SESSION 16D: ZAVERE’S NEED
January 19th, 2008
The 6th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty
RIDDLES AND REST
Another day of delving had left them exhausted, bloody, and battered. But, thanks to Dominic’s faith and the power of the gods, not dead.
They were, however, in desperate need of rest. So they headed back to the surface, looking forward eagerly to the clean sheets and warm beds of the Ghostly Minstrel.
When they arrived, most of them staggered straight up to bed. But Tellith called Tee over to the front desk – she had received a letter. Cracking open the seal of purple wax, Tee saw that it came from Lord Zavere: He had heard from Mand Scheben and was concerned. He would like to meet with all of them in the morning, if it would be possible.
As she finished reading, Tee looked up into the common room and spotted Iltumar Shon nursing a drink. She was clearly the worse for wear, but she had been hoping to run into the young blacksmith’s apprentice for a couple of days now.
With a smile she came up behind him: “It’s an anchor.”
Iltumar jumped in his seat and twisted around to look at her. “Mistress Tee?! Wha–?”
“The answer to your riddle. It’s an anchor.” Tee caught Zade’s eye from across the room and signaled for a drink. Then she pulled out a chair and sat down.
Iltumar’s face split into a wide grin. “It is an anchor!”
“Now I’ve got one for you:
Of all my siblings, which I have many,
I am the number, wise old twenty,
I always wear my long thin hat,
And stand on one leg; I’ve never sat.
I’m last of the last, and last of the first,
I’m last of the best, and last of the worst.
Who am I?
Iltumar’s face grew long with thought. He opened his mouth for a moment as if he was about to give an answer, but then he shook his head. “I’ll have to give this one some time, Mistress Tee!”
Tee laughed.
MORNING REST
(09/07/790)
At dawn, they headed to the Temple of Asche. The preparations for the cleansing rituals had been completed and, less than an hour later, Tee – in particular – felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her soul as the taint was lifted from her.
They still had a couple of hours before they were supposed to meet with Lord Zavere, so they returned to Delver’s Square.
Their last foray into Ghul’s Labyrinth had made Tor painfully aware of how inadequate his weapon was. It was a sword of excellent craftsmanship, but it wasn’t magetouched and it certainly didn’t have any sort of powerful enchantment like the flame of Agnarr’s sword. As such, it was clear that – when pitted against the supernatural dangers which lurked beneath the streets of Ptolus – Tor’s blade was simply unequal to the task. Indeed, the battle with the black centurions had left it pitted and burred with notches.
He discussed his thoughts with the others on their way back from the Temple District, and they all agreed it would be a good idea to see if a more powerful weapon could be found. They knew that other delvers were retrieving treasures of the sort from various caches beneath the city, and they knew that the best place to find those weapons was at Rastor’s, right in Delver’s Square.
The litorian greeted them with a rumbling purr and smile. When they first started speaking of weapons, he showed them several minor magetouched weapons. But when it became clear they were seeking something a little more notable, he smiled enigmatically and went into a backroom.
He emerged with a long, slim blade. The steel was filigreed with gold and the hilt was of finely curved silver.
Rastor ran his claw gently down the length of the blade, as if caressing a lover. “The markings here upon the blade are not merely gold, but taurum – the true gold, mined from the Mountains of the East. And there is a thin core of it in the heart of the hilt. The enchantment worked upon this blade sings from the taurum, and its name is nainsyr.”
At the word, blue lightning sprang from the hilt and ran along the length of the blade – crackling with a vicious smell of ozone.
Under her breath Tee murmured, “Let there be lightning.”
Rastor’s sharp ears caught her words. “Yes. Nainsyr. It is an elvish word. Let there be lightning, indeed.” The lightning had stopped again and now he presented the hilt to Tor by laying the blade across his arm. “The blade is old. It shows marks of an elvish craft that I have rarely seen.”
Tor swung the sword through the air, his face showing unaccustomed delight at the seeming weightlessness of the blade. It turned in his hand like the lightning of its name.
Rastor apologized for the expense of the weapon, but his price seemed fair given the quality of the sword. Tor didn’t have enough money himself, but the others were more than glad to contribute to the cause.
ZAVERE’S NEED
With his new sword secured in its sheath, Tor joined the others in hailing a carriage to take them to Castle Shard.
Zavere listened attentively as Tee again described her encounter with Malkeen on the morning of the 5th. By the time the story was finished, Zavere was frowning deeply.
“I am sorry, Tee,” he said. “I knew that Linech Cran was connected to the Balacazars, but I never suspected that you would attract the unfortunate attention of the family itself. I would approach them directly to take responsibility, but I think it unwise for them to know directly of my involvement in my affair.”
Tee nodded. “I understand.”
“But I will send out word through predictable channels that you are being watched by Castle Shard. Perhaps that will dissuade the Balacazars from harassing you further. And if you are bothered again, don’t hesitate in coming to me.”
They all thanked him.
“I could hardly do less. If nothing else, we owe you a great debt for rescuing Lord Abbercombe.”
“Is he… any better?” Ranthir asked.
“It’s odd that you ask that,” Zavere said, frowning again. “The truth is that Lady Rill has bent all her considerable talents to reversing the paralysis from which he suffers. All to no avail. But yesterday we were approached, through neutral messengers, by an elf named Shilukar. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
They glanced at each other as they nodded. They remembered the wanted poster for the thief-mage that Ranthir had found in his room upon awaking for the first time in the Ghostly Minstrel.
“Shilukar claims to have an antidote for Lord Abbercombe’s condition. But if he gives it to us, he demands sanctuary in Castle Shard.”
“What are you going to do?” Tee asked.
“The truth is we have little choice. Both Rill and myself owe Lord Abbercombe a deep debt. We are honor-bound to seek his cure. Even if that means inviting a thief and a murderer into our home and giving him our protection.”
“Can’t you simply take the antitdote and then refuse him sanctuary?”
“No. If we agree to his bargain – as we must – then we would be just as honor-bound to him as we would be to Lord Abbercombe… or to you. There is nothing that we can do directly. If only there was someone else who could find him and retrieve the antidote for us.”
“We think we know where he might be,” Elestra said.
“Indeed?” Zavere looked at her. “Where?”
Elestra explained that they had found a… prophecy of sorts. It suggested that the “lair of S was beneath a vacant of lot of brandywine… or something like that.”
“It is an interesting possibility,” Zavere agreed. “I can only hope that someone follows up on it.”
Zavere stood and they quickly said their goodbyes.
RETURN TO BRANDYWINE STREET
Standing on the street outside the castle, Dominic sighed deeply. “It’s too bad that Lord Zavere is caught between a rock and a hard place like that.”
“Yes,” Elestra said. “I just wish there was something we could do.”
Tee looked back and forth between the two of them. “Are you kidding? We can go to Brandywine Street and get the antidote for him!”
“Don’t you think that might make Zavere angry?” Elestra asked.
“What? No. He was pretty blatantly asking us to do it!”
“Are you sure?” Dominic said. “It seemed like he didn’t want to risk making Shilukar angry.”
Tee sighed. On the carriage ride down she carefully explained the principles of “innuendo” and why Zavere was asking them to do this without actually asking them to do it.
They arrived back at the vacant lot that Elestra had scouted on the 28th of Amseyl. It appeared largely unchanged – an abandoned shack jutting up amidst piles of garbage.
The rusty chain-and-padlock on the door of the shed that had turned Elestra back was still in place, but as Tee stooped over it she found that the rust was actually just a façade – it was actually an extremely high quality lock in excellent condition.
“This is definitely it,” she said, and set to work.
It took her a full minute to finally get the padlock to pop open. Then she very carefully – and quietly – slid the chain out of the door. Agnarr stepped up and oiled the hinges of the door, allowing them to open it as quietly as possible.
The inside of the shed was piled high with garbage, as well – a lot of it apparently pushed in through a hole in the ceiling. Tee scouted around and quickly found a trapdoor half-buried under the garbage. She and Agnarr worked carefully to clear it off and found that it was locked with another deceptively-rusty padlock.
Her experience with the previous padlock helped her with this one, and she soon had it opened.
Tee stepped back and Agnarr stepped forward. Everyone tightened their grips on their weapons and then, with a single heave, Agnarr threw open the trapdoor.
Several pieces of debris which had, apparently, been carefully lodged in the trapdoor’s mechanism suddenly gave – clattering down the long, narrow hole beneath the trapdoor.
They all stepped forward, looking down into the depths. A rickety ladder ran down one side of the hole, disappearing into the shadows below.
Something I’m still confused about after reading dozens of posts on your website, are you STILL running the Shadow of the Spire campaign, or did you finish it long ago and you’re just slowly posting stuff that happened in the campaign when you were still running it?
The current campaign journals I’m posting are from a decade ago, but the campaign is actually still ongoing. We just passed 130 total sessions played (including a follow-the-minions spin-off that went for several sessions).