16 Wealsun, 592 CY
Bransen’s spells allowed the party to return to the surface, where he then cast wind walk on everyone to expedite their journey. Ryla said goodbye and then parted ways with the group, flying off to Sasserine in the north, while the Silver Phoenixes returned to Cauldron. While Bransen went to speak with Maavu Arlintal about what they had learned from the Soul Pillars and find out any new developments, the others went to the company house.
Ashton collected some of Karamus’ old clothes, and then went to retrieve the urn that held his ashes. Jarvyk saw this and said, “What are you doing?”
The magus replied simply, “I’m going to bring him back. We need him to get to Sigil.”
“He stole from us and lied about it,” the dwarf pointed out.
Ashton shrugged, “Nevertheless. Without him, I cannot find my father. If I fail in that, I cannot restore Evane. I must not fail.”
Jarvyk grumbled, “He can’t be quartermaster anymore.”
“No, he cannot,” the necromancer agreed.
With that resolved, Ashton used the Phoenix Heart to bring the cansin back to life. His body reconstituted from the gray dust and he appeared naked on the floor of the Silver Phoenix House. He complained that they’d dragged him out of an angelic orgy, but they largely ignored his protests. Ashton tossed him some clothes, then brought him up to speed with what they had learned over the last two weeks. He confirmed Jarvyk’s theory about the “implements of light and darkness” that would serve as the gate key to get them back to Sigil mentioned by the Soul Pillars were likely references to Twin Star.
Satisfied, Ashton left for the Bluecrater academy to research a spell, and Jarvyk started preparing a meal. Bransen returned from his information gathering and suggested to the others that they go get drunk at the ‘Morkoth after dinner. They agreed, finished eating, and left a note for Ashton. The mage returned later, ate his cold dinner, then joined the others in their merrymaking.
17 Wealsun, 592 CY
The Silver Phoenixes set out to the north, bound for a cave near Crazy Jared’s Hut.
20 Wealsun, 592 CY
The party arrived at the cave where the gate was anchored, and Karamus walked toward it with his blades in hand. The cave entrance shimmered briefly and then resolved itself into a dingy alley in a darkened city where light rain was falling. He led the others through the portal and into the planar metropolis of Sigil.
The others looked around at the ruins of the neighborhood in which they found themselves. They saw a sign on the building beside which they’d emerged that read: Wizard’s Mark Components Shop. Karamus took a look around to orient himself, and realized that they must have come out of the Gate of the Clueless across Brandy Lane from the Shattered Temple. He looked across the avenue to confirm and the others followed his gaze.
The structure appeared to be a broken and barely standing sanctuary of crumbling stone, ancient and fallen from the beauty it must once have held. Its stone arches and spires might once have reached up to the sky, but now reached up barely a few stories and ended at broken or severed ends. Nevertheless, even in its state of apparent decay the place was still evocative of faded glory. Surrounding the Shattered Temple was a wasteland of abandoned buildings, and nearby flowed a large, filth-strewn canal that reeked of the combination of garbage and offal. Whatever force destroyed the surrounding blocks did so utterly.
As the group stood there gawking while Karamus tried to think where he might need to go first, they heard a female voice, “You’ve the look of berks in need of guidance.” They turned around to see a small-boned and svelte woman with a rather commanding presence in the otherwise dreary streets. Her kinky, flame-red hair was pulled into a high ponytail that mushroomed out over here head. This shock of scarlet, coupled with her pale skin, stood out sharply against the blue-black leather that tightly hugged most of her sinewy body. Her tiny, oval face was dominated by large blue eyes. A white scar accented her left brow, which was pierced by a slender gold hoop. Her appearance was completely human – except for the long, leather-wrapped tail that seemed to lurk quietly behind her. Bransen noticed that a pointed pike head covered the tip.
Looking the group over the woman stopped briefly on the cansin, ”’Cept maybe you, luv. You’ve the look of a cutter used to the Cage. You leadin’ these Clueless, then? What’s yer name, then?” She spoke quickly, and with a strange accent.
The rogue replied, “I’ve been out of town for a few months, and yes, these cutters are with me. I’m called Karamus.”
“Hm, never heard of ya,” she replied, disinterestedly. Jarvyk thought he sensed a lie in her words.
“Good. Means I’m doing my job,” retorted the cansin. “What’s your name?
She rolled her eyes a bit but smiled, “Kylie. So… business or pleasure?”
“Business,” answered Karamus. “And we could use an inn while we’re in town.”
“Now we’re talkin’,” said the tiefling. “Hundred quid.” The others looked confused, but Karamus pulled out his pouch and handed over the jink. After a quick count, the tiefling smirked and said, “Follow me, cutters. We’re to the Black Sails.”
Kylie talked as she lead them around the Shattered Temple along Brandy Lane and to Whitesmith Street. The road seemed to continue uphill, whether the Silver Phoenixes look forward or behind, as though they were at the bottom of a valley. The grey and dingy buildings in this section of the city, which the tout called the Lower Ward, seemed to have a fiendish design, but they had disparate styles ranging from the mundane to the fantastic. “Karamus claims to be here on business, but not all of you sods have the look.” She spared a glance for Ashton, “You seem to be keepin’ some darks to yerself. What brings a lemon like you to the Cage?”
Ashton gazed levelly at their guide and replied, “I’m seeking a necromancer. Perhaps you know where I might find him?”
Kylie rolled her eyes, “Might be that I do, but yer gonna have ta be a little more specific that that, berk!”
“His name is Primus Maximus?” replied the magus.
The tiefling appeared to think it over for a moment, then held out her hand, palm up and rubbing her fingers together. “The name rings a bell, but I can’t quite place it,” she said with a wink. Ashton sighed and handed over a small bag of gold coins. “Ah, yes… Now I recall! Barmy prime got mixed up with the Doomguard. Chant places him in the Hive these days. If there’s more to his tale, Shemeshka’d know the dark of it. If ya can get an audience, that is.”
She lead them along Alehouse Row and past the billowing smoke produced by a massive stone building that Kylie identifies as the Great Foundry. Across the street were a number of taverns with names such as Hood and Lantern Alehouse, Sword and Buckler Alehouse, and Mermaids Cups Festhall. More than once, they saw a mass of some sort of twining climber vine with glossy black leaves covering the wall of a building. Noticing the Clueless looking at it curiously, Kylie explained, “Razorvine. Sure, it’s pretty enough, but don’t let it peel ya. The leaves conceal blade-sharp stems. A cutter can’t touch it with his bare hands without getting slashed.”
“Cutter?” asked Jaryvk.
“Er, yea… A canny bloke,” the tout answered patiently.
The group moved past the Great Foundry and onto Smith Street, which led them directly right to the Black Sails Tavern and Inn. “If you cutters are sure there’s nothin’ else ya need..?”
“If we do, where can we find you?” Karamus asked.
“Eh, ask around and you should find me quick enough. ‘Til anti-peak I’ll be close enough to the Gate of the Clueless, where I found ya.”
“Aye, seeking more marks,” commented Jarvyk. The tiefling merely snorted.
“Thank you,” the cansin told her as she walked away.
“Ta, luvs. Try not to get peeled too much,” she winked and headed off down the street out of sight.
The Black Sails tavern stood at the end of a dark alley between a pair of armorworks. The blackened bowsprit of an ancient galleon jutted out over the figurehead. Soot had stained the sails’ canvas black. Inside, dark rafters loomed over about a dozen curtained alcoves that conceal the furnishings of the tavern’s dim common room. Several stained and notched tables stood in the room’s center, where groups of sullen crafters had gathered to drink quietly. The adventurers sat down and had a pitcher or three of Baatorian ale, while they discussed what to do, next. It was decided that they needed more advice from Kylie, and so Karamus went looking for her.
. . .
He made his way back to the Shattered Temple, and when he didn’t find her, he approached some light boys that were loitering nearby. As fortune would have it, they were in her employ, and one dashed off to find his mistress. A few minutes later she and the lad reappeared, and the tiefling smirked at Karamus. “Back so soon? And without your lemon entourage?” she teased.
“Yea,” he replied.
Her tone turned more serious, “I might be inclined to help you out, but I want to know why you’re here.”
“Have you heard of the Shadow Academy?” the cansin asked.
“You mean the ex-Shadow Academy. The chant is Lord Azlenar got himself written into the dead-book, and any berks who escaped have scattered. Why would you be seeking them?”
Karamus sighed, “I used to be one of them. They had my sister.”
“Ah. Well, the King of the Cross-Trade collected on Lord Azlenar’s ‘debt,’ whatever that was. Like as not, he simply became profitable enough for the Marauder to take an interest.. As for yer sister, if she was held by the academecians, Shemeshka likely has custody of her now.”
“I see,” Karamus said, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “Where can I find Shemeshka the Marauder?”
“She holds court nightly in the Lady’s Ward. A place called Fortune’s Wheel at the crook of Dossy Street in the center of the Triad District. I can take ye there, if ya like. Ye’ve already paid, after all. Will we need to collect the lemons, first?”
The cansin nodded, then asked, “Why ‘lemons’?” Kylie just giggled at him and led the way back to the Black Sails.
. . .
After retrieving the Primes, the tiefling led the group through the tangled snarl of winding avenues and back alleys for more than a mile, making them grateful that they had someone to show the way. The architecture changes subtly as they entered what the tout described as the Lady’s Ward. The buildings there were slightly less polluted, and most were slightly less infernal. The variation from the banal to the fey in the designs was still evident, but everything there seemed a bit more sumptuous than the Lower Ward. Kylie finally stopped in front of a building with a sign shaped like a numbered gaming implement bearing the name Fortune’s Wheel. “Here ya go, cutters. I’ll set up accommodations for ya upstairs while ya see about your audience. A word of caution: be polite.”
They entered the front door of the establishment to find themselves within the Dragon Bar, which had a common room the size of a great hall and twice as opulent. It was quite clearly named after an enormous dragon’s head that arched over the bar’s mirror and descended to the corner of the bar itself. The creature(?) appeared to be entertaining some of the Wheel’s patrons with tales of its life on the Prime.
Kylie approached the barkeep and spoke with him briefly, before heading to the stairs in the back of the room. In the corner of the room near the stairs was a small stage, upon which sat a canine-headed female humanoid with a fine coat of fur and clawed hands. Her brilliant, copper colored fur and slim muzzle gave her a cunning and fox-like appearance. Small white streaks graced her muzzle and cheeks, complimenting the multiple rings and other piercings that adorned her ears, while a coiled tiara of what seemed to be tangled, still-living razorvine graced her head. A half-dozen humanoids stood around her, one of which held a full-length mirror. The fiend, which Ashton recognized as an arcanoloth gazed deeply into the reflective surface, apparently oblivious to the rest of the gathered crowed.
Kylie nodded to the fiend, though the gesture appeared to go unnoticed, and then she proceeded up the stairs to the inn. Bransen spotted a circle of men off to the left surrounding some sort of pit from which sounds of combat emanated. He went to investigate the gamblers and found it to be a bear pit. Immediately interested, he asked about the fights and the manner in which one might become a contestant. The gamblers were eager to entertain the notion of a volunteer entering the pit with the Ysgardian bear. Jarvyk and Cyrus ordered more ale and listened to the black dragon head for a few minutes, while Greyjek committed the details of the tavern’s interior to memory, and Ashton and Karamus discussed the likelihood that the fox-headed fiend surrounded by tieflings was the very same creature they had come to see.
Their conversation was interrupted when the fiend’s voice carried across the room, “Karamus Invinious… I wondered what had become of you.”
“I spent some time dead,” he commented.
“Karmic, no doubt, for that poor old man you murdered. Tied to a chair and all,” she tutted. “Not terribly heroic.” The fiend smirked at the reactions her revelation had produced from Karamus’ allies.
“I’ve come for my sister Karissa,” he said curtly. “And Ashton needs to know where his father is.”
“No doubt you have. Primes interest me less. What I do have an interest in is the weapon you carry.”
“Weapons, you mean,” supplied Karamus.
“Well, two pieces of a weapon, anyway. A very powerful weapon here in the Cage, actually.” The cansin considered the blades at his hips curiously, as Shemeshka continued. “I’ve no interest in combining the pieces myself. Might draw too much attention from ‘on high,’” the fiend mimed a bladed crown with her fingers.”
“Indeed,” Karamus gulped. “What are your terms?”
“I merely request the loan of the blade called ‘Nightstar,’ so that I might indulge my academic curiosity. I may have a lead on the blades’ crafter, and I would like to explore the dark of it. Still… far too risky to possess the pair. A loan of Nightstar should suffice… and a favor, to be named later. For this, I will return your sister to you. Whole. Unharmed. Alive.” She cast her gaze across the gathered adventurers thoughtfully, then continued. “In fact, I have an offer for all of you, should you choose to accept it. My price is a favor to be named later, but you shall collect your reward up front.”
“I shall not work for a fiend,” growled Jarvyk.
Shemeshka rolled her eyes, “What good to me is a holy warrior without his benefactor’s gifts? If I can assure you that your task will not be in defiance of your… principles, will you consider it?”
“Provide us with a contract. We’ll read it and consider your offer,” said Karamus.
“A contract,” the fiend giggled. “How provincial. Very well, a contract you shall have.” She turned her attention to the tiefling with the mirror, “Colcook, go acquire a standard payment for service contract from the Guvners.” She turned back to Karamus, “That will suffice, I trust? Straightforward. Legal.” She grinned with a vicious glimmer in her eyes. “Binding,” she finished. The cansin nodded uncertainly.
“Good. Now, I will here the Prime’s questions about his father,” she said, turning her attention back to Ashton.
“I am seeking a man named Primus Maximus,” he said simply. “Do you know where I can find him?”
“He is in the Gatehouse, in the Prime, in the care of the Bleakers,” the fiend replied simply.
At Ashton’s questioning gaze, Karamus said, “The Gatehouse is an Asylum run by the faction known as the Bleak Academy. They help the poor and the barmy. And the criminally insane.” The magus nodded grimly.
“Well, if that is all sorted, give us an hour to produce the contracts, and then you can be about your business,” said the fiend. It was clearly a dismissal.
. . .
The terms stated that the party would exchange as many of their possessions and as much of their coin as they liked with a bonus with a several thousand gold piece value supplied by Shemeshka. They would place an order for any equipment they wanted with an elf in the Great Bazaar by the name of Kalenthor Naïlo. He would fill the order by tomorrow, which was also when Karissa would be handed over to Karamus. After the Silver Phoenixes signed the contracts and Karamus handed over Nightstar, Kylie returned downstairs, handed them the keys for their rooms upstairs, then led them to the Market Ward.
The Great Bazaar wasn’t contained in a single building. Rather, it was spread out over a magnificent open-air plaza, a huge square of tents, shops, and stalls. The Bazaar was a cacophony of sounds – shouts, clanks, shrieks, barks, whistles – and a sea of smells – hot bread, peach perfume, fresh paint, and more exotic scents. Though generally confined to the plaza, the Bazaar had no formal borders; some merchants who apparently couldn’t find room to set up shop on the plaza had squeezed onto a side street. Creatures from every walk of life were there, perusing, haggling, and/or bidding on all manner of items from a countless number of vendors. Fiends and celestials, mortals and petitioners alike were involved in business transactions in almost every square foot of this section of the city.
Fortunately, they had Kylie, and she was able to lead them straight to Shemeshka’s agent, pawn, or whatever role he played. He was dressed in lavish blue and black robes, with a beautiful elven blade resting on his hip. He had inquisitive silver eyes, black hair tied up in a queue, and an air of unflappable curiosity about him. He’d received a message from the Marauder in advance of their arrival, and excused himself from a conversation with a customer to speak with them. After introductions were made, Kalenthor’s demeanor shifted from businessman to concerned acquaintance for a moment.
“I know you are not fools. Many people make that assumption about Primes, but it isn’t true. What you are is inexperienced with the ways of the Multiverse. You have entered into an arrangement with Shemeshka. You have my honest sympathy, but of course you had your reasons for doing so. Powers know that I did, too, or I would not be here.” He paused, as though remembering something unpleasant, and then continued. “I merely wish to advise you to be careful in your dealings with her, and to carry out your part of the deal. Otherwise, you will come to regret it, in this life or the next.” His warning issued, he turned back on his business smile and the group discussed the items he would need to acquire for them by the following day. Once this business was finally completed, Kylie led them the rest of the way across Sigil to the Hive.
. . .
Surrounding the Gatehouse stood the Madhouse District. The blocks of tenements and kips radiating out away from the hill atop which the Gatehouse stood were awash in the filth of the true aspects of the Hive: the poor, the hungry, the apathetic, and the barmy. The smell of human excrement and bub stung their nostrils, and they were swarmed by beggars asking for food, drink, or coin for both. Kylie, professional tout that she was, managed to navigate the adventurers through the crush of the miserable without so much as a pouch getting plucked.
The Gatehouse rose above the reek and filth of the slums that sprawled out around it along the edges of Bedlam Run. The massive structure looked like an arched tower that had sprouted bat wings. It sat just at the edge of the Hive, within actual sight of the Ditch, which Kylie termed the filth-strewn canal that the group had seen from the other side after they’d entered Sigil from the Gate of the Clueless.
Though the titanic portcullis appeared to have rusted in place uncounted centuries ago, it did little to prevent entrance to the tower. Its bars were some five feet in diameter, each bar separated from the others by another fifteen feet, the sheer size of the gates rendered it a non-hindrance to the average humanoid. No one asked questions of the adventurers as they entered, though they saw a number of wretches being served a meal by black-cowled humanoids through windows in one of the wings of a side building.
The party entered this building, and Jarvyk addressed one of the black-cowled Bleakers. “Where is Primus Maximus?”
In a bored tone, the man turned and asked flatly, “Barmy or bubber?”
Jarvyk stood there perplexed by the question, but Karamus stepped in smoothly, “Barmy.”
“Right,” the man said. “You’ll want the main tower. Fill out the paperwork at the front desk, and someone will help you.”
They thanked the man and made their way to the indicated building. As promised, there was a woman who handed them a clipboard with a bit of parchment that seemed to be some sort of standardized form, written in Common. Ashton filled out the required spaces and returned it to the woman, who asked them to have a seat while she went to speak with those on duty. The group sat on stone benches in the waiting room and noticed signs above the two doors leading from it. One was clearly labeled “Criminally Insane,” and the other said simply “Regular Barmies.” Ashton pointed out the former to the others. “He’s likely somewhere beyond there.” They nodded sympathetically and continued to wait for a few more minutes.
A white cowled man came out of the door behind the counter and introduced himself as Davies. He asked about the nature of the visit, and Ashton told him that he was there to visit and possibly retrieve some of his father’s belongings. After asking for proof that the magus was next of kin to the patient, Davies took a blood sample with a magical claw and compared the aura it produced to something written on a chart he carried with him. He seemed satisfied, and then spoke aloud to someone he referred to as ‘Stevens,’ though there was no one around. “He’ll be searching the vault for the patient’s belongings,” was the only explanation they received, before Davies rose with a ring of keys. The group is surprised when he unlocks the “Regular Barmies” door and indicates that they should follow.
Davies commented that Primus Maximus was one of their quieter patients and that he had never been a problem for any of the staff. They were led to a room labeled with the number “303,” which Davies unlocked to allow them inside. The room was rather spacicous, with a cot off to the right side, a sink and lavatory on the opposite side, and a small stone table with two benches against the far wall, where sat Ashton’s father, Primus Maximus.
The once great and powerful necromancer had clearly lost touch with reality. His largely bloodshot eyes stared off into the distance, failing to meet anyone’s gaze. His hair and beard were unkempt, soup stained, and more grey than black. His robes were shabby, his hands and face dirty, and his expression that of one lost somewhere in the deep recesses of his own fractured mind. Ashton sat down at the table across from his father and tried to draw his attention.
He received only nonsense replies at first, but when the son took his father’s face in his hands, the old man’s eyes seemed to grow slightly more lucid. “Where is Evane?” Ashton asked.
“Evane. So pretty. A good match for my son. So smart. And sweet. Like his mother. His poor mother. So pretty.” Follow up questions elicited no response.
“Where is she? Where is the stone?” asked Jarvyk, losing patience with the man.
“Stones make tools. And bridges. And castles. And walls. And weapons. And monsters.” He giggled briefly but then stopped, his mouth twitching, and tears streaking from his face. He grabbed hold of Ashton’s robes, and said insistently, “Monsters have stone hearts.”
Ashton, his own heart turning from hatred to pity said softly, “Father, where is the stone?”
In response, the madman said, “A parable. Man is given everything. A garden to feed him. A flock to tend. He forsakes it all. Slaying the flock. Burning the garden till only ash and stone remain. His true loss? The world.”
Cyrus, standing near the door, heard voices in the hallway. Davies was speaking to another man about something related to ‘Chaosmen’ and ‘robbed the vault,’ and so the xeph drew the others’ attention to the disturbance. Everyone but Ashton left the room but left the door open. “Look, we’re sorry to interrupt your visit, but Xaositects have assaulted the Gatehouse and broken into the vaults, stealing a large number of the items stored there. They are trapped in the back courtyard, but anyone who steps in keeps getting blasted by magic. We’d deal with it ourselves, but the Factol and his staff are not in.”
“We’ve got it,” Jarvyk assured them.
Ashton’s attention was drawn back to his father, who looked directly into his son’s eyes and said, “Don’t let them steal away what I have taken from you.” After this request, the old man lapsed back into his usual silence.
. . .
The party cast preparatory spells as they followed Davies outside and to the back courtyard, which contained a rock garden and apparently a pit of sand that had been raked into wavy patterns. There were five Chaosmen within, and they advanced as soon as the first of the Silver Phoenixes has crossed the threshold. The fight was heavily weighted in the adventurers’ favor, and Daystar flared even brighter than any in the group had ever seen it. As the last Xaositect fell, a swirl of chaotic orange energy washed over the courtyard, suffusing the Silver Phoenixes bodies and knocking them all from their feet.
Dazed, they stood up, and set immediately to looking through the bags of items taken by the thieves. Unfortunately, the stone was not among the items the thieves stole from the Gatehouse vaults. Returning to the tower, they demanded Primus’ possessions, but the Bleaker insisted that they could not release them unless the patient was given into their care. Ashton agreed and filled out the requisite paperwork. Stevens then fetched the old man, and returned him to the waiting room.
As they led Primus Maximus out of the wing, his stuff in tow, he smiled a little and began walking toward the courtyard where the group battled the Chaosmen. The Bleakers suggested that they indulge the barmy for the moment, and Ashton agreed, following his father. Primus moved to sit on a bench near the rock garden, and he stared intently at it, smiling like only the mad can. “Can we learn from the mistakes of those who came before?” he uttered softly. He turned to face the group, although he didn’t meet anyone’s gaze directly. “I think she would have liked it here…”
Jarvyk commented, “Who should have liked it here, Ashton’s love?” Primus did not seem to have heard the question, or if he did, it did not register.
Ashton approached his father and asked, “Well, does she like it here now father? Where is she sitting?”
The ex-mage did not reply directly, but continued staring blankly into the field of black stones. “The blind cannot see…”
Jarvyk stated, quite unequivocally, “There ain’t nothing wrong with my sight, ya’ daft old man! I see you, quite clearly, staring into a pile of stones babbling on in some half witted riddle talk about something no one follows. Maybe it’s you with the vision problems, amongst other issues.”
Ashton looked pensive for a moment, then entered the field of stones and gingerly stepped among them, getting close to the ground and searching among every single rock.
Jarvyk incredulously exclaimed, “If you think there’s an insight in the old man’s ramblings, do tell. I, for one, don’t ‘see’ what he’s all worked up about.”
The old mage repeated softly, “The blind cannot see…”
“Can’t see what?! We’re lookin’ at every damn stone in the courtyard,” and with that Jarvyk let out a rather displeased, and notably frustrated, grunt. “How blind do you think we are?”
Ashton turned to the paladin, “I think he means it’s here in the courtyard, the stone she is in… I can’t pass up the chance that that is the case.”
Cyrus grunted then, “If so, there’s got to be an easier way to find it than that. Hey, wouldn’t this stone thing be magical?”
Following Cyrus’ comment, Greyjek manifested his power to perceive mystic auras and glanced over the rock garden. The erudite quickly noticed a faintly glowing aura in the northern section of the rock garden. With a faint smile, the Woosah forged his will into telekinetic force and picked up the glowing gem and moved it gingerly over to Ashton. “I might attempt to identify its properties if you believe it expedient.” Karamus leaned against the wall with a bemused look on his face.
Plucking the stone from the air and cradling it in his hand, Ashton looked it over and cast his own detect magic upon it to confirm its necromantic aura. Satisfied, he focused his will on the dark stone and the Phoenix Heart, appearing to listen closely for a voice unheard. Amazingly, the orange artifact began to glow brighter than normal. The magus communed with the stone briefly, and smiled to himself.
Cyrus raised his finely gloved hands, wiggling his fingers a bit and stared at Ashton. “If it’s blame you’re lookin’ to place, I should be able to trace the who of that thing back to its source in a few minutes. Might lead you to others involved in your lady friend’s circumstance… and your father’s deficiency.”
Ashton shook his head replying, “Not necessary, the Phoenix Heart told me, it’s her. I just need to get her home.” He cradled the Heart and the stone together and placed the Heart in his glove and Evane’s soul stone in his belt pouch. Turning to his father he said, “I can’t bring myself to murder you father; someone has punished you more than I would have imagined myself doing. I hope you enjoy this place.”
“Hang on, now!” interjected Davies from the entrance to the courtyard. “You’ve checked him out. He’s your next of kin. He’s yours now. We’ve got barmies aplenty to deal with.”
“Truly Ashton, you’ve taken on a responsibility now. The only just thing to do is see it through. Besides, I think Cyrus may be right on this one. It’s possible your father’s situation is not self inflicted. It’s possible others had a hand in this tragedy, and if so you’d do right by your love in seeing that they come to pay. What’s more, are you sure you’ve the resources to extract Evane from that thing properly? I know the Phoenix Heart is powerful, mighty powerful, but who knows what sorcery your father placed on that stone.” With that pronouncement, Jarvyk looked to his old friend, apparently searching for some sign of rational attachment.
Ashton seemed to consider Jarvyk’s words for a brief moment, before turning back to the Bleaker. “Fair enough, will coin tide you over until I am ready to retrieve him and take him home? Surely he will get lost traveling with us.” The magus began to count platinum coins in front of the man. Jarvyk bowed his head a little sadly.
Davies’ mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times, before he collected himself. “Aye, we can keep an eye on him ‘til ye’re ready to depart. A small donation, say, twenty o’ them shiny platinum coins…”
Ashton nodded, “Twenty is fine. I will retrieve him to take home with me when I am ready to head back.” He counted the coins out and handed them to Davies. “There may be more in it for you if he’s kept safe until my return.”
Davies accepted the coins with a bow, “O’ course, sirrah. We’ll stay peery o’ possible threats.” He nodded to Stevens, who then took up a position standing near the courtyard entrance, where he could keep an eye on Primus. Then Davies walked back to the main tower.
This completed, Ashton looked back at the others, “I need to find out if he still holds any knowledge of who did this to him, or how he did what he did to Evane. At the very least, bring him home to face the justice of his accusers. Isn’t that the right thing to do Jarvyk?” He turned away, but continued speaking, “The heart will restore her, I know not what I will have to sacrifice, but it will restore her.”
Jarvyk replied softly, “It may be your own heart that must now rise from the ashes of immolation, dear friend. Pray your soul is strong enough for the trials ahead, and we will do all that is necessary to bring justice to your house.” With a solemn brevity the voice of the often boisterous Dwarf falls respectfully silent.
Which naturally inspired Karamus to chime in, if only to break the silence, “Be careful what you wish for there Ashton.”
“I’m well aware that my path is a treacherous one, Karamus. But you are rather familiar with those paths I assume. I’m ready to put this behind me.”
Karamus kicked off the wall and turned toward the exit, “All too well Ashton. All too well.”
. . .
They returned to the Lady’s ward and spent the night at their comfortable rooms at the Azure Iris Inn. The next morning, the fiend made good on the other part of her deal with Karamus. His sister Karissa, escorted by two of the tieflings from the night before, met the party in the common room while they were having breakfast. Karamus stood as she entered, and immediately noticed that something was different. She walked into the Fortune’s Wheel holding her belly, which was large and round with pregnancy. Her eyes were red and stained with tears. She moved quickly to her brother’s side and embraced him tightly, repeating, “I knew you’d come!”
Somewhat at a loss for words himself, he could only say, “Sorry I’m late.”
She pulled back and gave him a teary smile, “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.”
Comments