DoT: Abomination

Lloroth turned in his cave, drifting towards the entrance before he thought better of it and stopped. The boy was dead, and his eyes sought to return to him, but their way was blocked. Cloth, he thought, remembering their last sight. Fear tore through him, unexpected and unwelcome; this was a danger he had never anticipated. Should he go to retrieve them? Should he wait, and send a bargainer instead? There were risks to waiting, but also risks to breaking his cover. 

He should have known better than to make a compact with the boy, he decided. For all his swagger, the child had proven weak and inept. He'd been desperate to bargain, though, and the idea of a dedicated servant, one he could experiment on... Lloroth had been unable to resist. 

The shock, when it came, was sudden and absolutely unexpected: blinding pain, and then the slow, throbbing ache as his two borrowed eyes reappeared at the ends of their tentacles. Dispelled, somehow. That was another risk he hadn't expected; how had the mortals managed it? If they'd done it to the boy's corpse, they could do it to any of his bargainers, and that was unacceptable. He'd have to refine his techniques, improve the magic he used for implants.

Trading out his eyes was only the beginning, a convenient way to gather resources and prepare. The lesser creatures on this island were not to be trusted; they might rise up against him at any time. No, he needed to continue his research, master his arts, and create better servants -- more loyal, more reliable, and better placed in what passed for local society. 

DoT: After The Job

"Ah, you made it," said Melia, as Werril opened the door. She kissed him quickly on the cheek, half shy and half secretive, then drew away. "Any trouble?"

Werril shut the door behind and heaved a massive sigh. Their hideout was a small set of rooms on the upper floor of a boarding house about halfway down the lowest northern spoke. "Gods-damned Red Blade," he said. "One of the cultists. I had to charm her to escape."

"But you made it, right?" asked Melia. 

"Yes, but she saw my face. My magic..."

"Your magic isn't the problem." Sairen said, stepping up behind Amelia. "Your control is."

Melia turned. "It's wild magic, Sairen. By its very nature, it's not controllable."

Sairen sniffed. 

"Worry about it later," Werril said. "I need a bath, and a good night's sleep, and I don't want to argue until sometime after breakfast."

"As you wish," Sairen said. "The job is done, and none of us were caught. Nobody followed you here?"

"No." Werril was fair certain of that.

"Then yes, we should discuss the risks and benefits of your sort of magic later on." The dark elf actually smiled. "At least you kept your wits about you." 

DoT: Searches and Seizures

"Where do we stand?" asked Mad Hettie.

They were sitting in the dark around a central fire; Hettie considered it the best spot for deliberations, and always held their meetings on a mid-sized ledge just off to the side of lower spoke south. There was an established firepit here, and sometimes their arrival chased other people away. 

"I've contacted a team of sea elves down at the docks," Gorak said. "They usually work for the Stevedores or the Gleaners, but they're willing to work for us. If his body went into the water, they should be able to find it."

"The Mist Eyes," said Storm, and Malice -- sitting beside him -- nodded. Those two acted as a unit, leading their portion of the Red Blades together. They might squabble with each other, but they closed ranks immediately against any threat from outside. "We know the Stevedores and the Gleaners wouldn't have been involved with this, and the upper-level gangs think us beneath their notice."

Verity braced herself, but Mad Hettie said, "Later for that. If Varna was killed, I want this specific group. Hound them, hunt them, harry them. Let them know no rest. We'll wring the truth from them, sing it free from the marrow of their bones."

"One of my people came to me, a personal confession," Verity said, looking at the flames so as to avoid having to meet Hettie's red-eyed gaze. "She believes she met one of the attackers, but he charmed her and sent her on to investigate that mist that they left. She says he was likely a half-elf, possibly an elf, and handsome enough."

"She let him leave?" asked Gorak, then shook himself. "No, if she was charmed, of course she did. I should be more surprised that a professional would be caught at all."

Verity nodded. She liked Gorak, despite herself. He was more quick to anger than Varna, but he caught himself quickly too. He needed time and tempering, but he wouldn't be a bad replacement. He was doing his best to step up, and he seemed to have the support of Varna's people. 

"I want to send the Mist Eyes a warning," Malice said quietly, rubbing her scarred hands together. "Just a little thing."

Mad Hettie considered that, then shook her head. "Not yet. Not unless it becomes widely known that Varna is missing. Better if we can bring him back without notice."

Gorak nodded immediately. "If you can think of any other ways to find him, let me know." 

DoT: Witnesses and Repercussions

"Who is this?" asked Verity Red, studying the trembling woman whom the twins had brought in. They were accompanied by one of Verity's Blood Hunters -- Vallatha, she thought. 

"A witness," said Storm. 

"A woman with a tale," said Malice. 

Verity sighed. "Come over here. Sit down." The Blood Hunter touched the woman on the shoulder, then led her gently over to the chair across from Verity. The woman was still trembling. 

The table was a simple thing, small and circular and tucked away into one corner of the warehouse. It was mostly used for playing cards or dice. It was also the best-lit spot inside; the rest of the warehouse was dark. "Tell me your name," said Verity.

"It-- I forgot it," the woman said, and Storm laughed. 

Verity held up a hand to the twins, who -- thank the gods -- chose to obey her. "Try again," she said. "Take a deep breath. We aren't going to kill you, but I need to hear this, here, where nobody else can."

The smaller of the two warehouse doors slammed shut, and the woman flinched. Sharp steps crossed the darkness, tap-tap-tapping their way towards the table. Gorak threw himself down into the remaining chair, glared at the twins, and then turned to Verity. "All right, Verity," he asked, ignoring the woman. "What have we learned?"

"Nothing, as of yet," she said. "The twins say this woman has a story for us, but nobody seems able to stop scaring her long enough for her to gather her wits and speak."

"Ah," said Gorak, and finally turned to look at the human woman. "My apologies, then." He glared at the twins. "Storm, Malice, fetch us some brandy. I suspect we could all use something to steady our nerves."

"My nerves have no need of---" Storm cut off as Malice caught his elbow, and the two of them stalked away. 

"...They do well with their own territory," Gorak said quietly, with a glance at Verity, "but I swear, one of these days..."

Verity nodded. The twins didn't much concern her, but with the first lieutenant Varna Blackhand missing they could be troublesome. She didn't want the Red Blades to become disrupted and fractious; it might cause problems for her own people.  

The woman said, hesitant and quavering, "You really aren't going to kill me?"

Verity shook her head. "We just need you to tell us whatever you saw, and then we'll see you home -- safe and intact. The twins are... impulsive, sometimes."

The woman swallowed. She was human as Verity was, but older, her hair touched with silver and her eyes a bit less sharp. "All right," she began. "I'll tell you. I was working at my cart, busy with some customers, when one of you came by... and they all turned on him, and they killed him. It was magic, and I don't know magic, but... I can see an attack when it happens, I saw the webs they used to trap him, and then there was mist and I don't know what happened after that."

The twins returned with brandy and pewter cups, handed out the cups and poured for the woman and themselves, then set the bottle on the table. Gorak reached for it with a barely-suppressed snarl, his tusks gleaming, and poured for himself and Verity. 

"The one who was killed," Gorak said. "What did he look like?"

The woman looked at him, then drained half her cup in a swallow. "I've seen him before. Confident, broad-shouldered, wearing black and red. There's something about his left arm that isn't quite right. Couldn't say what; he never stops at my cart."

"And the ones that killed him?" Verity asked gently. 

The woman shuddered, eyes squeezed shut. "Never seen 'em before. You have to believe me, I had no idea..."

Verity believed her. The woman was so busy confessing that she could barely answer questions. "It's all right," she said again. "Just tell me what they looked like."

The woman drew a deep breath, then let it out. "There was... There was a halfling. And two humans, I think. Maybe an elf. When the fighting started, another elf... but that one never stopped at my cart. They was casting spells and fighting, and killed him almost before he knew they was there."

They'd have had to. Verity exchanged a glance with Gorak. "And then they covered the area with mist and escaped?"

The woman nodded. "Yar. Almost to my cart, but not quite. I called for help, but..."

"Very good," said Verity quietly. "Gorak, could you have some of your people see mistress...?"

The woman swallowed again. "Taritha, if you please."

"...Mistress Taritha back to her cart, and then to her home, with suitable gratitude for her help?"

Gorak nodded somberly. "Yes. Come on, Miss. It's time to get you back."

DoT: A More Narrow Escape

Werril felt his magic surge as he made the transition, and did his best to brace himself. A wild surge could be good, bad, weird, or all three. In this case, he arrived at the wood-and-rope bridge to discover that he was surrounded by copies of himself -- illusions, shifting and changing places. It wasn't terrible, but it was eye-catching in a way that he he very much did not need right now.

He made it to a small platform before a woman hailed him from a side-bridge. "What happened?" she asked. "Are you in danger?"

He turned and managed not to visibly wince. This wasn't just one of the Red Blades gang; this was one of their cultists, the ones who marked their clothing and armor with a red teardrop. He shook his head, and opened his mouth to lie...

What he meant to say was, "I took a shortcut, and my magic decided to be weird." 

What actually came out of his mouth was, "Misty step to escape, and my magic decided to--" He caught himself. "Uh-- that is, I'm a wild mage."

"Ah," she said, but her eyes narrowed. "And what were you escaping?" She gestured towards the cloud of mist below them. "What happened down there?"

Werril sighed. It would be great if his magic had seen fit to give him access to Invisibility, but it hadn't. Okay, next trick... He tapped his staff gently on the ground and smiled. "Well, it's a good thing you're here, friend. Why don't you go down and take a look?"

For a moment, she looked dazed as the magic took effect. Then she smiled. "Good idea. I'll do that. You should come and help."

"I'd love to," he told her, "but I really need to get on with my business." The images around him were fading, finally. "Why don't we catch up later?"

"Yeah, I-- is that screaming?" The Red Blade sighed. "I'd better go see what's going on. Take care, my friend."

Werril managed not to sag in relief before he hurried away. He was going to have to find a better way to hide himself.

DoT: Confrontation

It was two days later when Varna Blackhand finally came down the bridge that Sairen and Byron had chosen. Varna was a fearsome figure, dressed in black and red, his missing left arm replaced with a mummy's withered appendage. He looked around casually, but didn't appear to see anything amiss. As he passed, Sairen hissed, and the other four turned away from the soup cart and began their attack. 

It was an open bridge in the early afternoon, which was more public than Werrill would have preferred; the problem was that anything that kept them out of sight would have made it more obvious that they were up to something. Still, if they could finish the job quickly, they had a good chance to be gone before more redblades arrived or anyone else got a good look at their faces. Byron, the halfling cleric, opened their strike with a Guiding Bolt. Melia followed that up with Web, spreading a mass of sticky strands between two storefronts to block their target's escape. Werril was already casting as well; he threw an ice knife and then followed it up with a quickened Ray of Sickness.

Varna staggered and turned, just as Sairen came up on his left, stabbing Varna with his rapier. Danna was coming up on his right, axe in one hand the flaming blade of her sword in the other; she cut him, but missed with her axe. It didn't matter, though: before Varna had a chance to react, Byron tagged him with another Guiding Bolt, and he collapsed. 

Surprise achieved, thought Werril, and whistled sharply. He and Byron hurried forward, while Melia pulled a scroll from her belt and began casting from it. A moment later, fog covered the bridge, hiding their movements and their faces. Werril made his way by feel, pulling Byron along with him. Their job was to spread out the seemingly-abandoned bundle of cloth that lay against the rail of the bridge. Danna appeared a moment later, carrying Varna's shoulders while his head lolled freely. Sairen had the man's feet -- and, it seemed, his purse -- and the two of them dropped the body onto the cloth. Werril and Byron rolled everything up and secured the ties; then the four of them lifted to corpse and tossed it over the side of the bridge. It was harder than it looked; the cloth had been weighted with rocks. 

Then they were moving again. Melia, coming up behind them, paused just long enough to turn Danna invisible and then herself. Byron had given himself the seeming of a dwarven beggar, while Sairen had given himself the appearance of an elven woman. Werril didn't have access to any such illusions, so he strolled to the edge of the fog, looked up at a bridge overhead, and took a Misty Step up to it.  

DoT: Fatal Decisions

"He's irregular," said Sairen, the dark elf. They'd been taking turns following Varna Blackhand, the foremost lieutenant of the Red Blades, for a week and a half now. "Everybody has habits, but he's careful to vary his."

Melia, the human wizard, scowled, and Werril couldn't blame her. He disliked Sairen only slightly less than she did, but ever since they'd been plucked from prison the five of them had been stuck together. Working to undermine the thieves' guild, or at least that was the assignment. Their initial efforts had set off a few minor conflicts, but as they grew in skill and confidence they had decided on another goal: they were going to take it over. 

Gods, I would have loved to be responsible for the death of Anderlin Greycloak, Werril thought, then shook it away. They were back to inciting violence between the lower city gangs, and as far as he could tell --- and the halfling Byron and the dark elf Sairen both agreed -- the Red Blades were likely the easiest to provoke. They'd need a success here before they could move to interfere in the middle city. 

"We know where he sleeps," said Melia, their wizard. "But it's their headquarters. We can't take him there, and we don't want to take him anywhere within easy earshot of that place."

Werril nodded. He wasn't much of a tactician; most of what he did was listen to the others, help integrate their ideas, and keep them from each others' throats. 

"If it were myself alone," Sairen said, "I'd simply wait near there, follow him, and take him out. With a group like this--" He managed to keep the contempt out of his tone, but only barely. "--our best bet is to station ourselves along a likely route and ambush him when he comes along it. If we pick a good spot, he will -- sooner or later."

Byron nodded, the halfling's expression untroubled. "I think that's the best we can do."

"Heh," said Danna. "You just tell me when and where, and I'll be there."

Werril opened his mouth to caution her, then closed it again. Livethern had told them what Varna was capable of, and if Danna disregarded that, well... that was on her. Their patron could pay the cost of restoring her, if that was what it took. "Sairen, Byron... you two choose the place. The rest of us will figure out how to use it to best advantage." 

DoT: A Discussion

"They haven't engaged," said Livethirn, looking around at his charges accusingly. "You killed the fence, didn't you?"

"Fuck you. We did what you asked," said Danna, putting a hand on her sword and glaring at the elf across the table. She was human, frustrated with their servitude, and easily goaded to anger. 

Werril sighed. He was a half-elf, and far too used to being caught in the middle of arguments. "We killed the fence. Word is, the Mist Eyes found him and brought him back. If you want, we can make him dead again... but if you want them at odds with the Red Blades, set us against Varna Blackhand. We can take him, I promise you."

Melia, their wizard -- a not-unattractive human -- nodded agreement, and the halfling cleric Byron shrugged.  

Livethirn considered that for a long moment. "As you wish," he said. "They'll think it an attack and respond in kind. That will serve nicely."

"I'm glad you agree," Werril said, holding back his sarcasm by an act of will. 

"Then make Varna your next target," said Livethirn, and rose from his seat.  

DoT: Lochlain Has More Troubles

There were things to expose, and things to keep hidden, and various elements within the clans who would disagree about which were which. Lochlain was fairly well fed up with it; his instinct was to share what he could with his new friends, and let them decide how much to share with the island at large. If he were going to trust any surfacers with the deepest of Clan secrets, he would trust these. He might ask Darvas first, but he would trust them. 

"It's me," he called, after pounding on the door. "Don't stab me."

Ilana and Tara had been practicing, and their tunics showed it in broad slices. Lochlain turned his head away, and said: "Let's get you both some armor, or at least leather coats, while you're still halfway decent."

Tara flushed; Ilana just grinned. "Maybe get us some practice weapons, too."

Lochlain said, "Shoo. Back to your room. Get fresh shirts, and I'll see about practice knives at least, maybe shortswords." Neither of them were actually exposed, thank the gods, but this was more than he was ready to deal with, especially after talking to Kalla.

"Your meeting went well?" asked Ilana.

"Well enough," he told her. "I'll be back."

He went back out the door, looking for Davvan. Hell below, he thought. I never signed up to be anyone's father... 

DoT: The Limits Of Divination

"I think I have her," Donnagun said, half-staggering into Vallista Greycloak's office. The dragonborn was usually showier than this, transporting himself magically and levitating rather than sitting or standing, and Vallista immediately straightened behind her desk. 

"Have whom, exactly?" she asked. 

"Divination," said Donnagun, sinking into a chair, "has its limits. It's good for finding things you know, but not so good for finding things you don't know. I had to contact a godling, which... anyway, the woman who killed your father is probably a half-elf named Rianma Blackblade, who can be found here on Hinnom, working in the library at the Palladium College."

Vallista raised her eyebrows. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected after something like that," he told her. "I'd have written it down and called a runner, but I was afraid if I fell asleep I'd forget."

"I see," said Vallista. She knew enough about magic to realize that this was a very real possibility. Contacting the outer worlds was not something that wizards did lightly, and it was only slightly less fraught for clerics.  "You've done well."

"Honor of the Gang," Donnagun told her. "I know you have people looking, but this was... fast. Quiet. Professional. Worth the effort to get a name and a location."

"Indeed. Gazin?" Vallista rose from her desk. Donnagun was on the edge of passing out in the chair in front of her desk, and she had work to do. 

The Lizardfolk woman stepped into the office and nodded. "Yes?"

"Help me get Donnagun to the apartment," she said. 

Gazin looked down at the near-unconscious wizard with something that Vallista would have sworn was genuine fondness. "No problem, boss."

Donnagun pushed up to his feet. "No, I can--" he staggered. "Well, yes, maybe."

Gazin got an arm under him, and Vallista went to open the door to the small sleeping-area she kept for herself when the nights ran long. Donnagun could rest there, while she followed up on what he'd discovered. 

DoT: An Unwanted Interrogation

The drumming had been a message: Come to me. We must speak. 

Lochlain left the two urchins behind with some misgivings, and opened the front door. Ilana and Tara were standing behind him, ready to bar it once he left; they might not understand what was happening now, but they knew how things could be. Both girls were armed, Tara possibly better than Ilana, but he couldn't afford to think about that any further. 

He stepped out onto the small platform at the base of the ladder. 

"Over here," said a woman's voice, soft, from the underside of the spoke. 

The spokes connected the island's central tower to the stone and soil of its outer crescent, and supported the various cables and bridges and structures that formed the multi-layered habitations of the island of Hinnom. The hideout was suspended from the bottom of the lower eastern spoke, probably the least fashionable area outside of the mists which covered the ground along the eastern side of the crescent. It was a curiously liminal area; anyone living here was balanced between dropping further and joining the Mistlings below, or rising to some better prospect. 

The woman looked like an elf, but clung to the bottom of the spoke like a spider -- and Lochlain recognized her. He scrambled around the side of the hideout, launched himself up to the bottom of the spoke, and clung to it as well. He considered simply walking upside down, but decided it was better to follow her more discrete example and press himself against the eldritch pseudo-stone. He scrabbled forward until they were face to face, separated by a foot and a half of distance. 

"Lochlain," she said. 

"Kalla," he acknowledged. She was the chief Stalker of the Liverscar pack, and she hadn't approved his venture to the surface -- not least because he hadn't asked. He hadn't meant to overhear Darvas conversing with the surfacers in the Engulfed Cathedral, but having done so he couldn't resist coming up to take a closer look... and when given the opportunity, joining with them. 

"No trouble from the Forgotten?" she asked.

He paused, startled that that was her first question. Then he shook his head. "No. No, but... my surfacer friend and I left a tavern when two of them came in... and one of our charges ventured into the Temple and got herself infected. Hexblade, it looks like, but you know how little that means here."

"Are they looking for her?"

"If so, they haven't come down here. At least, not yet."

Kalla settled back, considering that. "You don't hesitate. It's good to see that you're still loyal to the Pack."

Lochlain hesitated, then said: "Yes. This was curiosity, not rebellion. Darvas is also in touch with these surfacers."

Kalla huffed thoughtfully. "As you say. And I think you've grown stronger from this exploration.Very well. I will trust you with this, and advise Elder Pallas to do the same. If you find yourself in need of guidance, speak to me or Darvas -- your presence here is not widely known, and for the sake of the Pack -- for now -- it should not be. I will visit you again if that changes."

Lochlain studied her. "You're worried we're headed for another Ravage." He hesitated, then added: "You should be."

"I'm not the only one," she answered. She hesitated, then said: "Protect the girl. Support her. An accidental Forgotten, outside of their organization... She might become a valuable ally. I will speak to Elder Pallas of this as well."

Lochlain nodded. "I would have done that anyway -- she's still a child. But it's good to have the clan's support in this." He hesitated, then asked: "How is Shethlana?"

Kalla smiled. "She is well. She asked after you, which is what brought me here. She grows, she learns, and she does not mind the darkness."

"She never did." Lochlain smiled fondly. "Tell her I am well, if you would. My time in the light has not harmed me."

"I will," said Kalla. "Good hunting."

"To you as well."

Kalla released the spoke, and fell away into the mist. Though he couldn't see her revert to her Ghūl form, he heard the faint clap of unfurled wings as she caught herself on the air and angled away towards the Engulfed Cathedral.

DoT: A Busy Morning

The main group had gone to see if they could locate Old Piter, the missing Mist Eyes fence, and left Lochlain behind to watch over the Urchins. The Ghūl could have been disappointed, but in this case he didn't mind; the interactions of the surfacer gangs didn't really interest him, except where they might affect his new friends. He was here on other business, and interacting with... well, mortal children... was bringing back memories he'd long ago forgotten.

Of the four urchins, Teagan the halfling was a little ways into the spoke, baking with the woman Shonya at the Bread and Board; Tara was still recuperating from her ill-considered attempt to infiltrate the Forgotten; Ilana was working on a series of locks that Krintal had left for her to practice on, and Pickle was off studying with the druids. 

"Finished!" said Ilana, just as Tara emerged from their shared bedroom. It was a lucky thing the urchins got on well enough to share a room;  Lochlain generally tucked himself into a small storage room to sleep -- essentially a closet -- or simply curled up in the entryway once everyone was back inside. He didn't need to sleep, but as a Stalker he could re-assume his mortality, and the urge to sleep came with that. It was strangely soothing, too, to relax so completely that he once again dreamed as mortals did. 

Tara was still yawning. "Food?"

Lochlain nodded. "Jans left some scones and a bit of tea. Let me..." He positioned the tea pot beside the sink, then hung the warming stone inside it. A minute or so, and the water would be back up to temperature. Tara was already halfway through a scone,  and Ilana came over to help prevent the tea from boiling by staring at the pot. 

"Could we practice fighting?" asked Ilana, looking up at Lochlain. 

"Well, let me--" There was a soft patter on the roof of their hideout: not an animal, but a gentle drumming, conveying a message that only he could translate. He'd only missed it at first because he was used to hearing it through stone. "...Ilana. Tara. Stay down here."

Ilana nodded and ducked back towards their bedroom; she came back out with a pair of daggers, and slid one across the table to Tara. 

Tara looked uncertain. "I'm not as good as you--"

Lochlain was halfway to the front door, but he hesitated at that. "Tara, I want you to focus on that dagger. Make it yours."

He paused, watching, and was rewarded by seeing the faint swirl of misty power that flooded out from the girl's hand and sank into the weapon. "Stay here. I'll be back."

"Will you?" asked Ilana.

"If I'm not," he replied, "use the boat to escape."

DoT: Lochlain's Tale

I wasn't really much of anybody. I wasn't part of the guild, I wasn't a clerk for one of the merchants, and I didn't know nearly enough maths to work for any of the bankers or lenders. I did odd jobs around the docks: hauling cargo, which I wasn't especially good at; cleaning and repairing ships in dry-dock, where I wasn't good but I was persistent; painting and lacquering and carrying messages, which were all things at which I did fine -- but none of them paid well. 

To put it simply, I was eking out a living, and there was a girl... a woman, really. Gods, she was beautiful: smart, quick, and sharp. I could barely keep up with her, and I liked that. 

She wasn't... she wasn't unkind. She let me down gently. By then she was working as a clerk for one of the merchants, so she could afford to take me out to eat. She told me that, well, she admired my willingness to work, but she needed a partner with better prospects than I had to offer. I mean, what could I say? She was right. She deserved better than me. Or... No, that's not quite right. But to get where she meant to go, she needed someone who could get her there, and I couldn't do that.

The corpse-pits aren't the only way into the tunnels. You can ask around, or search around, and find others. I didn't see my prospects changing any time soon, so that was what I did. I took a lamp, and some food, and I went down. No, I wasn't dead... but I might as well have been, for all the good I was doing in the world.

They found me, of course. Offered to guide me back up, at first. I didn't yet know it, but this was the Liverscar pack. Told them no, I didn't want to go back. So they gave me two more options: they could leave me to starve, and then devour my corpse; or they could make me one of them. 

I guess you know which one I chose. 

We aren't entirely like other ghouls. I was bitten, and several times to make sure. Then... No, I can't tell you that part. Not yet. But I became part of the clan, and after a while some of the others started asking me about what I might like to do to contribute, beyond simply consuming the dead and the remnants of their deaths. I asked if I could go back to the surface -- I was always better at being quiet and clever than strong or magical or whatever else.

So they set me to a particular diet, one designed to adjust me to what I am now: a Stalker, capable of returning to a mortal appearance, assisting the clan with subtlety and stealth. We're the only ones who regularly venture up from the tunnels, the only ones who can take on a living form, and the by far the best at ambush and surprise. We keep an eye on the surfacers, like I am with you.

The woman? Nathalia? She married up. He was a fellow clerk, but he's been good to her and risen to a manager. Their oldest child is expecting her first child at this point, and they're well settled. Mostly, I'm happy for her. I only get jealous every once in a while. It would have been nice to have that life...

...But I have more important things to do. 

DoT: An Arrival at Port, part two

When they'd paid their fees and the clerk had departed, Tenebrous turned to her First Mate, Faithless Wanderer, a Tiefling. Despite his name, he was reliable. "The crew goes out in shifts, and they stay together in groups of at least three. If there are any incidents with the locals, I will be most displeased."

Faithless nodded. "I will make sure they know it."

Tenebrous made a point of walking down the ramp, then up the dock and along the streets of the Island of Hinnom until she reached the ancient tower at its center. She stretched her hand out, caressed the eldritch material that made it up, and nodded. This place was everything it was said to be. Doubtless there would be more to be learned, but she could address that as she made her trades. Wooden beams and planks were not so common here, and hers were... special. And that was before anyone addressed her other offerings. 

She surveyed the inside of the tower, then launched herself into the air, tracing her way along the outside. The winds here were strange, unpredictable, but she welcomed the challenge. When she landed in the upper city, she knew she had won. Someone up here would want what she had to offer. 

She even had a lead on who that might be... 

DoT: An Arrival at Port, part one

Tenebrous Orlok stepped off the ramp of the ship as the Docking Clerk approached, two guards at his back. She didn't find them especially threatening -- merely a human and a dwarf, and what could such as they do against her? -- but they represented the authority of the island's Council, and its combined capacity for violence. So she waited, and presented the ship's manifest to the clerk. 

"I'll need to examine the cargo," the human said, looking with only faint curiosity at the tips of her wings where they rose over her shoulders. 

"Of course," answered Tenebrous. "Welcome aboard the Black Diamond." Her smile was charming; she knew because she'd practiced it. She was memorable enough in herself; she didn't need additional attention, especially with what her ship actually carried. 

"We'll confirm the cargo, process the fees, and be out of your hair as quickly as we can manage," said the man, with a small but respectful nod. 

"Follow me, then," Tenebrous told him. "I am in no hurry, but my crew are eager for shore leave and this must be settled first." 

DoT: An Unscheduled Meeting

Gazin held up a clenched fist as Vallista entered the outer office, her curled fingers forward; it was their private sign for intruders. Then she held up one finger, so there was only one of them. Vallista tilted her head, and Gazin looked up at the ceiling for a brief moment. Ah. Somebody from Upstairs. There were other gestures for a danger, a discreet visitor, and a messenger. 

Though they'd practiced this, it didn't come up often. Most messengers would wait out here; and Gazin was perfectly capable of dealing with most dangers herself. A visitor from Upstairs was most likely to be able to go directly to Vallista's office and tell Gazin to say nothing. Whoever it was doubtless intended to surprise her. 

Unexpectedly, Gazin touched her throat as Vallista walked past her. What in the hells? "No visitors," Vallista said aloud. "I need to go over the accounts, and I don't want to be interrupted." She figured it out a moment later: there weren't that many people from Upstairs who would make an unannounced visit like this, and that touch to the throat had to indicate Ramantha The Voice. 

That guess was confirmed a moment later when she opened her door and saw the halfling sitting in one of the chairs beside her desk. Vallista kept her steps as smooth as her expression, closed the door behind her, and bowed. "Ramantha," she said. "Welcome."

"This isn't a social call," said the Voice. 

Vallista shrugged. "I welcome your arrival nevertheless."

The Voice tilted her head, studying Vallista for a long moment: questioning, measuring. "Your people were brawling with the Panthers in the central tower." 

Vallista crossed to her desk, turned her chair to face the halfling, and sat. It was her own office, after all; it wouldn't do to seem timid. "This is true," she said. 

"Over your father's death?" asked the Voice, shifting in the chair to face her.

Vallista considered her next words carefully. "I don't believe the Panthers had anything to do with that. Lynna Catseyes and my father were rivals, but it was a respectful rivalry."

"Then why?"

Vallista sat back, relaxing. "Because Lynna and I agreed that it would be better if people thought we were feuding. It gives our troublemakers a chance to scrap, which will keep them settled for a time and prevent any... uncontrolled  conflicts from arising. It might even teach some of them the cost of such infighting."

Ramantha the Voice nodded slowly. She was an imposing woman when she wanted to be, despite her lack of size. "And when I speak to Lynna next, she will confirm this?"

Vallista nodded. "Yes. How much explanation would you like?"

Ramantha considered. "I think I see the shape of it, but do continue."

"As you wish." Vallista leaned forward, attentive. "Someone murdered my father. Very likely someone arranged to have my father murdered, as someone also arranged for a rogue crew to be present when it happened. This same crew staged a successful robbery in my territory some time back, and earlier robbed a courier for the Mist Eyes."

"You're sure of this?" asked Ramantha. 

Vallista nodded. "I've spoken with them. They aren't Guild, and they aren't native to the islands. They've given me information on who is blackmailing them, and so far everything they've told me has borne out. Somebody pulled in outside talent to cause trouble between the gangs."

"You should have come to me with this knowledge," said the Voice. 

Vallista shook her head. "People would have noticed, known. It was better to wait for you to come to me."

"Ah." Unexpectedly, Ramantha smiled. "Your father's cunning and discrimination. You fear this is orchestrated by someone within the Guild." She paused, then added, "...Someone with access to information."

Vallista Greycloak nodded. "I fear it's someone Upstairs."

"Disturbing news. Have you no fear that it's me?"

"I would never accuse you," Vallista said carefully. "You are the Voice, and my best chance of bringing in someone from Upstairs without alerting whoever might be behind this. It seemed worth the risk to tell you."

"This is...  most unexpected. I came here expecting to have to discipline an unruly new gang-leader." She settled back, then sighed. "Of course it would be more complicated than that."

That was a sentiment Vallista could sympathize with. "I've been telling myself that same thing since before my father died."

"...What of this rogue crew?" asked the Voice.

"Cedric Bloodblade and I met with them, just a few days past. They spoke to us of being jailed and blackmailed, and they attest that they have never murdered anyone in the Guild. Cedric is of the opinion that they have to pay, but they can pay by making amends -- and since I need their information and possibly their help, I agree. We haven't said anything in public, obviously, but we consider them authorized contractors."

Ramantha nodded slowly at that. "And what does Cedric get out of this?"

Vallista shrugged. "It seems the Red Blades really have moved against the Mist Eyes. There's a missing fence... Piter, I think... and he's set this group to find out what happened, and confirm that the Red Blades were behind it. If they do, they will make amends by striking back at the Red Blades, and he'll consider all debts paid."

"Cautious," said Ramantha. "Tentative. That's good. Cedric does his duties well, and it seems that you are stepping into yours. If they help you find your father's killer, or the person who sponsored it, will you also consider their debt to the Guild repaid?"

Vallista nodded. Then she said, "There's more," and began to explain the questions she'd been asked about abomination appearing from nowhere, the Age of Beasts, and the possible involvement of the Crescent Circle. 

When Ramantha the Voice left her office, her expression was troubled. 

DoT: Misgivings

Grot stopped at Daystar's desk. "Okay, they're working on it."

"Good," said Daystar, without looking up from the appeal that he was writing. "Let me know when it's done."

Grot must have hesitated a moment too long, because Daystar stopped writing and looked up. "Anything else?"

Grot shook his head. "I just hope they're up to this one."

Daystar shrugged. "They're getting better at this... though that will become a problem in itself at some point. Did they argue about it?"

Grot shook his head. "No, they seemed pretty resigned."

"There's that, at least," Daystar paused, considering, then said: "Let me know if they start sounding rebellious."

Grot nodded. "I will." 

"Meanwhile, the stronger they get the more use they are to us. And it's not as if they aren't receiving plenty of compensation for their work."

Grot tilted his head, then nodded. "Maybe I should remind them of that."

"Maybe you should," Daystar told him.  

DoT: New Developments

"I think it's time to up the stakes," Daystar said. 

Grot looked up from the broadsheet he'd been reading, the Hinnom Happenings, which claimed to be the only accurate report of day-to-day events on the island. It was, of course, full of gossip and libel, but sorting the truths from the rumors was half the fun. "What do you have in mind?"

"There was a skirmish between the Greycloaks and the Panthers two days ago," Daystar observed. "This is exactly the sort of result we wanted. Distrust. Strife. Uncertainty. Let's stoke it." He paused to consider possibilities, then said: "Lynna Catseyes. Have them take out that Tabaxi lieutenant of hers. I don't care if they murder her or put her on a ship to Magraven, just as long as she's gone. I want her to disappear."

Grot considered that, but couldn't find any immediate objections. "As you wish," he said easily, and rose. "I can take word to them in the morning."

Daystar smiled. "Yes, do that. Best to let them get an early start." 

DoT: Dinner and an Exchange

Cedric Bloodblade was sitting on the porch of the Overlook, apparently studying the bay below through the transparent floor, when Vallista arrived. He'd brought one of his lieutenants with him -- Dalia, she thought, a human woman in a gray robe who resembled him more than a little -- and a single visible bodyguard, also human. 

She'd brought the same accompaniment: her newest lieutenant, Derlina the half-orc, and Gazin, the lizardfolk woman who normally served as her secretary.  Derlina, she'd brought because Vallista wanted the woman to get a better feel for how these things were done; Gazin, because she was a skilled and vicious fighter. She didn't expect bloodshed here; despite everything, the Overlook was still neutral ground, and in beggars territory. 

Cedric was a remarkably handsome man, with salt-and-pepper hair and medium-dark skin. He looked up as she approached, nodded, stood, and then gestured at the trio of chairs across the table from him.  "I thought you might prefer not to eat inside," he said cautiously. 

Vallista ignored that; she was going to have to enter the Overlook sooner of later, if only to prove that she could. Still, this... she could work with this. "Cedric Bloodblade," she said. 

He nodded. "Vallista Greycloak."

He waited until she seated herself, then sat back down. He took a moment to study her, and she took the same time to study him in return.

"Are we enemies?" she asked abruptly, and he froze. 

"Ah," he said after a moment. "So this is about that crew that's been causing all the trouble."

Vallista nodded. "I'm told they were seen chatting with one of your couriers, and I have at least one Greycloak who swears they're working for you."

Cedric held up a hand, the movement compellingly graceful. "Yes and no," he said. "They hit us too -- the courier was Faldor, bringing in the monthly cut. Same one I sent to talk to them. He found them again, and they're in our territory so we've been keeping an eye on them."

Vallista waited. 

"You know the rules," he continued after a moment. "They crossed the Guild, they have to pay. Thing is, I think the Red Blades really are moving on us. So I figure they can pay by helping us solve the problem they started."

Vallista hesitated, then asked: "You're sure it's the Red Blades?"  

"Well, it wasn't them this time." He paused, then nodded. "Yes, I think it's actually the Red Blades. Or some of them, anyway."

"Huh," said Vallista. "You realize this crew might be the same ones who killed my father?"

"Word is, everybody in that room died by the same dagger blade. Is that true?"

"How the hell do you know that?" she asked. 

Cedric shrugged. "Look, I'm not trying to be indelicate here, and I'm sure your father's death is still pretty raw."

"You have no idea."

"Maybe not." He smiled. "I couldn't believe you invited me to meet you here. Talk about sending a message."

She tilted her head. "You liked that, did you?"

He nodded, still smiling, and then his expression became serious. "My word, on the Guild and my place as leader of the Mist Eyes: my people didn't kill your father, and you and I aren't enemies. Nor are the Greycloaks and Mist Eyes. We have enough to deal with on our own turf."

Despite her reservations, Vallista found herself believing him. It wasn't just his manner; the idea that the Mist Eyes were trying to move on them had never made any sense. "I want to talk to them," she said. 

Cedric considered that. "They refused my invitation to meet at our headquarters," he said, "but they asked to set up a meeting with me at the Ogre's Retreat tomorrow night. I know this isn't done, but... my business with them strictly concerns the Red Blades. You want to come along, see that for yourself, I'm open to it."

Vallista managed not to gape at him, but it was effort of will. 

He continued, "I'd need assurances that your people won't show up and try to kill or kidnap them."

"My word as a Greycloak," she said automatically. 

"Done, then," he said easily. 

"Done," she said. 

One of the waitresses had finally come out onto the porch, and they took a minute to put in their orders. The young woman retreated, looking only slightly troubled by the fact that they'd all shown up in armor. A couple of Beggars were watching them from nearby bridges, and Mother Lardner doubtless knew they were there already, but that was to be expected. 

"So," said Cedric, "What I want to know -- and what I'm hoping to learn tomorrow -- is who exactly is causing all this trouble. If this crew is unwilling tools -- and that's what they told Faldor -- who's pulling the strings?"

DoT: A Heartbeat Too Late

"Up there," said the boy Solvin, and the girl beside him nodded. 

"I see 'em--" Bassom cut the sentence off with a curse. "Fucking Mist Eyes? They's working for the fucking Mist Eyes?" He looked at Solvin. "I thought ya said they wasn't part of the Guild."

"They aren't," the girl said sullenly. "I followed them. They're just... I don't know, but not Guild."

"Well, that's Faldor, and he's one of the Mist Eyes. I can't believe..." His eyes narrowed. "'Less the Mist Eyes found 'em just before we did. I gotta get back to Vallista." He turned. 

"We're coming with you," said Solvin.

Bassom stopped. He couldn't really afford to delay, but... "Not this time, Kid. If I survive this, I promise I will make some introductions for you, but there is no way I'm bringing you into the boss's office while I deliver this news."

"Swear by the Twins?" asked the girl. 

"Fine. I swear by the Twins, if I live through this I will make introductions for you. If I don't, well, you've met some people now -- just be careful."

* * * 

"Boss?" called the lizard-folk woman Gazin, who worked as Vallista's secretary. "Bassom's here to see you."

Vallista's skin tingled with anticipation. Finally, a real lead. Even if the group that had hit the woodworker's shop wasn't the same one who'd murdered her father, this was at least a chance for the gang to rebuild some of its honor. And if they were...

She let the cold rage flood through her, then tucked it away as Bassom entered her office.  His expression wasn't the triumphant victory she'd hoped for; he looked torn. "I found 'em, boss." He sighed. "But I think I found 'em too late. Mist Eyes have 'em."

"They what?" Oh, right, that business with their courier, the one that set them at odds with the Red Blades. She calmed herself with a single breath. "Tell me what you know."

"Two of the kids what got run out of Bilk's place was willin' ta talk to me, and they helped me find the kids as was helpin' the targets. That led us back to lower east, and... they're stayin' in a safehouse under the spoke. But that courier, Faldor, he was leadin' 'em off as I got there." Bassom shook his head. "The kids, the ones helpin' me, they says this crew ain't Guild, but... safehouse? Mist Eyes? I dunno. What do I do here?"

Vallista considered that. Bassom wasn't the smartest or the bravest, but he knew when he was in over his head and she was starting to appreciate that. "...You did the right thing," she said, reluctantly. She could wish that he'd found them sooner, but what good would that do? If he had, she might have been able to take them before the Mist Eyes found them. But if they'd been working with the Mist Eyes?

That made no sense, though. The Mist Eyes held Lower City East, and their immediate rivals were the Red Blades in Lower City Southwest -- and maybe the Beggars in Lower City North. Only a bit of their territory overlapped with hers; if they were going to expand into the Middle City, it would make far more sense to move in on the Silverstrings' territory, most of which was directly above them.

She didn't know Cedric Bloodblade, but the man had a reputation as a canny and persuasive leader with good support from his own gang. The Mist Eyes controlled about a quarter of the lower city, as did the Beggars and the Red Blades. The remaining quarter nominally belonged to the Stevedores, but was a patchwork of small, independent communities that mostly had nothing to do with the guild at all.

She needed to know more. If the Mist Eyes took care of this crew for her, well... embarrassing, but as long as it wasn't widely known she could live with that. If they were, for some mad reason, working together...

"I need you to go visit the Mist Eyes," she said. "Don't provoke them, but don't let them turn you away. Tell them you've come to speak to Cedric Bloodblade on my behalf, and insist on speaking to him directly. Tell him I'd like to meet him for dinner, tonight, at the Overlook."

Bassom swallowed, but nodded. "I can do that," he said. "I'll get it done."

"I'm trusting you with this," Vallista told him.