Destroyed Perfect Crime entity/weapon, whatever it was.
Killed everyone who might have been controlling it.
Destroyed Perfect Crime entity/weapon, whatever it was.
Killed everyone who might have been controlling it.
Simson’s summary of the final part of “The Nameless Crime”
- After having gone out to investigate various people who had either been victims or were suspected of becoming victims, everyone returned to Ezriel’s bar.
- From discussion it became clear that the last to die was the Mortician through contact with the dead, he was infected by several dwarven paladins (i.e. through magical disease).
- The investigator sent to find out more about that before the group got there died in a portal trap, the investigator was nick-named “the Quick”, apparently not living up to his name.
- Ezriel on thinking about the case mentioned that he’d come across another explosion in the murder trail and upon questioning the skull they found that the ten investigators had all been killed simultaneously through magical explosions of fire.
- At the scene were several rat tails. Zaid found out that Reggie the Snout (were-rat investigator) had been killed by a poison cheese golem and mathematical writing was found in his lair.
- Curge Cudman was saved from an explosion of positive and negative energy by Sturm & Drang who were subsequently infused with this energy.
- Sturm & Drang left with Curge to go back to his tower to salvage gear, but it was only after they left that Diarmuid recalled Strum’s rather glazed look.
- Chasing them through the streets of the ward they ended up on the roof of a carpet shop where the scent led straight up across the city. Clapping their hands twice Diarmuid, Fibolg and Zaid were transported across to the Lady’s ward in to the Temple of the Abyss.
- Inside they had a brief chat to the pew sweeper who mentioned disliking illithids and that a man with a companion housing a curious mental construct had passed through. The man had also commented about the explosive nature of the skulls that the wizard had carried through.
- It was shortly after leaving the temple that the three put together that it was likely to have been Curge and/or the illithids who had carried out the killings using the mental construct.
- On the way to the tavern in which the illithids had gathered they were intercepted by a Githyanki woman who gave them ‘bounce-back berries’ and hinted to them that she and her crew would soon be attacking the tavern.
- Entering the illithid tavern in the Lady’s ward the three investigators got another clue of an attack and saw Curge, Sturm and an illithid across the bar.
- Before they got there they got pulled aside by a Duergar god-father who thought they were there to bid for the mental construct. They informed him of the imminent interruption to the bidding and the dwarves beat a dignified retreat from the tavern.
- At the table they confronted Curge who was holding Sturm & Drang hostage. He claimed to have been used by the mental construct and just wanted to get some compensation by selling it back to the people that had made it.
- Shortly afterwards the Githyanki attacked and took out half the tavern’s patrons within seconds. Zaid and Diarmuid used the berries to bounce back, killing a goblin musician and Curge in the process. Fibolg high-tailed it across the roof and up the tunnel to safety, choosing not to use the killing berries to make good his escape.
- Sturm missed his intended target and as the delayed blast fireballs began to explode (having been primed to go off when Curge died), she realised at the last instant that she could channel her deadly teleportation energy through her psi-crystal.
- The psi-crystal being on the bar touched the barman and the mental construct inside Sturm leapt across the mental connection, carrying with it the negative and positive energy, as it rushed back to annihilate its creator.
- Zaid, Sturm & Diarmuid got teleported inside the invisible Githyanki ship above the Lady’s ward and after telling the Githyanki warrior woman of their encounters in the tavern beat a hasty retreat. She took a peak in to Sturm’s mind before they left and upon seeing the mental razorvine commented “I see that Shemeshka, King of the Cross Trade, had a hand in this”.
- Meeting up with Fibolg on the ground they went back to Ezriel’s bar for drinks. Having closed the case, Ezriel encouraged them to set up shop in Curge’s former tower and run their own detective agency as he’d be retiring soon.
It’s notable that in the course of all this, I’ve not actually had a chance to work out what might be going on.
I’ve been hired – along with a group of other investigators – to find out why several Sigil detectives have been mysteriously (and indeed ironically) killed. It turns out that in typical Sigil style, the personification of the Perfect Crime might be the culprit.
Which raises all the problems of how you go about catching something that might not actually have a physical presence. At least the undead are vulnerable to Clerics (if you can hire one).
Still, so far at least this job has been light on personal danger. I appreciate that my new friend is now infused with positive and negative energy and nearly exploded, but for me it’s mostly been visiting the Hive Ward, looking around the scene of a double murder, and lots of visiting taverns looking for info. Pretty easy, so far, even if our actual progress is pretty minimal.
I currently have in my possession a set of clues that would baffle the best. A Mimir, a set of three rats tails, a necklace from a Deadman and plenty of thoughts. But what I mostly have is a set of team-mates workings on the same problem, and strangers they may be to me but I find somehow that I trust them.
I trust them more than the last set of ‘adventurers’ I worked with, anyway.
Life in the City of Doors is tough and don’t let any berk tell you otherwise. Any enclosed opening can be a portal meaning sods are constantly pouring in and out of the Cage. Factions vie for power with their hidden war called Kriegstanz occasionally spilling out in to the street and someone is going around writing private investigators like me in to the dead book.
As a profession we’re not too tight-nit, the Factions frown on anything resembling a guild and simply by the nature of the kind of work we do – this profession does not lend itself well to trusting others. Especially with all the cross-trading, sneaky, underhand and down-right unsavoury chivs that ply their skills in the darker recesses of the Cage. The Harmonium make out like they uphold the peace, the Fraternity of Law sit in lofty judgement and the Mercykillers gleefully execute the sentences meted out. ‘Course any berk and his mephit will lann you the chant that the Triad of Law is opposed to the Triad of Chaos and neither side is particularly keen on nosy sods poking their snouts in to things they’d rather be kept dark.
So it came as no surprise when a tout I know spilled the dark on how Sir Onyx Treadsteady got himself written in to the dead book. Even for a stone genasi he was no spring hatchling but we should have all got the message when his petrified corpse was found in the middle of rag-picker’s square. Some chiv had even hung his laundry out to dry on poor ol’ Onyx. The there was Raslagula, a canny blood with as many disguises as an incubus has chat-up lines. Whenever we met up to down some bub I’d frequently spend half the evening just trying to figure out which sod he was disguised at. Raslagula was always one for playing tricks and games. Poor bubber was delivered by courier to each one of us in the truth-seeking business with a Deck of Many Things tattooed on to his skin. It was only after we’d received over a dozen or more pieces that we put it together and tumbled to what had happened to him.
Two macabre executions was enough for pretty much anyone calling themselves a truth-seeker to catch a whiff of which way the Wind Dukes were facing. Suddenly the Cage got a lot quieter in our little community as most packed up their kips and skipped town. Rule of Three states that if you see two of the same, expect a third.
Three nights later Larius Quickgill was fished out of the Ditch. He’d tried to give his pursuers the laugh but they’d finally trapped him and turned his boots of leaping and springing against him. The Dustmen remarked in their cool and emotionless voices that the lucky sod had passed on to True Death. Given the choice of having a nice hot bath or having your boots of leaping and springing go off in two separate directions, well I know which one I’d be picking.
Anyway, the few truth-seekers left in town are planning a gathering to see if we can find out which ever knight of the post is behind these attacks. Personally I think they have about as much chance as a blind-folded high elf entering the Demon-web pits on a goblin pogo-stick. So instead I’ve decided to put out an ad with Harys Hatchis to see if I can recruit a team of investigators. It’s time we had some new bloods in the Cage kicking over some anthills and upping the tempo of the Kriegstanz. My dream of taking down one or two of the Golden Lords is all that keeps me going these days and I’ll be damned if I don’t go down like a gorgon in a tea shop.
The mournful sound of a trumpet expressing deep longing and regret like a lioness over the loss of her pride cut through the streets of the Lower ward. It was cold, dark and drizzling outside which is usual for weather in this ward and anyone living long enough here ends up with a yellowish caste to their skin and a hacking cough to boot. Whatever you do though, don’t go mistaking locals for Githyanki.
Another thing not to ask the locals about is who the trumpet player is. The name on the door of the office in the dingy tenement, from whence the trumpet music on occasion emanates from, is: “Ezriel Diamond, Sigil’s Premier Detective Agency”. Chant has it the place is run by a Hollyphant with an ego the size of the city. See Hollyphants are tiny elephants with feathery angel wings that act as messengers for the Powers that be in the Upper planes.
Now any berk and his mephit will tell you not to mess with something as seemingly comical as a Hollyphant. Whilst the Multiverse may have seen fit to cast them in a shape that makes most sods laugh, piss one of these bloods off and you’ll have great trouble trying to give them the laugh (that means getting away for you Primes). Anyway, some Hollyphants get so good at tracking folk down and develop such bees in their bonnets that they hire out their services to others. No one’s quite sure if Ezriel has Fallen or not, no one has been fool enough to ask.
Chant on the street has it that Ezriel is looking to retire, maybe even patch up with the Powers he split from and set himself up in a nice retirement nest someplace in Elysium. Whether he’ll ever lose the hardness and bitterness he seems to carry around him like an old and familiar coat is anyone’s guess. Whatever happens though, there will always be a need for a Premier Detective Agency in Sigil, City of Doors.
(This campaign is due to start around the end of September. Thank you for your patience.)