Delilah's Diary--The Hidden Knife Parts 1-2

It has been a long while since I wrote--much too long. I am sitting in the cave of a witch after having enjoyed a rather pleasant meal. It would have been more pleasant if all body parts were present and accounted for for all my companions--or, at least, if the witch's cats would stop licking the blood off Wigolas' boot--but I suppose one doesn't start a quest of this sort without being prepared for both terrible creatures and the mud. If it weren't for the eye, I wouldn't be sure which was worse. But, all things considered... maybe the mud isn't as bad as I thought. Maybe.

But I am getting ahead of myself. It all began a few days ago. We'd spent some time resting up after the battle with the demon, and were all doing much better. (I should mention that that this is where the dream from the previous entry took place). We spent some time debating what to do next, as we each had reasons to go various different places. However, with most ideas we ran into the problem of money. There simply wasn't much to go around. After the dreams I had I decided to try not keeping any gold on my person, so I gave my money to Tristan. But even with that there simply wasn't enough to finance a group expedition.

 We spent some time looking for jobs and came up with a few options. There was the man--Oakwood--who claimed the Witch of the Woods had stolen 20 years of his life (Wigolas was certain this meant there was a child involved, though we tried to explain that he was saying the witch had stolen 20 literal years--not that he'd had to spend 20 years raising a child). Then there was another request for an adventurer to find a hidden fragment of a star. The final request--and the farthest away--was from Mirable for us to find a box that had been hidden long ago--but she cautioned us to not let Tristan look inside it. I remained strangely quiet while the rest of the party debated where to go. I had reasons for wanting to avoid the woods, but considering it was only a dream.... hopefully... leaving the matter up to Phex to decide was sufficient. They decided upon the Witch of the Woods. So be it.

With Anvar to guide us, we set off. It was miserable going. The mud, the rain, just tramping mile after mile, ugggh. Tikkani didn't seem bothered at all--or Tristan's new friend Thorwald. (Outside of hating each other, they are quite the pair. Hmmm.) Tristan didn't comment on being uncomfortable, nor did Elenwe. But... I may have a somewhat kindred spirit in Wigolas--at least as far as anything outside the city goes. He looked even more miserable than I felt.

After the first couple days I caught sight of torches in the distance. Elenwe and I went on to scout out what they were--and we found a small party of orcs with a little man beaten and tied up as a captive. I felt pretty confident that we could set him free without them noticing, but unfortunately my confidence was proved wrong. Elenwe did the call of the owl that we had agreed on (By which I mean, Tristain asked us to hoot like a particular breed of owl if we saw one thing, or another breed if we saw something else. I didn't know owls came in breeds? Or that they sounded different? In fact, I'm not entirely sure whether it sounded like an owl at all. But at least we hooted. I'm pretty sure Tristan--and possibly Wigolas, who seemed to know exactly what he was talking about--was just trying to play a practical joke, and had a bad sense of timing).

At any rate, the orcs caught sight of us, and the hiding game was up. They charged. I know my limitations, and fighting orcs is simply not something I'm very skilled at. So I tried to climb a tree. It.... well, it didn't work. With all the rain the trees were slick and I fell on my face in the mud. It was awful. I assume Elenwe managed to acquit herself well, I couldn't really see at that point. The others showed up just as the orcs were upon us, and the battle ensued. Thorwald and Tikkani seem to be quite good with their weapons. Elenwe kept her bow going. I did manage to pick myself up and pull my saber out--if hiding wasn't an option, I wasn't about to be cut down without a fight--and by the time Tristan rushed to my aid with his flames I had the orc skewered on my saber.

 At that point I snuck over to the the poor little man and set him free, leaving the fight to better equipped individuals (Even Wogolas was plying his club, and managed to finish one of the orcs off!). He was very grateful though not much help. About that time I looked over and saw the final orc riding Wigolas down the mountain side as if he was a sled, pummeling him and biting him as Tikanni and Thorwald teamed up to try to finish the orc off. They were not quite quick enough, however, as the orc did not see the flaming sword that actually ended his frenzy.

Everyone took time to verify that all body parts were properly where they ought to be after the battle, and  Anvar arrived (he had dispatched two other orcs farther on). Tikanni and Thorwald went back for the mules. Together. (I suppose it is best to travel in pairs, but I begin to wonder exactly how much the two of them really "hate" each other... Hmmm). The small man I rescued was a Hill Dwarf name Bennigrim Sweetbread. He noticed me trying to clean myself off in a little muddy hollow, and very kindly offered me two clean pink towels from his pack and a bit of soap. I could have kissed him. Wigolas was chanting something to heal Tristan who had taken a rather nasty wound.

It turned out that Bennigrim was a candy maker on his way to Phexcare when the orcs waylayed him. He gave us some samples, and they were amazing. He and Wigolas seemed to hit it off quite well, and he even gave Wigolas a box of chocolates. After some discussion we decided to send Anvar back to Phexcare to accompany him the following morning and continue on on our own.

That evening after most of us had fallen asleep, we were awakened by Tristan, who must have decided to have words with Anvar about Vixen. He was reciting some sort of poetry--quite romantic stuff. Very sappy. He said he'd written it for the woman he loved and changed the names, I suppose he meant for Anvar to use something similar for Vixen, though... It... well, it simply wouldn't come out the same. Anvar thanked him, but I rather doubt Vixen will be hearing sonnets any time soon.

***

The next morning we set off, leaving Anvar and the candymaker to leave for Phexcare. We soon met a young shepherdess named Puera. We suspected that she was the Witch of the Woods, as we were very close to where Oakwood indicated we might find her. Tristan stopped to meditate, he said it would help him see through her wiles. Tikanni was less than convinced, as she said Tristan always seems to suspect pretty young women of being witches. At any rate, Wigolas and I went on ahead to meet her (Wigolas was quite excited about all the sheep--I suppose it felt more like home for him). She was VERY surprised when we asked if she was the Witch of the woods, and gave us directions on where to find the real witch. However, when she found out that Wigolas was a Blessed One of Peraine, she offered us some food and said one of her sheep could use some assistance. Wigolas seemed to wilt a little at the prospect--I think he has enjoyed plying his club rather than the usual mundane priest tasks--but he agreed without complaining.

While we were inside I looked around a bit, and the little cottage seemed quite cozy. Quite a few herbs, but perhaps that is normal for the country. I wouldn't know. Tristan and Elenwe spent some time planning out what to do in case the girl was a witch (we were still suspicious). Tikkani started whittling, while Thorwald watched and asked her questions about it. With just the slightest of nudges I could see some real possibilities with those two.... Puera and Wigolas finished up with the sheep about then, and we had a small meal before setting out again.

Puera had warned us to stay on the path, and to not take anything into the woods that might harm the witch. Tristan set me in the lead, which... well... He doesn't know about the dagger hidden in my pack, but something tells me the witch might. But I couldn't say anything, of course, so I took the lead--along with himself and Elenwe.

We were not very far into the woods when I noticed the squirrels in the trees above us were not quite.... normal squirrels. They had spiraling horns on their heads, and I remembered hearing that these creatures were called "death squirrels." I pointed them out to the group, and Wigolas became very excited. He couldn't quite tell what type of death squirrel they were, but wanted to tell us what he knew and figure out which way the horn spiraled. He soon would find out--though... I rather doubt he remembers. One of the squirrels dived from the treetop right at Wigolas. Before we knew what happened, Wigolas's eyeball was hanging off the horn of a rather adorable looking (except for the bloody eyeball-meatball on it's horn) death squirrel.

At that point all the squirrels began dropping from the trees and we were hard pressed for several minutes. There were too many of them to fight off, and we quickly realized the best course of action was getting out of the area as quickly as possible. For adorable balls of fluff, the death squirrels left more than one injury. We made it through--all in one piece with the exception of Wigolas' eye.

We rushed headlong down the path--taking care to stay on it as Puera had instructed--and the next thing I knew we had landed in what amounted to a heap at the edge of a pond the path circled. Farther around the pond a woman was searching for herbs with a basket on her arm. I knew instinctively that this was the witch. She stood to look at us, and when Tristan asked for time to see to Wigolas' wounds she simply nodded and skirted the edge of the pond and disappeared behind a waterfall. While the others were doctoring up the various wounds (I, of course, had escaped unharmed being rather nimble on my feet) I looked through the grass near the pond to see what it was the witch had been gathering. I am not sure if I found the same thing she did, but I DID find some lovely mushrooms that look very familiar. [critical fail in Herbs and Gathering] Ahh--I can smell them now, just as mama used to make them fried in butter. I had to stop eating it when I got older, of course, as such meals are not particularly good for the figure, but just looking at those mushrooms brings back memories of home. I haven't mentioned them to the others yet--once all this is done with the witch I'm going to cook a dish up and serve it to them. I may take a little myself as well, for old times sake. We'll see. One bite couldn't do much damage to my figure, I'm sure.

When all was finished we followed the witch to the cave. The following conversation was QUITE the surprise. As it turned out she was NOT the Witch of the Woods, as I had suspected, but instead the witche's daughter. She was, however, the woman that Oakwood had met and spent the night with. Also, to the great astonishment of everyone present except Wigolas, there had indeed been a child as a result of that night. The Witch of the Woods had discovered what happened, robbed Oakwood of 20 years, taken the child from Eafra, and cursed her to always stay within 20 miles of the cave she lives in. When Oakwood had disappeared, but before she was cursed to stay so close, Eafra had gone forth and somehow routed the entire orc army that had been amassing at the edge of the forest. She wishes for us to kill the Witch of the Woods to free her child, return Oakwood's years to him, and allow them to be together again. Ahhh. It really is love (oh, and, she is just as pretty as Oakwood remembered). She has been waiting for him for so long now, but unable to send word or explain what happened. We heartily agreed, of course, since this was why we came in the first place.

Oh--I am going to need to finish this later. It is morning now, and Eafra and Tristan are talking about potions. I think this sounds interesting, and I will update with what I have learned after we face the Witch.

Delilahs dream

It is the sounds which first draw you up out of the oblivion of slumber. The metallic sounds of coins sliding against each other like the scales of some gigantic snake writhing about just outside of your field of vision. Slowly, softly, the rasping subtly shifts to the pervasive murmurs of courtly whispers.

Sound preceded sight, and with the continuity only a dream can provide, you find yourself in the midst of one of Baburin’s noble galas. It looks just like you imagined, from the tales your mother used to regale you with as a child. Beys mingle, viziers exchange subtle glances, and kadis craft scathing insults about each other’s fashions sense. At least, you assume, so as all of the guests spout gibberish to each other. But their actions, those cast them into the roles your mind imagined, the roles your mother cast them in when she told you about these events.

The smells come next. Roast meats, an abundance of powder, the sweat of the crowd, the cool of the night. And beneath it all, a familiar sweet smell which reminds you of home. Or at least a home. The smell rests beneath the others, but it calls to your conscious mind. Briefly, tethered to the smell, you can feel a familiar morning chill mixed with a cozy warmth about your frame. And you can hear the steady drum of rain on a roof.

But then the crowd in your dreams parts. Standing at the end of the newly formed human corridor is your aunt. The lights of the gala fade, until you can hardly see past the living wall of guests who line the path to your aunt. They stare and cover their lips to whisper gibberish about you. Your aunt takes no notice, her terrible beauty and will focused on the man at her side. That portly man wears a hooded sable robe trimmed in gold. Ignoring your aunt, as if hearing something from the direction where you stand, the man slowly turns. As he looks down the opening in the crowd at you, you can see the shining gold mask upon his face. With an abrupt raised hand, he silences your aunt, who looks in your direction as well. No flash of recognition show upon her face, but her hand goes to the hilt of a fine looking dagger at her belt.

The robed man slowly begins to walk towards you, arms held low and open. The light playing upon his golden mask lends a slight warmth to the static grin carved there. Even though he is, what seems like, a hundred feet away, you can hear his voice as if he were within arm’s reach. “Hello again, Neridasunni. I told you we would meet again.”

Delilah looked down the double row of people, a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach as she noticed her aunt. Her first instinct was to melt into the crowd, but with everyone staring she was pretty sure that wouldn't work. Besides, the Golden faced man was here, and when he had been alive he'd seemed to stare through walls. Surely finding her in a crowd of people would be child's play. Delilah let out a slow breath. If she couldn't run, she must face him. Again. "And here I am. Why are we here, Golden One?"

“Why, because you brought us here,” his voice had a metallic ring to it, sharp consonants tinging loudest. His eyes strayed back towards Delilah’s aunt, his head cocking to the side as if recognizing something strange. “Although I believe that it is your connections to this place, and the people here, which forged a less….. resistant path. I am impressed. Normally it takes months to unlock the ability to come visit me in dreams, and months still before….” He turned back to look at Delilah. “Do you know, Majula was frighten of me for almost three months? She kept running from me, seeking to hide. But you, you dear child, approach me without fear right at the start. The metal of your family runs purest in your mother’s line, it seems.”
His large belly shook as the robed figure chuckled.
“But please, I am being rude. This is after all, your dream. Golden though I am in visage, I am should not be referred to as ‘Golden One’. He is the ally of my master, the one who has blessed me with the golden touch. Much as Majula serves me, and I serve him.”

The smells, which before were but an undertone, suddenly rose further to the surface of Delilah’s awareness. With it came a soft ‘clack-clack-clang’, which too rose in volume, and began to drown out the drone of the crowds. “Tell me Neraidasunni, what do you covet most in this life?”

"Answers." Delilah did not have to think about her reply as it sprang readily from her lips. "You've told me what not to call you--what may I call you?" Delilah could feel the gentle weight of the saber at her hip. Though she had trained with it extensively for her performances, the first time she'd used one in an actual fight had been the last time she met this man. The weapon with her was beautiful, but had not been made for battle. Nor had she, though she had to resist the sudden impulse to rest her hand on the hilt. Instead she narrowed her eyes, looking from the man to her aunt then back at him. "And what does Majula--and my line--have to do with you?"

His head tipped forward, his chest expanded with a deep breath that hissed against the small hole set in the mouth of the mask. “A simple desire, but there are no easy answers to it. For now, you may call me the Emperor of Gold and Silk. A grandiose title, I will grant you. But it is one which is on par with my ambitions for this land and its peoples.” The clacking grew louder, rumbling up from the floor beneath Delilah’s feet. The lines of people on either side of her struggled to maintain their balance. The floor began to crack and heave, uprooting huge blocks of marble and toppling the spectators to the floor. They slid back screaming silently away from Delilah and the man in the golden mask, who stood in an island of stillness. “As for your other question, Majula has bound her star to mine. For reasons, I am sure she would not want me sharing with you just yet.” The man laughed, a high-pitched titter, seemingly directed at the chaos around them. “I will add this, Neraidasunni. Your line is tied to my fortunes by the actions of your aunt. Actions I would be willing to aid a worthy successor in reversing.”

Delilah glanced uneasily at the screaming people as the room rocked around them. The laughter made her blood freeze. "My aunt's successor? Or yours?" She looked at him steadily, hiding the cold knot of dread that settled in the pit of her stomach. "and how can her actions be reversed?"

The rubble fell away slowly, the tumbling blocks taking the courtiers with it. It left only a circle of black surrounding the isle of marble upon which Delilah and the Emperor of Gold and Silk stood. The man in the golden mask stiffened for a brief instance, before replying. “Majula’s. Never mine. Ambition is a wonderful thing, Neraidasunni. It drives us to greater heights. But if you have too much, or set it against the wrong will, ambition is a stairway to a cliff.”

The man took a step away from Delilah, his slippered foot stepping out into the oblivion which now encircled Delilah. “As for how…” The Emperor’s voice had grown distant, even though he stood with one foot on the marble and one in the darkness. “all will be revealed in time my dear. But, if you wish, the start of your path lies close at hand. A journey into the woods is all it would take.”

The darkness grew to envelop Delilah, and for a moment the oblivion claimed her consciousness. But then sound burst back into her perceptions, the sounds of Merabel’s printing press mixed with the drumming of Phexcaer’s latest storm upon her window. The smells of freshly baked pastries wafted through her room. But there, lying next to her right hand on the blankets, was the blade. No longer golden, at least by the weak morning light which struggled to pierce the rain clouds and the grime coating the window. No, now the blade had a silvered sheen to it, etched with the rune for ‘8’.

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.