Thursday, November 10, 2016

Episode 2--Letters to 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.

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