IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 41B: THE RETURN OF ARVETH

August 15th, 2009
The 22nd Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

“That’s her,” Arveth said.

Another cultist stepped through the door behind her and swung it shut.

In the next room down, Seeaeti was aware that something was wrong. He stood up and started barking at the wall. Agnarr let him out into the hall… but missed the tail-end of the ambush by mere seconds.

The cultists started clubbing Tee, who managed to avoid the worst of it by rolling with the blows and tossing around in the cushions… until Arveth stepped forward and slipped a dagger between her ribs. “They took my eye, bitch.”

Tee, who had been screaming, gasped in pain.

Agnarr hadn’t heard her muffled screams because Seeaeti was still barking loudly. (“What is it, boy? What is it?”) But Ranthir heard the screams through the walls and rushed into the hall. He quickly told Agnarr what he had heard and then hurried on to Tor’s door.

The cultist who had followed Arveth into Tee’s room dropped a silence spell over it, abruptly cutting off Tee’s screams.

Agnarr ran down the hall and threw himself against the door… but it held firm. Elestra, wakened by Seeaeti’s barking (but oblivious to the cause) also came out into the hall. Ranthir, beating on Tor’s door, managed to rouse the scarce-sleeping knight. He rushed back to his own room… just in time to see Tee thrown out of her window in a silent, cascading shower of glass. She hit the pavement below with a sickening thud.

Ranthir ran back into the hall and shouted to the others what had happened. Elestra ran past him, through his room, and jumped out the window, tumbling onto the jutting corner of the first floor below and from there down to Tee’s prostrate form.

Unfortunately, Elestra was seen by the cultists above. One of them – the one who had followed Arveth into the room – leapt to the first floor roof himself. Whirling he lowered his hands and sent forth a wave of flame which Elestra narrowly ducked under.

Arveth was close behind him, leaping directly to the ground with acrobatic aplomb. Her sword was out and she attacked Elestra before she could reach Tee’s side.

Above, Tor had pushed his way past Agnarr and also thrown himself ineffectually against the door. Agnarr, frustrated past words, drew his greatsword and just started hacking. As the door fell apart into smoldering kindling, they saw that the thugs had ganged up on the other side of the door. Tor sent one staggering back, trying to hold his intestines together. The others fell back cautiously into a defensive line.

Below, Elestra drove Arveth away and then dove for Tee. She managed to release a burst of healing energy into Tee’s torso just before the cultist arcanist hit her with a second blast of fire. Tee rolled to her feet, grabbed Arveth, activated her boots, and levitated up into the air.

Ranthir, looking out from his window above, threw a web, trapping the arcanist and webbing up the window of Tee’s room to stop additional reinforcements from escaping. The arcanist responded by twisting within the webs and hurling a magical epitaph in Ranthir’s direction. In a burst of flame, a black leopard with burning coals of fire for eyes and a throat of flame appeared before the rapidly backpedaling Ranthir.

The creature’s claws caught and tore at him as he stumbled back through the door into the hall. Ranthir cried for help, but Agnarr and Tor – fighting in the pervasive magical silence of Tee’s room – were oblivious to his need. Despite Seeaeti’s brave efforts to intervene, Ranthir collapsed in a gurgle of blood.

But Seeaeti was successful in keeping the fiendish leopard from finishing its work. Hounding the leopard, Seeaeti was able to draw it back into Tee’s room. There, the leopard earned the wrath of Agnarr when the barbarian saw what it had done to his faithful dog. Tor, meanwhile, was able to finish off the panicked and trapped cultist thugs.

Tee, now floating high above the street, tried to gouge out Arveth’s other eye. But Arveth caught her wrist and managed to twist the dagger around to scrape it painfully across her ribs on the left side. Twisting the knife free from Arveth’s grip, Tee almost managed to choke the life out of her—

Before the arcanist struck her in the back with another blast of fire. In the burst of pain, Tee’s vision turned black and her mind slipped away… her boots stopped working…

And they both plunged to the ground below.

Arveth managed to roll slightly with the blow, cracking several ribs and breaking an arm, but alive. The unconscious Tee, on the other hand, fell helplessly. There was a sickening crunch as her head struck first and her neck snapped.

With Tee dead, Elestra unconscious, and everyone inside the inn completely unaware of what was happening outside, Arveth easily escaped.

But only by mere moments. Seconds later, the others arrived in the street below. Healing potions were poured down Elestra’s throat and then she called upon the strength of the Spirit of the City to revive Tee.

PARANOIA IS BUT A FEAR UNPROVEN

The ambush had shifted something inside of Tee. Just a few hours before she had been counseling Tor on the virtues of compassion, but now she had no mercy for any of them. The thought of Arveth – her endless haughtiness; her insatiable cruelty – filled Tee with a silent rage, compounded by the flashing images of Wuntad; the abominations of the cults; and the humiliations and agonies that had been visited upon her, her friends, and the people of her city.

But Tee’s immediate thoughts were consumed by Nasira: If this attack was a retaliation for their assaults on the Rat God and Ebon Hand temples, Nasira would be in danger, too. While the others stayed for damage control at the Ghostly Minstrel, she and Agnarr raced out into Delvers’ Square and haled a carriage.

When they reached the Welcome Inn, however, they found Nasira unmolested. Looking at the still bruised and battered Tee, however, Nasira’s brow knit in concern. “What happened?”

Tee gave a quick summary of the ambush at the Ghostly Minstrel. “It might be best if you came back with us. There’s safety in numbers.”

Nasira agreed, if for no other reason than because she had befriended the innkeepers Markus and Valene Schuk. This friendly older couple and their daughters (Rona and Illene) had been the only people to make Nasira feel welcome in Ptolus before she had met the rest of them, and she had no desire to bring trouble to their door. Nasira explained the situation to them, promised to keep in touch, and paid her bill ahead for two more weeks. Then she and Tee joined Agnarr in the waiting carriage and headed back towards the Ghostly Minstrel.

At the Minstrel, meanwhile, Elestra had gone to tell Tellith of the attack. Tellith was shocked at first, but her shock quickly turned to outrage and then to apologies. After a few minutes, Tellith came upstairs with Elestra.

While Elestra had been talking to Tellith, however, the others had kept busy: Tor hauled the unconscious cultist arcanist into Ranthir’s room while the others looted the bodies of the thugs (on whom they found golden bell charm bracelets).

Elestra reassured Tellith that Tee was all right and had merely gone to check on a friend to make sure they were okay. Tellith realized that the watch needed to be notified and left to do so.

Meanwhile, the arcanist was roughly woken up and questioned. His name was Nikkei. He told them that the attack was in retribution for the betrayal of “Laurea” and the attack on the Temple of Deep Chaos. Once “Laurea” had been identified as Tee, it was a simple matter for them to find her at the Ghostly Minstrel.

Satisfied (more or less), they knocked Nikkei unconscious again and waited for the guards to arrive. Which they did shortly thereafter.

“Oh, it’s you again.” Naturally Tellith had gone to the watch station just across Delvers’ Square. And, naturally, they were blessed once again with the blustering fellow who they had first met after a shivvel addict had tried to mug Ranthir.

The watchmen questioned all of them bluntly and performed a cursory inspection of Tee’s room and the street outside.

“And where is the victim?” one of them asked with suspicion.

“I’m right here,” Tee said, walking up with Nasira at her side.

“And where have you been?”

“Checking on a friend.”

The watchmen were taking a generally hostile tone, but Tee wasn’t impressed with their bluster. Finally one of them blurted out, “Just don’t leave town.” Tor laughed and Tee rolled her eyes.

“We’re not planning on it. But I’m glad you’re so concerned for our well-being. What were your names again? I’d like to mention you to the Commissar next time I see him. I just want to tell him what a fine job you’re doing…”

The watchmen exchanged nervous glances and then backed down. Tee and Tor turned Nikkei over to them before they left (although Tee would have preferred to slit his throat first).

Once the watch were gone, however, they were forced to consider what Nikkei had told them: It was their worst fear, and only confirmed what Malkeen’s appearance in Tee’s room two weeks before had suggested. Not only were they known, but they could be found. And easily.

This left them with the tough choice of what to do next: Should they leave the Ghostly Minstrel? And if they did, where would they go?

Without any clear answers, they bedded down. Tee wanted no part of her own room again, and they all thought it wise to stay close through the night. Half of them slept in Tor’s room and the rest in Elestra’s suite.

THE DREAMS OF TEE & ARVETH – PART 1

That night Tee reached out through the Dreaming in an effort to infiltrate the dreams of Arveth. She hoped to plague them with nightmares of losing her remaining eye. Or perhaps falling forever. Or both.

Unfortunately Tee found her own thoughts conflicted, and Arveth’s dreams proved impenetrable. But she vowed that she would try again the next night. And every night, if necessary, if it meant that she could eke out at least a small slice of revenge.

Running the Campaign: What the Magic Looks Like – Campaign Journal: Session 41C
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 41A: Dominic’s Denunciation

“I would ask your help,” Agnarr said. He pulled the body of the boy out of his bag of holding. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Perhaps,” Aoska said, examining the boy. “The damage runs deep. It will take us time to find a cure, if one is possible at all. And we would need to keep this collar upon him, to preserve him in his current state of stasis.”

Agnarr readily agreed. “Send word.”

The iron collar used to preserve the horrifically transformed child in a state of gentle repose is, if I say so myself, a pretty cool magic item. The players loved it. The flavor was fun, the aesthetic was punk, and the utility was phenomenal (in both keeping them alive and conserving their healing resources).

I hadn’t actually expected it to be such a big hit when I added it to the Laboratory of the Beast, but I was equally delighted by its presence in the campaign.

So why take it away from them?

Precisely because it was important to them.

And also because saving the life of the boy was important to them.

Taking a step back, one of your fundamental goals as a GM is to get the players to care about the campaign. Almost everything else is built on top of that. If they don’t care, then nothing else matters. But if you can get them to care about something – literally anything – in the campaign, then you can use that to get them invested: Outcomes suddenly matter. Consequences have meaning. The stuff they experience at the table will stick with them and they’ll be champing at the bit to come back and play again.

Care often works like a circle: The easiest thing to get a player to care about is their own PC. They invested personal effort into making the character; it’s quite likely they were creatively engaged during character creation; and the more they play the character, the more time they’ve personally invested in it.

It’s also usually pretty easy to grow the circle a little bit and get the player to care about the other PCs in the group: They’re directly connected to real people that the player is spending time with and likely already cares about.

Expanding the circle more than that, though, can feel like a quantum leap. You’re asking the players to care about things that don’t actually exist.

Tee insisted that Tor deal with it. He had been the one to kill them; it was his problem to solve.

“You’ve forgotten your compassion,” Tee said. “This place has made you hard.”

Tor nodded. “Sometimes you need to be hard to survive. I learned that from the horses.”

If the players can make that leap, though, the payoff can be huge. Your options for motivating them (and for motivating themselves) multiply exponentially. You can run far better horror games by putting things at risk other than the PCs’ life or death. Roleplaying will become richer and, as the players become invested in the stakes, more intense.

The other great thing is that this care can be viral: Once the players start caring about one thing in the campaign world, it will naturally lead to them carrying about other things.

You can also use this to your advantage: It can be hard to get them to care directly about some abstract idea (e.g., the Duchy of Kithos trying to win its independence from the Empire), but if you can get them to start caring about a character, then you can use that get them to care about the things that character cares about. (Or, if that care takes the form of loathing the NPC, then vice versa.)

So what I’m looking at in this session is a goddamn holy grail: The players have literally never even spoken to this NPC, but they have become emotionally invested in his fate and are willing to go out of their way to help him. Jackpot! This is what winning looks like!

Naturally, of course, the PCs now go looking for a way to help this NPC. When you see something like this happen at the game table, you might think to yourself, “Well, the last thing I want to do is discourage them! So I should make it as easy as possible for them to help the boy!”

Surprisingly, though, it turns out that this is exactly the opposite of what you want to do.

Which brings us back to the collar.

The collar is a cost. The players want to accomplish something and I’m making them pay a price to do it.

Vitally, this was a choice for them. If, I dunno, an astral vulture swooped out of the Ethereal Plane, grabbed the collar, and flew off, that would be meaningless. Even if Aoska, without announcing her intentions, had just zapped the collar out of existence and used its magical power to restore the boy, the effect wouldn’t be the same.

This cost is also not capricious, obviously. It flows logically from the narrative. As the GM, though, I could have declared that the Pale Tower had their own resources for dealing with the situation and let Agnarr take the collar with him.

But by imposing a cost, I’m forcing the players to demonstrate their care. I’m asking them, “Do you care enough about this to pay this cost?” Paradoxically, this makes them care even more. By paying the cost, they’ve become invested. The thing they’re paying the cost for – and, by extension, the game world as a whole – becomes endowed with value.

It turns out that this works even if they don’t pay the cost; if they had said, “No, this cost is too high. We can’t help this boy.” (Which is something that actually did happen earlier in the campaign when Tee couldn’t bear the cost of selling her house to save Jasin. Although in that case it was Agnarr’s player who proposed the cost; I didn’t even have to get my hands dirty.) In making the decision to pay or not pay the cost, the players have made a value judgment. Just making that value judgment gets them thinking critically about the game world (and their opinions of the gme world), which is enough.

This can work if the cost is just monetary. But it works even better if the cost is something more concrete than that – a specific person, organization, ideal, or, as in this case, object.

The fact that the cost, in this case, is also something they care about only enhances the result.  This is one of the reasons that care can become viral, but it’s also where the hard choices come from.

And the harder the choice, the bigger the payoff.

Campaign Journal: Session 41B – Running the Campaign: What the Magic Looks Like
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 41A: DOMINIC’S DENUNCIATION

August 15th, 2009
The 22nd Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Still standing over the bodies of Malleck and Silion another argument broke out regarding the dead, half-transformed boy they had half-saved. Many of them felt that his case was hopeless: Even Malleck had said that there was no cure for his piteous plight.

But Agnarr was adamant that they should at least try.

“But what can you do?” Tee said.

“We can find someone who can help,” Agnarr said. “We have friends who can help.”

“Like who?!” Elestra said, exasperated.

“Zavere.”

“I’m not sure I trust Zavere,” Tee said.

“Or the Pale Tower.”

“Fine. But if you want to do it, it’s yours to do.”

“Give me the papers.”

“What papers?”

“The papers describing what they did to him,” Agnarr said. “They might help.”

Ranthir was loath to part with them, but he eventually relented.

A DUMPING OF BODIES

Agnarr took the papers and left them, heading towards the Pale Tower. A quarter hour later he was knocking on the great door of the Tower.

The Graven One swung the doors open.

“I would ask for your help,” Agnarr said. He pulled the body of the boy out of his bag of holding.

The Graven One looked down inscrutably. “I think we should go inside.”

Agnarr nodded and followed him. When the door was shut behind them, the Graven One excused himself. He returned a few minutes later with Aoska.

Agnarr explained the situation to them and gave Aoska the research. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Perhaps,” Aoska said, examining the boy. “The damage runs deep. It will take us time to find a cure, if one is possible at all. And we would need to keep this collar upon him, to preserve him in his current state of stasis.”

Agnarr readily agreed. “Send word.”

“We will,” Aoska promised.

Meanwhile, Elestra and Tor were taking care of the bodies. Tee suggested that they use a cart full of hay to move them inconspicuously. (“How do you know so much about moving corpses?” Elestra asked. “I’ve been hanging around with you,” Tee replied.) But she insisted that Tor deal with it: He had been the one to kill them; it was his problem to solve.

“You’ve forgotten your compassion,” Tee said. “This place has made you hard.”

Tor nodded. “Sometimes you need to be hard to survive. I learned that from the horses.”

On the way to the Midden Heaps they ran into a watch patrol. There was another moment of nervousness, but, like their fellows earlier in the day, these watchmen recognized Tor and they passed on without incident. At the Midden Heaps they had to pay a special premium to dispose of the load themselves, but this, too, was easily enough done. Silion and Malleck disappeared into the midst of the slag heaps.

Tee, Ranthir, and Nasira sold their loot from the two temples. Against the hope that they would benefit from such fortunes again, they decided to invest in another bag of holding. At Myraeth’s they found one formed from links of golden chain with a dragon worked in crimson links within it. It was larger than the ones they already owned, and Tee – envying the dragon design – was depressed to find it was too bulky and heavy for her to carry. (Ranthir took it instead, nestling it among his many pouches and bags.)

Ranthir stayed at Myraeth’s a while longer (purchasing scrolls and various miscellaneous supplies) before returning to his room to study.

Tee grabbed newsletters from several vendors throughout Midtown. She discovered that their rescue of the slaves at the Temple of the Rat God was already making headlines. Tor, in particular, was being widely named for his heroic acts, and even his return of the imprisoned children was finding its way into the rapidly circulating stories.

She also discovered that Dominic had denounced Rehobath.

DOMINIC’S DENUNCIATION

Empress Square could be found in the northern reaches of Oldown. (They had passed it often on their way to Pythoness House and the Banewarrens, in fact.) At its center stood a large statue of red marble, depicting Empress Elyanella of Seyrun.

Tee knew that the “Empress Elyanella” had not, in fact, been an empress at all: Several centuries ago she and her entourage had alighted on the docks of Ptolus, claiming to have been recently crowned and now engaged in a “tour of peace throughout the world”. She held court in the city for three weeks, and by the time her deception was revealed, she and her entourage had left the city and journeyed south… reportedly disappearing into the Southern Wastes.

Now only her statue remained and the square was commonly used for large gatherings, public speeches, and the like.

Earlier that morning, word had quietly gone out and a large crowd had gathered before the statue. Not long after, Dominic and Sir Kabel had appeared on the steps of the Empress’ statue and gave a speech to the gathered crowd.

Sir Kabel had spoken first (and Tee searched until she found a newssheet that gave the full transcripts, accurate or not as they might be):

I stand before you as a humble servant of the Nine Gods and a keeper of their faith and service. In these past few weeks, that faith has been tried by those who would turn the Church upon the Nine Gods and the Nine Gods upon the Church.

But my words mean nothing. My service lies in my arm and my blade. Instead, let one speak whose service lies in his very voice.

Dominic had stepped forward:

In the eyes of Vehthyl, I stand before you penitent.

His eyes had lit with the prayer.

I have been told that I speak with the Living Voice of the Nine Gods. That might be true. I don’t know. Maybe those who stand closest to the light are the most blinded… Or maybe I’ve been marked for some other reason.

But what I do know is that, no matter how dark or dangerous my life has become, I have kept my faith true and bright in my own heart.

I also know that my name has been used by a man I now believe to be false to the Nine Gods. My eyes glow with Vehthyl’s silver light. Even I don’t know what the God of Mysteries intends for me… But Rehobath has claimed those marks for his own glory.

I stand before you now to denounce him, with the same light that he has claimed bright in my eyes. I name him a False Novarch. And those loyal to the Church and to the Nine Gods should turn against him and his false prophecy.

… thank you.

(When Tee read the transcripts to the others later, Elestra laughed. “Well… That last bit sounds like Dominic, anyway.”)

Dominic had then moved into the crowd, healing the injured among them as he passed his way to the west.

LATER THAT NIGHT…

Agnarr took Seeaeti out behind the Minstrel to continue the hound’s training.

Tee made several circuits through the inn’s common room, sounding out the common opinion on Dominic’s speech. She found that most of the wanderers were against Rehobath. They seemed to consider his religious zealotry a dangerous unbalancing of the local scape of power. On the other hand, the opinion of the common citizen seemed more evenly divided.

Tee eventually settled down at a table to share a drink with Nasira. She had briefly discussed the matter with the others. Their common foe had not been eliminated, but they also had other matters to attend to. If Nasira was going to continue journeying with them, she would need to be briefed.

Unfortunately, while Nasira’s companionship had grown on them during the trials of the two temples, they had not yet reached a resolution of just how much she should be told. So Tee made evasive small talk with her. And while she filled her in on their involvement with the Banewarrens, she avoided discussing both their memory loss and their complicated relationship with the politics surrounding Rehobath. At least for the time being.

Nasira, for her part, was also glad to have found some friends in Ptolus. She had felt hopelessly alone since the loss of her village. And certainly their shared fortunes had been quite lucrative to date. As long as the majority of their attention would be focused on the pursuit of Wuntad (and Tee was more than happy to assure her that the bastard would be firmly in their sights), she was more than happy to aid them in their other exploits.

When they were done chatting, Nasira returned to the room she had let at the Welcome Inn near Southgate.

Elestra and Tor had gone from the Midden Heaps to the Warrens. Using the map they had found beneath the Temple of the Rat God, they did a walk-around. They confirmed that the locations were shivvel dens and gathered as much information as they could about them. (Which didn’t amount to much beyond “they sell shivvel there” and, the slightly lesser-known rumor, that “the rats run ‘em”.)

When Elestra and Tor returned to the Ghostly Minstrel, Tee gathered up the group and quickly filled them in on the developments with Sir Kabel and Dominic. They ate dinner together and headed to bed.

About twenty minutes later, Tee (who was just preparing for a session of meditation) heard a knock on her door. She opened it—

And was shoved violently back onto her bed by four thugs with clubs.

A blond woman stepped through the door. She wore an eyepatch over one eye, but Tee recognized her in an instant: It was Arveth.

Running the Campaign: Make It Cost Them – Campaign Journal: Session 41B
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

DISCUSSING
In the Shadow of the Spire – Session 40E: A Final Questioning

Tor was able to quickly explain the situation and turn the children over to the custody of the watchmen. He decided, however, to claim that he had rescued them from the Temple of the Rat God instead of the Temple of Ebon Hand. (He was already concerned about them delving into the dangerous depths of the former; he didn’t think adding the dangers of the latter was a good idea.)

Meanwhile, the others were loading up the carts. Tee and Nasira drove those over to the Ghostly Minstrel, where they met with Tor and presented the paving stones to Tellith. She was delighted when they showed her how they worked, and they quickly made arrangements to get them installed as the front steps of the inn.

These magical paving stones are a pretty minor detail in the campaign journal here, and you won’t see them suddenly play some huge and significant role later on.

But I love them so much.

I originally added the paving stones to the Temple of the Ebon Hand because I had the idle thought that people arriving via sewer tunnel would be kinda gross. A prestidigitation spell would solve the problem, and the form factor — schlupping the sewer waste back down into the sewers — just made sense.

The others quieted and Tee walked through the wall. As she passed onto the white marble, the floor suddenly glowed brightly and the filth of the sewer was drawn away from her body, down through the illusionary wall, and into the sewer channel beyond.

“That’s handy.” Tee smiled, pleased that her clothes weren’t going to be ruined by the sewer after all. But she was concerned about the light, so she levitated up (with one last schlurping noise) and worked her way along the ceiling.

I never imagined that the PCs would be interested in looting the paving stones. It was, after all, a minor magical effect packaged into a huge form factor. But when the players had the idea of gifting the stones to the Ghostly Minstrel, it was a truly inspired thought.

(I don’t actually recall exactly which player first had the idea. In fact, I didn’t even remember it a few hours after the session, which is why it’s not recorded in the journal.)

The stones were, in fact, installed in front of the inn. And almost every single time the PCs comes home, they make a point of standing on the stones so that the blood and gore and sludge can all be whisked away. I also make a point of occasionally mentioning other delvers arriving at the Ghostly Minstrel and taking advantage of the stones.

As such, these stones have become an ever-present memorial to their accomplishments. They’re also a permanent feature in Ptolus now; a constant reminder, albeit a minor one, that the PCs actions have meaning and can transform the world around them.

Which goes a long way towards explaining why I love it when the PCs loot infrastructure — not for its monetary value, but because it can be repurposed. It shows that the players have become invested in the setting. I love seeing what they build, and I also love the tangible trophies of their exploits being a living part of the campaign.

Of course, not all of this infrastructure needs to be magical or even structural. Looting décor is also a common variant: In my first D&D 3^rd Edition campaign, an elemental cleric named Talbar (played by the same player who created Agnarr) had a bag of holding dedicated exclusively to beautiful antique furniture he was collecting to furnish the temple he was planning to build.

When the players start laying down roots, all kinds of interesting things can grow.

Campaign Journal: Session 41A – Running the Campaign: Make It Cost Them
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index

SESSION 40E: A FINAL QUESTIONING

July 25th, 2009
The 22nd Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

MALLECK’S LORE

The others had seen nothing of her struggle. They had seen her snatched from the air, a brilliant flash of scintillant energy, and then she had been standing in front of them again slamming the door shut. When she told them what she had experienced, they agreed that the chamber would be better left alone.

There was little of the temple left to explore now. They stumbled into Malleck’s chambers and found them to be luxuriously accoutered: He even had a personal bathing tub with alchemical mechanisms for heating the water. Among his personal effects they found a large cache of gold, along with additional papers and correspondence.

LETTER FROM SILION TO MALLECK

Malleck—

Valla has told me of your anger regarding the recent slowing of stock for your experiments. But if you must sate your fury, turn it towards Wuntad – he demands the same stock as you, and his desires are… particular. We have bent all of our efforts to fulfilling his requests, and have little time left to seek out what you need.

Nor are our friends among the Ring of Iron able to supply what you want. They never deal in those so young.

                                                                Silion

They also found three scrolls of black papyrus, covered in archaic runes written in a silvery ink. Ranthir was able to identify the runes as Ancient Common, and the ink as liquid mithril.

PROPHECIES OF THE CHILDREN OF CHAOS
(translated)

On three scrolls of black papyrus, written in faded silvery ink, are fragmentary passages of Ancient Common.

The most complete of the three scrolls details a “ritual of mutilation” – a mystic rite designed to directly affect living tissue to deleterious effect.

The second scroll is badly damaged, but appears to be the tale of Cajjan, Scion of Gellasatrac. Cajjan “stood at the right hand of the Ebon God” while the “campaigns of the blood armies” were fought – campaigns filled “with the carnage and destruction of the darkest paths”. Most of the rest of the scroll has been effectively destroyed, but towards the end there is a single phrase left intact: “—and in the blood of the savaged god was vested the promise of their power. And in the Hour of Black Rain that promise will be kept and the Dukes of Chaos shall be—“

The majority of the third scroll is covered in badly fragmented astronomical signs. In the center of the scroll, however, is preserved a passage of text: “There shall come those who bear the signs of the Nine. And in answer to their call there shall stand the Children of Chaos. And their ranks shall be matched. And their numbers shall be even. And their power shall be that of all fate.”

THE SANCTUARY

They decided to check the upper level of the temple. Heading up the stairs they passed through a seemingly unremarkable antechamber. Upon one wall there was a red tapestry emblazoned with the image of a black hand. The floor was covered with a round black rug.

As Tee passed over the latter, however, it suddenly sprung to life. As it tried to tangle itself about her feet, she leapt away… stumbling into the tapestry which, likewise, animated with malicious intent. Off-balance from her leap, she found her arms quickly caught up by the thick fabric.

The others, meanwhile, had scarcely had time to react to Tee’s predicament when the rug suddenly lunged in their direction – covering the doorway entirely. Agnarr and Tor tried to hack their way through it, but the strangely animate fibers of the rug proved bitterly resistant to their blows. Tee, meanwhile, was losing her struggle with the tapestry. While keeping her arms pinned, one corner of the tapestry curled up around her throat – pushing her back against the wall and choking the life out of her.

By the time Tor and Agnarr had gotten through the rug, Tee lay slumped against the wall. She’d stopped breathing.

Agnarr ripped the rug off of her and used his sword to pin it against the opposite wall – the flames slowly consuming the thinner fabric of the tapestry as it writhed. Nasira rushed to Tee’s side and was able to quickly resuscitate her.

Tor smiled at Tee. “It would have been ironic if we had destroyed the entire temple only to be laid low by a rug.”

Tee rubbed her throat. “I’m not laughing.”

They finally passed into the outer sanctuary itself. Much like the Temple of the Rat God, it consisted only of a single long hall: The wood-paneled walls were painted black with narrow red and black stained windows. The floor was carpeted in crimson, and the entire chamber was dominated by a massive idol statue depicting a hand in black stone:

Each digit of the hand was topped by a burning candle set into fingertip niches. Behind the idol there was a black wood cabinet filled with bizarrely twisted musical instruments, apparently of ritual significance. With a grim set to his mouth, Tor snuffed the candles while Agnarr smashed the musical instruments. They debated destroying the idol itself, but decided it would take too much time.

There were no cultists to be found in the upper level, however. Either they had fled or they had descended to the melees below.

A TEMPLE LEAVE-TAKING

They dragged their loot (which now vastly outstripped the capacity of their bags of holding) into the upper sanctuary. They even decided to grab two of the glowing pavestones as a present for Tellith (so that she wouldn’t have to worry about wandering delvers trampling dirt and muck into her front hall at the Ghostly Minstrel).

While most of them stayed to watch over the loot, a couple of them went to hire a carriage and two carts. When they returned, Tor used the carriage to take the three children they had rescued from the prison to the watch station on Pirveyor Street. There he was recognized by the watchmen on duty (which again filled Tor with a thrill), and Tor discovered that word was already spreading of their exploits at the Temple of the Rat God. (Apparently watchmen had been summoned from the Pirveyor Street station to aid in what must have been a massive clean-up operation at the temple itself.)

Tor was able to quickly explain the situation and turn the children over to the custody of the watchmen. He decided, however, to claim that he had rescued them from the Temple of the Rat God instead of the Temple of Ebon Hand. (He was already concerned about them delving into the dangerous depths of the former; he didn’t think adding the dangers of the latter was a good idea.)

Meanwhile, the others were loading up the carts. Tee and Nasira drove those over to the Ghostly Minstrel, where they met with Tor and presented the paving stones to Tellith. She was delighted when they showed her how they worked, and they quickly made arrangements to get them installed as the front steps of the inn.

Back at the temple, the others hired a second carriage, loaded Malleck and Silion into it, paid off the driver to keep his mouth shut, and had him drop them off at the same warehouse in the South Market where Tee had questioned “what’s-his-face” (as Elestra called him; meaning Jamill). Having secured their well-gotten gains, Tee, Nasira, and Elestra jumped into a third carriage and took it to the warehouse to meet up with the rest of them.

A FINAL QUESTIONING

They decided to wake Silion up first and try questioning her again. They kept her bound and blindfolded, but she proved no more talkative than their first attempt: Her answers mostly confined to snarls, threats, and bitter sarcasm.

With a shrug, they turned their attention to Malleck.

“That’s right,” Tee said. “The Ebon Hand is gone. You’re losing your friends one temple at a time.”

“Malleck is no friend of mine,” Silion snarled, although she seemed somewhat subdued at the revelation.

Malleck was coming around. “You traitorous rat-bitch! You led them to me!”

Her role as provocateur satisfied, they knocked Silion unconscious again and turned their focus on Malleck. In the hopes that he might prove more useful, Nasira summoned a holy light and wrapped it around him – forcing him to speak nothing but the truth.

Malleck proved considerably more malleable, but he wasn’t going to talk without cutting a deal first.

“What do you want?” Tee asked.

“My life,” Malleck said with a sardonic smile.

“Fine,” Tee said. “But I don’t want to see you in Ptolus any more. You leave town. You don’t come back. That’s the deal.”

“That’s more than acceptable,” Malleck said.

“We want to find the Tolling Bell.”

“My contacts within the Bell are Illadras, Ibard, and Wulvera,” Malleck said. They were somewhat taken aback (perhaps even shocked) to find someone willing to talk so freely. But Malleck shrugged. “We have a deal.”

He confirmed that Illadras could be found at the Temple of Deep Chaos in the sewers beneath Oldtown. He had not spoken directly with Ibard in several weeks and wasn’t sure when she planned to return to Ptolus. And Wulvera “ran Porphyry House, down near the Warrens”.

“What about Wuntad?” Tee asked, her curiosity boiling over.

“I don’t deal with him directly,” Malleck said. “But he can be reached through Wulvera at Porphyry House.”

“And your slaves?”

“I buy them from Silion,” Malleck said. “I don’t really trouble myself with the details. I think she kidnaps some of them. Others I know she buys through the Ring of Iron.”

“How do we cure the boy?” Agnarr asked, a grim tone in his voice.

“What boy?”

“The boy you were operating on.”

“Oh,” Malleck said off-handedly. “You don’t.”

They pressed hard on this issue, but apparently he knew of no way to reverse the process. “Why would you want to take away their perfection?”

Agnarr barely stopped himself from killing him.

Eventually, however, Malleck grew tired of their questions. He was particularly amused by what he described as their “endless paranoia”. (They had asked him about Zavere, the Commissar, Rehobath, the new Silver Fatar… and on and on and on.) “If all of these were cultists, do you think we would be hiding in the sewers? No. Not yet. But our time will come. Enough. We have a bargain and your questions have come to an end. Release me and I will go.”

Tor looked to the others. “Are we done?”

Tee nodded.

Malleck laughed. “Yes, I think we are.”

Tor chopped his head off.

The others stared at him in shock.

“Just for the record,” Tee said. “I was going to let him go. Just want to be clear on that.”

“I know you were, dear,” Tor said. “But he tortured children. I was never going to let him walk free.”

Tee quietly wondered, though, what had become of the Tor they had first met not so very long ago.

They woke Silion again. She was still blindfolded, but as soon as she came around she smelled Malleck’s death in the air. She went into a panic. Pissed herself. And then went into a babbling state of shock. With a grimace of impatience, Tor killed her, too.

“We can still ask her a few questions,” Elestra asked. “I can force her body’s memories to speak through the Spirit of the City. But we’ll only be allowed three questions, so we should choose them carefully.”

Tee nodded. “Let’s make sure we get it right.”

They debated the list of questions for the better part of half an hour and then Elestra wove her magic. Silion’s decapitated head rose into the air, its blood dripping in a sickly, coagulate gore down onto its own corpse below.

“Where can I reach Terathera?” Elestra asked.

“She works with Wuntad.” Silion’s voice was a spectral, muted howl.

“Where is Wuntad?”

“I have not spoken with Wuntad in months. He was working on a great project beneath the streets of Oldtown.”

“How can we find the Ring of Iron?” (Tee felt fiercely that they should work to end the slave trade in Ptolus. It offended her to the very depths of her soul.)

“They can be found on the Docks. There is a route through the sewers from the Temple.”

The head fell with a dull, wet thud.

“Which temple?” Elestra asked the others, almost rhetorically. “The rats or the mutants?”

“I’m guessing her temple,” Nasira said.

Agnarr was throwning. “I just thought of a better question. Mahdoth’s shipment.”

“Maybe,” Tee said. “But we know where that’s happening. We’ll know what it is when we intercept it.”

They took a step back.

“Two headless corpses in a warehouse,” Tor said. “Just another day in Ptolus.”

“It’s just like our first day,” Tee said, sharing a dark laugh with the others.

Running the Campaign: Looting Infrastructure – Campaign Journal: Session 41A
In the Shadow of the Spire: Index