StarDestroyer.Net BBS

The occasional meal at the Ghostly Minstrel in Delver's Square is one of the few indulgences I have left. The food is good and the drink is better, but it is the company that I really come for. Young adventurers, planning their next expedition beneath the city or returning from their latest. Their numbers are drawn from both genders and all races, from humans to lizardfolk to winged Cherubim elves. Their armour is polished and well maintained, their weapons and magic within easy reach. They laugh easily and eat heartily. It reminds of the good old days. Of course, they weren't all that good, but here I don't feel the bad.

I raise a cup of cider to my lips and sip as the pretty blonde waitress brings over a plate of cooked eels in lemon sauce. I smile at her and tip her a copper, which is real money for someone whose daily wage is a few pieces of silver. She smiles back. I dig in. It is very good. Someone outdid themselves today. Then my good day shatters like a pane of glass under a dwarven maul.

"Mordain," says a voice from behind me. I recognize it, of course.

"Felton," I reply with false warmth. I don't really have anything against my former brother-in-law, except for the fact that he's related to my ex-wife. He slides around and into the chair opposite me. He's my height, skinny, with a short beard and dark blonde hair. He owns a printing shop and makes a good living. Considering that he has a few years on me, he carries his age pretty well. Before my marriage tanked, we got along quite well.

"I need your help," he blurts.

"Why me?" I ask. "If it's money your sister would be a better choice. She got most of mine and remarried to someone even richer."

"She barely acknowledges I exist anymore," he said. "You know how she was. She's gotten worse. It's not money. I need your professional help."

"I'm retired. You know that. I pen a few scrolls on occasion, sell a few spells, that's it."

"Please," he said. "It's about Julia." His daughter, my quasi-niece. She was a nice enough kid. I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"What about her?"

"She's gotten involved with a-" he looked around, "with someone who might be in with the Balacazars. And she hasn't come home in three days."

"The Balacazars," I said. "Why in the names of the numberless gods-"

"I don't know," he said. "He was trouble. I knew it from the moment I saw him. I forbade her from seeing him. Please." There were tears in his eyes.

"Look at me," I said. "There's grey hairs on the top of my head and in my beard. I'm closer to forty than thirty and I'm carrying extra weight around my gut. A good chunk of my magic is gone. There's limits on what I can do." He looked at me, pleading.

"I'm not saying I won't try and help, just that there's limits on what I can do. Taking on the Balacazar family isn't one of them."

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you."

"Alright," I said, "tell me everything you can about this situation."

"About two months ago she started seeing this guy. Nothing much a first. Buying her presents, going to the Shadow Theatre with friends, nothing disreputable. He starts coming around more often and I get a look at him. He dresses like the poor do when they come into money real quick. Flashy clothes, no taste. Not specific about what he does for money. And he's a liar. I forbid Julia from seeing him. I hope that it ends there and keep an eye out."

"Go on."

"Then she doesn't come home. I find out from her friends that she's still been sneaking out and seeing this guy. And that's when I come to you."

"Tell me everything you can about him."

"Name of Johann Brecht. Average height, dark hair, tan skin. Has one of those weaselly little mustaches. Wears bright shirts and dark leathers and ugly gold and silver jewelry. Wears a short sword."

"Know where he worked?"

"I told you, he was lying."

"What did he say anyway?"

"Said he was involved in shipping."

"Ah."

"Ah?"

"Means he's probably part of a smuggling operation on the docks. I'll see what I can dig up down there."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me until we're done," I said. "This could end up in tears."

What series is this based on?

Ford Prefect wrote:What series is this based on?

A D&D city-setting, Ptolus, the city by the spire. It's the adventurer capital of its world. There's also a comic based on it.

I went back to my house, which was a modest two story building a few blocks away. Typical Ptolus construction, stone first floor, wooden second story on top. I had a fancier place once, but the divorce took care of that. I unlocked the door and went inside, cleaning off my boots on the mat. Chaos and Destruction greeted me by trotting over and rubbing against my legs before going back to doing cat things. Chaos solicited a few head rubs before leaving. I headed to the cellar.

It was small and stored very little, but one of the racks concealed an alcove. I pushed it out of the way and I'll be damned if it wasn't hard to do. I would like to believe it had gotten heavier over the last couple of years, but I try not to lie to myself. Behind it was a large trunk with a good lock and several nasty magic spells on it. I opened it up.

All my remaining adventuring gear was inside, which wasn't much. A stout pair of boots and some clothes that probably no longer quite fit were on top. I dug through them to get to the good stuff.

Stormtalon rested there in a plain black sheath. I am an indifferent swordsman, but even in amateur is dangerous with Stormtalon in his hand. Sheathed it didn't look like much, just a knight's arming sword or an elven long sword with a steel hilt and a wire wrapped pommel. The blade was flashier. I took the sword out and laid it gently on the floor.

I took out my other remaining piece of magical gear, a gleaming copper brooch with a dragon engraved on it. I had never learned if it had a proper name and had ended up calling it The Dragon's Heart. It seemed to fit. Then I relocked the trunk and moved things back into position. I went upstairs and got out my spellbooks. I was only carrying a half dozen spells and a couple of cantrips at the moment. I spent a half an hour encompassing some old favorites.

It was late afternoon when I was ready to head out and the weather was looking dodgy. I put on a long coat, a broad brimmed hat, and I secured Stormtalon around my waist. Then I uttered a simple protective charm and went out.

I gazed up at the spire. It was an unnaturally tall and slender column of rock that reached up in to the sky. It was at the western edge of the city, with the estates of the noble district pressed up against it. I couldn't see the top because of the cloud cover, but I could see the fortress of Goth Gulgamel halfway up the spire. The Skull King was long dead, if the legends were true, but evil still lingered in that place if Delver's Guild rumours were correct. I tended to believe them.

I turned away from the spire and started walking. Midtown is Ptolus's biggest district, with more nonhuman residents than any other part of the city. Still more humans than anything else in Midtown, but there a fair number of nonhumans on the street. A few centaurs, although they prefer the word aram, and halflings on the go. I saw a pixie dart by above head level, carrying a scroll. A pair of lion like litorians passed by, dressed in dyed leathers with beads in their manes. Weird stuff in most of the world, normal in Ptolus.

It took me a while to get to the Docks. The sun wasn't setting yet, but it would be soon. Getting back up would be a bitch. The Docks aren't really part of the rest of the city. You have to go down the Cliffs of Lost Wishes to get to them, which is not nearly as difficult and going back up. There are roads, of course, but it still means a long haul up hill. Damn, I'm getting old.

The Docks are busy, of course. Everyone's trying the haul the last bit of cargo off ships while there is still light. I was involved in fixing a sahaugin problem about ten years back and there are still people I know working on the Docks. They should be willing to talk. I go looking.

The sun is setting before I get any kind of luck. I hit the Savage Shark, which is just as rough and nasty as you expect from a dockside tavern, and head up to the bar to speak with the owner. It's still early and they're aren't many sailors inside. With a little luck I can get and out without getting involved in the nightly brawl.

The owner, Hanthan Yan, was tending bar. He's dark skinned and skinny, but stronger than he looks. He's got his share of scrapes and scars on his hide. He acts like he doesn't recognize me, which maybe he doesn't. It's been a while. I remember him, of course. You don't forget taverns with sidelines in the smuggling business.

I walk up to the bar. "I think you might be in the wrong place stranger," he says.

"No, I think I've found the right spot." I slide a silver shield over to him. "I'm Mordain. It's been a few years, but there was a mess with a bunch of people not showing up to claim what was there because the sea devils ate them. I wasn't wearing a beard then and was with an elf and a minotaur."

He nods. "Now I remember. You here on business?"

"Yes. I'm looking for a man named Johann Brecht. Supposedly he conducts business down here."

"Oh he does. Look, I'm not going to tell a Delver what he should or should not do, but he's trouble and not long for the world. If you can let it lie, you would be wise to do so."

"Can't," I said. "I'm short of time on this matter."

"Well I wouldn't be inclined to think unkindly of the men who sent him to the Necropolis, if you get my meaning. He makes his rounds in the mornings, every other week. And he squeezes."

"Extortion? Dockside? That doesn't sound like the Balacazars." That isn't to say the Balacazars wouldn't commit extortion, its just that they run the lion's share of the smuggling. You wouldn't expect them to strong arm the smuggling dens that way."

"Oh, he's not with the Balacazars," said Yan. "They sicked a couple of the Pale Dogs on him and they got paler, if you get my drift. Not even a scratch on him."

Johann Brecht was either stupid or well connected, probably both. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"He lives somewhere in the Warrens, or so they say."

"Great," I replied and flipped him another shield. This kept on getting better and better.

There's a lot of things I'm willing to do and blunder around the Warrens after dark isn't on that list. I retired to my house for the night and got some sleep. I awoke early the next morning and ate a breakfast of cheese, bread, sausages, and onions. I selected a few different spells to force into my brain and did a few exercises to make sure I was limber. Gods, I am not the man I am used to be.

I headed out bright and early. The bakers were up and selling and a lot of people were heading off to work. I headed for the Warrens.

The Warrens are a slum that used to be the northern part of the Guild District, near the Docks and not too far from the Necropolis. It was the poorer part of the town and it kept on getting worse and worse. There were a few attempts to arrest the decay, but they never really took. Now, no one tries. Ptolus has bigger problems with the dead in the Necropolis stirring, hosting one of the The Three Emperors, and the whole barbarian horde sacking large parts of the Prustan Empire crises. So the Warrens stay the way they are, which is nasty.

You can tell your entering it as the buildings get shoddier and poorer. Half hazard repairs, no glass in the windows, and trash in the streets. Then it gets worse. Crude construction of additional stories, some of them bridging over the street, no street markings, trash everywhere, and then there's the stench. At least the Necropolis is nice during the day.

I don't know where to find Brecht, but that's not the hard part. There are plenty of kids who act as touts who should be able to lead me to him. The problem is that they might also lead me into a gang ambush. Finding one isn't hard. Three find me within the first minute of me being here.

I choose the least treacherous seeming, a boy about ten or so, and say "I'm looking for Johann Brecht. He killed some Pale Dogs."

The boy nodded. "I know where to find him sir. But it will cost you."

"It will cost you if you lead me wrong," I say sternly. Looking like an easy mark is suicide in this place. Well, not actually suicide for me, but it will get me a whole lot a trouble I don't want. "I want him bad. There's a bonus in it for you." I hold up a shield. The silver coin captures his attention.

"This way sir." And then he lead me into the Warrens. The streets are narrow and twist and turn, thanks to the improvised nature of so much of construction and the local complete contempt for anything like property laws or street maintenance, but he basically heads north. When I'm not in a tunnel like section I can see the Siege Tower, the fortress next to the wall surrounding the Necropolis, ahead.

We are coming out from underneath a section that covers the street when the kid takes a hard left, grabs a rope and scurries up through a small hole floor. Great. Ambush.

Three come out of doorways in front of me, two behind. They are teenagers with shaved heads and black painted nails, which made them all Pale Dogs. They wore battered leathers and had sharp pieces of steel. Two carried improvised flails, two carried spiked clubs, and the fifth had a hand axe.

"I'm looking to kill Johann Brecht," I said as an attempt to forestall a fight. They didn't look interested. Probably didn't believe me. Time to do this the hard way. I shouted a spell at the three in front. Frost blasted from my hands and turned them into rime coated corpses.

The other two came on. One swung his flail at my head as I turned to face him. I parried the chain with my arm. The low ceiling and narrow streets had prevented him from really building up the momentum. The nail studded chunk of wood curled around my arm which was armoured with a spell and was toughened by The Dragon's Heart. It hurt a little, but that was it. I booted him in the stomach and he fell down. I drew Stormtalon.

Stormtalon's blade was simple, straight double edged and came to a usable point. Letters engraved down the spine of the blade spelled out its name in Old Prustan. Lightning crackled over the steel. The remaining Pale Dog ran for the hills. The guy at my feet grew very still.

"You want to live?" I asked. He nodded. I uttered another spell and started rummaging through his mind. He knew where Brecht lived alright, was afraid of the place too. I got a clear image of both Brecht and his house. "Take me to Brecht's house. Don't do anything stupid like trying to run."

He got slowly to his feet. "Let's go," I said. He took me a little further north. The duplicitous little punk had actually brought me quite close to it. Brecht's house was merely fifty feet from the Necropolis's wall. It was a good sized, two story structure in good repair with a stout door. It's neighboring buildings looked abandoned. It was exactly as the punk remembered.

"Get out of here," I told him. He ran. I sheathed Stormtalon, but kept a hand on its hilt. I walked up to the door and attempted entry in the most successful way I knew how. I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. Nothing.

Well, I had a solution for that. I intoned a spells and the bar slid off and the lock sprang open. I kicked the door open. Inside was a small room with stairs leading up and doorways leading out. Three skeletons, with a few strips of cloth still clinging to them, stood there. They began to advance on me. "Damn," I muttered.

I retreated out the door and extended my left hand. I spread my fingers and shouted the initiators as the bone boys closed on me. Jets of flames shot from my fingers and ravished the entrance way and the skeletons. Their bones blackened and crumbled as they fell apart. The interior was blackened and charred and small fires licked at the walls. I went back inside.

I heard scrambling noises. Well, knocking and then setting fires had a lot to recommend themselves as means of entering a place, but they did tend to eliminate secrecy. A well preserved cadaver lurched out of the room and staggered towards me.

Stormtalon's edge can cut through dwarven plate with enough force behind the blade. I was in pretty good shape back in the day and I haven't lost all of it. Putrescent flesh and rotting bone wasn't much of a challenge. I gripped the hilt with both hands and brought the blade down hard, taking its right arm off at the shoulder. Lightning crackled at the blade cleaved flesh, blackening flesh and bone. It half fell, before steadying itself. I swung again and destroyed its skull. It fell. I dragged Stormtalon out of the zombie's head as a pair of skeletons started down the stairs toward me. How many undead did he have in this place?

They came one at a time and I smashed them to pieces with blows from Stormtalon. I listened for a moment. Nothing. I moved up the stairs, which creaked under my weight. There were a pair of bedrooms upstairs, both pretty decent for the Warrens. One of them had manacles attached to the bed. Nothing else really of note, like a missing quasi-niece or a kidnapping sewer rat. I had, however, learned why the Pale Dogs hadn't simply broken in and killed him in his sleep. Street punks with no magic don't tend to fare well against the undead.

Downstairs was messy, there was living room/dining room and a kitchen with food. The windows were boarded up, but there was a trap door in the kitchen and it was open. So that's where the weasel had gotten up to. I conjured a light globe and slid down the rope into Ptolus's sewers, my light orb following me obediently.

It was in what I think was a north-south running tunnel. Ptolus's sewers and designed with walkways along the sides of the walls and the middle given over to the water flow. I could see a light receding to the south. I followed, running as fast as I could. Ptolus's sewers aren't the safest of places.

To briefly digress, when Ghul the Half God was busy imitating the Dread One and building a castle on the Spire and planning the conquest of the known world, he built a huge labyrinth beneath what would become Ptolus to house his armies, his laboratories, his arsenals, and his breeding pits. Add to that the natural caverns, excavations by criminals, cults, and the existence of a slumbering evil that I suspect exists beneath Ptolus and you have a huge amount of tunnels and chambers. Some of them become cross connected and that includes the sewers. They're swept fairly regularly by novice delvers, but that just keeps the population of nasties low, not non-existent.

The light suddenly jinks left, probably turning down an intersection. I hurry up, but by the time I reach it, he's no longer in sight. I charge ahead anyway. He's probably made a quick turn and if I hurry I might still catch a glimpse of him. I'm able to make up a T-junction ahead. I turn left and find my self looking down the barrel of a pistol with a dragon head muzzle and a very large bore between those iron jaws.

The guy holding it is an inch or so taller than I am, and beefy to boot. Light blonde hair and neat beard, with goggles over his eyes. He's carrying kite shield and has a warhammer slung over his back. There's a dwarf maybe four and half feet tall next to him, carrying a big axe and wearing steel plate. Taking up the rear is a half orc wearing mail and carrying an axe and a mace.

I throw up my hands in a nice, non-threatening gesture. These guys are amateur delvers, cutting their teeth on whatever they find in the sewers and looking to make a profit by whatever they can hall back. "Did you guys see a scumbag run through here a half minute ago?"

"Yeah," says the dwarf. "He went that way," pointing in the other direction, "and turned left."

"Thanks," I said and turned and hauled ass. Gods take me, I was in horrible shape. I was huffing and puffing and wheezing, but I still managed to force myself to follow at a decent pace. One thing that delving will do, if it doesn't kill you, is teach you how hard you can push yourself. My will was still strong, but my flesh wasn't going to put up with it much longer. Fortunately, I caught a break.

Running at top speed through an imperfect sewer system that has had tunnels bored into it from the gods know where and less than regular maintenance has its risks. Brecht either tripped or slipped or something, because I was catching up on him fast. I caught sight of him. He was limping away at a speed even more pathetic than my own. He had a sun rod providing light in his left hand and some kind of scepter in his right.

He turned towards me and raised the scepter. I gasped out the words to a spell and he went rigid. I took the scepter out of his hands and slapped manacles on him before backing up and letting my legs collapse on me. He started to struggle as the spell wore off. I smiled at him. "Gottcha," I wheezed.

The amateurs came by. They still had their weapons ready. "What is it?" I asked.

"How do we know you're the good guy?" the blonde asked. He was maybe eighteen now that I was looking at him as a person and not as a potential target.

"He kidnapped my niece," I said.

"He's a liar!" Brecht shouted. "He works for the Balacazars!"

The dwarf glared at him. "Drop the volume or I drop you." Brecht sputtered.

"Look," I said, "I'm a retired Delver. People know me at the guild and can vouch for me. Good enough?" They considered it and then nodded in approval. "Great. Now can one of you guys help me with this bag of useless meat?"

Ouch, what kind of damage a punk can do when he gets his hands on a magical trinket. Until the real mage comes .
At least Mordain's little jaunt wasn't fruitless. A magical scepter as loot is always good. Though I wonder where his niece went. The bed with the manacles is bad omen (well, the undead were also, but the bed is more specific).

The dwarf, Drewhoth, ended up hauling Brecht. Fortunately, these guys knew the way back to the Undercity Market from here, where my bone fides as a nonsumbag could verified and confirmed.

"So," said Torvald, the human, "what did this guy do?"

"Kidnapped my niece, extorted Dockside establishments, and controlled undead."

"Really? He doesn't look like the magic using type."

"Looks can be deceiving," I said, "although he probably isn't." I waved the scepter. It was an ugly thing of wrought iron, a foot and a half long and topped with a smoky grey orb.

"Huh. So its the scepter?"

"Sort of," I said. "This thing is pretty weak." I had given it a quick look over and cast a cantrip to get a good read off of its magic. "Its barely magical at all."

"So its not the scepter? Something else?"

"No, nothing else magical on him. That's the trick."

"You like this."

"It's a clever piece of magic. I'm a wizard, we like clever magical tricks. The scepter is a conduit for what's really running the undead. Something quite powerful. This guy is small fry, but he works for a big fish. A very big fish."

You may ask why I was telling these guys this much. The answer is the big fish. I might need a lot of help in a hurry and these guys were willing to risk their necks for the right reward. A match made in Ptolus.

"So you want to find out who his boss is."

"Right. And what his boss wants with my niece and where she happens to be."

"That might be pretty bad," he said.

"It already is pretty bad. I'm a ex-delver, I know how bad it can get." The rest of the trip passed pretty much in silence. Since we were pretty much just retracing their steps back to the Undercity Market, we didn't encounter anything new and interesting. I could tell the half-orc, whose name hadn't been dropped yet, was getting a little anxious.

So we ended up in the Undercity Market, the former lair of Kagrisos the Ghost Lich (don't ask me how that works, he was destroyed a long time ago) and now the jumping off point for most delvers. It's set up pretty simple. There's a big central chamber where temporary shops, tables, and so forth are set up and more permenent shops set up in chambers connected to the main one. There's a couple of well secured passages that connect to the sewers and Ghul's Labyrinth. A set of stairs heads up from the central chamber to Delver's Square, which includes the Ghostly Minstrel Tavern.

We pass through the public thoroughfare which is crowded with people selling gear from various tables. Its a good place to pick up deals as most of the sellers are retired delvers or their kin. Selling directly to the delving population means more money for the seller than selling as secondhand goods to a shop, but the prices are usually better for the delver at the table as well. Everybody, except the shop keepers, win. Around the edges of the market, in chambers expanded into stores, are various merchants in the delving supply market. We pass by everyone like it was normal for four heavily armed guys to haul a man around in irons. In this place, that's normal.

I walk up to the entrance of the Delver's Guild, which is also located down here for reasons which are painfully obvious. I walked down the corridor and head into the main office. Margaret was there, sitting at the central desk. Postings dotted the walls. "Hi Greta."

"It's been a while," she said with a smile. She's a stereotypical ethnic Prustan, which is to say pale skin and dark hair. She's heading past forty and retired from putting him limbs in harm's way, but once flourished a mean rapier and had a knack for sidestepping at the right moment. "I thought you were retired."

"Am. Special case. Can you vouch for me to these guys?"

"He's not a member of the Guild," she said over my shoulder.

"Please?"

"He's not bad, for a wizard," she said with a smile. "No longer a member of the Guild though. Was one in very good standing."

I turn to them. "Satisfied?"

They nod. "Great. I have to go shopping. Can you stand on this guy for a couple minutes? I'll make it worth your while."

"Done," said the half-orc. I'm really going to have catch his name. I walked across the central chamber towards a table with the sign "Arcane Scribe". A thin, bespectacled gnome was sitting there with a small collection of scrolls.

"Neridoc," I say in way of greeting.

"Mordain, what do you want?" he says somewhat coldly. We're competitors, technically, even though he makes and sells far more scrolls than I do. Neridoc Bittersong isn't the most sociable of beings.

"I need to buy a scroll and yes, you can brag to everyone you want that your competition buys from you."

"What do you want?" he fires off.

"Anything that will allow me to read thoughts. I need it now." I had expended my own thought reading spell on that worthless Pale Dog. May the Galchutt take all Warrens' touts.

"I do have one. Three hundred golds."

More than I had on me and a couple years wages for a laborer. I wasn't in a position to argue. I concentrated and three glass triangles appeared in my palm. I put the mage coins on the table. Technically, they aren't valid currency as only the Imperial authorities have the right to coin money. Practically, they're worth a hundred gold lions a piece. He scoops them up and hands me a scroll. I gave it a once over. The style was familiar enough as back in my delving days I had bought my share of scrolls here. I could manage the magic.

The delvers had dragged Brecht out of the guild office, which was understandable. The half-orc's boot had him firmly pinned to the ground. I stood over him and read the scroll, triggering the magic. My perceptions dropped into Brecht's mind.

He tried to hide things from me and failed miserably. I saw Julia's face and I saw her chained in strange room, not the one in his house. I saw a big woman with dark hair wearing armour and giving orders. "I need someone pure of heart within the next twelve days," she said. Others around me bowed their heads. I pressed. That was ten days ago.

I sifted through, looking for a location. Julia and the woman were both in the same building now, a large house just off Ugly Child Lane in the South Market. There was something else there, something he feared almost as much as the woman. A dark chamber lit by the grey gleam of an orb about a foot in diameter. It saw on a bloodstained pedestal. A child lay sprawled and cut open before it. The woman daubed a scepter, this scepter, in the blood. It began to glow softly in response.

The woman looked into Brecht's eyes. "You have been entrusted with considerable power. Draw undead from the sewers around the Necropolis. Bind them. Harry the servants of the Balacazars at the Docks. And find me more sacrifices. I need those of a pure heart." She thrust the now live scepter into his hands. His mind spoke her name. Kevris Killraven.

"Gaen have mercy," I breathed.

"What?" said Torvald.

"I've got a very high paying job for you," I said. That was an understatement. Rescuing my niece from the woman who wants to replace the Balacazars as kings of organized crime in this city was going to make a mercenary very rich or very dead. I needed all the help I could get and I needed it yesterday.

We dragged Brecht's ass into the sewer. Here's the deal: he was a member of the Killraven Crime Syndicate. If we gave him to the Watch, he would have a nice trial before they executed his ass for his necromantic activities and maybe the kidnapping. That would allow him to pass along to his bosses descriptions and names of those who had scuttled the plans which would make all of our lives very difficult. Killraven was very bad news. On the other hand, the Watch wouldn't care if one of Killraven's boys was found floating in the sewer. They have enough problems as it is.

So we took him out of sight and I cut his throat and dumped him in the sewer. I turned to face the others. "I'll see you at the Ghostly Minstrel at dusk. If everything goes well, I won't be alone. It won't cut into your fee."

Torvald nodded. "Alright."

"And remember to be able to hide your identity. Masks, scarfs, whatever. You don't want Killraven recognizing you."

"Won't matter if they're all dead," said the half-orc. Still hadn't caught his name.

"If Killraven died easy, the Balacazars would have taken care of her by now. Don't be stupid." With that I headed back into the Undercity Market and up the stairs to Delver's Square. From there my next move was to go north-east.

Midtown is broken up into little minidistricts. Since a lot of the buildings within a few blocks of Delver's Square are related to delving or cater to delvers, the whole area becomes Delver's Square. Then there is Tavern Row, which I'm sure I don't have to explain to anyone. I was heading for Emerald Hill.

Emerald Hill is nice neighborhood with tree lined streets and numerous small parks. The houses are elven style, wood with slanted rooves and curved or angled layouts. The inhabitants are mostly Shoal Elves, which I'm sure surprises no one.

It's not that big of a district and not too far from Delver's Square so it's not long before I'm knocking at the door of a nice house, maybe a bit on the large size. Jareth Stareyes opened the door. A lot and very little had changed since we had last talked.

He was still the tall, muscular elf with sky-blue eyes and raven black hair that I had gone adventuring with. He moved easily and swiftly, his strength hidden until he needed it. His dress tastes had changed, however. Jareth was wearing an ebony robe with a white tree branch pattern on it that must have cost a small fortune. He was wearing silver and pearl studs in both ears. "My friend," he said. "It has been too long."

"Yes," I said, "it has. I wish I could say I was here to rectify that wrong, but the truth is I'm here because I need your help."

"Come in," he said simply. I cleaned my boots on his mat and followed him inside and into his living room. Simple rugs and tapestries hung on his walls, mostly depicting hunting scenes. His furniture was wood frames with mattresses and cushions on them. The mattress and cushion covers had star, snow flake, or tree motifs embroidered on them. He sat down in a large chair. "Tell me your problem."

"Killraven has my niece Julia. She's going to be sacrificed in a magical ritual the tomorrow night."

"Terrible," he said. "She was a pleasant child."

"I know where they are holding her. I have some help, but they're young. I need someone who I know who can handle a heavy load."

"My friend," he said, "this is not a small favor you ask."

"I know."

He nodded. "I will help. Where and when do you need me?"

"I'm meeting the others at the Ghostly Minstrel at dusk."

"I will be there."

"Bring something to hide your features. You don't want Killraven coming after you if she lives."

"She will be in attendance personally?"

"Possibly."

"The favor you owe just got larger."

For the reader, an image of Ptolus, from the sea:

Click

Everyone showed up that night at the Ghostly Minstrel. Basic black cloaks and coats seemed to be de rigeur for our party. Jareth arrived first. He wore blackened Ithilnaur plate under his cloak. His cursed long blade was slung over his back. "The least you can do is buy me a drink," he said.

"Of course," I said smiling. I ordered him a glass of wine. We didn't say anything else. We waited. Torvald and his crew showed up nearly half an hour latter. They sat down.

"There is the matter of payment," said Drewhoth.

"Yes, there is," is I said. I pushed a bag over to them. "The agreed upon amount." Which consisted of most of my money. I would worry on how I made a living later.

The dwarf looked into the bag and counted quickly. He nodded to his partners. "Okay."

"You ready?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Let's go." I flipped a shield to the waitress and we were gone. The South Market wasn't that far away, although with the fall of night the streets were pretty empty. It wasn't long until we reached Ugly Child Lane. Killraven's safe house was easy to recognize.

It was two stories, but all stone and big. It had a modest yard and a wrought iron fence with a pair of huge mastiffs, each of which outweighed Jareth. "You can deal with the dogs, right?" asked Torvald.

"Yes," I said. "I'll hit them at the right moment. We'll go in through the second story window."

"How are we getting there?" asked Drewhoth.

"I fly up to that rough, tie off the rope on the chimney. You follow up. I sleep the dogs, fly through the window with the rope and tie off the other end. You follow."

It went as smooth as glass. First, we secured our masks or scarves around our faces. Then I cast a flying spell, rose up a nearby building, slept the dogs, flew across, magicked open the window to an empty room, and tied off the rope. Jareth climbed across as quick as a cat. The others were a little slower.

An invisibility spell concealed my presence and then I poked my head out the door. The rectangular building was set up with an open central core on the second floor that overlooked the main room below. A stairway lead to the second floor walkway. Rooms sprouted off the sides of the main room and the second story walkway. A couple lamps provided decent illumination.

The table downstairs held my attention. A dark haired woman in battered leathers was talking with a short bearded man and a hulking, tan furred minotaur wearing red enameled breastplate and carrying a big axe. The woman was Kevris Killraven. Brecht's memories indicated that Julia was being held somewhere underground. The stairs continued down, presumably to a cellar/dungeon. There was a thump from upstairs. Head turned.

"Gorehoof," snapped Killraven. The minotaur snorted and stormed up the stairs.

"Go," said Jareth. I leapt the banister and feather falled to the floor. I shouted a spell as I touched down. A forked lightning bolt, the spell matrix overcharged with magical energy, shot from from my hands and blasted Killraven and the bearded guy. The table exploded in flinders, the bearded guy fell blackened and smoldering, and Killraven's hair stood on end. Well, that answered the question on whether or not she had magical protections.

Torvald shot her in the left shoulder, drawing a little blood instead of pulverizing her shoulder. Nameless jumped down, axe in hands. Killraven screamed and not the way a woman screams, the way a dragon screams. The air shimmered around her and her disguise was gone. She was nine feet tall, with dark blue skin, white hair, and a hag's face. Her mouth was full of fangs, she was armoured in black plate, and she held a huge flaming sword in her hand. Oh crap.

Jareth threw a fire bolt into the minotaurs shoulder and then whipped a sword across the monster's thighs. It bellowed and fell back, burnt and bleeding. Torvald and Drewhoth jumped down to aid their friend. Killraven laughed and smote Nameless's great axe, breaking it in half. "Go!" Jareth cried and I scuttled down the stairs.

The stairs lead to a room of modest size with three doors leading off. In the center of the room was a pedestal with an orb about a foot in diameter and swirling grey mists inside. The orb glowed softly.

A patch of shadow detached itself from the side of the room and rushed at me. I could see glowing red eyes at the top of its "body". Probably some kind of wraith. I was expecting the undead, by virtue of not being a complete moron. I shouted a spell.

There are terrible, destructive spells which draw upon deadly and corrupt powers. Their effectiveness is as notorious as their vileness. This spell I cast was just as potent, but drew upon higher powers.

A lance of blue-white flame almost too intense to look at shot from my hand and struck the wraith. It screamed, a long high pitched and mournful cry and then melted away into nothing. "Julia!" I shouted.

"Here!" came a cry from one of the cells. Another opening spell popped the door and then another took car of the manacles. Good thing I had prepped a lot of them tonight.

"Uncle Mordain," she said. She looked in pretty rough shape and she was a skinny kid under normal circumstance.

"This is a rescue," I said. "Come on." She followed me up the stairs. On an impulse I shouted a spell of shattering at the orb. I didn't really expect it to work. The orb exploded in a flash of light and grey mist boiled out its remains, quickly covering the cellar floor and heading up the stairs.

I grabbed Julia's hand and rushed her up the stairs. Nameless was leaning against the wall, bleeding badly and fumbling for a spiked mace. Drewhoth was picking himself off the floor and Torvald was sprawled on the floor and bleeding.

Jareth was dodging Killraven's sweeping blows and striking back with viper quickness when the opportunity presented. Killraven was unmarked by burns or any other sign of sorcerous attack, although she was bleeding from a few minor cuts. This was going to end really badly really quickly.

I shouted at Drewhoth. "Pick up Torvald and run! Julia, go with them!" The dwarf didn't answer, but picked up his partner and headed out the door. Nameless and Julia followed.

Jareth was running out of room as Killraven forced him towards a wall. "Hey Kevris!" I shouted. "I broke your undeath orb. You lose!"

She snarled and turned towards me. I unleashed another lightning bolt, this time aiming at her feet. It blew through the floor and Killraven fell cursing into the grey mist of the basement. Neither Jareth or I waited to see how long it would take her to recover. We bolted for the door.

Drewhoth had handled the problem of the front gate by smashing the lock with his hammer. Good steel, dwarven magic, and strong muscles goes a long way in dealing with problems like these if you're not picky about the noise and at this stage of the game we sure weren't. We all fled into the night.

I got Julia back to her dad. She was pretty shook up. It's one thing to know that things like this can happen in Ptolus, its another to have them actually happen to you. I was pretty sure she would be fine, she was a tough girl, but she probably wouldn't be inclined to fall for a pretty face and an empty heart again. Maybe I was just being optimistic.

The amateurs went their own way, probably heading toward one of the temples on Street of a Million Gods or Saint Gustav's Chapel in Delver's Square or maybe to lay low and heal instead. Killraven probably wouldn't waste time with going after them even if she could recognize them. Delver's tended to be tough and die young and she had enough enemies without starting a feud with the Guild.

Jareth helped me get Julia home and then waited for me. He fell into stride with me as I headed home. "What now?" he asked.

"Sleep," I said. "Then I don't know."

"Perhaps you should reconsider the path you walk on."

"Meaning I'm not fulfilling my destiny, right?"

He shook his head. "Just tell me your life is good and fulfilling as is. Tell me living alone, scribing scrolls, and a little timid spell trading is what you were born to do. Tell me you didn't feel more alive today than any other day this year?"

I said nothing. He was right. We walked the rest of the way in silence.

Nice. I take it we get to see their minotaur friend in the next installment of their adventures? (if he's still alive, mind)

All sorts of interesting stuff when I write the next story (if all goes according the plan). That'll be a bit as I'm concentrating on finishing off this segment on In Memoria.