#64 - Ignoble Hospitality

From the posthumously-published memoirs of Lord Szen d'Jorasco

Subject: Shifter male approximately 35-40 years of age. Signs of bloat corroborate he was found waterside, as previously reported by the King's Citadel. Extent of rigor mortis leads me to believe death was recent, but water-logging makes this assessment difficult. No obvious external trauma—lacerations, puncture wounds, contusions all missing. Lack of significant fluid in lungs also rules out drowning. No immediate sign of struggle. Scarring present across the subject appears to be well worn. Combined with musculature, this indicates a veteran of combat.

The Mark of Healing,
manifested by heirs of
House Jorasco

Combat. It's been too long since I've seen anything more exciting than the latest lordling walking in after a night trawling the bars for wenches, leaving him covered with pustules on...well, better left unsaid. A real case for once. Of course, they brought the subject to be questioned first by a local priests, channeling their respective divinities. Silent as the grave, they say. The dead can be so stubborn sometimes.

But silence speaks volumes as well.

Covadish could explain that. Indeed, partially digested leaves were found in the subject's stomach during the autopsy. Rare things, those, and a powerful tool in necromancy. None but elves oft make their way to Aerenal, where the creeping plant grows. This shifter had secrets someone wanted desperately taken to the grave.

The Citadel suggested continuing the search outside of town at the nearest former estate of ir'Valish. Accompanying me would be Dafrena Oakfoot, who I've had passing dealings with. Quarrelsome, without doubt, but effective, that one. Am I being honored by this protection on the trip, or sent out to be less bothersome if my guard is but one dwarf who is in the outs of her respective order? To be pondered, but perhaps details worth focusing on at a later place and time.

After four days out, our caravan left us off at the base of a long sloping hill, leaving us with our ponies and the weight of a sleet storm bearing down. At the crest of the hill and beyond a neglected orchard, a hedge 15 ft. high. Two horses of differing quality are tied up nearby. We approached with caution, resting our own rides away.

The sky cracked. Once. Twice. Three times in the space of a few breaths. All above the hedge. Clearly not of a natural origin, though its source I could not tell. Waiting outside produced no answers, so into the grounds we headed.

We were immediately faced with a dark visage, a statue of a man or woman reaching out, encased fully in what seemed to be a crudely-hewn block of crystal. A cursory inspection indicated that no immediate life threatened harm but was beyond my ability to heal. Safe enough for now, we can return later with proper attention to help. I wished the assuring glance I shared with Dafrena was a true indication of my confidence, but this was no time for doubt.

We heard shouting, a crash of what could only be stone and metal, and the bellowing of what sounds to be a barbarian's chant in the short distance, juxtaposed oddly with the song of a singing follower of Dol Arrah. We turned, Dafrena's taut arm muscles rippling under the grip of her greataxe with nervous tension. I noted in secret irritation that she was not the slightest bit aggrieved by the cold rain and sodden clothing by which we'd both been victimized. No doubt her joints deigned not to ache, either.

A fiery blast echoed beyond, drawing our attention forward again. It was followed shortly by a sudden collapse of some great weight into the ground and a sound not unlike broken glass. My confidence waned as the excitement waxed. You don't spend your life in battle without appreciating the thrill of what lies ahead.

I pressed forward past Dafrena. Above, there came a soft flapping as if great leaves rustled above. Soon after, a deep-throated yet feminine voice caught my ear, as close as a secret. "Get out..." it whispered, menacing and still melodic in timber. This message was for me alone, and magically delivered, as my companion showed no sign of perceiving it. What fearsome creature would possibly attempt to scare off an aged halfling before the dangerous fighter at my side? A best guess is this revealed a weak defense to scare off would-be predators. Indicated logic, rational thinking—I would be the leader of this party of two, of course. Anything more formidable would strike fast and hard rather than avoid confrontation. Bolstered by my insight, I sent up three small glowing butterflies with a gesture of prestidigitation. Coral fuscia and rose lights dance off one another in the black sky. We meant no harm and choose not to engage. We pressed on.

Soon an iron defender blocked my path. Well made, good design. Not shoddy work here, this one was created with skill. Its ferocity was held in check in a defensive stance. I may have been swayed to fear this if not for the party standing a few feet behind it in the aftermath of what had probably been a fierce battle. Against...I'm not certain.

The party: Two warforged, one who clearly possesses the musical talents of the song of Dol Arrah mentioned previously and another of shorter stature carrying a pack of tinker's tools. A young woman seemingly distraught but no stranger to a fight. And the largest man I've seen in quite some time dressed in truly impressive scaled armor.

These were not folk who attack unprovoked, that was clear. My spirits rose. Dafrena, still uneasy, awaited my orders. Pressing questions from this group led me to produce my identification papers. A younger man they present; stronger perhaps, but a foolish one. I know differently now. These were not enemies, but an opportunity. A small illusory display of covadish to this group showed little sign of recognition—the young woman might have understood. Still, they could prove useful to our cause.

Introductions were short—even names were glossed over. The clearing were we stood was littered with strange indications of what had transpired. Shards of crystal, more figure-prisms, two piles of freshly-scorched things. A very foul stench as well—almost like burnt troll. Who knows?

I could see we were all pressed to get out of this storm and on to our respective tasks at hand. We sent the young woman up into the house, adeptly climbing up with a rope attached. Barbarian and warforged alike followed, with the dwarf and I to hold the rear. I can't say I appreciated being left in this weather for so long but letting our new friends risk whatever danger may be ahead suited me just fine.

As if summoned by these thoughts, I heard the telltale signs of battle inside—the roar of beasts and the clashing of arms. Dafrena wasted no time and clambered up. I had no desire to rush into the fray and merely tied the rope to my sack, awaiting a lift. These weary bones don't climb like they used to. I was forced soon after to make use of what nimbleness my old frame still possessed, ripped from the ground and in through the window. I saw that the casual abandonment of class and proper etiquette was maintained.

I caught myself and in a moment gathered the cause of the urgency. Our young woman was no where to be seen. A young man instead wrestled with frantic thoughts like one bewitched by magic. Dafrena battled a canine beast from some depth of Khyber unknown to me, which spat fire and barked with the same. I saw her strike it down with a furious blow and split its body in two. Another whined softly on the floor nearby. Two walking suits of armor engaged as well, keeping the rest occupied.

But books! Shelves raced down the room, some of them not empty. My absence in the fracas would not be missed and so I glanced along the bindings looking for what may show a master herbologist present. Those volumes not in disrepair left me nothing of interest. A pity.

More clashing, more furious strikes. I turned my attention around the corner to see a ghoulish persona reeling from a devastating blow and sent crashing into the wall. An interesting specimen, with what seems like a motley grouping of distended protuberances across her face. Disheveled clothes, torn and musty, cloaked her with the adornment of a brooch capping it. Brelish nobility gone to seed?

Having seen enough violence for a lifetime, I offered my services and produced my signet ring. "My Lady! House Jorasco wishes to offer its help in whatever way it can. Please approach and I assure you I can remedy what ails you! My aid is at your disposal."

A head cocked to the side. The breaking of my voice belied my bravado of stepping forward. Her face twisted, grotesque and horrible, and a shriek left her lips.

In my younger days, I would've leapt spritely away from the surge of energy which she flung at me, but I could do little but twist against one fiery blast and force the other to glance off. The singe of my eyebrows will stink for the rest of the day. It wasn't even proper fire; what magic did this lady wield? This foul weather must be the cause of spreading this classlessness. Fortunately, I know of a dwarf who specializes in such brutality.