breath out, you catch a whiff of yourself - and the lard that Wispy greased you with back when you were stuck in the chimney.  You hear the hissing behind you, suddenly quite loud.

Mr. Carver - Why does nothing ever go down as planned...

* Mr. Carver turns around, knife in hand.

An enormous snake is slithering towards you, tongue tasting the air!

* Mr. Carver scrambles up and out of the maze, the snake close behind.  

It snaps it jaws just as you exit the maze!

* Mr. Carver make a final dash to get some distance behind him and the creature, then uses the staff to enlarge himself.

The serpent slithers out of the maze in close pursuit.

* Having returned to his original size, Mr. Carver steps on the snake.

You grind the now quite small snake under your heel, crushing its skull.  The chest he stole from the maze enlarged along with him.

Mr. Carver - Ah, much more my kind of fight '" an unfair one.

* Mr. Carver wipes the blood off the floor and deposits the snake's corpse in the maze.

Mr. Carver - Now, time to get out.

*Mr. Carver looks out into the corridor.

There's no one there.  The stairway is just across the hall.

Mr. Carver - Now, the real issue is to get out without Wispy to fly me.  Damn.  That's what you get for being an impulsive thief.

* Mr. Carver shrinks the sigil-etched chest back to its miniature size.

* Mr. Carver puts the tiny chest in his pocket.

* Mr. Carver heads down the staircase, back through the Hall of Cats and the aquarium anteroom, and into the front hall.

The cinderous remnants of the demon you slew here are evident on the carpet.

Mr. Carver - I'm surprised nobody has found that yet.

* Mr. Carver sweeps the ashes under the rug.

* Mr. Carver back-tracks through the corridors and continues past the kitchen and dining room.

You come to a long corridor with a set of double doors on one wall and two smaller doors on the other.

* Mr. Carver tentatively opens the double doors.

You've entered some kind of greenhouse, a large room with a glass ceiling.  Instead of ordinary plants, however, Ezekiel has cultivated fungi.  Toadstools are clustered on rotting logs; tumorous, brightly coloured nodules adhere to trees; spores clot the air.  There's also a large fountain here.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, not my kind of room.

* Mr. Carver shuts the door.

* Mr. Carver listens at the other doors.

One door probably leads to the kitchen and is quite quiet.  The other '" locked '" is equally silent.

* Mr. Carver attempts to open the locked door with the various keys he's acquired.

The silver key opens the lock.

* Mr. Carver looks inside.

You stand in a spiral staircase that winds up as far as you can see, and down the same distance.  There are no windows, though you can see other landings further up and down the stair.  There are various doors evident on the landings.  This makes no sense at all: logically, you think that this staircase should intersect with the aquarium anteroom above, or possibly the Hall of Mouths...

Mr. Carver - Well, not that way either apparently.  Of course, one could always give it a try.

* Mr. Carver steps onto the staircase.

Mr. Carver - This better not be a trap.

* Mr. Carver climbs the stair to the door above him.

The door at this landing is of metal, graven with glyphs.  It jostles and bumps constantly, as if something was trying to force its way through from the other side.

Mr. Carver - This door seems like it should stay closed.

* Mr. Carver continues to climb the stairs.

At the next landing is a door of black stone, like obsidian.  It's unmarked, and looks to be unlocked.  Yet another door - plain and wooden - can be seen on the landing further above There's still no sign of the staircase ending: it seems to stretch up for an impossible distance.

* Mr. Carver tries the black door.

It opens easily. Outside a cityscape opens before you.  You seem to be on a balcony tower overlooking a massive tiered city.   The buildings here look like they were woven out of stony cobwebs, spindly towers snared in wefts of stone buttresses and gantries. Below, you can see small, many-limbed shapes moving about in courtyards and quadrangles.

Mr. Carver - Hm, this doesn't look much like Macellaria.

* Mr. Carver closes the black door and ascends to the plain wooden door.

* Mr. Carver opens the door, using one of the keys he procured.

Considering the number of stairs you've climbed you should be several hundred feet up, but the door opens in a plain, nondescript alleyway.  The familiar silhouette of the Fane of Dust in Hexwarren is evident nearby, rising above the buildings of Macellaria.

Mr. Carver - Ah, home, sweet home. Goodbye Mr. Khaan.

There is a sudden sound of shattering stone as the door that was jostling is burst asunder.  You hear a vague roaring sound from down below.

Mr. Carver - Not good.

* Mr. Carver runs out into the alley and slams the door shut, locking it securely behind him.[/ic]

[ooc]The part of Ezekiel Khaan was played by Nomadic.[/ooc][ic=A Simple Courier Mission]Wispy, you are taken to a dungeon - no other word for it - and strapped into a pair of "manacles" made from disembodied human hands sutured to the walls that clench your wrists and ankles.

Wispy - Gib...

The hex wears off but you are quite firmly imprisoned.  Ezekiel stands before you.

Ezekiel Khaan - So then, perhaps you will tell me what you were doing in my abode.

Wispy - I was totally trespassing.

* Ezekiel Khaan quietly taps his fingers together.

Ezekiel Khaan - Indeed... but rarely does one trespass for the sake of trespassing.

Wispy - Then you don't know Jatayi.  But, whatever, you've got me here so I'll tell you how I got in.  I fell down your chimney. You probably saw the soot.  Y'know, you should install more windows in your house.  Practically every room I went into didn't have a window and I couldn't get out.

* Ezekiel Khaan chuckles.

Ezekiel Khaan - Perhaps I like my privacy.

Wispy - You're like a lillix, you know that?

Ezekiel Khaan - But that is unimportant.  You were... perhaps after something of mine yes?  I have many valuable items

Wispy - Yeah, I took a mask- you have really good taste in art!

* Ezekiel Khaan 's chuckle becomes a full-fledged laugh, but not a happy merry one, instead taking on a blacker tone.

Ezekiel Khaan - Hmm, well, I don't take lightly to intruders.  The question, then, is what to do with you.  Perhaps I will just sell you off for parts to the grafters.

Wispy - I can rob other people for you, you know? Pay back my debt to society.

Ezekiel Khaan - Rob hmm, you are a funny one!  But, ah'¦ I recall a task that you may be of some use for.  There is a certain, ahem, property I have acquired the rights to, and you could perhaps get it for me'¦ a simple courier mission and I could possibly rethink selling you off in the Skin Markets.

Wispy - Probably a good idea, since I've got more feather than skin anyways.

Ezekiel Khaan - Indeed

Wispy - Sooo... what where when why and will-for?

* Ezekiel Khaan gestures and the gruesome manacles unclench.

 The guard gestures you to follow him.

Ezekiel Khaan '" If you value breathing, you will follow without attempting to escape.

* Wispy follows.

The guard leads you upstairs, to a small, almost featureless room.  A window is set on the far wall of this room, with a frame of black wood carved with glowing red glyphs in the Hellspeak alphabet.  Instead of the city of Macellaria or the wastelands, however, the window looks out on a decidedly different view.  The sky is a pulsating, veined thing torn with ragged rents that seep black, glistening rain onto the panoramic landscape below, a pale plain dotted with vast, coiled, living obelisk-shaped things - creatures? buildings? monuments? - and innumerable pits like open sores.  Occasional winged beings of some kind flit briefly through the skies, squealing with a sound no earthly beast is capable of making, faintly audible through the thick glass.  Apart from the window the room is virtually featureless.

The guard opens the window..

* Ezekiel Khaan enters the room behind you and carefully opens the lid of a nearby box and retrieves a strange silken sack dyed a deep red.

Ezekiel Khaan - I have acquired through some difficulty an item of some value.

Wispy - And you want me to take it?

Ezekiel Khaan - I want you to retrieve it for me.

* Ezekiel Khaan hands you the bag.

Ezekiel Khaan - you will pay for it and return.

Wispy - Uh... pay for it with what?

Ezekiel Khaan - The bag will take care of that.  Do not open it; simply hand it to the one known as Sprezychish.

Wispy - Jah, is there anything else I shouldn't do, cause I apparently have poor ability to tell good choices from bad '" witness my entry into your house.

Ezekiel Khaan - Simply follow the road from the portal to his house, hand him the bag and retrieve the item then return the way you came.

* Wispy shrugs and takes the bag.

Wispy - Gotcha Khaan, it ain't the first time I've been to hell. This'll turn out well.

* Ezekiel Khaan waves his hand dismissively.

Ezekiel Khaan - Be off.

You pass though the window and enter the world beyond.  The air tastes of blood and ozone, smells cloyingly of metallic bile, uncanny secretions, and brimstone.  The winged things you glimpsed earlier flock around you before wheeling away, squeaking and chittering to one another.  

You are standing on a kind of terrace at the top of one of the massive organic towers that dot the land, enormous spires of bone and flesh.  The towers of Skein are but pale imitations of these grotesque sublimities.  A twisting stair formed of jutting spines encircles the tower, leading down to the plain below: a winding road leads from the spire's base into the distance.

*Wispy tumbles out of the portal and hits the ground. His familiar, Vicebite, is nowhere to be seen.

*Wispy shakes a feathered arm back at the portal

Wispy - Vicebite, you blight!

*Wispy then curses the magician who sent him here.

Wispy - Wispy looks at the staircase, then judges how far down it goes.

The tower descends for perhaps fifteen hundred feet.

Wispy - Fiendish animal, won't accompany me to hell... I wonder if I'll find your aspect here.

* Wispy looks down the tower then shrugs and decides to follow the path. He races to the edge of the tower and jumps off.

You soar through the malodorous air and land at the tower's base.

The road stretching before you is of a smooth reddish material of unpleasant texture.  The plain is covered not in grass but in growths like enormous cilia, waving gently in the foetid winds.  They mutter mouthlessly, rustling against one another.  Squat shadows scuttle between them, too swift to be seen properly.

* Wispy hacks up congealed particulate matter that he sucked in while gliding down.

Wispy - No wonder Vicebite's so vicious.

A shadow passes overhead.  Somewhere high, high above you, a gigantic shape is visible, moving amongst the clouds, far above the spire-tops.  You cannot make out the particulars of its contours, half-shrouded as it is in an obfuscating pall, but you glimpse an enormous chitinous bulk trailing flexible appendages: a being the size of a city, drifting through the sky.  A titanic groan echoes across the plain.  The beast is soon lost in the gloom above.

Wispy - I'm off to see the Demon, the wonderful Demon of Hell. Because, because, because, oh well. Because I've been sent to hell with a pouch-basket grasped, by wizard tasked.

* Wispy sings to keep his spirits up.

*Wispy closes his eyes as he sings.

You hear something growl off to the left, amongst the cilia.

*Wispy opens one eye and cackles as loud as he can.

Wispy - EEEEEEEEEEeeee! (This might be interpreted as a scream, but is the best that a Jatayi can do in the way of growling.)

Wispy - And wispy continues walking.

A creature that might vaguely be likened to a six-legged dog crossed with a monstrous crustacean springs out of the undergrowth.  It growls from a fanged maw, purplish spittle dripping from a tentacular tongue.  The beast is about the size of a large, terrestrial wolf.

Wispy '" (Wispy speaks in Hellspeak) Hail Traveler. I am an agent of Sprezychish, so shoo.

* Wispy waves a wing dismissively.

The dog-thing pads forwards and begins sniffing and tasting the air with its tongue.  If it understood your speech it shows no sign of it.

* Wispy walks past the Hell-wolf, chest puffed out, strutting imperiously and with an air of importance.  On the back of his head is the Sorrow mask.

The canine-crustacean monstrosity whines and whimpers and begins following you.

Wispy - Onwards!

The road ends at the lip of one of the vast pits that dot the Hellscape.  This huge hole goes down further than you can see.  A narrow stair clings to the walls of the pit, descending into darkness.

*Wispy takes the stairs, for the moment.

As you make your descent you discern a series of rough holes in the cliff-face - tunnels or caves of some sort.

* Wispy also looks down to see if he can see the bottom of the pit.

You cannot see the bottom of the pit.

 The chitinous Hellhound padding behind you begins growling.  Its visage is turned towards the holes in the cliff-face.

* Wispy continues, paying no mind to the holes.

Wispy - Such worries are beneath a personage as important as myself.

A shape crawls out of one of the holes and takes to the air on a pair of membranous wings.  Considerably larger than the bat-like imps you encountered previously, the black-fleshed creature has no arms, but does sport a long, many-jointed tail tipped with a barbed stinger.  Its head is ovoid and mostly consists of a round, toothy mouth.  It shrieks once and flaps away into the distance.

The Hellhound barks savagely but ignores the flying thing and continues following you.

Eventually you come to a kind of landing.  While the stairs continues on, deeper into the pit, a large structure is evident on the landing: a sort of palace, formed of a black stone, or perhaps some manner of tissue, perched over the abyss below.  The structure is covered with strange white protuberances like gigantic, cataract-filmed eyes, though what their function is - decoration, security, or some other, more esoteric purpose - you do not know.

Standing at the mouth-like door to this manse is a thin, wiry creature with five many-jointed arms, two terminating in long, glistening claws, three in seven-fingered hands; it stands on a pair of bowed, hooved legs.  Its head, a narrow oblong, contains no visible eyes, but it seems to taste the air with a cartilaginous tendril, tipped with a bulbous ganglion, that sprouts just above its wide, many-toothed maw.

Wispy '" (In Hellspeak) Hail. I come to Sprezychish with item to exchange.

The demon hisses back: "What is your name, traveler?  And from whence do you hail?"  It speaks in the High Mode.

Wispy - The name I go by here is Vicebite. I hail from the magus Ezekiel Khaan.

"Very well.  Through here, then," the demon mutters, opening the door and ushering you into a tenebrous hall beyond.  "Go through the main hall and into the waiting room beyond, with the other petitioners."

Wispy - How many of these petitioners are seen each day?

"It depends.  Sometimes only a single individual may be granted an audience.  At other times, dozens may see Sprezychish."

Wispy - Wispy nods and goes in.

Columns resembling huge vertebrae support the ceiling; fountains along spew viscous fluid; a foul stench fills the air, even worse than the nauseating smell outside.  Another large door opens into a cavernous space beyond.  A small, hunched demon something like a fiendish, hairless monkey appears to be the doorkeeper.  It sits atop a pedestal of sorts.

* Wispy walks past the small demon, Hellhound still in tow.

"Oi!  You'll need a number"  The demon chirps angrily.

The creature offers you a square of velum with a single glyph on it.  The glyph is the Hellspeak numeral for "884459."

Wispy - Very well.

* Wispy accepts the number and continues into the room beyond.

Through some witchcraft this room possesses enormous dimensions, far exceeding those of the exterior palace.  Floating orbs of queasy, greenish light provide illumination, but even so the ceiling is only barely visible above, and you cannot see three of the walls at all.  Countless beings of myriad forms stand in a seemingly endless queue here, corralled by towering, elephantine demons with heads like horned crustaceans and spears taller than most trees.  These bestial horrors keep order, preventing anyone from cutting in line.  A voice booms out of the darkness over the heads of the multifarious crowd, proclaiming (in Hellpeak): "NOW ADMITTING PETITIONER 26731!"

Flying servitors flap about the room on leathery wings, holding large cauldrons of steaming liquid in their scrawny arms.  They descend occasionally when called by one of the petitioners and ladle out some of the slop from their pots into bowls of black metal.

The last petitioner in line is a brawny thing which regards you from a cluster of beady black eyes, set in a bald head that seem too small for its great stature: though dwarfed by the spear-wielding demons the petitioner stands perhaps twelve feet in height.  It wears armour made from what looks like the carapace of some behemoth insect and carries an axe-like weapon

Wispy - So, how many day's you've been waiting?

"Not sure, really.  Ten or twelve, I think.  Hard to say in this place."

Wispy - Gah,

* Wispy recoils.

Wispy - So why don't you cut the line?

"See those huge buggers with the giant spears?  They skewer people who cut.  And then eat them.  Names's Krael-Tovosh-Y'link, by the way.  From the Shuddersome Mountains of Xaicoul.  So, why're you here?"

Wispy - Name I go by here is Vicebite.  I've got business going with th' Demon. By the way, what's your number. And are you a spirit, or living.[/b]

"Number's 884458."  The demon seems puzzled by the other question.  'Can a spirit not be living?'

Wispy - Gotcha.

* Wispy nods.

Wispy - So do people give up and leave - or do they get skewered too?

"You can go if you want to, I suppose, but getting back through the line can be a bit of a hassle."

 The Hellhound is licking itself beside you.

Wispy - Well then, what brought you here? Were you expecting to wait for a long time?

"I'm here here to protest the appropriation of one of my master's fortresses by the armies of Sprezychish, requisitoned during his conquest of the Yawning Emptinesses beyond the Thanatotic Wastes on the Fourteenth Tier.  I was told the wait would be a few years or so.  A small sacrifice."

"NOW ADMITTING PETITIONER 26732!"

Wispy - Hm. line's moving fast today.  Weird though, this doesn't seem to be the line for me.

Yeah.  Sometimes it takes hours.  Maybe they offended Sprezychish."

Wispy - What's the guy in front of you here for?  Asking a question, or doing business?

"It doesn't seem to speak.  Just stares and hisses sometimes."

Wispy - Well what about the one in front of it?

"I think she's been sent with a marriage proposal."

Wispy - marriage proposal- for whom?  She wants the demon's blessing?

'No, her sire sent her to offer to join Sprezychish's harem."

Wispy - And Gleet- that sounds terrible about what you're having to protest.

"Yes, it's a very serious issue."

Wispy - Lots of great and terrible stories here, then, I guess.

Krael-Tovosh-Y'link shrugs.  "I suppose.  Are things different in your homeland?"

Wispy - Demons aren't conquering anywhere. And the Cestoids are all dead off.  Hey, I'm going to go speak with the gate demon, but before I do - I'm a Fabler.  I spin stories, and I'd like to be able to spin yours to my people- they'd find it interesting.

"Well, that would actually really help our awareness campaign."

Wispy - I've got... '˜bout thirty minutes here and may not come back though- so if you have a tale to tell, I'd love to hear it.  I'd love to spread awareness.

Krael-Tovosh-Y'link begins a saga concerning the campaign of Sprezychish in the Yawning Emptinesses, a vast and violent struggle costing trillions of demoniac lives.  Much of the tale concerns the defense of a small mountain pass in Xaicoul, and the rapine of Sprezychish's fiendish soldiers as they take over the fortress guarding the pass and generally abuse the inhabitants of the surrounding territories.  The climax is the epic Battle of Black Lightning, when the necromentals of the Thanatotic Waste came to the aid of Sprezychish's forces (a bargain having been struck), crushing the indigenes of the Yawning Emptiness against the walls of the fortress in the heart of the Shuddersome Mountains.

Wispy - Amazing!  I'll commit it to rhyme form.  And if things don't work out with me at the gate, I can memorize more later.

* Wispy reaches out to shake Krael-Tovosh's hand.

The demon bends down and shakes Wispy's hand.

* Wispy heads back to the desk demon.

The dwarfish monkey-thing peers at you testily. Yes?"

Wispy - I think I belong in the other line.

"Other line?"

Wispy - I don't actually have a petition per se.  I have an item Sprezychish wants.

"An item, eh?  Why don't you just give it to me, then."

Wispy - You're not him.

"Indeed.  But I can convey it to him."

Wispy - Apparently this was supposed to be a trade.

The demon frowns.  It clearly isn't used to someone questioning protocol.

Wispy - Wispy smiles charmingly.

"I suppose I could summon the Seneschal.  It would be a trifle unorthodox, however.  What exactly are you delivering?"

Wispy - The thing that's in this pouch.

* Wispy holds up the pouch.

"May I inspect it?"

Wispy - Well, I suppose you could always just take it from me and look at it - but I've been warned that I can't open it; maybe we should let the Seneschal take that risk instead.

"Hmph!  I will not bother the Seneschal over a trifle.  I must ascertain the details of this exchange before I bother it with such a matter.  Give me the bag."

Wispy - A trifle? Stifle your fears; if the agreement was previously procured, then this is likely to be far more than a trifle.

"Hmph.  Very well, very well."  The creature hits a small bell and a grinning, emaciated being shuffles out of the shadows; it has the appearance of a tall, horned skeleton with black bones.

"This being claims to have an object of interest for Sprezychish,' the attendant says.  'It refused to let me see the contents of the bag, however."

The Seneschal wheezes and holds out an ebon hand.

Wispy - Pleasure to meet you.

* Wispy shakes the hand, smiling all the time.

The moment your flesh touches the bony creature the room vanishes.  You appear to have been transported to a throne-room.  More of the guardian-demons stand at attention, but even they look tiny compared to the titanic creature that sits on a great chair at the far end of the hall.    The chair seems to be made of the skulls of a thousand different species mortared together.  The being who sits upon it is surprisingly humanoid, though many times greater in dimension.  Its flesh is blackish green in colour, its eyes violent crimson; its huge head is surmounted by a veritable forest of horns, like a bony crown.  Tentacular growths dot its body, waving to and fro aimlessly.  It is difficult to estimate the being's height.  Seventy feet?  A hundred?  Two hundred?  The demon's enormity makes a mockery of scale.

* Wispy bends down and bows before the Demon, pushing the bag slightly out in front of him.

"YES?"  The demon says, sounding infinitely bored.  "WHAT IS THIS CREATURE DOING HERE?  DOES YOU COME TO GIVE AN OFFERING?"

Wispy - Great Demon Sprezychez... I come from Khaan with a trade.

A scrawny demon you hadn't noticed before stamps its clawed foot as you speak.  "I object!  I waited for forty five years for an audience and I will not be denied!"

Sprezychish grimaces in annoyance, snaps his enormous fingers, and the protesting creature explodes in a puff of smoke and charred fragments of gore.  Then it turns back to you.

"FROM KHAAN YOU SAY?"

Wispy - There's a terrible wonder in this bag- to be exchanged.

YOU MAY DEPOSIT THE ITEM WITH MY SENESCHAL.

The demoniac skeleton moves to take the bag.

Wispy - And where to pick up the exchange; or alternatively... (reflecting and looking at the puff of smoke) to receive your rage?"

The demon-lord laughs abominably.

"YES, OF COURSE.  SENESCHAL: BRING THE COURIER TO THE INFUSION CHAMBER."

Wispy - Khaan, Ezekiel the one, warned me the pouch should not be opened - so you may want your Seneschal to exercise care.  I think you can open it though... so no worries about that. Oh.

"DO NOT WORRY ON THAT ACCOUNT."  The arch-demon chuckles again with the volume of an earthquake.

The Seneschal takes the bag delicately and places its claws on your shoulder.

Wispy - Infusion... infusion... thank you very much for the profusion of good will.

* Wispy gestures with a hand.

Wispy - Khaan will be very grateful for your trade.  He'll be happy that it's made.

"AMUSING CREATURE.  I AM IN NEED OF A NEW FOOL.  MY LAST PROVOKED MY IRRITATION.  SHOULD YOU LEAVE KHAAN'S EMPLOYMENT, RETURN AND YOU SHALL BE MADE MY JESTER."

You feel a pulse of energy from the Seneschal's fingers.  The throne room vanishes before your eyes, to be replaced by a smaller, dim room with a central slab from which a number of long, snaking tendrils writhe.

The Seneschal gestures that you lie down on the slab.

* Wispy looks at the Seneschal.

Wispy - So Seneschal, what'll it be today with the infusion? Something permanent as long as I live, or temporary?

The Seneschal moans eerily and the tendrils lash out towards you, attempting to bind around your ankles and wrists.  Three of your limbs are pinioned by the tendrils.

* Wispy strains at the cord, but soon realizes that he is completely tied down.  A fourth tendril wraps round his free wrist.

Lashed to the slab, you watch as the Seneschal slides towards you while more tendrils pull at your clothes.

Wispy - Hey if you want me to take off the armor, you'd just have to ask, let's quit with the tendril amour here!  C'mon quit with that, this is tender armor!

The Seneschal ignores you completely as the tendrils continue to peel off your armour and clothing, till you are stripped to the waist.

Wispy - This is worse than a lillix-on-lillix porn painting!

The demon now hovers above you, fixing you with its unmoving, skeletal grin.

Wispy - Yeah, look at that, look at those feathers.

With grotesque dispassion the Seneschal uses one long, black talon to begin carving sigils into your flesh.

Wispy - Aw, crap.  This is eerily familiar to how my mother met her end...

The Seneschal continues carving till your torso and limbs are covered in sigils.

Wispy - So, whatya' doin' to me?  Fixing me up so you can summon me here at any time, just like witches in Macellaria can summon demons?

Its mutilations complete, the Seneschal steps back and cocks its horned head to one side, as if admiring its handiwork.  It hisses and exhales some sort of unwholesome vapour.  The Seneschal continues its detached observance, unspeaking.  This sickly miasma hovers in the air for a moment before entering your nose and mouth.

Wispy - Waaargikh!  Fluuummmph!

The sigils carved into your skin are glowing an  infernal red.  There is a moment of excruciating pain; when the agony ceases you feel an alien presence within you, squirming in your breast, scrabbling madly against the insides of your mind, a prisoner rattling the bars of its cage.  Your skin flutters and pulsates with uncanny rhythms.

Wispy - Whaaaatttaaburrrrgggeerr!

The grinning Seneschal bends over you again and lays its black claws against your forehand.  The Infusion Chamber vanishes and you find yourself on the landing outside the Palace of Sightless Eyes.  Your armour and clothing are restored.  The demon points to the path leading back up and out of the pit, then disappears into shadowy wisps.

The hound-thing that followed you earlier bounds up from where it was lying and runs towards you, apparently pleased to see you.

Wispy - Fancy meeting you here.

The thing pants and licks at your hand, searing your fingers with caustic spittle.

* Wispy looks at his hand, then sighs and shrugs.

* Wispy starts walking back up out of the pit, testing his wings every few moments to see how well they can support him.

Halfway up, another of the gaunt, winged demons that attacked you earlier climbs out of a cave along the cliffs and lanches itself towards you.  You feel the demoniac presence within you spasm, and suddenly a ball of shadowy Hellfire appears in your hand!

* Wispy, surprised by the flame, throws it away from him.

The ball of flame hits the creature head-on and incinerates it.  The demon's charred corpse falls into the pit below.

Wispy - Great balls of fire!

There is a chittering sound from the caves along the cliffs and more of the creatures begin crawling out!

Wispy '" (turning to the Hellhound) '" Goodness gracious.

The Hellhound howls.

Wispy - We'll have to fly.

* Wispy grabs the dog and tries to take off.

Weighed down by the dog, you struggle into the air and manage (after a moment of queasy veritgo over the pit) to maintain your flight.  A swarm of the demoniac beasts is now whirling behind you.  The great flock forms a black cloud of wings and horns...

Barely managing to keep ahead of the growing flock of demons, you reach the lip of the pit.

* Wispy rocks from side to side and releases the hound... then sprints a few feet to avoid falling flat on his face.

Wispy - WeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnDDDDDyyyyyysssss (He screams out incoherence)!

You hit the ground hard and start running.  The dog-thing keeps pace beside you on its six legs.

Wispy - Okay hound, you're on your own. Wispy is going to take to the skies and head for the tall tower.

The cloud of demons is dense.  Like wasps, they seem to have swarming tendencies.  The Hellhound barks loudly and races along underneath you as you head towards the tower-top.

Wispy - Run hound run- run like Hell!  With your chitinous lips and your beady red eyes/ With your ravenous smile/ And your hungry heart/ Feel the bile rising from your condemned past/ With your nerves in tatters/ As the cockleshell shatters/ And the demoniac hammers batter/ Down your heels/ You better run!

Two of the outlying demons have caught up to you and begin nipping at your wings.  One manages to pull out some feathers.

Wispy - Ha, you pulled some feathers, but Vicebite on a good day takes more than that!

* Wispy berates the chasing demons.

You arrive at the terrace you entered this dimension at.  The hound is climbing the winding stairs but it'll take some time for it to get to the top.  Meanwhile, the cloud of demons is approaching.

* Wispy turns and attempts to cast the spell 'Honeyslick' at the cloud of demons.

A gout of eldritch liquid splatters all over the pursuing demons. Weighed down and made sticky by the viscous substance the flock falters.  Many plough into the spire, while others collide with one another, and still others plummet out of the sky.  Down below, you hear the Hellhound bay and pant.  Several of the creatures near the rear of the flock avoid the hex, however, and advance towards you, teeth gnashing.

* Wispy aims his Jatayi bolts and fires.

Your quarrels down two of the horrors, and they tumble out of the sky with horrid screams.  The three remaining demons swoop down and begin tearing at your face and arms with their teeth and claws, viciously tearing at your flesh.

* Wispy fires two more bolts.

One of the circling demons takes a bolt to the head and tumbles off the terrace.

* Wispy clutches at his necklace.

Wispy - Ha! My demon-ward is working!  Although why it didn't repel the dog... I wonder.

One of the demons tears at your face, nearly taking your eye out with its claws.  You have now lost a lot of blood and are becoming quite dizzy.  The Hellhound howls.  It sounds quite close now.

* Wispy yowls and rolls, firing his bolts as he does so.

The last two swarming demons die, hitting some of their fellows as they fall from the sky.  As they do so the Hellhound appears at the terrace, barking loudly.  It swats one of the demons with its acidic tongue, extending it as a frog would.

Another wave of the flying, tenacious creatures approaches.

Wispy - Well, hound, let's go.

* Wispy gestures toward the portal and steps through.

The slavering dog-thing barks and follows you through.

Back in the mansion, you are faced by one of Ezekiel's footmen and a tall, svelte figure garbed in a pristine white suit, its dapper appearance belied by its beard of tentacles and many red eyes '" presumably Nybias, Ezekiel's chief of security.

The window is still open behind you...

* Wispy wheezes.

* Wispy immediately shoots a ball of flame at the footman.

The demoniac footman shrieks as black nether-flame envelopes it.  Nybias snarls.  The demons behind you arrive at the terrace and are going to start barging through the window.

Wispy - Quick Nybias!  They're coming to kill us all!  They shoot flames!

Two of the winged demons burst into the room and Nybias moves forward.  A whip formed of black shadow-stuff congeals in its hand, and it begins lashing at the incoming creatures.

* Wispy makes a run for it while Nybias is distracted.

While Nybias fends off a horde of angry demons you bolt through the corridors of Ezekiel Khaan's mansion, a six-legged Hellhound in tow.

Wispy '" Yes!

Blood from the wounds you sustained splatters the floor as you run, emerging into an anteroom at the top of the stairs that lead down to the front lobby.

* Wispy races downstairs.

Some kind of arcane alarm is now blaring through the mansion.  You hear a snarl of fury somewhere behind you...

* Wispy makes his way to the doors.

Nybias appears at the top of the stairs.

* Wispy flings open the doors.

Outside, twilight is descending.  The Hellhound turns and faces down Nybias.  The demoniac guardian is advancing, whip in hand.

Wispy - Hey Vicebite!

The familiar appears in a puff of brimstone smoke.

Wispy - Be familiar for once!  Go sting that Nybias-thing over there!

* Wispy casts - DISCOMBOBULATION!

The familiar gives you a salute with its wing and flits towards the demon.  Your hex strikes the guardian, who staggers backwards as he receives a faceful of winged rage.  Vicebite's clockwork limbs and hammer-key teeth bite into Nybias' flesh.  Nybias is distracted but unhurt by your familiar's attacks.  It swats at the flying creature, flailing madly.

Wispy - Good work distracting him Vicebite! Come on hound; even Sprezychinky couldn't take down that Nybias.

The Hellhound bays enthusiastically.

Wispy - We must move onwards-to profit!

The Hellhound tenses as you approach the wall and suddenly vomits up a great spew of greenish bile.  This caustic substance melts a huge hole in the wall, which the Hellhound then bounds through.

The dog-thing burps happily.

Wispy - And away we go! Chiiiiikkkkfffiilllaaahey!

Ezekiel Khaan slams open a window on the top floor.

'I'll get you, jatayi!'  The magus screams.  'And your little dog, too!

A moment later, Vicebite emerges from the chimney of the house and wings over to Wispy and the Hellhound.  Together, the three run off at full speed, into the glorious sunset.[/ic]

[ic=Coda: The Funeral]The insatiable blood-drinker Gorethirst, slayer of Glut and countless other souls in and out of the Pits, has been killed by the human warrior Servius Izar.  His companions - Mr. Carver, Kaius Alexander, Tarim, and Eareg Maar - watch in abject horror as the leechkin gladiator's brains are dashed out on the arena sands.

After the match, the arena attendants bring out Gorethirst's body and equipment.  The band of adventurers solemnly collect their fallen comrade's corpse.

* Tarim frowns, grinding his modified teeth.

* Eareg Maar tips his hat to the corpse.

Tarim - A grim fate...

Eareg Maar - Well you died where you wanted leech!

*Mr. Carver takes off his hat and bows his head in solemn respect

Eareg Maar - Hardly, Tarim.  It died well how it would have wanted to go.

Mr. Carver - It knew the Arena well. It could have died in worse ways.  But still, this news sadden me.

Tarim - True. But to be killed by that man'¦

Eareg Maar - Of course it owes me a hundred bones.

* Eareg_Maar chuckles.

Mr. Carver - Hah yes, you aren't likely to get them back.

Kaius Alexander - We must lay it to rest properly. The Gorethirst's prowess on the battlefield was considerable.

Kaius Alexander - As a warrior, we must burn it.  Bring the oil.

Mr. Carver - Hm, I believe we will perform whatever ceremony we find adequate... not like there are many besides us who know the leech that well.  Aside from Mr. Rasp of course.

Tarim - Sounds well enough.

You lay out the leechkin's broken body and douse it in oil.

* Kaius Alexander cuts his hand and solemnly drips blood lengthwise down the body of the Gorethirst.

* Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

* Mr. Carver lifts his eyebrows above his bug-eyes.

*Eareg Maar waits till everyone has paid their respects.

* Mr. Carver tosses a knife on the pyre.

* Eareg Maar gestures towards the fallen leechkin and a wave of rolling flame envelops its corpse.

The gladiator's body is quickly consumed by the arcane fire, bones blackening till only the Bloodslake Manacles remain.

Tarim - May your rest be undisturbed.

* Mr. Carver gazes into the flames.

Kaius Alexander - It is done.

Flesh-smoke rises from the leechkin's ashes, into the dark, empty sky...

Tarim - What shall we do with its ashes?

Mr. Carver - Spread them in the arena perhaps?

* Tarim nods.

Tarim - That seems fitting. It lived and died there, and would be made part of it in death.

* Eareg Maar tips his hat to the leech one final time before turning and heading towards the arena exit.

Kaius Alexander - On the field of its death it will remain.

* Mr. Carver gathers up the remaining pieces of the Helm of Urus as well as the Bloodslake Manacles.

Kaius Alexander - We must deal with the Jatayi soon. Shall we depart on the morrow for Shan-Szut?

Tarim - I am ready to take to that journey.

You scatter the ashes of Gorethirst in the arena and leave Gorethirst's equipment (and Corpsegobble) with Yesheleb at the Guidhall of the Crimson Shadows.  The grafted warrior bows deeply and solemnly.

"I am sorry for your loss.  The leech fought valiantly."

Mr. Carver - It did. It was close to winning too as I saw it... Felled by a moment of bad luck.

Yesheleb accepts the Manacles.

"Mr. Rasp will want to study these.  Here: a token for your troubles."

He pays you one thousand obeloi for the manacles.

* Mr. Carver makes a gracious bow.

*Kaius Alexander inclines his head to Yesheleb.

Kaius Alexander - We will remember its victories along with its defeat.

* Eareg Maar makes for the door.

Kaius Alexander - We will meet at dawn. For Shan-Szut.

* Kaius Alexander leaves the others to return to his home.

* Tarim bows solemnly and exits the guildhall.

* Mr. Carver nods and follows.

* Eareg Maar casually salutes the group as he leaves for his place.

* Kaius Alexander heads to the Skin Markets, to the Court of Flesh.

The Court-of-Flesh is dominated by the central slave-market, where the Fleshmongers hawk their living wares.  Other merchants sell everything from vellum (far more common than papyrus or paper in the City of Bodysnatchers) to candles to hide and leather armour and clothing to entire corpses, often preserved in some fashion.  Food vendors serve fried spiders, boiled dog, lizard, and even human meat, and a thick mealworm broth

In addition to humans, cestoids, and ghilan there are a large number of shades here purchasing preservatives from one of several merchants specializing in embalming fluids and the like.

The beast market is in one corner, thronged by everything from pack-lizards to horses to gigantic maggots, sand-rays, and riding birds.
equipment at various places in the bazaars

*Kaius Alexander purchases a giant monitor lizard with riding saddle, as well as a custom surcoat he'd commissioned earlier and other provisions for the journey.

Kaius Alexander - I will call you Conveyance.

* Conveyance's tongue flickers inscrutably.
'¦

The group gathers at Eareg's cave the next morn.

*Tarim nods in greetings to Eareg

* Kaius Alexander sits silently on Conveyance, the edges of his surcoat flap idly in the dry morning breeze.

* Eareg Maar is sitting out front of the cave on an overturned crate, smoking a pipe.

* Mr. Carver sits in the shade of the cave entrance.

* Eareg Maar waves to the group

Eareg Maar -     welcome again to my humble abode, I see we're all here.

Kaius Alexander - Will we procure a guide from the Jatayi?

Mr. Carver - No matter how much Eareg knows about the Slaughter-lands I'm sure he hasn't been inside Shan-Szut'¦

* Eareg Maar goes inside and returns with a large travellers pack stuffed with a motley assortment of items.

Tarim - I'll trust to Eareg's abilities as a wayfinder

Eareg Maar - I know whereabouts we are going and am fairly certain as to the exact cave.

Kaius Alexander - Your skills served us well before. As long as you are certain, Eareg.

* Tarim produces from his robes a small, circular disc with a painted image of an equine.  With a few eldritch words and a flick of his clawed fingers the disc emits a cloud of dark, oily smoke, swirling in the air and taking the form of a jet-black horse.

Kaius Alexander - You possess many clever tricks, Tarim.

* Tarim places his baggage on the horse and then mounts it.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, I'm not terribly fond of guiding mounts... Anybody who can give me a lift?

Kaius Alexander - There is room on Conveyance, if you wish, Mr. Carver.

Tarim - The lizard does look pretty big.

Kaius Alexander - Her back is strong, and she will not shirk from her duty.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, lizards can't be much worse than horses. I'll accept.

Eareg Maar - I prefer to walk, though for now this may be useful

* Eareg Maar flourishes with his hand and inky black tendrils crawl from his chest to drip out in oil-like spots on the ground

* Eareg Maar lifts up his hand and a skeletal horse rips its way from the ground.

* Eareg Maar climbs aboard the mount, pulling out a map and compass for a quick look before putting them away.

Eareg Maar - Well then if we are ready let us be off

Tarim - Lead the way.[/ic]

[ic=Rotmist]The waste opens around you with its welcoming, suffocating enormity, bares its desiccated bosom and envelops you in a hot, eager embrace that smells of sand and old death.  The air is charged with the residues of bizarre and unthinkable weapons, with the ubiquitous radiation of apocalyptic spells, with ambient static energy.  Rock formations like deformed giants and the occasional cactus punctuate the endless, undulating plain.

The geriatric sun seems to flicker, to dim, exhausted in its ancientness, a fiery canker in a sky blank and blanched pale as a piece of parchment, stained only by the occasional inkblots of distant clouds, black lesions marring the otherwise pristine no-colour overhead, prophesying vicious storms.  When the rains aren't Red in the Slaughter-lands they're often black and caustic, semi-viscous with clots of puissant filth; or else they're a luminous golden-green, humming with numina, making the cacti bloom with weird vampiric flowers that wilt after an hour and polluting the pools of oases so that the fish babble in forgotten languages.

Somewhere ahead is Shan-Szut, eyrie of the jatayi, but betwixt it and you is a vastness of dust and shadow - a desolation home only to the unfriendly dead, to predatory demons, to the nameless things of elder epochs that prowl the emptiness.

The shadows lengthen like the black claws of some beast of darkness, raking across this cadaverous earth as if with a paroxysm of perverse and passionate lust, or perhaps with a dying body's last cataleptic spasms, presaging death's dominion'¦

*Eareg Maar breathes it all in

Eareg Maar - Now we're in my home turf.  Feels good to be back.

Mr. Carver - Hmm, and the distance to my home turf is steadily increasing.

Tarim - Sure is hot out here in the open plains.

*Eareg Maar looks back at Carver.

Eareg Maar - If you feel faint let me know.

Mr. Carver - Gleetin' sweltering heat.

Kaius Alexander - You must remember to drink, Mr. Carver. This plain is hot.

*Kaius Alexander passes back a canteen.

* Mr. Carver takes a big gulp of water

*Eareg Maar takes a drink from a large waterskin at his side.

Mr. Carver - Thanks.

*Kaius Alexander inclines his head.

You come upon some old bones.  The skeleton of an enormous creature lies in the waste here, broken and bleached by the cruel sun.  What the beast looked like in life is difficult to say; its remains are too colossal, too shattered, and too alien to properly identify.

*Eareg Maar looks at the bones as they pass.

 Eareg Maar -    Hey there's Old William... good.  We're on track.

Mr. Carver - And yes, Eareg, I'll be sure to let you know with my dying words... You could have warned me of the heat.  Or at least the lack of shade

*Eareg Maar grins back at Carver.

Tarim - A whole week of this just to get there. How delightful.

Kaius Alexander - The whole of the south burns with fever. I mislike it.

Eareg Maar - The shade can be handled.

*Tarim grins.

*Eareg Maar thumps at a large rolled up canvas.

Mr. Carver - That does kind of require us to stop, and I'd rather get this over with as quickly as possible.

Tarim - We could travel at night. Us ghilan can see better in the dark than in this cursed daylight.

Eareg Maar - I plan on taking us at night, but I would like to put some distance between us and home.

Kaius Alexander - A sensible proposition.

* Mr. Carver taps his optics.

Mr. Carver - with my new eyes I should be able to handle the darkness quite well, too.

The day progresses steadily, morning giving way to afternoon giving way to early evening.  You catch a whiff of a pungent carrion scent distinct from the ubiquitous smell of dust and bonemeal that fills the Slaughter-lands '" a foul reek as of newly rotten flesh.

A sickly, greyish-yellow mist has begun to congeal, creeping across the waste in a sallow, unwholesome-looking curtain, bringing uncharacteristic moisture to the otherwise parched and barren desert.

Tarim - We better avoid that mist.  It's deadly

As you watch, a grove of cacti is subsumed momentarily by a pall of fog.  After the miasma passes, the cacti are withered and decayed, putrid vegetable flesh sloughing off their fibrous skeletons.

Mr. Carver - As far as I've heard you should avoid pretty much anything that moves

*Eareg Maar takes the group as best as he can around the outskirts of the mist, keeping a good distance between them and it.

*With ruffled feathers, black and blue eyes, and looking extremely hungover, Wispy comes flapping toward the group.

Wispy - Squawk. Heya Carver... managed to track ya here, good to see we're helpin' out the mother brood y'know.

*Kaius Alexander narrows his eyes at the Jatayi.

Mr. Carver - Hello Wispy. You look in a bad shape.  But then again, I guess your kind is used to the wastes and this gleetin' heat.

Kaius Alexander - Meddlesome bird. I had thought we had seen the last of you.

You catch a small tendril of the Rotmist.  It feels like the icy hands of a corpse, and leaves you clammy and sick-feeling.

Eareg Maar - Blasted shifting winds!

*Eareg Maar searches for an area clear of the mist and leads the group away from the Rotmist, avoiding its lethal banks.

*Kaius Alexander grimaces as he breaks out in a cold sweat.

Mr. Carver - My skin is peeling off, Eareg. You're sure we're going the right way?

Eareg Maar - Are you dead yet?

Mr. Carver - Not that I noticed

Eareg Maar - Then we're not going the wrong way at least

Wispy - Bad shape, bad shape, gather round, friend and gape... go out drinking at night and wake up at first light t- Leechkin by your side and bruises on your body...

*Wispy shivers.

Wispy - This morning I was filled with fright, for I do not know to what I got up to last night.

Mr. Carver - You heard of its death?

Wispy - Whose death?  By the way, where's that leech fellow'¦ Maybe he can tell me what kind of diseases you can get from sleeping with a leech.

Kaius Alexander - I think he speaks of other things, Mr. Carver.

Mr. Carver - Gorethirst... I just assumed...

*Eareg Maar motions to Kaius to shut "that damned bird" up.

Tarim - Gorethrist died in the arena.

*Wispy frowns, hearing of Gorethrists death.

Eareg Maar - There's more dangerous things than mists in these places

Kaius Alexander - Bird. You had best silence yourself. I mislike your constant noise.

Mr. Carver - Heh, didn't think he would be the first of us to go.

Wispy - A eulogy: Among the quick, death does tick / Swords do flash, Leechmouth lick / Time it pass, melancholy thick / Even the good, Even the great / Although skilled, fall to fate / Our Gory one, Now is late.

As you move past the last of the mist a ragged figure staggers from the clotted murk.  In appearance he resembles a grave-spawn: his flesh is blighted and putrefied, pocked with wetly gleaming patches of decay.  A blade hangs at his waist, the leather scabbard coming apart in moist clumps.

*Eareg Maar leads the group out and away from the mist

Mr. Carver - Another mislike Kaius? Are you in a bad mood today?

Kaius Alexander - My disposition is not your concern, Mr. Carver.

Mr. Carver - Eareg, you're the professional scavenger. Is that something we want to touch?

*Eareg Maar pulls Meteor out of its side pouch.

Eareg Maar - Not especially.  Who goes there?

Mr. Carver - I wouldn't mind a little profit after my losses at the arena, but I don't want to lose an arm getting to it'¦

The figure collapses.

Eareg Maar - Just as I thought.  Some fool got caught in the thick of it

Tarim - Better him than us.

Eareg Maar - We may join him yet... come on.

*Eareg Maar takes them out away from the mist.

Night descends; a gibbous moon rises.  A greyish mass appears some distance ahead and to the east.  It is very large but appears to be immobile; right now it is too far away to be made out clearly.  It's definitely solid - not mist.

As you draw nearer you see that the mass is a forest, albeit a calcified one.

*Kaius Alexander reins in Conveyance.

Kaius Alexander - Curious.

Tarim - Curiosity can kill you in this land.

You know of this area Eareg.  It's a large calcified woodland.  Various creatures do live there, but its sheltered from the elements.

*Eareg Maar gestures to the forest.

Eareg Maar - We will be safe in here until the next night, I suggest we get some rest.[/ic]