1
After a night's rest in town, they were prepared to do what needed to be done before their trip to Magnimar. Spells needed studying, liberated goods needed evaluation and selling, Bergi needed to be told of their exploits - and someone had to fetch Pidget and Cosmin from the sanatorium.
But first, they arranged a meeting with Sheriff Hemlock. He told them that no further ghoul activity had been reported, though the townsfolk (and most especially the farmers of the hinterlands, who had fled to take refuge in town) were still frightened that the monsters were lurking in the background, waiting for an unguarded moment to strike. "The mayor mentioned that a public word from you might assuage some fears," Belor told them, grim as ever. "I can send someone to her with your answer. If the road is now safe, I'll arrange for a patrol to take Caizarlu and Doctor Habe to Magnimar as soon as possible. If you mean to accompany them as a protection, I'll have the patrol wait on your word. That book you found will help the case against the necromancer, for certain."
“Tell her ‘yes,’” Devin acknowledged the mayor’s request, through Sheriff Hemlock. The party could figure out what to say – and who would say it – once the mayor established the forum. Leaving town without making such a reassurance would probably just compound Sandpoint’s problems. “And yes, we’ll travel with the patrol and escort to Magnimar, leaving within the next two days. Handful of items to conclude in town.”
"I'll tell the mayor," the Sheriff confirmed gruffly. "And I'll arrange for the prison transport to leave in two days' time." He rose, extending a hand to shake. "Thank you for your service."
2
“I want to shut down that runewell,” Devin confided to the party after they’d left the Sheriff’s office. “It should only take part of this day. It’s likely still active; we can probably make it go dormant. Few if any know how to reactivate it; Sandpoint will be safer to not have it bubbling and radiating anxiety in the ruins beneath the city. And Bergi’s original crew cleared the path to it. With me for a walk down to the beach?”
"The whatnow?" Bardek asked, "Is it feeding the undead problem? Or just making everyone more anxious than they need to be? Either one is bad, I suppose. If we can stop it easily enough, we probably should."
Kamala nodded. "No reason to leave problems behind us when we leave.
How do we deactivate it?"
"Drip blood in it, kill the sinspawn that crawls out, repeat. The well fills from murder or suffering. We thwarted Nualia's plans to charge it with deaths from Sandpoint. Hopefully it's weak and it won't take much to exhaust."
"There was a passage to the chambers that held the runewell, beneath Sandpoint, here in the inn's basement. Ameiko bricked it off. But the caves down at the beach probably get to the same fortifications. The runewell is attuned to 'wrath' -- the Runelord Alaznist -- as Sandpoint is built upon one of the forward outposts of the vanished nation of Bak-ra-khan. Bergi and the Heroes at the time fought a quasit, there, and at least one nasty thing with lots of sharp teeth that came out of the runewell. I can sketch out a map of what's remembered with Bergi, though we'll likely be going in another way."
"Sounds nasty." Kamala nods. "And like something we need to take care
of before we leave, I agree. Let's go drip some blood in a well."
3
Amrynn slapped the dark tome closed with a grunt. Her mind drifted to the fireplace downstairs, but no. The book would further damn Caizarlu if he made it to Magnimar. She smiled at the thought and shifted her preparations to joining the others in the dark bowels of Sandpoint.
Her exploration of Caizarlu's interests had been enlightening, if also vaguely disturbing. His skill could not be denied; she'd only been able to decipher part of his notes, resulting in a description of spells for stopping the undead from feasting upon one, and of course, his revolting green cloud of noxious death-gasses. Neither seemed harmful as such, at least not in themselves - but there was yet more to be ascertained in the many, many pages left unstudied.
A glance at the other two tomes of spells she had collected added weight to her brow. There was so much to be deciphered, studied, and judged!
4
When all were prepared the next day, they made their way down to Junk Beach, then began searching on the way north for the narrow opening to the smugglers' tunnels. With Bergi's story of their harrowing adventure to guide them, they found it soon enough, and so ventured into the dark, twisting tunnels beyond.
It seemed as though they walked forever under the ground, with no sunlight to tell the time with. Eventually, however, they came to the junction that Bergi had told them of, and veered off the tunnel that would take them to the bricked-off entrance to the Glassworks.
They knew they were in the right place when they passed a cave - and saw the corpse of the unnatural horror Bergi had dubbed, "Mr. Bitey." The sinspawn was hideous, jointed in the wrong places, long of claw, with drooping fanged mandibles flanked by tiny hands, and a disgustingly long, red tongue, now black with rot - and most horribly of all, it was armored and armed, a ranseur fallen from its elongated dual fingers - suggesting it had the intelligence to use said accoutrements.
Kamala grimaced at the mutant monster's disgusting corpse. "Ugh. What
in the hells is this?" She poked the dead thing's chest armor with her
toe. "And who kitted it out?"
Devin crouched down with a dagger as an probing implement and briefly
examined how the sinspawn's joints and mandibles worked. Considered its
reach, how it likely stood. They'd be fighting one or more of these soon
enough. "Sinspawn; manifestation of wrath, from the runewell." Devin
didn't speak from first-hand experience, but put two and two together from
Bergi's stories and Nualia's journal.
"Good point regarding the armor; it either arrived with it, or had it from
storage here, somewhere."
Kamala watched as Devin did his investigation. "I wonder how long
these things can live. Are they like mummies, immortal guards of lost
ruins? Or was this one fresh?" An ancient sinspawn might have been
equipped in antiquity. A new one, though- where would it have gotten
its equipment?
A mental review of what they'd learned from Nualia's notes held the answer: though she was not the master of the occult that her master, the quasit Erylium, had been, as the monster's general she had been the catalyst to create the monsters, and she had supplied them with what weapons and armor she felt they required.
Moving on, they passed a passage that ended in worked stone, the tunnel wall collapsed to show them piles of broken pottery in an ancient storage room. At the end of the main tunnel, there was a hole in the ceiling leading to what Bergi had described as a prison - but that was not their destination. They turned through another collapsed wall down a side passage that led them past the most incredibly lifelike statue of a woman, all in red marble. She was beautiful, clad in flowing robes, with an intricate headdress of hooks and blades holding back her hair - but also monstrously enraged; in her hands, she held a large book with the Sihedron star upon it, and a metal-and-ivory thorned ranseur as beautiful and terrible as she. Caught in a pose of eternal, unspeakable fury, she menaced the passage that led to a staircase in front of her.
Kamala whistled appreciatively. "Alaznist, Runelord of Wrath, Queen of
Bakrakhan." She shook her head. "Nasty, nasty." The muscular woman
gestured at the metal-and-ivory ranseur. "That's pretty nice, though.
Anyone mind if I take that off of her?"
"Touch what you will," Amrynn's sneer of distaste walked hand in hand with her words.
"Yes; that needs to come with us," Devin nodded; this was the ranseur Bergi
had mentioned the original Heroes had intended to take with them, but had
left behind. "Let me check the statue, first?" Devin set about examining
the statue for traps.
"You think?" Kamala regarded the statue of Alaznist more critically.
"She looks like the type who would depend on her reputation to keep
her things secure, to me."
Indeed, Devin found nothing suspicious about the statue or the weapon, and with a bit of tugging, it came free in Kamala's hands with no injury to her or the others. It was of magnificent artistry and hefty weight; surely it must be worth something, even if they didn't use it for its intended purpose?
Amrynn, suspicious of the thing, turned her inner black gaze upon it; though it was a terrifying weapon for most to behold, it did not bear traces of magic interwoven through it.
Continuing on their path, they took the next passage down through a long corridor, to what appeared to have once been a small shrine. Steps led up to a platform of gray stone, atop which was an ancient altar, little more than a jagged block of black marble with a shallow concavity atop it. The basin it formed was filled with what appeared to be filthy water.
Bardek, Amrynn and Kamala saw to it that the unholy altar was destroyed, splitting apart the black marble with magic and metal. But first, Bardek purified the dirty water, raising a metaphorical finger in the direction of Lamashtu.
Beyond lay two tall, wide double-doors. The huge room behind them looked like nothing more than an immense underground cathedral, the walls carved with strange, spiky runes. To either side of the entrance, stone doors stood ajar; in the center of the room was a large pool, with a ring of polished human skulls balanced on stone spikes arranged in a circle around the deeper midsection, just as Bergi had described. At the far end of the room, a pair of stone stairways led up to a pulpit, where Bergi had informed them a second pool sat, triangluar and filled with churning, bubbling water with the appearance of translucent lava. Even from below, they could see what appeared to be wisps of heat and steam rising from the orange pool - but the echoing cathedral was deathly cold.
Kamala frowned at the bubbling pool of orange water. "So what, we drip
blood into there, a monster comes out, and we do that over and over
until there are no more monsters?"
"Maybe," Devin nodded; all he had to go on was Nualia's writings. She
could've been ill-informed. For his own peace of mind, he checked the wing
rooms flanking the cathedral's doors, first, to reassure himself that
Bergi's notes were accurate, but also that nothing was waiting in either
side chamber to join the party.
He shut the cathedral doors to prevent any sinspawn from making an easy
break for it and escaping, if it was tempted to do so once wounded. He
truly didn't know how many would come out of the runewell at once, or if
they'd get the same type of creature each time, or if this would even work.
"If it crawls out with a ranseur, it'll have reach. If we press, it'll
probably bite and claw. It's tight enough in here it'll be difficult to
surround it. I'll go close-in; Kamala, imagine you will, too? Bardek,
Amrynn, range, or melee?"
The best-laid plans never survived first contact with the enemy, but as
they'd be summoning some sort of demon, it felt appropriate to at least
think through approach.
Kamala nodded. "It's what I do." She pulled her wand out and invoked
its power, infusing her body with extra vigor.
“I’m happy to be the last line of defense,” Amrynn said. “Nothing will get by me, though let’s not make too much of this. I imagine if the runewell were thrumming with power, we would have seen more to that liking quite a bit sooner. Be about it gentlemen, and be quick.”
She then swept down one of the side stairways and moved back toward the double doors. She positioned herself before them and faced the remainder of the cathedral with her usual diffidence until provoked.
5
Bardek flicked blood and brain from the ugly, spiked head of his weapon into the now much dimmer, but still roiling waters of the runewell. Nothing leapt out of it this time. It was possible that the two they'd slain were all that the evil device had had the resources to summon.
The tiny body of the quasit lay crumpled where it had fallen; in its doll-like silk gown, now bloodstained and rent, it lay like the most unfortunate and grotesque of princesses, its tiny tiara fallen nearby.
Frustrated that they couldn't safely destroy the runewell, Devin set to
marking upon the walls of the chamber, near the runewell: "Wrath runewell.
Exhaust with drop of blood to manifest sinspawn, then destroy with boiling
holy water, 24 hours." He tossed aside the stump of chalk he'd mostly
expended in the endeavor.
"We may not be the next here," he explained. The knowledge gained shouldn't
be lost. Someone else may have to end this thing. Once they returned to
Sandpoint, Devin intended to share the information with Bergi, too.
With no intention of refilling the well with deaths in order to deactivate it for good, they went searching through the catacombs, in search of the wonders Bergi had described to them. First, the large, dreary and clearly ancient prison where I'Daiin had languished, refusing to drink the foul water they had brought him; then, the interrogation room, with its archaic torture implements, such as the spherical cage with spikes pointing inward, and the hook-covered Sihedron rack.
Then down, down to the unnaturally chill air of the covered pit chamber - at the foot of the long stair, the horrifically mutated and overgrown body of the monster-goblin Bergi had described. As light flooded the room, groans of unholy hunger rose from the pits. One cover had been pushed aside; below, they saw a human corpse, unmoving - apparently the living dead man Sheorin and Quickfoot had dealt with.
Working with Bardek and Kamala, Devin lifted and set aside one of the other
pit covers, and both winced at the stench and frowned at the listless zombie
moaning twenty feet below. Devin reached behind his hip and drew the small
iron dagger the first crew of heroes had recovered, took aim, and hurled it
below to put the zombie down. Devin held position and caught the little
blur of dark metal as it flew back up to return to his hand. He looked
about the room to count the covers and -- presumably -- the number of
zombies -- and sighed and shrugged. He agreed it needed to be done.
6
Finally, they passed the stairs leading down, now blocked with a thousand-year-old collapse, to the room Kamala had been dying to see: Erylium's meditation chamber.
A sphere fifteen feet in diameter, the walls plated in sheets of strange red metal, which rippled every once in a while with silent, black electricity that seemed to coalesce into strange runes, or even words, far too often for the effect to be chance. A dead raven surrounded by a halo of dead flies floated gently in the center of it, safely away from the surges of strange power along the walls.
Out of all of them, Devin was the one to pick meaning out of the strange words. To his considering cyan eyes, the snatches of words spoke of wrath, and a need for revenge, in the dead language of mythical Thassilon - but that was to be gleaned from association, for nothing so clear as a full thought was manifested so.
"Umm..." Devin cautioned. "Either Erylium scribbled rantings on the walls,
or this sphere is a Thassilonian focus of wrath and vengeance." He waited
for the next infrequent burst of black lightning across the wall of the
sphere, and then quickly pointed out the runes it traced. "I'd no more want
to cast in there than wade in the cathedral's skull pool."
Despite Bergi's description of the venue and the earlier exploration events,
and the reasonable assurances this place was abandoned... seeing it, now,
made Devin uneasy. "Thassilon wasn't big into warnings."
Kamala shook her head. "Just don't touch the lightning, right? Easy,
it's on a timer." Her eyes gleamed as she took in the incredible room.
"She called this the flying room, right?"
"If I went out there do you think I could fly?" Looking at the dead
bird floating in the middle of the room, she murmured more to herself
than her companions, "I need a rope, I think," and was already
shucking out of her backpack to rummage around for her coil of rope.
As it turned out, Kamala could float in the room, being careful to avoid touching the jags of black lightning along the spherical walls. It was just as well that she'd thought to bring a rope - once inside, waving her arms and legs did nothing to move her. Once she'd had her fill of floating, weightless and directionless, the others hauled her back out.
Devin's trepidation on the wisdom of entering the sphere eventually ebbed at
seeing Kamala successfully navigate it, unharmed. And navigate it she did.
From outside the sphere, with a hand on the slack end of the rope, Devin
could scarcely follow the natural grace and transitions Kamala performed in
the weightless space. He was no stranger to dexterity, but flow without
gravity was entirely something else to behold.
His caution resurfaced as she concluded and they pulled her out of the
focus, and he paid careful mind of Kamala's mood and mannerisms for much of
the journey out and back up to town. He imagined some dark shadow of
Lamashtu taking advantage of the opportunity to infuse Kamala with a
malevolent spiritual parasite, latent or otherwise. Devin relaxed once it
was finally clear Kamala's jubilance at the experience was her own.
7
They returned to the surface world, heading to the Rusty Dragon to see if they could find Bergi, and tell her what they'd learned.
"...so I marked the wall about the runewell with the same. If Sandpoint
ever has another murder, the runewell needs to be exhausted and extinguished
for good," Devin finished explaining to Bergi.
"I could use your thoughts on what all we've brought back," he asked. "For
who I suspect in town might value it. Highest, best use."
"Day after tomorrow, we're off for Magnimar."
“Magnimar!” Bergi squawked. “Finally fancying to have civilization swallow yup again? Blessed be, never thought you’d shake away from our dreamy little mess here. Blood and thistles is everyway good, but carousing twilight streets and true sewage perfume has a way of shining up our lustrous corner of the world, it does. Good to go, lest you and your news,” motioning at Kamala and Bardek, “forget that. And by the fly,” she leaned in conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “Twoon’t kill ya to show a lady a proper once and again,” the animated halfling nodded her head and eyebrows at Amrynn. “Stead of endless farm brew and horseshoes.”
Amrynn coughed around her drink amicably enough as folks turned, but then her eyes went wide in alarm. As Devin turned back, Bergi, quick as she was, was already forearm deep in the proffered satchel of goods rooting around.
“Ooo, the cut of—” was all Bergi could manage before the scarf attacked.
Devin was a blur of speed as he snatched the end of the malevolent cloth that snaked out for Bergi’s throat. Bergi screeched surprise and sat back hard enough to tip her chair. As she fell backward, the other end of the scarf lanced out for her but fell short, vibrating taut in the air. Bergi darted her own hand out and snatched the end of the offensive garment, halting her topple mid-tilt with a dancer’s aplomb.
“What, have, we, here,” Bergi marveled.
What ensued was a mesmerizing and magical display, where Bergi and Devin and the scarf wild between them, whirled and wound their way around the floor. Several times Bergi barked at folks to not stop the torturous tango that bound them, until she finally gave a laughing, twirling finish with the scarf well under control. Color had come into her cheeks and her smile was breathtaking.
“Well if that doesn’t knock the wheels off the wagon!” she laughed. “I don’t know what that is, but don’t ever let it go, do ya.” The play on words set her laughing harder and she needed a few minutes and a drink to settle once more.
The rest of Bergi’s study and relating of information was considerably less entertaining, but she had a wild look in her eye from time to time that hadn’t been there for a great many months. Brighter days were coming to Sandpoint, of that she was sure.
Bergi's exhuberant mirth just managed to take the deeply mortified edge off Devin's alarm that he'd put Bergi's life in danger. He'd been foolish to assume the scarf kept to a single target. The manticore had always only attacked Bardek, but the party was few in number. Devin had presumed the scarf had some sort of resonance to his past, some ill deed or wrong committed, something which drew the haunt to try to kill him. But he couldn't imagine a similar history applying to Bergi.
"Kamala!" Devin asked urgently, asking that she take the scarf as they knew -- somewhat, last time -- that it probably wouldn't attack her. Devin couldn't well take it from Bergi without setting off the whole thing again. "Carefully." While in town, he'd pick up a small hammered tin with a well-fit lid, a length of leather cord to wrap and bind the tin, and a small pouch to set the whole within. The scarf could ride to Magnimar and its eventual un-haunting in a little metal prison.
Devin sat down heavily at the table and drew both palms down over his face with a sigh for the episode. Seeing Bergi's joy after the whole of it eventually managed to brighten his own mood, though, and a chuckle or two broke through in the ensuing minutes into a shared laugh.
8
Father Zantus smiled politely at being given the three books Devin had found, assuring him they'd be of interest among the acolytes - but when offered the book of unholy beasts the Heroes had recovered from beneath Sandpoint, his face paled. "Simply horrific," he whispered, paging through it a bit before closing it decisively. "But it's best handled by the clergy. You did the right thing, Devin. Please, don't go just yet. I'll give you a reward for dealing with this so wisely."
After the episode with the scarf, Devin felt compelled to share the book's background, and that they'd found it in an evil temple to Lamashtu. The book wasn't magical, and hadn't been harmful thus far... but the scarf didn't have a dweomer, either. "The book itself is mundane, from what we can tell, even if its contents are not. Not that I'd ever hope anything from those pages would ever threaten the region, but if it did, some of the knowledge in that book may help put it down. If you ever suspect the book itself is dangerous... well..." Devin almost couldn't bring himself to say it, "if it needed to be destroyed, I'd understand."
Father Zantus nodded slowly. "I don't know of anyone who could read such... unholy script," he admitted, "but the book appears to be written in the service of Lamashtu, by the iconography and subject matter. I'll understand if you wish to keep it, for what good it may yet do, but if you leave it here, I will see it destroyed, that no Lamashtans may use it again."
9
Master Parooh invited Devin in readily enough; The Way North was cramped and cluttered with maps and sea charts, despite having been a stable in a previous incarnation. He peered at the maps Devin presented him with, and eyed the man himself kindly. "I'll give ye fifteen gold sails for the lot. Absolute daylight robbery, but I do love a nice map, even such a fantastical set as these," he grinned, folding his hands on his belly, his gnomish legs jutting out on his human-sized seat.
"Gracious, you admitting robbery," Devin jibed back, grinning, "but fifteen gold and knowing the knowledge'll be kept and put to use, that's fair to me."
Master Parooh howled with laughter in that disconcertingly abrupt and enthusiastic way gnomes had, but once he'd dried his tears of mirth away, he counted out the promised gold sails and wished Devin a safe journey to Magnimar.
10
Savah greeted Devin warmly, pleased to see him as ever. She ran an experienced eye over the ranseur he had brought, and confirmed Bergi's findings. "That's worth a pretty pinch! Thinking to add it to my collection of unsellable weapons?" she teased.
"I am so thinking," Devin smiled back. "It'll be quite the display piece. But unsellable? With the tradeways reopening and Bergi's word and draw to the ears of travelers, you'll make twice its value when you fairly sell it at a premium to the right collector wearing thick gloves and with a penchant for ample personal space. Until then, it compliments your collection's eclectic charm and renown."
Devin looked about the shop, definitely recognizing the origin of more than one piece of inventory. Sandpoint had grown on him a bit, it was true; Bergi's friendly chide came back to mind. He realized he'd fallen out of the conscious habit of minding his surroundings while within Sandpoint. Acclimation? Perhaps.
"We're off to Magnimar, ourselves, but be assured, we'll return with all we can of blades liberated from brigands downed on the return trip."
Savah grinned. "Better if you returned with enough gold sails to buy some wares for a change, eh?" Still, she bought the padded armor and ranseur from him, displaying them proudly in her showroom.
Devin nodded, "Deal."
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she eyed him. "You wouldn't... care to get dinner with me, before you go?"
Though in other circumstances, other times, Devin would've accepted, he was
gently up front to ward off any misunderstanding. "Amrynn and I are
together," he shared. "Important you know, unless I'm embarrassing myself
by misinterpreting the invitation."
"Oh! Oh," Savah sighed, dismayed. "I didn't realize... well, now I've gone and stuck my foot in it." She chuckled ruefully. "Amrynn's a lucky woman. Thank you for being forthright about it. I know more than a few fellows who wouldn't have "remembered" to tell me. That's the price of doing business in this line of work, I guess."
Though disappointed, Savah parted with Devin on good terms, wishing him a safe trip and a safe return.
11
Jargie Quinn, of the Hagfish, seemed impressed by Devin's demonstration of the hungry decapitant (at least, after Devin had coughed up an explanation for the marks on his throat), but when offered the chance to buy it, he demurred, propping his leg up on his pegleg. "Can't have these bastards yankin' the pull at all hours for a lark," he laughed. "Terrible racket, that little bugger makes! But you take it down to The Feathered Serpent. A gold sail says that Mr. Voon will take that off yer hands."
Indeed, Vorvashali Voon proved fascinated by the piece, and gladly bought it from Devin. "Don't forget, if you find anything interesting like this, I'd be happy to give it a look!" the gregarious man called after Devin as he left.
"None other could compete for mind," Devin called assurance, waving back, and giving a brief silent laugh and a chill shudder at hearing the simian screech yet again emanate from the Serpent.
12
Devin returned that evening from his forays about the town, and shared a palm of the proceeds of gold with Bergi, to help further bolster the town and the gatherings. The mayor's announcements would be tomorrow, that Devin had committed the party to appear at. If there were no objections from Bardek, Amrynn, or Kamala, Devin intended to ask Bergi if she'd speak on the party's behalf. Her good cheer and ongoing presence in Sandpoint could be a more lasting reassurance, and she could speak well for all that had happened that they'd shared back with her firsthand.
"Anticipated you'd be deep in spellcraft," Devin sat down next to Amrynn, brushing a hand affectionately across her shoulders as he did so. "Pleased to have your company. Going well?"
“Blergh,” Amrynn said, leaning into his touch and the crook of his shoulder. Her head fit neatly into the hollow along his neck. She held that pose for a few moments and then lifted a long leg, shoving Caizarlu’s shady manifesto off the table where it landed on the floor with a meaty thud. The book toppled on its spine and cascaded open, the last few pages seeming to flip against the pull of gravity before whispering to rest.
“So much darkness in the world, Devin,” she said, breathing deeply of him. She flitted fingers at the grimoire and said, “So many lunatics raving. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like we’re making a difference.” Her fingers flipped in the air, and the narrower swath of the spellbook slapped closed on the wider. A nearby candle flickered its displeasure.
Devin's pulse rose as a missed familiarity resurfaced. This was the Amrynn he knew... as was the Amrynn whose clawed hands had smashed the stained glass in the manor, and whom the sinspawn had abided as not-an-enemy, for whatever cause. For the moment, with her there against him and despite her frustrated words, much felt right with the world.
“When whatever we finish off,” she continued. “Something else always just slithers into its place.” She shifted away from him and ran fingers through her hair. She leaned and scooped up the spellbook, fingers running over its grim surface as she stood. She looked tired.
“There really is no stopping darkness, is there?” she asked. “Not really. Not the old evils.”
"Societies have fallen from such well-intentioned pursuits," Devin recalled easily, more than one book of history coming to mind. "And no, not really. I think the point is getting up each day and doing something about it, make one or a hundred small differences. You don't have to 'defeat' darkness. You have to be conscientious it's there, but focus on keeping life illuminated. The more of that there is, the easier it is to sustain and grow." Analogies without and within came to mind; a ball of shadowstuff absently coalesced between his cupped hands and dissipated into wafts of light smoke strands with a shift of his fingers. He shrugged.
"Imbues what we all do with some well-earned meaning."
A smile dawned on Amrynn’s face and washed away a hundred years of life, revealing a glimpse of the child she had once been. Then the mantle of the Weave and the greater world slowly settled on her shoulders once more, pulling her back into the present. She whispered an incantation and the evil book began to glow with common light. She set it on the table with a degree of reverence.
“Light from darkness. Light in spite of darkness,” she half-smiled and chuckled. “Spite I can get behind.” She mused for a moment. “Our time in Sandpoint has been potent, I agree,” she said. “But it’s still a far cry from snatched evenings of shared reading by firelight, no?” She tilted her head back and exhaled, “Maybe I just need a solid night’s sleep.” Then she looked at Devin and asked, “Can you help with that?”
She walked to Devin and lowered herself onto his lap, one leg straddling each side and hands clasped behind his neck. She stared into his cyan eyes, searching for something other than the truth of what she had always seen there. She was not disappointed.
“I know we’ll get back there someday, I know we will,” she said, hands moving up into his hair. “Until then, let’s just take whatever the darkness does have to offer.”
Two long fingers flicked as she leaned in, and the room plunged into darkness.
13
The following day, a small crowd had gathered in the church square to hear the speech the Heroes were said to be delivering - perhaps a misunderstanding by the Mayor, who had seen to it to spread the word. Rumor that the Heroes were leaving had left the townsfolk dismayed and a little frightened, after everything that had been happening. The question was on everyone's lips: Why were their protectors leaving?
Kamala stood off to one side, watching what Devin and Amrynn would do.
She wasn't one of the Heroes of Sandpoint, after all. She was just
someone too dumb to know when to quit. Smirking a little at herself,
she waited to see if someone would give an impromptu speech.
Devin motioned Kamala to stand with them all. She /was/ one of the Heroes of Sandpoint, as much as Devin himself or Amrynn could be. For that matter, Devin looked about the townsfolk for Bid'ja and Durriken to invite them forward, too, and would be pleasantly but not entirely surprised if he saw Cosmin, Rhaina, or I'Daiin, though each had traveled onward to their own personal pursuits in other lands.
Kamala shrugged but gave Devin a smile for his generosity. She did as
she was bade, walking over to stand next to the assembled group.
“Uh, right,” Bardek said, as the others all took steps backwards (some more subtly than others) when the Mayor swept her arm to encompass them and invite the “Heroes” to speak. He’d known it was coming – even to the point that he’d prayed in advance to Cayden Cailean to bless him with the wisdom and wit to be able to say the right things – but still, he wasn’t a trained orator, not really. He was definitely not used to addressing crowds in such a way. Still, resolve was one of the core tenets of his faith, and he stepped forward to do the best he knew how.
“People of Sandpoint,” Bardek raised his voice – and his hands – to catch the crowd’s attention and quiet them down. In looking them over, he realized that he’d definitely seen more people gathered for the swallowtail festivals he’d attended as a teen, but this was still a good-sized crowd. It was a sign of just how worried the people were. Worried, and scared.
“Some of you might remember me,” he said, “I lived at the Academy for a while, under the care of Ilsoari Gandethus, like many other children unfortunate enough to have lost their families. Though I left after only a few years here, I still think of Sandpoint fondly. I am Bardek Marczak, and while I was an unruly and unhappy young man when most of you knew me, it was my time in Sandpoint that helped me to be willing to feel hope again, in the face of my heartache and loss.”
Bardek gave a rueful smile and shrugged. “Of course, I had to go spend five years carrying a spear and heavy pack in the militia to truly appreciate how good I had it here, because, like most young men, I was a little thick between the ears.” He chuckled. “But after all of that, in the end, I figured it out.”
He heaved a deep sigh, met the eyes of some in the crowd, and then shook his head. “I figured it out, and then I went and found religion, of all things. I was called to serve the Accidental God, my Master, Cayden Cailean. And of course it was He, right? Because of all the people you know who might take up service to the Gods, who might give his life over to doing holy works, Bardek Marczak would only come to mind if you were to accidentally mutter a name – and only if you were already a few mugs into the stout – while thinking of someone else.”
“But,” he paused for a moment, “it’s more than that, of course. I’m an orphan, too. And…” he sighed. As important as his history was, it wasn’t important to these people, not right now. “Anyway,” he continued, “in the service of the Drunken Hero, I found myself helping other orphaned children. Helping them to find places to live. To find communities. To find places where they could be safe, be accepted, and make lives for themselves…”
“In short,” he said, “to help them find places that could be to them what Sandpoint was for me, so briefly. What Sandpoint is for all of you,” his voice went soft, but also firm with the weight of meaning, and he let the next word sit alone in silence for a moment.
“Home.”
“I don’t know that I’m a hero,” Bardek continued after a few moments, “but I’ve aligned myself with those you call the Heroes of Sandpoint. I came back here in time to discover that a darkness had infested the fields and farms outside of town, and to join my might with that of the others in putting that darkness down.” The warmth that had been in his voice at the talk of home and community was gone now. The firm strength of resolve and righteous determination had replaced it.
“We’ve rooted out the source of that unliving abomination, and we’ve put it down,” he repeated. “And while I know that isn’t enough to replace those lost to us because of it – I, of all people, know that vengeance doesn’t fill the hole left by the loss of those we love – what we can do is make sure that we don’t lose more to it, and that we take those who were responsible for causing this pain to meet proper justice.”
He waited a beat to let the ugly stirrings of fear wash free from the members of the crowd, but before it could morph into black anger – as fear so often did - Bardek spoke again.
“We are taking those who have caused the latest of Sandpoint’s troubles to Magnimar. We’ll make sure they’re delivered and locked away until justice is done. No more sneaking off into the dark to weave plots or corrupt lives. There’s an end to it. No more need to look at and worry and wonder about your neighbors. No more need to fear the darkness. Not now. Not this night.”
“Now,” Bardek said, and his tone had lightened a bit, “now is the time to come together and remember and celebrate the lives of those we’ve lost. To give thanks for the blessings we have received, we who are still alive, and who still have family, and friends, and neighbors around us. We who call Sandpoint home.”
“Home.” Bardek repeated the word, and again let it sit in the silence.
“I said ‘home,’ because that’s what Sandpoint is. To all of us. Even if we come from other places. Even if we may one day live elsewhere. Even as I wandered for decades, and as some may wander still, in our hearts, Sandpoint will always carry that title. And the devotion that comes with it.” Bardek took a moment to pointedly look about at the town around him.
“Sandpoint is a town truly blessed,” Bardek said. “Yes, yes, we’ve had our share of the frightening, the tragic, and the evil befall us. Not just recently, but throughout the history of this place, I know that. You know that. We all know that! And yet, here we are. The people of this town survive. Not just survive, but thrive! Sandpoint grows and the people here prosper, and evil – try though it might – fails to overcome the goodness and strength and resolve of the good people who call it home.”
Bardek nodded, as if someone in the crowd had asked him a direct question.
“Yes,” he said, “yes. We are leaving. Some of us, for a time. Some of those you call Heroes, though not all. Some few of us are going to Magnimar. We may be gone a while, but when we return, it will be with happier news, we hope. In the meantime, some of us remain. Bergi, for example, and Bid’ja, and Durriken, and even Shalelu Andosana. All of them remain here, to assist the town, should there be need. And you may have noticed,” Bardek said, “how whenever Sandpoint seems to be in need, Heroes seem to arise from out of the most unexpected places. Who, for example, would have expected I'Daiin and Rhaina Silverhair of the Shoanti people to appear and defend the town in the face of the goblin threat? Or for Cosmin Strofa to appear when they had gone? Or,” and here he paused for a self-deprecating chuckle, “for Bardek Marczak to come back after all these years, just when Sandpoint needed him?”
Bardek looked around, and a fond smile was on his face, as he expressed his unspoken love for each of the people of Sandpoint. “Each of you,” he said, “the sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers of Sandpoint, each of you may find yourselves unexpectedly able to help in times of need. When your unique skills are most needed. When your love of family, your concern for your neighbors, your loyalty to your home is most strongly put to the test. Sandpoint may well make of you the Hero she needs, at the time when you are most uniquely able to rise up to that role. Each of us,” he said, “all of us, can be Heroic at times, if the circumstances are right. For this is a blessed town. Sandpoint is blessed to have each of you as her citizens. Each and every one of you.”
Bardek nodded again, smiled again, spoke again.
“I know that any of you would do as we have, if the situation calls for it. If Sandpoint – your home – called you to it. But I also know that it is not just you that Sandpoint relies on. It is not just we who love her, and would protect her. Sandpoint is watched from on high, as well. The Gods know of this place, and of the people here. Witness, and I will show you.”
Bardek knelt then, and his red stole suddenly seemed more noticeable against the plain brown of his clothing. He raised up the battered copper mug that was always with him, and with it, he raised his voice.
“Cayden Cailean,” he called, and his baritone voice was rich with the love of a son speaking to his father, “You, who watches over and rewards bravery, and freedom, and those who lend their strength to aiding good people and good causes, we give Thee thanks for watching over us, and over the town of Sandpoint. We celebrate those who have lived here before us, and those who have sacrificed and struggled to make Sandpoint free for us today. We lift our voices – and our glasses – in gratitude for our many blessings. And we ask Thee, to continue to watch over the people of Sandpoint. To bless them with courage, and with resolve, and with the strength they need to face the challenges placed before them. We ask Thee also to give them both cause and ability to give Thee thanks and celebrate in the days to come. We are grateful, and thank Thee, as free people, of our own will and with our own strength. Amen.”
As he spoke the final word, Bardek tipped his mug, and golden ale poured forth from it. The ale caught the sunlight, and then, where there had been liquid pouring from a mug, suddenly there was a golden glow that pulsed, and then rippled through the crowd in a soft wave of warmth and light, and all who were touched by it felt warmth in their bellies and peace in their minds, as that Father answered his faithful son, and all of them felt it.
All, that is, but those who had true evil hidden in their hearts, or nursed thoughts of dominion and oppression of others. Those, were there any in that crowd, felt instead the insistent whispered thought that they were being watched. Had been seen, and their secrets known.
And then the moment passed. The feeling of warmth washed away, slowly, and those who had felt it realized that with it, so too had washed away their fear. Instead, they felt a knowledge of their own inner strength, and that Bardek’s words had been true. Sandpoint could depend on them, if it came to it. They had a strength not just of their own, but of them all. A strength that went beyond any one or even any group of them. A strength that came from Sandpoint itself…
The strength of their home.
“WOO HOOOO!!!” Bergi shrieked in her soprano, arms shooting skyward and summoning a horn from thin air. Decked out in colorful splendor even by her standards, she began blaring emphatic and inspiring refrains on her instrument until the crowd was bolstered and roaring of their own accord.
Kamala raised her voice, too. "WOO HOO!" She half turned and clapped
for the others gathered in front of the crowd, grinning in the
afterglow of Bardek's speech.
The townsfolk were more than cheered - they were inspired to pride in their hometown, pride in themselves, and pride in what they'd endured and overcome. Father Zantus came to shake Bardek's hand, but was near-swamped in the flood of townsfolk who crowded around the Heroes to do the same, some attempting to lift them up onto their shoulders (including Bergi, but not quite daring to lay hands on Amrynn; the graceful elf was given her space, though subjected to many offers to shake her hand, and the smiles of goodwill of the people).
It seemed safe to say that their fears had been allayed as they waved farewell to the departing Heroes. Bergi came to give them hugs, and even Amrynn was not spared.
14
Cosmin met them outside Sandpoint with Pidget in tow, and an urgent whispered warning to get all blades out of sight. "Put them into a sack or something for the trip," he advised, before taking his leave.
Meanwhile, Pidget balked at being put in the horse-drawn wagon-cage with the prisoners - especially with Habe. "I'm not a criminal!" he whined, cowering. "I've been good, Doctor! I promise! I promise!"
Habe, despondently staring at his bound hands, made no reply.
A single town guard had been spared to accompany the prisoners and the Heroes to Magnimar - corporal Jaren Basvear, who was good company as they traveled, being rather impressed with the Heroes just as the rest of Sandpoint was. He kept an eye on their charges, but Habe and Caizarlu weren't foolish enough to challenge the party again... especially with the necromancer spending his time with them with his hands wrapped in cloth and bound, as well as being manacled like the Doctor.
It took three days to walk the distance to Magnimar, but the weather wasn't too cold yet, and once they'd left Sandpoint (and the Misgivings) behind, the rain and wind calmed, and by the second day, the weather was pleasant enough. Fall colors decorated the landscape as the trees prepared for winter, and the air was crisp and refreshing. All in all, it was a reasonably pleasant stroll through the autumn countryside, and on the third day the farms they passed began to grow thick upon the bucolic scenery. Jaren filled the time with amusing anecdotes about the town watch and the militia, and questions about the Heroes and their exploits, and soon enough, they neared their destination.
In the fiery light of evening, they could see the City of Monuments - and the impossibly huge ruin of a bridge known as the Irespan, visible for miles out to sea - from the approach along the coast on the Lost Coast Road...
Devin's stride tapered off as the crested the rise. He hooked thumbs under
the straps of his backpack and just stood contemplatively, seeing a sight
both familiar and foreign, as if something painted on canvas was suddenly
really and truly there before him. He followed the upper lines of the city
from the Irespan inland; he followed the lower lines of the city, to the
Shore and massive harbor. It had been years ago since he'd hired on as a
hand and sailed north from that harbor, never once letting himself look back
as the city receded astern. On his last recent travel through here, he'd
skirted inland to the east of the city, wary of being identified by some
omniscient threat of distant guilds, the danger more likely imagined than
true. He smirked to assert and reassure himself he was not the child that
left this city and sundered family; it would certainly not remember him nor
care a wit at his return, one of hundreds or even thousands that did so
every day.
Devin realized his pause had prompted at least one curious glance his
direction from the party, or a nod of understanding at appreciating the
sights. He smiled because his friends and Amrynn were testaments this city
no longer held power over him and resumed the walk. Daylight was fading.
Not knowing what was that had stopped Devin's stride, Kamala stepped
up next to him. "It's impressive, isn't it? Imagine what that bridge
must have looked like when it was whole." She smiled and shook her
head. "The city's not a patch on Almas, and nowhere near as..." Kamala
shook her head as she struggled for the right word "not pretty.
Impressive? Impressive, I guess. As impressive as home, but Magnimar
is definitely the kind of place that makes you think." The muscular
monk didn't talk much about Niswan, but the Impossible Kingdom of
Jalmeray was the kind of place that was hard to describe to someone
who hadn't been there, and impossible to forget if you had.
"It is impressive, at that," Devin agreed. "And a healthy reminder to be cognizant of what it's built over." If little Sandpoint first existed as a settlement and outpost of the Runelord of Wrath, the Thassilon bones under Magnimar truly needed to be kept asleep.
Kamala looked curiously at Devin. "Oh? What's it built over? I was
only here for a few days, just passing through."
"I've read Almas is home to five times as many people as Magnimar. Maybe I'll see it by the time I'm grown up," Devin smiled back. Thinking of a city five times Magnimar's size made the small corners of the world Devin had been feel small indeed.
Kamala nodded. "It is. Even still, there's nothing like that there,"
she waved at the Irespan. "If you're looking to visit a city just to
see a massive sea of humanity, I've always wanted to go to Absalom,
myself. I hear you can spend days just trying to walk from one end of
that place to the other. Can't believe I spent so much time sailing
around the Inner Sea and never made it to Asalom." The white-haired
woman grinned. "Luck of the draw, I guess. Vagaries of the tides.
Chasing after the wrong quest. Some such shit, eh?" Kamala laughed.
"There's always someplace else to see, right?"
...and before long they could smell the woodsmoke and gathered humanity of the city as well. The sprawl of slate rooftops and marble avenues stretched from the foundations of the basalt Irespan, to beyond the western banks of the Yondabakari River. They were joined by a plethora of merchant caravans as they entered the enormous city, and the waters were dotted with sails as well. A sheer cliff, called the Seacleft, cut through the city's heart, dividing it into its two major sections: the Summit, upon the cliff's top, and the Shore below. The Giant's Bridge, jutting from a prominent foundation upon the Seacleft soared more than three hundred feet above the Shore, resulting in a permanently shaded area below it, which Devin knew to be called Underbridge.
Jaren thanked the party for seeing to the safe transport of the prisoners as they handed the two over at the nearest jailhouse, and went to make his report along with all the evidence the party had compiled, leaving them free to their own purposes in the darkening streets of the city.
Pidget was looking about avidly, a country rat come to the city.
"The Foxglove's affairs will likely be up on top, in the Naos or Alabaster
districts, but those'll be easier to visit during the day. Unknown faces
draw more scrutiny there between sunset and dawn," Devin volunteered. "We
could get lodging here in Ordellia, on the south side of the city, but the
inn prices near the gate will be high. Let's get to the city interior,
Dockway, which serves the harbor traffic. There's lodging on the east side
of it that's not too colorful, or just on the west site of Lowcleft; far
enough away from the entertainment core to be reasonably quiet tonight.
Lowcleft won't sleep until morning, and neither would we, otherwise, three
days' walk notwithstanding."
Kamala shook her head. "Lead on. I barely spent any time here when I
passed through. I couldn't tell you the first thing about those
neighborhoods. And you all probably wouldn't want to stay where I
stayed. Sailors don't tend to have a lot of coin to spend on
comfortable lodging."
If there weren't any objections, Devin led Amrynn, Bardek, and Kamala north
along the main cobblestoned tradeway, passing over the bridges onto and off
Kyver's Islet and up between the residential district of Keystone to the
east and the east edge of Beacon's Point, the interior slums of which Devin
surmised were to this day still not a safe place for the party to be in the
evenings. As they made their way around the edge of the Seerspring Garden
park and passed the imposing stone wall and towers of the Merchants'
Guildhall, Devin started looking at the streets to either side. His
attention was mostly east but occasionally west, looking for signs of
available lodging within a street or two of the avenue.
Each night of travel was much the same for Amrynn. She seemed lighter of spirit as the party moved away from Sandpoint, shifting much in tune with the change in weather. She was more inclined to study Caizarlu’s sordid tome by campfirelight, usually within eyeshot of the villain, where she occasionally met his gaze and offered a desultory comment on his work.
“Honestly, why would anyone want to even try that?” and “This smells like it’s written in blood mixed with…urine?” and “Such a shame, you really did have lovely handwriting.” Her use of the past tense was not lost on any present.
Languidly the pages turned, but other than these minor offenses, there was none of the life-threatening rage present with which she had promised to visit upon the necromancer prior. Still, whenever she relieved someone for her turn at watch, there was a look in her eyes. Those eyes that had been filled with unending darkness.
So an unspoken relief exchanged places with Caizarlu’s transfer to the local authorities and the relinquishing of his dark studies, though Amrynn did convey to the new jailers the crystalline significance of the spellbook before releasing it into their custody. Then she simply moved on and took in what Magnimar had to offer.
“Will you be looking to trade up on that dagger?” she asked of Devin as they strolled.
"Probably," Devin nodded. "Depends on what we can find that's available. I do like the story behind this one, though, and that it's so concealable, even if it's not very practical. It's not like we know merchants we can trust, here. Not like in Sandpoint; I'll forfeit half or more of the dagger's value in any trade here, which gives me pause."
"Any destinations or business on your 'must' list?" he returned the question in kind to Amrynn, but included Kamala and Bardek in the invitation as well. Tracking down the Foxglove doings here was first, but from experience Devin anticipated the city would soon entice and encompass with a slew of opportunities.
Bardek shook his head at the view. It felt like he'd just left this place, and his last arrival hadn't exactly been at the height of success, had it? Still, as a Brewer, he'd learned to go where the good works needed doing. Though he'd exchanged stories with Jaren on the walk, and possibly overcolored one or two of his stories of those in Cheliax who'd made pacts with dark forces - and the bad ends they'd come to - where Habe and Caizarlu could hear, right before bedtime usually, Bardek hadn't said much since the guardsman had taken his leave of them. He followed along with the other three, content to be led wherever Devin wanted to take them, at least for now.
“Devin.” Amrynn’s tone was prompt. Her subtle nod ahead was all the alert he needed. She turned her head back and caught the attentions of Bardek and Kamala to alert them silently as well.
On one side of the street, a man had stepped out from his preparation area to sharpen a long knife on a spinning wheel. As the wheel whirred, the occasional spark spun into the dusk, further drawing the eye. A little farther down the street on the other side, a street performer was juggling a variety of blades to the relative indifference of the crowd.
She flashed back momentarily to the evening prior when the possibilities for navigating the city had been discussed with Pidgit. It had not gone well. The notion of sending someone on ahead had been discounted then with so many prisoners in tow, but now they only had the wererat to manage. They knew they were going to encounter some challenges transporting Pidgit, but this seemed a little overly convenient.
“Do we want to hole up somewhere and send someone on ahead now?”
Devin's stride tapered off as Amrynn's warning sunk in.
"Yes..." Devin concurred, feeling like they should figuratively and literally slowly back away from the risk. "Let's step off the main way, find quick rooms for tonight, and two of us can go on ahead, make arrangements." Which translated to two of the party guarding Pidget in a sheltered environment, and two making good time to the temple district to make discrete but urgent inquiries.
Kamala nodded at Devin. The monuments were impressive but Magnimar's
street life was nothing compared to the larger cities she'd been to or
the incredible sights that were a daily occurrence back home, so she
had no problem holing up for a while. "Sounds good." She smiled at
Pidget. "Let's go see if we can find something to eat! I'm starving.
What about you, Pidget?"
"I don't want to wear this blindfold!" Pidget whined - indeed, they'd had to restrain him from taking it off at every other moment. "But yeah, I could eat." His grudging admission was a warning as well - wererats were notorious carnivores, and his whiskers were twitching in every direction as people walked past.
Amrynn watched Kamala lead Pidgit off with Devin shortly in tow, smiling as the spirited woman knew exactly where best to strike Pidgit for compliance. She and Bardek would follow along of course, until a suitable location was found for them to sequester the wererat. No need for the party to get unduly separated without a prearranged rendezvous point and backup plan. They would bring aid to Pidgit if possible, but most likely he would need to be brought to whichever holy site would be willing to aid them.
“How much liquor does it take to cure lyncathropy?” she asked the priest with a smile. “Do you still have that wand of Gentle Repose on you? We could make good trade of it for the services we need. Plus, it would serve better here in Magnimar than out in the wilds, I imagine.”
"I do," Bardek nodded, and patted the pocket in which the wand resided. "I hope the Abadarians will take it. If we get a good one, they might even throw in some extra blessed water to make up the difference. People think Abadar is about greed, but more often than not, it's a fair trade they're looking for."
"As for the first question, I don't think there's enough in all the world." Bardek smiled, "Let's go see what the Abadarans can do."
15
"No rats." The message Kamala and Devin received when trying to maneuver the blindfolded wererats discreetly into a rented room was depressingly similar wherever they went. Whether landlord or innkeep, no one wanted a suspiciously large "ratfolk" lodging in their building. The man they were speaking with seemed, in addition, suspicious enough that he might ask the wrong questions - questions that Jaren had warned them about.
"Whatever you do, don't tell anyone you're bringing a wererat into the city," he had advised them before they'd passed through the gates. "Even the best of intentions, and admirable as your plan is, no authority is going to want a very contagious lycanthrope in the city - much less one that isn't quite right in the head!" He whispered the last, but it still set off Pidgit on a rant about how he wasn't a criminal, he hadn't meant it, and it wasn't his fault.
The whining wererat had gotten on Jaren's nerves (at least) sufficiently during their trip that his long-suffering look was quite understandable.
Now, in the face of the growing suspicions of the populace, and no sign of a willingness to show understanding or mercy in the face of a potential deadly threat, Devin and Kamala were forced to resort to passing back out of the gates of the city to camp in the fields outside it with Pidget.
That made the wererat whine, too. "I just want to see," he sniveled, though he'd been a bit less annoying since they'd taken him out of the prisoner transport. "I could hear blades being sharpened," he added, a dreamy cast coming over his face. "So bright... so sharp..."
The fields around the city weren't unpleasant, but were far from hospitable.
Years of traffic had churned most of the fields, and they were fortunate to
find a bit of high ground near a stand of trees, given how small their party
was and that they no longer had to accommodate a wagon or pack animals.
He couldn't fault the city or the venues they'd approach. Devin, himself,
was second-guessing their decision to take Pidget into custody and force
care upon him, then turn him loose. Even with his lycanthropy cured, his
mania and impulses would still be a threat to many of the people around
here. They were pushing problems around.
"Breathe, Pidget. Relax." To keep Pidget occupied, Devin asked, "So, where
are you from? Have any family out there?" Devin gestured to the landscape
to the south, away from the city.
"Not there," Pidget told him, distracted for once from his erratic behavior. He pointed north. "My family comes from a long line of Ulfen kings," he said, puffing up with pride. "You can hear it in my last name - Tergelson. That means "son of Tergel" in Ulfen," he explained loftily, then grew more morose. "I've never been, though."
Kamala kept a close eye on things but didn't interrupt, not wanting to
get in between Devin's question and Pidget's easily distracted brain.
In retrospect, maybe it hadn't been a good idea to remind the wererat
that he was hungry- not when all he wanted was meat. She'd gone days
on single grains of rice before, and once gone without water so long
she'd passed out, and she hadn't been the first student to do so, but
Pidget clearly didn't have much self-control. Maybe she should go try
to get a bunch of meat for them to cook (or not, in Pidget's case).
16
Bardek and Amrynn had better luck. They had taken the straight, crowded lane down between the Capital district and Naos, turned right, and soon came upon the Cathedral of Abadar, where Father Zantus had advised them that a very powerful cleric, Proctor Jyronn Imikar, might be able to help them - but, as was Abadar's teaching, it would have a price to pay.
The Cathedral was easily the largest temple in Magnimar, a sprawling stone structure that also served as the primary bank and moneylender in the region. It would take some doing to gain an audience with the Proctor, they found; he had a veritable army of acolytes, priests, and paladins serving him, and through him, the Master of the First Vault. They were advised to return the next day, and sign what appeared to be a wearisome plethora of forms - bureaucracy that needed dealing with, and Bardek thought he knew how. Still, it would be a task for the morning, as the acolytes said.
Bardek had looked over the forms and sighed. Eventually, when it had been made obvious that they weren't going to get anywhere that day, he'd asked the latest in the stream of acolytes and functionaries, "Do you mind if we take these with us and get a head start on them? That way when we bring them back in the morning, it'll be more efficient for your staff."
This proved acceptable, and in the morning Bardek returned with the filled forms - and a bribe to ensure that they didn't multiply. With patience and effort, they churned their way through the bureaucracy put in place to deter people with less pressing business from bothering the high priest.
Proctor Jyronn Imikar was a Garundi man with an Osiriani accent, to those who could recognize such things. Commanding, yet fair, he agreed to venture out to examine Pidget, and do what he could to save his soul from lycanthropy - once the party's tithe to the church had been recorded, of course. It was against Abadaran doctrine to perform a service unpaid.
The ritual blessing was surprisingly short - and efficient, as a bureaucracy might value. Pidget, awkward before someone new who knew what he was, shrank down into the shape of a gangly, rodent-like man, retaining some of the twitchy behavior he'd had as a wererat - but no longer the ability or curse of passing on his condition, nor the appearance of an overgrown rat.
"You cured me! I'm free!" Pidget rejoiced, dancing about at Jyronn wished them well and returned to the cathedral he'd come from. Pidget stopped dancing long enough to spin about, trying to see his tail, then grinned at the party. "Even the Doctor never could cure me! I can go, right?" He looked toward the city, eyes sparkling with glee.
“You are, and you can,” Devin nodded. “You have responsibility for your own life again. Help people. Hire on to a farm. Don’t cross people, because if you do; if you /hurt/ people; even if you didn’t mean to; you won’t last long.”
"You need to get away from the city, Pidget," Bardek said, seriously, "there is nothing here for you but pain and anguish, if you cannot master yourself."
Pidget whined a bit that it hadn't been his fault and the city was right there, but eventually they managed to convince the crazy ex-wererat to leave. He trudged off on the road, enraptured by the dagger Devin had donated to him and giggling to himself.
Amrynn watched Pidget go through his emotional transition and continued to follow him with her heightened senses as he moved off until he was well beyond the scope of their guardianship. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, perhaps nostalgic and indicative of how Pidget’s absence would affect them in the future.
“Well,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not going to miss him at all.”
Then again, perhaps not.
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