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.  

Music: Simple Gifts (and various other titles)

Played by Lee Leavenworth:

Music: Burn Down This Town

Roseanne Cash:

It comes and goes...

I'm finally starting to dig my way out from the huge load of work that fell on my head with the big upgrade at the end of December, and we're bringing in some additional resources to deal with a Big Important Project that seemed to have run aground on some fairly intractable issues, so my stress levels have suddenly gone down...

...Which is weird. Like, on the one hand that's a good thing. Less stress! Hooray! I can function better! And then on the other hand, my whole system is like, Wait? What happened? How does this 'relaxing' business work, again? Overall, it's good. I'm just glad it didn't take any longer. 

Burnout is a real thing, y'all. 

Writing Projects: Currently working on the portal fantasy, which means that the Weird West and Horny Superteens projects have been somewhat neglected. (There are only so many hours in the day, and my energy has been going into, well, being stressed out.) But, I'm still making progress... and I wrote a completely random short piece the other morning that I'm going to try to get published, if I can find the right venue for it. 

Also, with February doing its best impression of late April, my allergies have been acting up. At this point, I'd honestly prefer another ice storm. Some kind of winter weather, anyway. This time of year used to be pretty safe for my seasonal allergies...

I'm not going to talk about news or current events right now, because it's all so bleak and I will wear myself out with relentless rage. I'm limiting my exposure in an attempt to be informed without doom-spiraling, though part of me suspects that doom-spiraling may actually reflect an accurate evaluation of the current situation. 

Anyway, I have good friends and a good family, and a kitten who is determined to eviscerate the mechanical toy bird he got for Christmas. Good to keep those moments in mind, too. 

Music: I Know What Boys Like

The Waitresses:

Valthor's New Sword

The Fairy was more helpful than he would have expected, but she wouldn't tell him much about the rapier he'd taken from his sister's corpse, only that his sister had been desperate to get his blood on it. She wouldn't tell him why, or what his blood might have done; she just told him that it was his sword now... with the distinct implication that it was also his problem now. 

Which would be fine, he thought, if I wasn't so tempted to use it. 

He left the locker closed, and forced himself to move away. He had an attempted murder to investigate, and plenty of other things to do. The nature of the blade could wait...

...But it still tempted him. 

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.