Delilah's Diary--Episode 5

It is difficult for me to write the account of what happened a few nights ago. I started this journal as a catalog of the interesting people I meet in my journeys and to form inspiration for my stories. However... that night... Well. It didn't go how any of us expected. It is not a day I wish to remember, but I have fears of what may come from the events and my own involvement. While I may not wish to remember what happened, it may be that the details are absolutely necessary. With hesitant hand I set them forth.

Tristan and I were with Delia when Vixen arrived with a she-elf named Elenwe. She was quite a lovely thing--tall, blond, and dressed just the way I would picture a forest song, if forest songs were to put on skin and carry a bow. She smelled of forest and wilderness and wild runs. Her face was gentle and kind--yet there was sternness there also. She bore tidings that Illcoren had been called to the South and left us--just as our need was greatest. As you recall, we were about to face the priest of the nameless one, and needed all the help we could get.

Tristan seemed concerned about his absence, but then he turned to Tikaani and me and told us that what we were about to do was dangerous and could be deadly. He said this was his fight, not ours, and he would find a way to defeat the priest alone. We, of course, disagreed and said we would come with him. Tristan is certainly skilled, but he would never survive this battle on his own.

Delia had another priest with her whom I should also mention, by the name of Wigolais. He looked to be about our age if not a bit older, but--and there is no way to put this delicately--he was nearly as tall side-to-side as top-to-bottom. I am quite sure it would take two of me to make one of him. His chubby face was cheerful and it was no surprise to find out later that he was on a first name basis with not only the baker but with Mirabel (in particular with Mirabel's pastries). When he overheard our conversation he gladly volunteered his cudgel to our battle, as did Elenwe her bow.

As we left Vixen stuck close to me and pressed something into my hand. It was a pair of fox medallions. She seemed very concerned about my safety--as well she ought to have been. She pleaded with me to be certain to not try to fight any more fire demons or anything along that line. I thanked her for the medallions and assured her I had no intention of getting involved in the actual fighting. I can handle a blade well--I use them in my routines and practice often. I am, however, no fighter. I felt quite confident in my assurances that I would be as safe as could be given the circumstances. I wish now that... well. What is done is done. Vixen did well to warn me. And the medallions were more than the mere trinkets I took them for.

After a brief stop at the apothecary (where Tristan insisted on paying full price for the most expensive potions despite my offers to handle the negotiations), we followed Isa to the place where the golden masked one (whom we believed to be Ector, the other missing otter) would be initiating new converts. It had begun to rain, and as we walked Tikaani used her shield to cover her from the storm. The rest of us just got wet. Once arrived at the old house I offered to scout ahead to get a lay of the land. Elenwe decided to go with me, and it was a good thing that she did. Isa told us of a secret entrance, and quietly we crept down.

Soon we began to see a disturbing amount of clothing on the floor. A boot here, a shirt there, trousers in another spot. It looked as if several people, 4 judging from the sets clothing, had decided to undress as they walked the tunnel. (A side note that I think of as I write this. There were 7 boots. Seven. Four people. Why weren't there eight boots? It bothers me that I was too distracted later on to take note of whether one person was either missing a foot or wearing an unmatched shoe.) The clothing wasn't the only odd thing. Elenwe and I began to hear strange discordant music all around us. The closer we came to the end of the tunnel the louder it was.

Elenwe thought we should go back for the others but, alas, I was very determined to see this to the end. As we reached a curve in the tunnel she held back while I carefully looked around. In the room I saw several things. Four people--two men, and two women--kneeling with their backs to us. Considering what we had found in the hall I was relieved they all had matching leather jerkins on. Remembering the previous day I specifically searched the room for any strange light sources, and saw a warm golden glow. It was a golden dagger on a table in front of them. Between the table and the acolytes stood a man in purple robes wearing a golden mask. He was singing on them and breathing on them. As I peered around the corner he looked directly at me and beckoned, "There is room here for all." I tried to turn around, but found myself strangely drawn to the man and the room. I struggled to resist, but the best I was able to do was stand staring just inside the doorway. My reputation had preceded me--he knew I was a dancer, and that I was one of the foxes and traveled with a white mage. I suppose between my performance in the market place and winning the race I have made some sort of my name for myself in this little town.

Elenwe, of course, quickly returned to our companions and shared the news. Tristan, in particular was concerned when I did not return and the four of them quickly rushed to my aid.

I didn't even realize I'd looked away from the golden faced man, but suddenly there he was standing in front of me. The music seemed to be growing louder in my head and I felt something hot in my pocket. I felt for the medallions Vixen had given me, and one of the medallions crumbled to dust. I could hear my companions down the hall. The man in the mask turned as if he was looking directly at them through the very walls. The man whispered to me--"This is not over Delilah Nerudasunni." Then he took a step back and said to the four acolytes, "Kill them all. Except for her."

I quickly moved after the golden masked man as he turned away. I drew my saber and plunged it under his ribs. I could feel how deep the thrust went as I sliced through his stomach. He screamed and fell backwards, grabbing me and pulling me with him.

The four acolytes moved toward my companions. The only one who had made it into the room with me was Elenwe. The hall was so small that the others had not yet made it around the corner. The acolytes were not nearly as skilled as they were, and in a few blows had been slowed. I realized later that Tristan had paralyzed one of the two women mid-stroke, though of course I could not see this at the time.

Meanwhile the golden masked man was struggling forward toward the table and the glowing dagger. I wasn't sure what magic the dagger held but I knew I did not want him to have it. Equally and for the same reasons I did not want to touch it myself. Moving faster than he could I brushed the dagger aside with my hand. It was in the instant that my fingers touched the golden handle that something strange happened. The music that had started in my mind earlier had never stopped. All this time it had only been on crescendo until I could hear little else. But in the moment I touched the handle the music stopped. My hesitations about the dagger disappeared with the music and instead of pushing it away I grabbed it and plunged it deep into his chest. As I did I heard a plink as of a gold coin hitting stone.

As the priest of the nameless one breathed his last the acolytes seemed to remember themselves and stopped attacking my companions. We had believed they were willing participants, but soon discovered that they had been drugged and forced into the ceremony. None had been killed, thankfully. I was still sitting astride the dead priest, as the blood dripped around me. I did not realize until Tristan reached for my shaking hand that I was still holding the bloody dagger over the golden masked man. He pulled me off and I gladly gave the dagger to him--noting that the golden sheen was gone. Now it looked like any old dagger in the marketplace. The others calmed the confused acolytes while Tristan took me to a corner and used the hem of his white robes to do his best at cleaning the blood from my hands and face.

Oh, and there was a very touching reunion between Isa and her daughter whom had been held in exchange for Isa's compliance. The poor thing was only 6 years old, but seemed to be perfectly fine.

When it was over we returned to Delia to report what had happened. I stayed behind after the others to ask in more detail about what had happened to me--the gold coin, the music, and so on. She did not know the answers, but promised to do her best to discover them.

And this is where the last part comes in--worse, indeed, than the rest put together. Later that night when I was returned to my room and alone, I saw a warm golden glow coming from my pack. I opened the pack and there, lying on top of my things, was the golden dagger I had used to kill the golden masked man and shining with a glow all its own. I quickly shut the pack again. I don't know what evil has happened, but I feel a foreboding like I've never felt before. I have not yet decided what I will do. I have some ideas, but I am afraid breaking free of whatever curse I have brought upon myself will be very, very difficult.

Addendum:
In the lull of our adventures I have had time to continue my quest in meeting various townspeople, and I have learned something interesting about my companion Tristan. It would seem that the very night we returned from the fight with the golden faced man he hunted down the Thorwaller that had been so troublesome to Takkani. There was some sort of drinking head-bashing competition going on in the bar and the Thorwaller was surrounded by unconscious bodies of men who had lost to him. The White Mage marched in there and tried to reason with him. He told him that Tikanni had saved the city, and above that was Tristan's friend and companion and therefore under his protection. (Of course, had I been there, I would have told him that it was not the best time for reasoning as the Thorwaller was quite drunk. Tristan has been far to sheltered to realize such things.) However, he must have had some sort of good instinct for as he saw the Thorwaller's gaze glaze over with disinterest he reached up, grabbed the man's neck, and bashed his own head into the other man's head (this was the game that the men had been playing). Tristan did not knock him out, but that did get his attention! The Thorwaller responded by grabbing Tristan's head and returning the blow with his own head. Tristan never flinched. There were drinks after that, and I do believe Tristan made his point rather effectively.

Episode 3--Letters to Rosalyn

Rosalyn,

I am afraid we have made a good deal of trouble here, but are no nearer to our goal.

We went to the hideout of the Otter Clan, led by Vixen and Anvar. En route, Vixen asked Delilah if we would keep Anvar from going into the hideout: although the half-orc puts up a good front, he is much more injured than he has let on. This was evident to all of us, and when we arrived at the Otter hideout we convinced him to remain on watch outside.

Inside the Otter hideout we found more questions than answers, and more traps than questions. Through a combination of cleverness, quick thinking, and some rather fast action on Tikaani's part, we managed to make our way all the way through the lair of the well-diggers which was... Trapped. Some of the traps even appeared to have traps, and what is more, some of the traps were fake. We eventually managed to find our way through an underground passage to a secret room in which the Otters had hidden the Idol of Many Hands (which we secured), along with all of their treasure - a very significant amount of coin totaling in excess of 200 ducats - to which my companions readily helped themselves.

Oh, I know what you are thinking. Tristan Foxfur, son of a good family from the Margravate of Griffonsford, star pupil of Gervaise Starhand of the Gareth Academy of Sword and Staff, has been reduced to dire straights if he is skulking about the lairs of thieves' guilds, relieving them of their ill-gotten treasures. I know. I have had the same thoughts and, I trust, many other recriminations which simply could not have originated in your gentle heart. Know that I do hope, when this business with the Cult is over, to settle down and earn a more honest living, but in any case it appears that all we did was to rescue the Otter's treasure from otherwise certain destruction (along with a very fair copy of Herbarium Kuslikum, the seventh volume). For, as my companions had just finished stuffing the ill-gotten gains of the Otter gang into a bag, Anvar sounded the alarm. We made a dash for the street and Ilcoron, to cover our retreat, set the Otter's hideout ablaze. Vixen and Tikaani got into a brief scuffle with them, and by the time we all managed to get away (Delilah and I managed to sneak away with the head) the Otters stood on the brink of an all-out gang war with the Foxes.

While exploring the hideout we found the body of one of the dead Otters. The man had been stabbed repeatedly and then dragged to his bed, possibly to make it look as though he had died there. I fear that the Otters will now believe that the Foxes were responsible for his murder, although my theory is that one of the Daggers or an Otter who was complicit with them (there were two Otters missing) must have killed him when he had come to switch out the heads.

Returning the true Idol back to Dalia, we removed the false head from Phex's altar and then cut open the fake. Within it, concealed in a small black velvet bag, there was some kind of ceramic spider, a kharmic artifact of the Nameless One which had been intended to desecrate the altar of Phex. At the Steward-Vicar's request I took for it and deposited it in a safe place outside of town, far away from the altars of the gods. Wearily and with a foreboding about what the morrow might bring, we returned to Mirabelle's to rest for the night while the servants of the God of Thieves searched the city for rumors of the cult.

Episode 2--Letters to Rosalyn

Rosalyn,

I have only moments to write: soon I must go into the heart of this city in search of the servants of the Nameless One. I have given this letter to Mirabelle to send should I not return. You are in my mind and upon my heart even now. I do not look for death - and the Twelve know I do not wish it - but to fight against such evils in the service of the gods and others is the purpose for which I was trained.

After freeing Anvar, he led us to the Fox "hideout" - a tavern run by the Fox gang - and there we were seen to by the Foxes' bonesetter, who patched up Ilcoron (and saw to my wounds as well, although these were small). We had a few hours of rest before the race was to begin, so we spent it nursing our injuries and planning our next move. We reasoned that the key would be to find out whether the head had already been switched for the defiled duplicate, or whether the head was to be switched during the race. As the easiest way to determine this would be to participate in the race ourselves, Anvar made us all temporary members of the Fox gang. I am not sure what my old master would say if he could see me now, but perhaps he would understand how needful it was. He often took me to task for being too quick to trust in my magic. I confess that my use of it may not have been as judicious as would have been hoped this day, but he would at least be glad to see that I took his counsel to rely on the wit and wisdom of my companions as much as on the considerable arcane powers at my disposal.

Speaking of my companions, while we were resting Delilah returned with a new companion, a Nevise tribal warrior named Tikaani. Although primitive she is very robust, and I think she will be a valuable contribution to our little band (as you shall see). At this point I spoke with my companions: Delilah, Ilcoron, and Tikaani. I said that although we (all save Tikaani) had finished the job rescuing Anvar, there was something even more sinister afoot in this town. Although my role as a White Mage demands that I pursue the matter to its conclusion, the others had no such compunction laid upon them. Therefore, I undertook out of my (not very considerable) personal funds to hire my three companions to help me find the switched-out head, and put an end to a cult of the Nameless One if indeed such exists here in Phexcaer.

That done, and our wounds all searched and leeched, we made our way to the Otter hideout for the beginning of the race. With a bit of muscle from the Nevise warrior and a bit of magic on my part, we managed to get ahold of the head right off and - Twelve be thanked for this - by numerous hijinks and street brawls with which I will not bore you, we managed to keep control of the head throughout most of the race, placing it at last on the Altar of Phex. I am afraid my old master would have frowned upon my involvement in what have must have looked like a number of common street brawls, but some things are more important than our pride.

Placing the head upon the altar allowed us both a closer look at the head as well as a relatively private audience with Delia, the Steward Vicar of the city. We were able to show her that the head was a forgery (there was very clearly a bit where the statue had been plastered over, and something had been concealed within) and advised her to take it off of the altar at once, for the servants of the Nameless One were abroad, and they intended to use the head to sully the altar of Phex. Although the Steward Vicar believed us (and seemed troubled, perhaps by dreams or visions given to her by the god of riddles and tricks?) she advised against removing the head: to do so, without replacing it with the original, would cause blame to be passed around among the various gangs and could be the spark that ignites a bloody street war. We are left with only one option -- to find the original within the next thirteen hours. It is to this task I go now, and may Hesinde give strength to what little magic I have left. I fear it may not be enough for this task.

Episode 2--Delilah's Diary

It feels like quite awhile since I last wrote, but as I look at the date on top of this page I realize it has only been a day. What a day, though!

We started out with a brief rest in the inn where we planned our next move. Tristan, of course, feels duty bound to fight the Nameless One cult, and he offered to re-hire us to locate the head and stop the cultists. Of course I said yes. I haven't had enough time to observe these people, and am certain they are a treasure trove of solid writing inspiration. And, honestly, I'm pretty sure that whatever the cultists are planning is pretty bad stuff. Maybe fighting isn't so much my cup of tea, but I wouldn't miss this for the world. Vixen said we would be Foxes for the day, and I asked whether I could have a temporary tattoo to match hers. The others weren't too keen on the idea, but Vixen and I sure enjoyed it. A Member of a thieves guild for a day!! Whee!!!

Anyway. We all agreed, even the new party member, Tikaani. Oh!! I should mention her. I found her myself.  She's a tribal warrior more than six feet tall and was facing down a group of heavily tattooed Thorwaler pairates. When I noticed it the Thorwaler was yelling at her and trying to scare her. Well. She showed him. Instead of backing down she spit in his face, then loomed over him and asked directions again. I think he nearly wet himself! When she stalked toward the inn I grabbed her arm, introduced myself, and showed her in. As you will see, she turned out to be quite useful.

We concluded that the best plan would be to win the race for the foxes, which would give us a chance to examine the fake head because they would be given custody of it. Tikaani was tasked with carrying the head in a backpack. Tristan and Ilcorn would clear her way. And I volunteered to provide a distraction. I set up shop in the market square. There was a little sinking feeling beforehand. How would I be able to distract so many people from the race they had been anticipating for the entire year?? As the head was brought forward I began my performance.

Well, as usual, the nervousness was unfounded. I haven't come this far by being unskilled at my work. I distracted a full quarter of the marketplace, and even one of the Otters carrying the head itself!! It was just enough of a rouse to give the other members of the party an opportunity to snatch the head from under their noses. 

Tikaani was off like a shot, Ilcorn and Tristin following closely after. They first encountered the Cat Guild, a group of women who attacked them with perfume bottles filled with something that blinded and numbed the senses. Tristan used his magic on them--something with a blinding light again, he does like that move. I had snatched my not-inconsiderable earnings and followed after, which was fortunate because about the time I caught up Tikaani, who had made good progress up to that point, fell prey to one of the traps. With Ilcorns help I was able to nab the head--much to the surprise of the other competitors, for remember the head is about 60 lbs and I was still in my dancers regalia! The variety of traps and subtleties the other guilds had created was remarkable--pits, false way-stops, distractions, road blocks, etc. But the four of us made it through to the end, one way or the other. 

As I wish this to be an honest account, there is one rather unflattering detail I must include. At the very end of the race no one recognized me from the guilds, and the priest asked me who I was with. (I can feel my face flaming again as I write this). My mind had been so stuck on the Daggers and their evil plot that the first thing I blurted out was "The Daggers!!" The look of abject horror on my companions faces was enough to make me realize that after such a long and successful race, I had made my first terrible misstep. I quickly raised up my wrist--thank Phex for the tattoos!--and shouted, "I mean the Foxes! We're with the Foxes! I'm part of the Fox Guild!!" There was a confused silence from the crowd, then uncertain cheers that finally grew. That was a close one. 

 Upon being led into the temple, the head was placed on the pedestal--Tristan asked to speak alone with the head Priestess, Delia, and she had everyone leave the room. Tristan explained that this was a fake head, and showed her the plastered over area on the bottom. He also explained that our understanding is that the object in the fake head had to remain in the temple for 13 hours before unleashing whatever evil the Daggers had planned. She said it was important that no one knew of the plot, and suggested that if we found the real head--probably somewhere in the Otter's lair--we could then replace it without anyone being the wiser. 

We thought this was a good plan, and agreed quickly. 

Episode 1, Letters to Rosalyn

Dear Rosalyn,

I have reached Phexcaer and am well. I haven't much time to write as we are... well, I shall try to lay it all out as quickly as I may under the circumstances.

Entering the city, I was able to inquire as to the whereabouts of Mirebelle. She is as merry, as portly, and as helpful as you had said she would be -- and she speaks well of you (though who could otherwise?). I am afraid I came on her in the middle of some business, which after a few inquiries I found I was able to help with. As you know I can be rather persuasive when I need to be, and my white robes and yew staff speak volumes about what I can do if pressed. It turns out that Mirebelle had a... a niece of sorts, a thief in the service of the Foxes (one of the thieves' guilds which run this strange city) and this girl, Phenja by name, though she goes by the sobriquet Vixen, had lost her friend (and I think perhaps lover? For I know too well the pain of love to not read it in another's face) Anvar. Anvar was also a Fox, though recently initiated and unproven, and he had stumbled across a plot which... Well, to understand something of this plot you must first know something of the customs of this strange town.

In Phexcaer, city of thieves, the whole city is run by a number of Thieves' guilds -- the Foxes are the huntsmen and guides into the Orclands, the Otters are the well-diggers, the Daggers are the town watch, and etc. I do not know quite how you can have a city of legalized thievery, but the general effect is, as you might imagine, rather anarchical. Each year at an annual festival to Phex, god of thieves, a race is held amongst the various thieves' guilds, a sort of contest is held to see who can get the "idol of many hands" -- an ancient marble head of, I am given to understand, one of the old emperors, to one of five waypoints before setting it on the altar of Phex. The winners of this bloody minded contest (for although no weapons are allowed, essentially anything else goes, and there are a number of traps which are usually set since the final route of the race is always predictable) essentially get to choose the magistracy for the coming year. Thus Phexcaer may be said to be a sort of "kleptocracy," run by rival gangs, choosing its magistracy through bloody sports rather than right of lineage or the will of the populace.

Ah, but I am a long way from the Middenrealm.

In any case, we engaged to aid Vixen in her quest to locate Anvar. I say "we" because it was at this point that I was joined by two others: a surely Firnelf named Ilcoron, and a very... sharp-witted young Aranian girl (I believe she is an entertainer of some sort) who had also come to Mirabelle looking for work, or perhaps patronage. Both of them proved worthy companions, as you will see. We began our search outside the Phex Mead Hall, a popular hostelry and tavern, where we learned much that was of interest to us. This tavern was the last known whereabouts of Anvar, and was the place where he had overhead some kind of nefarious plot on the part of the Daggers, whom Vixen suspected to have taken Anvar.

The Aranian girl, Delilah by name, struck up a conversation with a Coalpelt by the name of Gratash, who had a workshop across the street from the Mead Hall. By all accounts Gratash (a craftsman in marble) was a slow-minded fool, and Delilah was able to extract a great deal of information from him. Ilcoron and myself conducted a more orthodox investigation outside, managing to find both Anvar's eavsdropping perch, as well as signs that he had been dragged away after a struggle. Eventually Delilah returned from the Coalpelt's workshop with the news that Anvar had been taken by a Dagger named Rikell, and that the Coalpelt had made an duplicate marble head at the behest of the Daggers. Apparently there was some sort of conspiracy afoot to switch the two during the contest. I must confess that Delilah was a good deal rather more useful than either Ilcoron or myself in all of this. She seems to posses what I have sometimes heard called "street smarts" in great supply. But you will be happy to know that I acquitted myself well later on, as you shall see.

After a bit of investigation we were able to find our way into the "Boneyards," an old derelict district of the city. It seems kleptocracies do not lend themselves well to regular municipal upkeep. With Ilcoron following the tracks left by Rickell and his men, we stole in upon the Daggers unawares in a cellar where they were torturing Anvar. Listening, we overheard much of their plot: Something within the duplicate head, which had already been switched out at the Otter hideout, was planned to desecrate the altar of Phex. This was to be done in the service of the Nameless One. Suddenly aware that the conspiracy went much deeper than the mere intrigues of feckless rogues, I revealed myself in power and let forth my magics.

I will not bore you with the tedious details of the battle. Suffice it to say that I lay waste to Rickell and one of his men with the arts and skills which were taught to me at the Gareth Academy of Sword and Staff, while my companions managed to handle the third cultist of the Nameless one (though not before Ilcoron was badly injured). Now we accompany Anvar back to the Fox hideout, in the hopes of being able to stop the desecration of Phex's altar before it is too late, and the whole of the city is given over to the Nameless One. (though not before Ilcoron was badly injured). Now we accompany Anvar back to the Fox hideout, in the hopes of being able to stop the desecration of Phex's altar before it is too late, and the whole of the city is given over to the Nameless One.

Episode 1--Delilah's Diary

I'm starting this journal to keep a record of my experiences as I travel Aventuria. After my most recent rejection by a publisher I decided it was time to glean new life experiences and--more importantly--find new material to draw from. Whether I have been successful, well--we shall see when this account is completed. I will only say that at the rate I'm going, it may be that I should switch from romances to biography--truth really is stranger and more entertaining than fiction. Ah, but that would not sell so well. At least the marketplace is predictable. 

I entered into Thieves city yesterday afternoon. After spending some time scouting out locations for a good performance area (I found two excellent spots--one of which overlooks the great square. I think with my training and that location I will never go hungry in this city. A performance or two a day would be quite enough--and provide a good deal of time for other pursuits) I found Merabel's shop. Not only is she a patron of the arts, but she owns a print shop (!!!!!!) and often sponsors up and coming artists. I had intended to inquire about novels and writing, but before I had a chance to speak to her a tall handsome stranger in white robes and a staff entered. He looked about my age and carried himself proudly. He was, of course, a mage. What caught my attention, though, was when he addressed the distressed girl who had been speaking to Mirabel (I forgot to mention her. We are friends now. Her name is Vixen, and she is adorable. Blond hair curling around her animated face--you can read every thought in her eyes, and she has SO MANY adventures. Quite a bit more about her later). When he spoke to her he bowed with a flourish that sent his spotless robes rustling and kissed her hand. He heard her story of a forbidden love--Vixen is in love with a half-orc named Anmar who had recently disappeared under mysterious circumstances--and immediately offered his help. I'm sure Merabel's offer of payment had nothing to do with the offered assistance.

At that moment I was noticed for the first time by Merabel, and I immediately volunteered my help--as did an elf, Illcorn, whom I had only just noticed. He was tall, and quite a bit older than anyone else present other than Merabel herself. I don't know exactly how old he is, but as he is an elf I am assuming at least 100. I will be somewhat disappointed if I ever find out otherwise, so I have resolved to never inquire. He is a Firnelf, dresses all in skins, and  seems as cold as the land he hales from. For someone so long lived, he seems to think rather a lot about death. I suppose it is one way to pass the time.

We went to a dusty back room where Vixen told us a little more about the disappearance--they are both part of the Fox guild of thieves, but recent recruits. Vixen's wrist tattoo she got as part of initiation was still red. She is deeply in love with this half orc--her face shines when she talks about him--and when things settle down a bit I mean to ask her how the two of them met. It would seem Anvar had his suspicions about a plot the Daggers (another one of the guilds, the ones who act as the city guard) had to steal the Head of many Hands, and had found a vantage point somewhere around an inn where he could spy on them to see what they were up to. Vixen is not sure whether his disappearance has something to do with the plot, or if perhaps it is due to being a half-orc (prejudice is a problem here as in most places). 

At that point we were all ready to get on the move. We went first to the inn Vixen had told us about--it was quite easy to find. Just across the street I noticed a dilapidated old building that seemed to have been abandoned long ago. There was a light inside, however, and an orc hammering away at some stone. I was quite curious about the unusual sight, and certain he would be a good character to meet. I rapped on the door and entered. He was huge and spoke slowly, and I could see he was quite the craftsman based on the beautiful decorations on the door he was carving. He was quite friendly, though reluctant at first to talk about our missing friend Anvar--I could tell he knew something about the matter. Purchasing a rather large sculpture seemed to loosen his tongue, however, and I learned that not only had Anvar been kidnapped by the Daggers--specifically a man named Rikle, but that the orc had created an identical false head for the statue which had been filled with he didn't know what! I patted his arm in thanks and waved farewell before taking my 12 lb statue to give the news to my companions. 

While I had been gone they had found more clues to the disappearance--a scuffle, some apple cores, and a set of tracks that indicated a limp body being drug away. Tristan seemed certain I hadn't accomplished anything but a bit of shopping, and was quite eager to tell me all about their discoveries. I must admit this was mildly vexing, and resolved to tell him nothing--well, other than the false head bit, which was rather important. Instead I pretended to examine the scuffle and drag marks closely (I know nothing about such things), and announced that based on my observations the kidnapper was named Rikle. The look of consternation on Tristan's face was very rewarding. 

We followed along--Ilcorn lead the way now, for he actually does know how to follow tracks, which is not surprising considering he dresses in sealskin. I would expect someone dressed in skins to be reasonably good at finding them while they are still attached to a creature. The drag marks disappeared around the back of a rickety old house and into a basement. I decided to sneak ahead to investigate. What I found was exactly what we expected. Anvar the half orc, badly bruised and beaten, tied to a giant wooden chair. On either side of him were dark priests--Daggers--and standing with his back toward me the man I took to be Rikle. I could not hear well, but decided to get what information I could by reading Anvar's lips. I intended to take the information back to the others--but it didn't quite work out like I planned.

Suddenly from behind me a bolt of blue fire struck Rikle in the back. I turned--and there was Tristan. He hadn't waited for my news, and was now in all his battle mage glory with white robes flying and staff extended and eyes ablaze. It was quite a sight to behold, even if I had no idea why he had suddenly decided to go all flaming death on the kidnappers. I learned later that Tristan had overheard they were servants of the Nameless One, who, of course, is the sworn enemy of the 12 gods. Tristan could not have done otherwise than he did--as a mage. The battle raged quick and furious. In the excitement I snuck across the room and released Anvar from his bonds--despite his wounds, the half-orc was surprisingly nimble and managed to knife one of the kidnappers on the way out. Ilcorn was badly wounded in the fight, but did manage to get a blow or two in. Tristan used his staff to good effect as well--that whole flaming death thing is pretty handy. Tristan said he only had a little wound, but I did see how the priest had beaned his head against the stone wall and I imagine it hurt somewhat more than he let on.

When all was done we had three dead Daggers and one well--if somewhat bruised and broken--half orc to show for our troubles. Anvar told us that whatever they had hidden in the fake head was part of the plan of the Nameless One's servants, and must sit in the temple for 13 hours. Tristan suspects the 13 is significant, because the Nameless One was the 13th god before everything went south and he was cast out and blotted from history. I think he had a name back then. At any rate, we needed to get back to the inn and let Vixen know Anvar was safe, and then regroup to decide our next plan. So we left the bodies there to deal with later, and headed back as quickly as the various wounds would allow.

Addendum: I spent the time getting back to town with Anvar meditating on my silent brooding companion Ilcorn. I feel there is a mystery here to unravel, and mean to have at it. When we were speaking to Vixen about payment earlier this evening, Ilcorn insisted on the details of our payment if we were to find Anvar dead--he pressed the point despite Vixen being very obviously in love with the half-orc and drove the poor girl to tears with his seeming cold-heartedness! Based on this and other clues, I have come to suspect something of his history. I believe Ilcorn has come from great tragedy long ago. He must have loved a she-elf very deeply, and one day was off on a hunting trip (he is presumably a great hunter in his land). He received word that his lady love was in great peril and rushed to her aid, but arrived moments too late to save her. I'm not sure who the villains were who murdered her--but I believe that will be easy enough to ascertain as time goes on. Since that day he has lived in solitude, cursed with long, lonely life (this also explains his fascination with death). I am curious as to her name, but even after so many years--I'm sure it has been at least 50 years since he was young and in love--it would not be tactful to ask. Instead, I will pay close attention and glean what I may from his words and actions. I mean to pass this new information on to Vixen (in utter secrecy, of course) as I believe she will be sympathetic. Perhaps he is not as cold-hearted as I first thought.