Letter 22—A Good Death

Dear Pino,
The next morning we continued to debate our situation.

“We probably should land in the village,” said Lev. “Or should we?”

“It’s not like we know they’re hostile,” Trask responded.

“They are boggards. They were born hostile,” Lev replied.

“We let them pull out their bows and arrows and then we kill them,” Trask insisted. “Or they could pull out a bunch of garlands and flowers and say, ‘Thank you for visiting.’”

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Nearby a slow moving river emptied into the lake. Thirty yards from its mouth was a small muddy island  twenty feet wide and a hundred feet long sitting low in the water. We unfolded our boat and set off for the island where clean picked bones littered the shore, including several human skulls. In the water by the shore, staring away from us to the north as they watched for intruders, were two large, if not very bright, wardens.

“G’day to ya, boggard,” Cane called to them.

They waved their tridents at us while emitting loud horrifying croaks that did little to intimidate us but it did alert the village across the water.

Cane whipped out his wiener and wagged it at them. “Get a load of this,” he called while reaching for his bow and putting an arrow through one of them. Lev gave a quick speech while casting a spell that hit the other. I felt a dart wing me and missed my first shot, although I hit with the follow-up. Cane stepped off the boat to shoot one warden dead while Sizzles ripped the throat out of the other.

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Each one had:

• +1 hide armor
• masterwork hand axe
• masterwork trident
• potion of cure serious wounds

We quickly walked to the island's south side while watching boggards run to their waterfront nearly 150 feet away screaming, “Grgh-hoopgrhghgrhaghaghaghagh urmurraaughghrughrughr ahghahagh!” As war darts spackled around us we found a pit with a ladder leading into it.

But before we descended I sent the boggards a message wrapped in a spell of holy smite killing nearly half of them outright. The survivors fled in terror.

“You’re a monster!” Trask cried happily.

“They shot at us first,” Lev said in my defense. But, really, I need no defense. Boggards are born evil, raised evil, and practice evil—what sort of Inquisitor would I be if I didn’t destroy these misbegotten spawn of the demon lord Gogunta?

We turned our attention back to the pit, Cane descending first. There were thick ropes of dripping roots hanging from the ceiling and a large rippling pool of water. Cane immediately dived into the water, finding a tunnel extending to the south and swimming 60 feet before coming to a dry room. From there, two passageways sloped upward. He also saw a pile of gourds by the east wall with several covered baskets and three boggards. He returned without alerting them.

“I think that’s the way to the city up there,” said Lev.

“Leave no boggard behind!” Trask growled with anticipation.

And we didn’t, following Cane to the room and killing them all. The baskets contained several frogs with a violet-yellow streak down their backs, which we carefully packed away.

There was another pool and another tunnel leading to an empty hallway. One way was dark, forking after about 60 feet. The other way led to a dimly lit chamber were we found a dozen boggards leaping excitedly after dragonflies that one of them had released from a cage.

Suddenly one of them stopped, complaining loudly as he held his belly while the others laughed at him. They weren’t laughing long. “I’m starting to feel sorry for them,” Trask grimaced at the slaughter we’d made.

There was a passage to the south where we saw another light. In this room the vaulted ceiling rose nearly fifteen feet toward a leather flap leading outside. A skull decorated throne of leather and lashed wood rested against the eastern wall faced by two braziers emitting cold white light. On the throne was a priest-king boggard attended by two wardens and their giant frog companions.

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We fell upon them, Vlad blinding the wardens with holy smite. The king thumped Vlad pretty good in return while one of the blind wardens slashed Sizzles. Lev cast sonic thrust while giving a short speech, although it was hard to tell which was which:

“We shall fight in Hooktongue, we shall fight on the lakes and rivers, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength, we shall defend our land, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender!”*

Then it was over. “Yeahhgh!” Trask screamed in triumph after killing the priest-king.

One warden got down on his knees, “Gnurrihurarhr!” it moaned as we killed it.

As we looked around at the carnage I wondered aloud if we should enslave the boggards.

“Boggards are people,” Lev protested. “We don’t enslave sentient beings.”

“We kill them,” Cane said without irony.

“Or we make them our allies.”

“Ah, moral relativism,” Trask laughed, then turned serious. “They are chaotic/evil so clearly this isn’t a crime!”

“Slavery is definitely illegal,” Lev added. “Therefore, only genocide . . .”

“That’s okay,” Trask insisted, “we’ll create corporations and call it ‘trickle-down economics,’ create a bunch of jobs that will concentrate all the wealth, and then slowly disperse some of that wealth to other people and make them dependent on it.”

The only sound in the room was the drip of blood as Vlad healed Cane’s injury but that didn’t lessen Trask’s discontent, complaining bitterly about Vlad’s “wasting” a spell of lesser restoration on Cane’s wound. “A card laid is a card played!” he moaned.

On the king we found:

• 3 potions of cure moderate wounds
• potion of sanctuary
• wand of heal moderate wounds 24 charges
• wand of poison 9 charges
• +2 hide armor
• +2 icy morningstar
• masterwork light wooden shield
• spell component pouch
• an unholy symbol of Gogunta

On each of his minions:

• +1 hide armor
• masterwork hand axe
• masterwork trident
• blowgun

The frogs: “We could make good boots out of them,” Cane remarked.

Tunnels went off to each side, Cane choosing the closest to the throne. This narrow passageway led to a long shallow cave with a low ceiling. The earthen walls glistened with moisture and small pools of excess water gathered along the southern wall.

There we discovered wooden crates and burlap sacks containing:

• 56 platinum
• 1287 gold
• 2019 silver
• 872 copper
• 5 black opals worth 200 gold pieces each
• 10 gold bracelets each decorated with a different forest animal motif worth 25 gp each
• box of 12 Taldon stamped gold ingots worth 250 gp each
• cask containing 3 doses of elixir of swimming
• a harp of charming bearing the likeness of Cayden Cailean

There were sleeping pallets in the room made of dried reeds and grasses, a leather flap in the ceiling opening above and a passage to the north. Next to it was a larder where the excited buzz of insects filled the round cavern. Sacks of blue-wing dragonflies, scorched bulbs, guava root, and fangberries hung on sharp hooks hammered into the wall. We freed the dragonflies.

We followed the southwest tunnel to a large dining room where two long lines of matted rushes extended down the center of the floor, between them were large round baskets and a stack of serving platters.

From there we emerged into the village, now deserted. We saw Fort Drelev glittering across the lake. I was surprised they would allow the boggards to live in such close proximity to their town. We then decided to continue our exploration before going to the city and it nearly got us killed—well, for one of us it did.

Later that day we approached a low, finger-shaped marsh cosseted between two forested hills. Water eddied around bubbling plumes of swamp gas where an unearthly chill covered all. We realized that even the constant refrain of insects and frogs had stopped.

Lev remembered that Garrum, the lone, atypical boggard we’d befriended in the early days of our association, once told him about how he had been exiled from his tribe—the very tribe we just attacked. He’d offered Lev a gift, a magic bug, if he brought back the head of his hated enemy, the priest-king.

“Hey, I tossed that into the bag of holding,” Trask said unexpectedly. “Didn’t I tell you? It’s right next to the gouda cheese!”

Before we could answer we realized there were figures rising from the swamp cold fetid waters, green with slime—bog mummies. I used a spell of searing light on one, causing it to falter momentarily. Vlad killed another with holy light.

“Woohoo!” Lev yelled after he’d lightly nicked one, but Vlad fumbled, drawing blood from himself instead. It mattered little, we quickly put the mummies back in there watery tomb.

We continued our explorations as daylight faded, not bothering to disguise our passage or watch for signs of the enemy, after all, who would dare to oppose us? Let this be a lesson to you, dear Pino:  Pride invites a fall.

We came to where an immense foul mound of trees and loam formed a jagged line known locally as the Swamp Scar, the vegetation riddled with burrows and nooks. Suddenly, we were blasted by a destructive cone of cold. I fell to my knees helplessly. That’s when I saw the monster rising slowly from the depths like a serpent rises from a conjurer’s basket—a spirit naga, foul evil beast, fangs dripping venom.

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Like me, Vlad was pale and shaken while Sizzles, the smart one, whimpered and ran off. Cane bravely charged it but missed his mark as it writhed backwards while blasted us with cold again. Briefly, I was unconscious. Dear Pino, you very nearly lost your uncle forever, and I returned to my search for Ileosa. As I struggled back to consciousness I heard my compatriots arguing.

“I think we got too big for our britches,” Trask lamented.

“We didn’t have a chance to be too big for our britches,” Lev sulked in reply.

“We were exploring like we were dicks,” Trask admitted, although I might have been hallucinating his words. “Hey, if this thing teaches us a little respect. . . .”

“If it doesn’t kill us first,” Lev replied grimly, before teleporting me outside the creature’s range. I began recovering.

“O Hubris!” Trask moaned. “We should have run,”

“I can’t just leave you guys,” Cane muttered while trying to entangle the monster in his net. He then ran towards Vlad to carry him out of harm's way, but discovered Vlad already dead.

“Should we fight off the assumption that we’re going to win or that we are doomed?” Trask puzzled, then suddenly laughed out loud, “Let’s fight this out!” He pulled out an arrow of aberration-slaying. “It’s called being prepared,” he smirked happily, taking aim and releasing it along with a flurry of others. Most of them missed but important one flew true as a wave of Lev’s sonic spell washed after it. It fell twitching and coiling in the fetid waters. I heard shouts of joy.

“That was a good death,” Trask and Cane agreed, while gazing on Vlad’s waxen features.

Later, Bert Askew would dismissively schoolboy us. “I would have loved to hear that one of you guys caught mummy rot,” Bert Askew grimaced unsympathetically later, adding, "You could have learned all about the spirit naga at the boggard lair!”

We found:

• Headband of mental prowess

Then we limped back to Tazlford where Lev had Latricia Evanore use our scroll of raise dead to bring Vlad back to our plane of existence. I could see that, like me, he was disappointed to find that he had returned but Lev, ecstatic at having his friend back, beamed down upon him like a proud papa at the marriage of his son.

Say your prayers,
Uncle Marquand

*apologies to Winston Churchill 

Letter Twenty-one—The Ones You Follow

Dear Pino,
Unfortunately, Maestro Penrod followed us back to Tuskland, complaining so bitterly about his lost property that I offered to whip some sense into him. Taking the hint he continued his whining to Bert Askew instead. Helpful as always, Askew drew up a writ offering 500 gold pieces for the return of the books even though Bert knew full well where they were.

Hooktongue Slough

“Let Kelm copy them,” Lev finally told Penrod, exasperated. “And then you’ll get them back!” He immediately sent a small army of scribes over to Kelm’s tower and they quickly set about copying the tomes while Askew wined and dined Penrod, eventually leaving him deep in the confines of the bordellos.

“By the time he emerges his books will be ready and I’ll use the 500 gold to pay off the girls,” he said like the pimp he used to be back in Grayhaven. (Once again I want to remind you that I’m telling you these things to educate you in the ways of the world so that you will be better prepared to meet them.)

We sent adventurers to scout much of the territory we’ve been unable to explore while we prepared to leave for Tatzlford.

From Bert Askew’s lecture: “Loy Rezbin—known as Tanner—was a ranger of these parts of the Stolen Lands. He’s now mayor of Tatzlford, a small community on the Skunk River settled by the river bend where you fought the Tatzlworm. See, after the battle, Latricia Evanore, a priestess of Erastil, built her temple there and pretty soon other folks started gathering, including this Tanner fellow who was attracted for other reasons than religion, wacka-wacka,” Askew waggled his eyebrows suggestively while elbowing Trask in the ribs. “They’ve shared the responsibility for guiding Tatzlford ever since.”

More ominously Bert said the last messenger he’d sent never returned.

Still, Lev insisted that they were declaring a wish to invite us in and pledge fealty to us. “His letter sounded like, ‘Great Erastil, we’re about to be invaded—help!’” Lev declared enthusiastically.

Soon our provisions were packed into the bag of holding, tied securely on Betsy the mule, and we were riding northwest, passing many new farms along the way, the citizens hailing us enthusiastically, but soon enough we were enveloped by the silence of the deep woods. Even here we occasionally heard the sounds of the axe and saw and the curses of timbermen in the parts of the forest that aren't reserved for fey.

Finally we descended into a valley seeming much unchanged from when we'd begun our questing so long ago  except for a wide trail passing through the forest. We followed it towards the river where we found the town of Tatzlford huddled against the River Skunk. A hastily built wall circumscribed over twoscore buildings and outbuildings. Several children ran along with us shouting questions until they saw Sizzles and beat a hasty retreat. A man in boiled leather hurried towards us cinching his sword and trailed by three tough looking men on horseback.

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“Hoy, there!” he cried. “I am Captain Coren Lawry, the commander of the Tatzlford Guard!" He stared at Lev uncertainly before clenching his hand. "They say that you are Lev Davidovich? Of Tuskland? Could that be true?”

“It would,” Lev replied modestly.

He turned to Trask. “You must be Kelm.”

“No, he never leaves the city,” the bowman rasped.

“A shame, the mayor hoped to meet the famous Kelm.” He turned to me with a skeptical eye. “And you are? . . .”

“Marquand.”

“Oh, yes, we’ve heard of you, too,” he begrudgingly allowed. “But enough idle chit-chat. Mayor Rezbin would like to speak with you. We will be escorting you to the lodge.”

We got down off our horses and led them through the town as Lawry pointed out the various buildings where we'd occasionally see the bobbing heads of shy villagers peering back at us.

“T’ain’t often that we get distinguished guests like your honors—in fact you’re the first!” he laughed buffoonishly. “That there’s Gnori Berwekertan’s place. She’s a gemcutter, although she don’t keep the product on the premises, no sir,” he added, suddenly suspicious, which I can sympathize with if anyone has told him about the Varnholders' experience with us.

“That’s Able Morkentian’s cozy little inn over there," he pointed to a large building on the north edge of town. "There’s five rooms—one for each of you—not that I care where you stay—but Able’s got a good place and a comely daughter.

“Over south there is our smithy, old Kole Jhargev, comes from Brevoy like you all, with little good to say about it.

“Past Gnori’s is the Tatzlford library. It’s also a school for 16 children. Imagine that!” he said with pride. "We even got us an elven schoolmarm, Emraeli Emfaun. They say she knows her bidness,” he added with a harsh whisper, mouthing the word, “M-a-g-i-c!

“Over here’s Karl Roschinder’s general store,” he waved to several men propped around a checkerboard.

By this time we had crossed nearly half the town while circumscribing a small dark fortress at its center, like the stone at the center of a cherry, pausing only when we reached its front gates where the road continued west to a bridge over the Skunk River near the Tatzlworm's lair, bless its hide.

“River Run Alehouse just south there serves the finest huckleberry mead and sweet ale you ever want to taste—Killough Margrom, maybe you heard of him?” When no one answered he smiled. “Come over here, I got something to show ya.”

He led us into a nearby tavern. It was dark and cool inside. Several men watched us cautiously from a nearby table. "There you go, hoss!" Lawry extended his hands towards a huge creature mounted above the bar. It took a  moment for my sun-dazed eyes to adjust but there it was, looking as ferocious as a two-ton teddy bear, the Tatzlworm we’d slain mounted above the bar.

After slaking our thirst and buying a round for the bar we once again filed outside. “Across the bridge and to the right is what we call the Lodge, a temple of Erastil. The priestess is Latricia Evanore—we owe everything to that woman—she’s the mayor’s wife.”

“What’s that?” we asked pointing to another large building across the river, set well away from the temple on the opposite side of the road.

“They call it Thrillseekers,” he grinned ruefully. “It’s kind of a sore spot. They advertise themselves as a place for games and fun but everyone knows it’s, um, you know, a brothel.”

Since a brothel was one of the first things we built in Tuskland, and its ladies are some of our finest citizens, I didn’t expect the heated discussion that followed about how such a small town could support such a large brothel. "All you need is a road."

Finally we were brought into the fort to meet the mayor, who seemed befuddled by our arrival. “Welcome to my Grace’s, er . . . uh . . . I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say. . . Wel-welcome to Tatzlford. It’s an honor, we’re so happy to have you here,” he slurred the last, like when Big Billee has too much Cheerful Delver Stout.

“I’m very impressed with this little community that you’ve established here,” Lev replied graciously.

I felt almost as if Bert Askew was at my side, whispering as I studied mayor Rezbin. “He’s out of shape for a ranger, old, heavyset, losing his hair.”

At his side was his lady, a gracious woman, Latricia Evanore, warm and effusive, very much her husband’s other half—as Erastil intends. Together they were likable, down to earth, but still it seemed as if I could hear Askew whispering in my ear, “He’s not cut out for this. He’s under a lot of pressure. It’s her ambition that drives him. She is hot!”

This last thought I dismissed out of hand. Remember, dear Pino, random thoughts are not important, only the ones you follow.

The mayor introduced us to Kisandra Numesti, youngest daughter of lord Terrion Numesti, a knight and aristocrat of Brevoy, a leader of the group chosen to settle west of here at a town called Drelev on the Hooktongue Slough.

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“It was established by Baron Hannis Drelev, gravel warrior,” said the grim young woman sourly. “My father is a knight serving the Baron. Things have never been easy near the Slough, where the unwary often disappear. Pitax, to our west tries to dominate us with bribes and threats. Lately we’ve been visited by darker forces from farther west—a vanguard of Tiger Lord Barbarians. Drelev’s been trying to play them off Pitax ever since and I’m afraid Tatzlford is about to pay the price. It’s why he threw my father into the dungeon and why I’ve come to warn you—the Lords of Pitax are not nice people.”

Trask tsked at the Baron’s cruel temerity towards her father, apparently never hearing about how Cane dealt with the dissenter known as Grigori in our earlier days.

“Baron Drelev’s troops, along with the Tiger Lord Barbarians, and eight enormous trolls, are two or three hours north of here,” she added to gasps.

But First Comrade Lev is made of sterner stuff. “Trolls are annoying,” he allowed. “What do they want? Are they planning on taking this city with us here?”

“He’s always been jealous of your success.” she said. “But really, he’s giving you up to save his own skin. Drelev surrendered to the barbarians and the Lord of Pitax so that they wouldn’t overrun his kingdom. I suspect he sees attacking you as a way to prove his worth to his new master.

“Any loyalty I owed Baron Drelev died as soon as he allowed those savages to take my sister and imprisoned my father for refusing to help him slaughter you.”

“Don’t you fret none,” Trask took her hand comfortingly.

“I hoped that by warning you I’d earn your favor and obtain aid in freeing them,” she said gratefully. “But even if you choose not to help me, I can’t sit idly by and watch as that madman attacks this village.”

“Let’s just go take care of this!” Trask growled, raising his fist.

“We can grab a couple of people from here!” Cane agreed enthusiastically. “How about the school marm and the smith, the leader? . . .”

“So the Baron himself is with these mercenaries?” Lev asked, ignoring him.

“No he’s back at the castle.”

“We’re all about overthrowing unjust leaders,” Lev then cooed.

“Let’s go kill some barbarians,” Trask growled again. “We shouldn’t go on the defense but raise an army right now and go in there and . . .”

“We’re not ready for that, yet,” Lev protested.

“It don’t matter!”

“They are led by one of Drelev’s right hand thugs,” Kisandra broke in. “A pig of a man named Ameon Trask.”

We all looked to our Trask, whose jaw dropped in abnegation. “Well,” he finally stammered, “they’re all dead men now, I tell you.”

We began to discuss our strategy, Trask wanting to put snipers on the rooftops and in the trees, “traps in the woods and archers on the bridge.”

“There are eight trolls and they are advanced trolls,” Kasandra said, urging us to concentrate on them while she rallied the villagers.

We spent the rest of our time preparing for the battle to come. The children and infirm were taken into the citadel while the rest gathered around Kisandra and Lawry as she ran through a few simple signals. Most of the villagers were hardened from living on the frontier and a few were spoiling for the fight.

“I don’t think the Barbarians are too committed to this yet but if they sense weakness they’ll be on us like stink on," she saw the librarian and was suddenly abashed, ". . . tigers, yeah, so we’ll just lure these guys into here and then the archers will . . .” We left them to their planning and found a nice high place where we could rest until we were needed.

While waiting I honed my sword’s blade, running through my little trick bag of spells, and warming the muscles in my legs and arms. Cane nuzzled Sizzles to the giggles of some of the children who were still outside the Keep. Lev and Vlad sat in animated conversation with one another, best friends forever. Trask watched from above for the approach of the Drelevans and their allies, his eyes darting from the forest to the river to Kisandra to the south to the north to Kisandra, to the river, to Kisandra. Meantime I counted my +1 arrows.

They appeared along the eastern bank of the river, cheering in derision as they followed it into town. We had just enough time to get the children inside and bar the door before the enemy breached the partially completed wall. They were followed by eight lumbering trolls leaving savage destruction in their wake.

Fortunately, we’re a lot better at fighting trolls than we used to be and they cooperated by stupidly approaching in a pack. Vlad's searing light blinded three and seriously damaged all but one. Lev followed that with a heroic speech about, “How all the trolls should die!”

Cane sidestepped while pushing his blade into one. I toasted another using searing light. Trask’s bow obliterated its target, leaving his victims looking like a bag of Butcher Pete’s ground round. Unfortunately, Ameon got away. Only a few of the villagers were hurt and soon a guard was posted while we dragged the trolls to a huge pyre outside the town’s walls.

As dusk approached, we sat eating roast rib-eye while Kisandra once again pled her case. “My father is in the dungeons of Drelev,” she said. “Please help. My sister went to Drelev to make peace with the barbarians.” She shook her head in amazement. “They slapped her behind and told her how they would use her like an animal. Their leader is as wacko as the rest of them, a self-styled barbarian lord who thinks himself a reincarnation of a great warlord and that he will ruin her for all other men, by the gods!” she cursed. “In order to appease them the daughters of five senior officers of Drelev were given to the Tiger Lords as hostages, including my sister!”

“That’s cold,” said Trask.

“Help me repay Drelev by forcing him to give up his kingdom and his plans. He’ll cause the death of hundreds if he is not stopped. I can pledge you my family’s loyalty—I have no wealth. The citizens of Fort Drelev will welcome you as liberators and beg to join your kingdom."

Trask jumped up, "We must save them!" He was about to pledge his fealty when interrupted him.

"There is one person you can trust," she said huskily, "my lover Satindar. She runs the town brothel.”

“I was right on all counts,” Cane laughed while making kissing sounds at Trask.

Kisandra turned red, standing up, staring at Trask until he too had turned red. “I expected more of you,” she sniffed. “Yet this foul mouth on your friend Cane sickens me to the core.” She spat and stormed out.

“Lesbians are kind of sensitive,” he laughed at her retreating back.

Vlad and I quickly followed her to the edge of town.

“Don’t mind him, my lady,” I said. “Cane’s never known the favor of any woman, preferring the love of animals to that of his own.”

“Well, it shows,” she grumbled before relenting. “The guards are among Satindar's best customers. If you are looking for a safe place to hide mention my name to her and give her this.” She handed us a jade ring. “Place a long-stemmed flower through the ring and she’ll know you can be trusted. I can also draw you a map.”

Preparing to leave the next morning we were approached by several citizens, hats in hand, asking favors. One was Chesk Umberweed, the town’s alchemist, who said he’d promised several dwarves to deliver a powerful metal etching acid but he’s run out of supplies. “I need a dozen vials of giant slug acid.” he said in a faint northern accent. “You know how dwarves are when they can’t get what they want. I’ve heard that there are giant slugs in the Hooktongue—a single slug should suffice. I’ll brew you a dozen potions of your choice in return.”

The local taxidermist, Quanchy Veeliker, wants a fresh water elasmosaurus to stuff “and be careful with the body, and I will give you 8000 gold.”

Damn!” Trask exclaimed.

We also saw a wanted poster for Speartooth a saber-toothed tiger that “has long claimed the hills west of the swamp. He’s killed and eaten at least a hundred people! Kill him and deliver his 22 inch fangs to the captain of the guards, Coren Lawry, and he will give you 8000 gold.”

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Latricia Evanore and I talked about our service to Erastil. She says the Stolen Lands have long been cherished by Erastil and that others have failed in the past because they did not balance their civilizations with the needs of Nature surrounding them. P.U.R.K, though, she thinks has a chance as long as we're inspired by Erastil's wise tenets.

She also confided of her specialty for crafting magic items out of insect parts. “I need the wings of six giant dragonflies and will trade a +3 cloak of resistance for them,” she told me as we sat together. By the twelve gods I wished she was a free woman but it's not to be. We prayed for Erastil's forbearance and then I took my leave.

Tanner was leaving as I arrived, after an agreement with Lev for Tatzlford to join P.U.R.K. after we build them a road to Wyvernstone Bridge. Rezkin just happened to have the plans on him. That's when Bert Askew rode up to the Inn with news about how our explorers fared in the wilds above Varnville.

“A nest of trapdoor spiders killed a few them,” Bert shrugged apologetically, pointing out the spot on the map.

“Awesome, we don’t have to pay those three guys,” Cane shrugged callously while snacking on a rare-steak dinner he was sharing with Sizzles.

“Another was horribly maimed,” Askew read from a scroll. “He came back having terrible nightmares and killed himself a week later. The survivors did manage to bring back a great deal of spidersilk and win the award for themselves, not to mention finding several magical items.” Askew sneered at us for the wealth we’d passed up.

Bert said that another of our groups had discovered Nomen burial grounds to the far northeast, near the border with Brevoy. He added that he'd ceded the land to the Nomens who brought what little remains they'd found of them back to him.

His third group he'd found lingering in a back-alley tavern in Tuskland. One called himself Harsk, jr., from parts unknown. Others were a “vivacious young lady with wild eyes and quills like a porcupine known as Laori Vauss from Old Korvosa; Joseph Tenderling, from the city of Chesed; and a very large man called Black Auchs—‘To distinguish me from my bruddah!’—from somewhere in the River Kingdoms.”

“That’s how I got my start,” Trask growled proudly. “Busting heads and taking names!”

“They weren’t much better than bandits yet they brought back those manticore quills!” Askew bubbled with resentment. “And you know what they got? A rare book of ancient halfling poetry worth a great deal!” he huffed. “And you know what that spiky gal said to me? ‘I know a sucker who'll buy this,’ and walked off with it!”

They had found the plains to the north empty before hearing a weird whistling sound and discovering that the ground was riddled with holes leading to caverns filled with gemstones.

“Those guys gets a bonus,” Cane grinned.

"Oh, it gets better," Askew spat. "They followed the river through a little valley between two rocky outcroppings. There they discovered a small island—kind of like Vordakai's joint—where a giant flytrap gobbled them all up except for the spiky gal. It probably couldn't digest her."

“Ha!” Trask laughed. “She gets the P.U.R.K. pension!”

"West of there she found a shallow cave in the mountainside where she also discovered a rich vein of iron ore.  She’s now one of the wealthiest people north of Korvosa!” Bert screamed in frustration. “You should have seen her smirking, followed by a line of mules a mile long! Phuh,” he spat with contempt.

After he'd calmed down we officially proclaimed Tatzlford a member of P.U.R.K. and then departed to explore further east. The land on this side of the forest was much different than what we're used to, swampland, teaming with snakes, wildcats, and dragonflies of all sizes. Most of them are harmless but there is also a giant, ravenous kind that quickly discovered some tasty morsels.

The first I knew of their approach were the shrieks of Vlad and Cane's sudden curse, “He bit me!” Then Sizzles yelped.

“These things are bad-ass!” Trask howled with glee.

Lev gave a quick speech to assist us: “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition. Gentlemen in Tuskland now-a-bed shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Hooktongue Slough.”

We were then set upon by the beasts, who buzzed about our heads like bees on a sweet thing. Trask obliterated one, only the wings were left to settle fluttering on the ground. Sizzles took the most damage but Cane protected her until all that was left were wings.

From there we traveled east, finding nothing but swamp when Lev stumbled into a pool of quicksand that sucked him quickly down. “Help me,” he called frantically. “I’m sinking. Help me, help me!”

Cane quickly waded in and rescued him. After that we passed through empty plain until reaching the East Sellen river, following it as it widened into Lake Hooktongue. Along its pebbled shore we found collapsed shacks and huts, maybe it was a long abandoned trading post. There were boggards living there but they were no match for Lev and Trask who slew them all.

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Their treasure was a 14 inch statue of an elven woman touching her right breast worth 350 gold pieces. We also found 24 copper and 17 silver pieces.

As dusk approached we heard the sounds of a couple comforting one another.  Vlad and Trask snuck closer and discovered only an ahuizotl trying to lure us closer into its trap. “Aw, it’s a rat!” Trask exclaimed before killing it. Nearby we found a half-eaten man. We buried him after emptying his pockets of 7 gold and 5 silver for the orphans' fund.

Opening our folding boat, we crossed the lake to its southern shore where we saw a large settlement of boggards. We landed, setting up camp for the night well away from the settlement.

“I’m not up for genocide quite yet,” Trask observed pulling the blanket up and immediately falling asleep. Which is what I intend to do as soon as I finish this letter.

Love to you and your Mother,
Uncle Marquand

Letter 20—Justice Sits Not Easy

We decided to explore upstairs before opening the bronze doors at the heart of the complex. There we found an octagonal chamber under a 20 foot tall dome made of slabs of opaque white crystal glowing like pale moonlight, knitted together as if it were a giant inverted eye. The walls were covered with arcane symbols, stylized line art, and images of cyclopes. A 20 foot circle was incised into the stone of the floor directly below the eye's focus.

“It’s a trap,” I said, stating the obvious.

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“It could be a teleportation circle,” Lev speculated.

“Which usually means someone is going to kill you and they don’t want to mess up the room,” Cane added.

Lev said there was overwhelming conjuration and divination magic here but with no obvious clues and unwilling to unleash whatever the room was representing, we moved on to the massive bronze doors where yet another giant eyeball was graved. A trough of water leading to the basin ran beneath it.

The doors parted with a loud squeak, the channel of sulfurous water continuing down the center of the chamber. With a prayer to all that is good in the world, I cast light into the room. As I’d feared, we were met with a grisly sight—a small stone shrine bearing several heads, blood freshly clotted around their necks. Farther along the channel, now tinged with red, reached a pool, twin to the one where we’d fought the water elemental. In it knelt several headless men before a hideous charnel throne made from the victims of the one seated there—Vordakai.

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“Justice!” I whispered in awe.

He watched us for a moment unconcerned by our presence, as if dumb beasts had wandered in off the prairie. His one jeweled eye crinkling with amusement, or maybe greed. Then he stood regally, towering above us like the god he was pretending to be, ancient abomination, thrice-cursed lich.

As you know from your studies, “a lich is a necromancer who has chosen to become undead as a method of cheating death. The process involves the extraction of his life-force and its imprisonment in a specially prepared phylactery. As long as his phylactery remains intact he can ignore the passage of time.”

“We’re not prepared for this guy,” Trask gulped.

“I’m not prepared for undead at all,” Lev added with a worried voice.

“I’m a little prepared,” Cane shrugged, setting Sizzles down with care. “She’s snoring,” he added affectionately, giving her one last caress.

I considered casting hide from undead but Trask shook his head, counseling that a lich was too sharp to fall for that one. Then Vlad created a diversion with a blast of searing light as Lev teleported me beside the monster.

Trask riddled the lich with blunt, flaming arrows but his true battle was with Vordakai's assault on his will, leaving him unsure, cursing the day he had met us, threatening to walk away and leave us to our fate.

I saw Cane stop in mid-movement, like one of those mimes Little Billee mocks at the fair. A few seconds later he reanimated, as if nothing had happened, looking about himself with a  puzzled expression. Then he froze again—succumbing to what must have been to Vordakai's fowl curse.

Vlad used his last spell of searing light while Lev gave us a hearty pep talk: “The bigger they are, the harder they fall!” he enthused, running to assist Cane. Trask shot another flurry of bludgeoning arrows, scoring four times. Vordakai stopped laughing as I lashed out, barely nicking him but my backswing took off a pallid chunk from his desiccated haunch.

He disappeared.

“He’s invisible, teleported, or gone through a dimension door,” Trask growled.

“And healing!”

While we waited tensely for his inevitable return I set up my spiritual weapon, then had second thoughts and cast flames of the faithful on my sword instead. With just the sound of running water in the background, incongruous yet threatening as a dog’s growl, we carefully searched the rest of his chambers. On one side we discovered an ancient library behind a bookcase of heavy leather-cased tomes, separating it from the central chamber.

The respite allowed Lev to temporarily suppress Vordakai’s curse upon Cane, who looked up from the floor blinking, angry.

Meanwhile, Vlad began removing the bodies from the pool, hoping this might lessen Vordakai’s power. Trask disappeared, fading into darkness to catch Vordakai unaware. The rest of us looked warily around the room.

“He’s over here!” Trask shouted from behind the bookcase.

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I was standing right in front of him, thanks to Lev’s teleportation, as two of Trask’s arrows whipped past my ear to strike home. I thrust my sword into his medsection and was rewarded with the zombie’s grunt, whither of pain or remonstrance, I know not but I was immediately flooded with remorse—'What was I, pitiful man, trying to accomplish by challenging this powerful creature? He will consume me as he has all the others!' I nearly threw down my weapon in despair when I remembered that I was not just any pitiful man but sent by Old Deadeye, true to the mark.

“Justice!” I cried, raising my sword.

“You don’t question the Inquisitor’s will!” I heard Trask bellow as I returned to the fray, “He burns people!” Which isn’t entirely true—I didn’t burn Lily Tesketin.

Cane, Lev, and Trask used the distraction to hurt Vordakai further as he turned from one of us to the other in frustrated rage. Even so, he seemed to be gaining strength while ours dwindled away until he suddenly collapsed into a pile of foul smelling dust, jewel eye rolling to a stop by my feet. In the background I heard Cane sobbing about his greatest fear (whether a male direwolf or a human female I never learned).

It was Vlad that turned the trick, as much surprised as we were.

“He was that close to smoking us,”  Trask said with wonder, holding his fingers about half an inch apart. Later Bert Askew ecstatically informed us that by his estimate Vordakai had been in the tomb so long he had atrophied to less than half his strength. “You boys don’t deserve that kind of luck,” he crowed.

He’s right for once, praise Erastil for His protection.

Lev wrote this haiku:

Heart fiercely pounding

Comrades’ breathing; the trickle

of bloodied water.

We found:

• +3 cloak of resistance
• headband of mental prowess
• +2 ring of protection
• soul jar
• Phylactery worth 3500 gold pieces as an art object

There was an ancient mound behind the throne, apparently where Vordakai threw the worldly wealth of his victims:

• 1140 platinum pieces
• 13,000 gold
• 103,000 silver
• art objects worth19,500 gold
• ring of friend shield (matching the one we found in Varnhold)
• +2 ring of protection
• +1 cloak of resistance
• gloves of swimming and climbing
• pouch holding 3 packets of dust of dryness
• +1 cold iron magical beast bane flail

In the library were:

• dozens of stone tablets weighing nearly 1000 pounds in all worth 10,000 gold to the appropriate scholar
• Enough pages of spells to form a spellbook of every spell Vordakai had prepared in addition to 6 spells of each level up through 9—priceless

The last chamber was much like the others, a domed room filled with niches holding abominations—forty-two strangely shaped glass jars. Each one, about a foot tall and stopped with a clot of black wax, contained a swirling plume of glowing white smoke.

“Let’s take them back to the cathedral, release the good ones. . . .”

“And sell the evil ones,” Cane agreed, before stopping to stare listlessly at nothing in particular, the curse having returned.

“You can’t tell their alignments from the outside,” Trask lectured, sounding more like Kelm every day. How does he know so much about soul switching unless he and Kelm . . . no, in that way madness lies. I’m just glad they’re on my side.

“You can only research the jar, not the individual inside the jar,” he continued.

“Can’t a bad guy be in a good jar?” I asked.

“Look,” Lev flailed his arms, “The soul is still there, it’s been imprisoned!”

“It’s in a jar!” Trask countered brusquely.

“If a guy is in a jail cell, he can still freakin’! . . .” Lev stopped, for once at a loss. “You can touch them and talk to them, can’t you?” he said, reaching for one of the jars.

“Nooooo!” Don’t touch that,” Trask cried. “If you touch the jar it switches souls!”

“Are you sure?” Lev hesitated.

“Pretty sure. Don’t touch the jars.”

We carefully wrapped cloth around each one before packing it away with the rest of our luggage. Lev picked up the gem of Vordakai using mage hand and immediately tried to claw his own eye out. Fortunately Trask grabbed him first.

“Jeez, Lev wouldn’t pick up a soul jar but he grappled Vordakai!” Trask said while using a rear naked choke to put Lev down until the gem rolled from his grasp. We tied the dangerous thing in a cloth before putting it away for Kelm to study.

(In the City rumor has it of the strange things that occur in Kelm’s mage tower. I don’t want you to believe them, Pino, but unfortunately they’re true. That's why I think we should establish a community on Vordakai's island and encourage Kelm to rule here. He would enjoy sitting in this foul sulfuric chamber—although the blood staining the pools would be his own—performing dangerous experiments across the planes of existence instead of in a tower a couple blocks from my house.)

Cane wanted to carry Sizzles out but his condition was such that we ended up shoving them both inside the bag of holding. "Don't touch anything!" I told him while tying it closed.

Leaving Vordakai's Island

“Hey, guys, we just killed us an ancient cyclops lich—that’s pretty badass!” Trask crowed as we emerged into the sweet air. We continued to puzzle over Vordakai’s mystery while crossing the river, mounting our horses, and making our way back to civilization. For instance, the jade bracelet we’d found was likely a ring from Vordakai’s finger—we saw him wearing another. Maybe when Willis Gunderson found this place he removed this ring, waking the lich, and arousing his hunger.

“That wraith was Gunderson!” Lev suddenly realized of the elven body we’d found.

Once we reached Ilsegrad we gathered at the cathedral and prepared, with holy sanctity, to deal with anything we released from the jars be they demon, beast, or man. The ceremony began with an hymn sung by Trask and Cane (although Cane could only manage every other line, more or less, due to the curse).

Soul Jar*
Coming to you on a dusty road
Good loving, I got a cart load
And when you get it, you got something
So don't worry, 'cause I'm coming

I'm a soul jar
I'm a soul jar
I'm a soul jar
I'm a soul jar
And that ain't all

Got what I got the hard way
And I'll make better each and every day
So honey, don't you fret
'Cause you ain't seen nothing yet

I'm a soul jar, oh
I'm a soul jar, play it Steve
I'm a soul jar, ha
I'm a soul jar

Grab the rope and I'll pull you in
Give you hope and be your only boyfriend
Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

I'm a soul jar
I'm a soul jar
I'm a soul jar
I'm a soul jar

Rebirth

Removing the black wax, we stood aside, the priest muttering prayers, while white smoke emerged, roiling intensely, forming a silvery gel where white bone appeared, then dark nerve, muscle, and vein. Organs slowly congealed and the heart began pumping crimson blood as lungs filled to capacity before erupting in the frightful scream of agony of the reborn. Finally, skin grew to swaddle them as the man, woman. or child—for it was the unlucky citizens of Varnhold that emerged—slid unconscious to the floor.

We met with them later that week at a feast in their honor at the town hall. We came unprepared for their lack of gratitude and the sheer anger they greeted us with, including Maestro Ervil Penrod, who wanted his books returned immediately, “That you stole from my room!” Apparently they had received a message borne by raven sent by a certain “B.A.” telling them of the ransacking of their town.

“Well you can’t have them!” I could imagine Kelm calling down from his tower.

The villagers crowded around us, more concerned about the state of their property than thankful for their lives. “What’s up with our town?”

“Welcome to the People’s Republic of the River Kingdoms,” Lev replied coolly, if inaccurately. “You’ve been assimilated.”

“Where’s our homes?” they demanded.

“If your homes have been integrated into . . . the  . . . uh . . . we’ll build you new homes. . . .” Lev said, voice trailing off as the citizenry erupted in fury.

I was incredulous. “After we released you from the soul jars?”

“Yeah,” Cane said, backing me up, “We saved your lives.”

“And while we were out you went and took our town, is that what you’re saying?” a villager spat, quivering like a rat terrier.

“While you were out?” Cane laughed. “Did you guys go out and eat dinner? You were dead!”

“I think I’m going to have to go out and tell some people,” Ervil pouted, like Bert Askew does when the Inn is out of his favorite flavor of ice cream. “I’m going to Tuskland to tell all about what you guys did to Varnhold.”

“How we freed you?” Lev sneered.

“Yeah, and then took our village.”

“We saved it from spriggans!”

“Thanks for waiting,” he replied with bitter contempt. “Thanks for believing that we were still alive.”

Well, we calmed them the best we could promising this deal:

1. We build them new homes or
2. They take their old home back and we build a new home twice that size for the citizens they displace

I"m overjoyed to report that the brewer of Cheerful Delver Stout had been among the refuges. We had a long discussion and he promised to visit Tuskland soon to open a brewery there. I offered to partner him and think it might be just the place to apprentice Little Billee the next time he drops out of school.

Once we’d settled the Varnholders back in Varnville we encountered the centaur princess Xamanthe on the outskirts of town at the head of twenty centaur warriors. She greeted us warmly, looking much refreshed, although her wounds had yet to completely heal. She led us to a circle near by a small creek where we watered and fed our horses. Then we joined them around a large fire as dusk settled the land to pass around the “peace” pipe.

“Look you guys, we got off on the wrong foot,” she said. “I talked to my mom and as long as we have our autonomy I think we can get along.”

They wanted us to guarantee that we will not clam their area east of the mountains.

“What will we get in return?” Cane asked.

“You don’t get war with us.”

We laughed nervously and took another puff from the pipe.

“Seriously, what have you got to trade?”

Parlay

“We carry what we need on our backs," she replied exhaling smoke through her nostrils. "We feed our bellies and then we move on.”

“We make really good rope out of zong fiber,” another giggled.

“Fertilizer,” I suggested as a trade good to raucous laughter. I had to laugh, too. In fact everything seemed funny.

“We will guarantee your independence,” Chairman Lev proclaimed to gales of laughter. Then he pulled out our map of the region to pass around, broad black x’s covering a wide space east of the mountains, and the laughter died.

“Is that it?” Xamanthe said with a look of outrage. “That’s all I get?”

“That’s all from the territory we own,” Trask shrugged.

“We can help you take other territory,” Cane offered unhelpfully.

This did little to placate her. “It seems to me someone is trying to steal everything we own. I won’t let these farmers of yours,” she sneered, “disrupt my Nomen’s ancestral grounds!”

“We won’t touch your lands and as long as you don’t disturb ours . . .”

“We’ll pass through if we want to,” she sniffed.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “You won’t have problems with us.”

“We’re neighbors and that’s how neighbors are,” Cane added, for once forgetting how much he loathes neighbors.

“Until someone puts up fences, man,” Trask whispered fretfully. “I tell you, this is not going to end well!”

We negotiated for hours as she continued passing around her pipe while expertly wheedling every possible concession from us. “We have sacred lands up here where we find sacred mushrooms and so forth,” she said, eyes half closed, a smile playing on her lips. “We go on vision quests.”

“All right, all right,” we conceded in resignation. Always remember this, dear Pino, “Good neighbors make good fences.”

Statue of Vordakai in Tuskland

Afterward we opened Zzamas’s chest—remember the giant phase spider lady from the ethereal plane?—where we found:

• wand of dimension door with 22 charges
• spellbook worth 2475 gold

Finally, it was our great joy to return to Tuskland where we were greeted by Bert Askew, who laughed with joy when one of his messenger birds saluted me with a streak of off-white droppings across my broad black hat. His smile quickly faded, though, as he read the contents of the letter, which arrived from our neighbors to the west. It was the mayor of Tatzylford, Loy Rezbin, beseeching our help against “armies of bandits.” So once again I leave my bed unrumpled as I ride to defend our land and the dreams of your father.

With regrets at not seeing you,
Uncle Marquand

* Expected apologies to David Porter, Sam Moore, and Isaac Hayes (not to mention Booker T. & the M.G.’s). 

Letter Nineteen—Bird is the Word

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of roc-sausage, groats, and centaur milk we kissed Xamanthe goodbye and hurried back to the island to the long, dark tunnel where I’d poked my head in the day earlier. After about 100 yards we came to a closed door where the room was empty except for shelves and a few bits of pottery—a burial ground.

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We were immediately set upon by two soul eaters, attacking Sizzles and myself. As you know from your studies a soul eater has, “Two elongated and deathly pallid arms protruding from its smoky body as it slithers silently through the air. The soul eater prowls and hunts, constantly seeking living souls upon which to gorge itself.”

I remembered Bert Askew cackling as he told us about the abilities of the soul eater during one of his interminable lectures. “When they’ve deprived you of all your wisdom,” he leered, “that’s when they suck up your soul!”

And that’s what they were doing to me, I felt myself grow woozy, my thoughts unravel. But whatever my problems were, they were far worse for Sizzles who, with a low moan, fell unconscious to the floor. Knowing that the best way to protect her was to kill the creatures before they could drain her life force, Cane and I softened them up for Trask to kill.

Being unable to revive the unconscious Sizzles and unwilling to leave her behind, Cane carried her around his neck like a big fur collar. Perhaps I only imagined that I could hear her purring.

We had three doors to search, Cane checking for traps as we entered the first one. There was a shoulder-height stone bench against the far wall. Apparently, this chamber was used to prepare the dead for internment, littered with stone vases and bronze funerary tools. A man-sized statue of a swayback humanoid, hand clamped over his single eye, stood morosely against the north wall. Cane set Sizzles down gently.

“A brain-poker,” Trask said cheerfully, picking a device with a sharp round prod at one end. (“Worth about 350 gold,” I imagined Bert Askew saying, rubbing his hands with glee.)

Behind a secret door we found another empty room, walls patterned with large staring eyes, all honing onto one spot on the north wall where a carving of a giant stylized eye loomed, the pupil an intricately engraved relief about the size of the palm of my hand.

We studied it for some time, even dangling the bracelet in front of it. We could tell that strong conjuration magic was emanating from there but we eventually admitted defeat, reluctantly leaving it for a later time.

Public Domain*

The next room’s walls were covered in lime-plaster frescos, colors vibrant, of swayback cyclopes when they ruled these lands.

We returned to the larger room, searching its alcoves carefully in growing frustration. “Vordakai come out!” Lev shouted, voice echoing unanswered in the darkness

Behind yet another door we found a tunnel rank with the stench of sulfur and tar, leading to a fetid lake of burning black tar. In the gloom I could see milky water bubbling from the rock walls of the far side where a stony shelf emerged beneath a door swollen in its frame. The broken stumps of two support posts protruded where a wooden bridge once spanned the morass.

On the ledge an ancient zombie wizard stood—human, its flesh foul and blackened by the room’s vapors, standing motionless, wearing tatters of robes, jaw slack, holding in its fist a curved knife.

“I don’t suppose you could lower a cage for us, sir?” Cane called, setting Sizzles down. He and Trask unlimbered their longbows, raining a terrible storm of arrows upon the hapless creature. Shredded like Opparan beef, it toppled headlong into the tarpit.

Thanks to his ring of freedom of movement Cane was able to ignore the clinging effect of the boiling tar—if not its burning—to quickly retrieve the zombie’s corpse, returning with it to the ledge where it had stood for so long. It carried:

• +1 silver dagger
• +2 ring of protection
• book in tar-stained pouch

With a howl of glee Trask loped to the edge of the tar and flung himself across, landing atop the zombie and causing its intestines to squirt like snot out of Little Billee’s nose. Cane then carried the rest of us across, including his beloved wolf, still unconscious.

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As Vlad healed a miserable and scorched Cane we forced our way through the tightly jammed door onto a rock fall, then followed a corridor leading to a stairwell. We continued like this until reaching one more set of doors.

Behind them was a large chamber where shadows vied for attention with a scene of carnage so gruesome that, dear Pino, I pause here to remind myself that it is my duty to inform you of the horror that inhabits our world, so that you may be better prepared for life in this world when I'm no longer here to protect you.

A great stone table occupied the center of the room, seated around it were nearly three dozen men, women, and children slumped in their death throes, mouths agape in terror, heads broken open and their brains removed, all that’s left of the poor citizenry of Varnhold, their rigor jaws screaming one word:

"Justice!"

At the head of the table was a regally dressed gentleman, heavy gouts of dried blood staining his jacket and pieces of his brain, one eye looking bemused, as if he was about to ask a question, the other hanging forlornly from his head. On his hand an ornate ring with an emblem that I recognized as the state seal of Varnhold. He was the honorable Maegar Varn. Who, or what, brought them here? Does Xamanthe know?

That’s when we noticed there were zombies in the house.

Vlad quickly blessed us as we moved to confront them. I shot one but by then he was at me, chopping away with his honking big great-axe. If it’d had lips it would have smacked them with anticipation. I could hear Lev telling us how wonderful we were from the alcove. “Believe in yourselves,” he called just as a second cyclops closed in on me, growling through rotted vocal cords. “I’ll be able to do more soon,” Lev added helpfully.

Trask filled one of them with arrows and Cane finished him. Vlad cast holy smite, blinding a couple of them.

“Poppa poppa oom mow mow poppa oom mow mow mow!” Trask yelled with excitement. "Bird bird bird, bird is the word!" he continued inexplicably. “I have heard that the bird is the word!”

I hit the one who had wounded me while moving under cover from the other at my colleagues’ urging. Three more of the creatures lurched toward Cane who was badly injured, reeling from his wounds.

I killed one, his flesh soft, putrid, in my grasp, immediately piercing another one with an arrow. Cane fought back furiously as Trask’s arrows severed one cyclops zombie's medulla oblongata neatly, horizontally and vertically. “That’s why they call me the black bisector,” he bragged while his eyes searched the room for other targets.

The tide of the battle quickly turned in our favor and soon the room was dead quiet again except for the sound of Vlad’s healing prayers. I reflected on the nature of a being that could direct such carnage. Oh Pino, I have fought many dangerous and powerful creatures, both human and otherwise, and I've walked in the land of the dead with the queen of Korvosa, but for once I can honestly say: I am afraid.

Cane must feel the same way because I saw him tense as his skin turned rough and bark-like, like a cat fluffs its tail. I've never seen him do that except when Sizzles needs a scratching post when molting.

We entered a crypt next, floor strewn with rubble and the offal of open graves. On the floor was a corpse of a middle-aged blond-haired ulfen man, dead nearly two weeks. But his spirit remained as an angry dark spectre that charged us in fury. We sent him to his ancestors.

Thanks to Paizo

At the back end of the room stairs ascended to a landing where we found another secret door. Behind it a bubbling fountain stinking of sulfur disappeared into a sluice cut in the stone of the floor where it flowed beneath bronze double doors.

“Bleeargh!” A water elemental erupted from its depths, flinging itself at us like the proverbial surfin’ bird. Fire and searing light quickly tamed its roiling waves and soon we were immersed in warm steam. There we paused.

Vordakai, I promise you one thing only—Justice!

Sleep peacefully sweet princess,
Uncle Marquand

*The Cyclops Polyphemus—Annibale Carracci

Letter Eighteen—Xamanthe Silverfire

Dear Pino,
We returned to action with another long argument over how far Cane can swim underwater. But when Cane actually swam down the steps he quickly found the way back out, steps leading up into a large room.

Thanks to Paizo, all rights reserved.

There was pottery everywhere, many graven with black and white images of flowers, cities, and one-eyed cyclopes engaged in worship, fighting, and athletic contests. Surprisingly, considering the rascals cyclopes are, none of the images involved making love. Instead there were depicted vicious confrontations between cyclopes and centaurs. We recognized the design (thanks to one of Bert Askew’s lectures) as belonging to the ancient Casmaron empire. Lev and Trask quickly stacked them into our bag of holding next to the roc eggs.

Cane and Trask led the way to a set of bronze double doors, opening them with a noisy rasp. Inside, we passed two shallow alcoves, each harboring the painted statue of a fierce cyclops warrior, before reaching a room crowded with sixteen more. At least a dozen had been vandalized. That's when one of them lurched angrily to life.

“Rawlargh! Rawlaaaargh!” it cried, hitting Sizzles with a stroke of its battleaxe, slamming her to the ground, and then taking a big bite out of the wolf, who whined, fighting back desperately.

Trask quickly shot a flurry of arrows into the cyclops’s head until it looked like a walking pincushion, its head as soft as an overripe cheese.

Lev told us what a great job we were doing and that with a little more effort we’d send this creature to the ancient gods where it belonged and, sure enough, with my next shot I finished it off.

Cane watched anxiously as Vlad ministered to his grievously injured wolf and, before long,  Sizzles was limping gamely along behind us. A secret door hid a portcullis blocking our way. That’s when we noticed the  large shuttered gates in the ceiling.

“Uh oh,” someone muttered as they ratcheted open, the river rushing through. Worse, the deluge was accompanied by an enraged moray eel that fell right on top of my head. Fortunately, the torrent rushing through the ceiling swept me away from its snapping jaws. As the water filled the room to waist level I struggled to reach Cane, trying to lift the portcullis, but slipped and fell underneath. Meanwhile, Trask was using the eel for target practice as Cane just managed to lift the gate open. That's when another dread zombie cyclops emerged from the room behind us.

“Yuck, if we kill them all the room will be filled with dead zombie juice,” Cane complained unhappily, coughing out a mouthful of water.

Lev made a quick speech encouraging us to follow him under the portcullis. Trask followed, taking a hit from the zombie. The second zombie attacked Vlad as he swam gratefully under the portcullis. I slashed at it but missed as I ducked behind Vlad. Finally, Sizzles and Cane emerged as the trap slid back into place. We could hear the zombies grunting as they tried to lift it.

Steps, hewed from "living" stone led up to a shrine where softly colored slate tiled the floor and pillars were carved in the likeness of leering fiends. Friezes on opposite walls depicted processions of animal-headed creatures marching along a black river’s bank. As the pilgrims reached the far corners of the shrine they approached a shadowy creature awaiting them in his sinister longboat. An altar stood beneath each twin and between them was a bronze double door. The doors were decorated with a mosaic of a winding river crafted with obsidian tiles. We were in a shrine dedicated to Charon, one of the Horsemen of Death. The smoke of the shrine lamps symbolize the rising spirits of the dead as they approach the river Styx.

“That’s nice,” Cane said approvingly.

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A third altar stood near where we’d entered. On it was another basin and unlit lamp. I remembered Bert Askew telling us, "In some temples lamps such as these are magic keys used to help seal doorways." just then we heard the portcullis roll up and soon we were fighting zombies again. Sizzles took his revenge on the nearer one as Cane ignited his flaming sword and, with Lev and Vlad’s help, finished them off. Blocked from the battle by combatants, Trask and I ducked through the farther door where a long tunnel disappeared into darkness.

When we returned we found Cane bleeding profusely into a ceramic drinking cup, at one of the altars. They'd found the cup there, recently used to collect blood for a sacrifice. As Vlad lit the lantern Cane offered himself. He was about to drink his own blood when we stopped him.

"Dude, that's messed up," Trask said, objecting. But after trying every way of offering bloody sacrifice we could think of we gave up and let him pollute himself further. Quaffing his life's blood like a light ale, he watched smugly as the doors opened with a rusty squeak.

One way led to a dead end but from the other a hideous monster emerged out of the darkness. It was part lobster, part octopus, and part human—a piscodaemon’s caress is not a loving one. To quote your picture book, Tintin and the Throne of Flies: “Blistering blue barnacles, these aquatic daemons roam the lower planes sowing misery and blight, threatening enemies with powerful claws and writhing tentacles! They delight in drawn-out deaths, poisoning creatures or dismembering victims to watch them slowly bleed out!”

All rights Paizo

“He’s going to taste nice with a little bit of butter,” Cane said, smacking his lips.

That’s when Trask heard a voice speaking to him from inside his head. “In whose name do you dare intrude upon the inner sanctum of the horseman of death?” it snarled.

“The one true god, Aroden,” Trask thought in return, which is a shame because the right answer was Vordakai. Puzzled, we watched Trask strut around in silence as he debated the piscodaemon in his head, “Aroden’s dead, son! He’s the dead god!—his death heralded the end of prophecy! What do you say about that?”

“You shall die,” it answered succinctly.

“We shall use you for a soup base,” Cane told it when he heard the news.

I didn’t help our cause by missing my first thrust, although Trask found his target. “Ha hah ha hah ha!” he crowed before it swept forward, embracing him in its poisonous tentacles. Cane stabbed it but I completely missed my next two strokes, like a boy with his stick. Lev somehow called a fire elemental into being but, having no use for it, he blasted a sonic honk at the piscodaemon. With Trask's encouragement it left our plane of existence with a loud pop.

The next room was circular, held up with masonry columns grouped to form shallow alcoves. In the center one immense pillar held up the flat ceiling of the chamber. Manacles hung in each alcove and ancient bloodstains in most. Across the room a young female centaur stared vacantly at us. Manacled, she had been beaten an humiliated, bewilderment dazed her eyes.

Thinking she was under a spell I cast dispel magic over her but it didn’t help. Lev suggested using one of our scrolls of remove paralysis instead.

“Let’s tie her up first,” Cane blurted. “As soon as we let her go she’s going to go psycho!”

“We’re here to help her!” Trask objected, horrified.

“We’ll let her go if she’s sensible.”

“I have a freaking!" Lev started, waving his arms frantically. "I can calm people relatively well!” he finally said. He then turned to her. “I free you from your shackles in the name of Milani!”

She was bewildered at first but quickly assessed her situation.

“Who are you guys?”

“We were sent by your mamma,” Cane replied.

“Aecora Silverfire,” Trask reminded him. “And you’re Xamanthe.”

“Are we still in the . . . tomb?”

 “Yes.”

“How did you get stuck here?” Cane asked.

She sighed. “I underestimated that frickin’ dread zombie cyclops! Other than that . . . in and out memories. A nearly skeleton cyclops would come and visit me. It was a giant thing. A glowing gem wedged in its eye socket.

"It told me, ‘You should be honored to be a guest of Vordakai, beast woman.” She pondered us with a tear stained look. “He promised to return when, ‘Your fear and dread drive all semblance of will from your mind at which time you will thank me for these gifts of pain!’” she wailed. “Then he would laugh.”

“Probably shouldn’t look at the eye,” Lev speculated.

"That was Vordakai—an ancient enemy of my tribe!” She said, disbelieving her own eyes.

“Um, hmm.”

“An ancestral boogieman, if this truly was that. Pshaw!” she spat. “I can’t believe those old tales.”

“The good news is that you’re free to go,” Trask said graciously. We wasted several minutes arguing about the best way out without wading through floating zombie guts or tipping off Vordakai. Finally, Lev said with some exasperation, “I need to rest!”

I guess we all did. We returned the way we came in, wading through the rotting water and lifting the portcullis. Having no more trouble with zombies, we emerged into the golden late-afternoon sun, the air smelling of early summer flowers. At our camp, we fed and watered Xamanthe, before stabling her for the night. In the morning we’ll bid her goodbye and safe journey before finishing this business with Vordakai.

Eat your vegetables,
Uncle Marquand

Letter 17—An Eye for an Eye

Dear Pino,
We made camp away from the island in a quiet spot that offered cover and good line of sight.

Cane, unusually loquacious, shared the nature of his love for Sizzles as the rest of us prepared to bed down. It sounds very similar to something Little Billee tried with his cat, and you saw what came of that—they almost didn’t get the bleeding to stop. At least the cat is safe, although we won’t know if Billee’s the same until adolescence.

Cane volunteered to take the first watch, prowling the perimeter of our camp like the wolf he holds so dear. All was quiet once Lev and Trask stopped arguing about the names our new towns would bear (Ilsagrad and Varnville). the next thing I knew I awoke to Cane’s sunrod blazing forth. At first I thought I was dreaming because I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. It looked like Cane was wrestling with shadows—shadows with claws! It was a soul eater from Beyond.

Soul Eater

Quoting from the school textbook: “Summoned forth from the inky swamps of Abaddon, a soul eater is an extraplanar entity devoid of emotion or reason and possessing a hunger that may only be sated by devouring the souls of the living. They are often conjured by vile spellcasters pursuing morbid agendas. Even when not seeing to the heinous commands of a sinister magic user, the soul eater prowls and hunts, constantly seeking living souls upon which to gorge itself.”

“Good thing I’m soulless,” Cane laughed, returning to the battle with a loud and nasty thunderstrike. He stared at the creature in dismay as it cackled maniacally, “Hee hee haha ahhaw heh heh ehe ehe heh ha ha hah ha ha ha!” while raking him savagely.

Trask hit it with three arrows to little avail as Lev began spouting his familiar “You guys are great,” speech and we all felt a little better about ourselves. I stepped up, took a couple of licks from the monster, and returned its affections with strong slashes from my sword.

Suddenly a burst of noise erupted from Vlad buffeting the creature. Trask followed with a single shot but deadly aim. Sizzles then ripped into the soul eater ferociously as it flew into shreds about her head like chicken feathers from a slain hen.

It was still dark so we tried to resting until dawn came glimmering from the east. I found myself gazing at the north star and wondering what you were dreaming. Ever since the owlbear rampaged through Tuskland I’ve seen how little my protection is worth when I'm away. Gods bless Bert Askew, but I doubt if his noodle arms could fight anything larger than a housecat.

With a start, I realized that it was morning, awakening to the sound of Sizzles whining piteously. “She had a bad dream,” Cane said, rubbing the back of her neck. “It was a Cyclops, old as the hills with a glowing red eye.”

“And he probably chased his tail!” Trask scowled as I hastily folded my blankets. “Are you really trying to relate to us what Sizzles saw in a dream?” he scoffed.

“Yes, I am,” Cane replied, taken aback. “And Sizzles is a she.”

I sat by the fire as they bickered, drinking a hot cup of coffee. A half moon was waning at the edge of the sky. Then we packed our camp and saddled up, Lev and Cane in the lead.

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Before long, over the distant scrub, we could see a tower jutting up. We came to a rushing river where we saw an island—a large rock, really—at the tower’s base. It was Vordakai's Tomb, the place from where no one returns. A hundred feet of water separated us. Tethering the horses we unfolded our boat, making for the island. At the foot of the cliff, where the beach was rimmed by a limestone scarp, there was a dark opening in the stone, partially obscured by creepers. Cane noticed tracks in the mud. Three creatures had passed this way over the previous three weeks: the first was human, the second was something very large, and, most recently, unshod horse hooves—a centaur. 

“This makes me angry,” Cane muttered.

Lev led the way in. It was very dark and I walked careful of debris on the ground. Lev reported that there were arches overhead, stopping us before we crossed their plane. He said runes were writ there—a magic ward. Lev and Trask moved ahead while I cast light and the rest of us explored the alcoves. We found human tracks, going into and then returning from the tunnel ahead. The huge footprints emerged while the centaur’s entered.

Farther along we found an amphora that had been broken open, spilling 689 ancient gold pieces. Each was stamped on one side with the image of an all-seeing eye, a clenched fist dominated the other. Buried in the coins was a jade bracelet—the one described by Master Pendrod!

“Worth 200 gold on eFey,” Cane joked.

Rubble lay strewn on the ground. As we collected the coins our colleagues went ahead, peering around a bend in the tunnel. Lev noted that the entire structure of the tomb was imbued with preserving magic.

That’s when they spied a large creature shambling unaware towards us, a zombie cyclops!

With Lev whispering encouragement in his ear Trask let fly with a flaming arrow.

“Querrowlowlowl!” we heard it howl as the arrow hit true.

Through the wall there was a muffled “Querrowlowlowl!” in answer.

Cane quickly followed up the attack, cutting a large bloodless hunk from its pale flesh. I cast hide from undead and moved forward but the fight was quickly over when Vlad blew it away using a spell of searing light.

The muffled growling became more distinct as stones tumbled from the wall and another zombie cyclops broke through.

This time Vlad’s searing light failed miserably—perhaps his powder wasn’t dry. Trask calmly filled it with arrows as Cane’s sword fell so heavily that its blue spine went spiraling through the air all by itself.

We collected their masterwork battleaxes and moved through a door into a large cavern with stalactites dripping from the roof. A wide pool filled the chamber except for a narrow shelf hugging the wall at the level of the river outside. We saw no tracks. Lev noticed that there were stairs in the river going down. Cane stripped to his trunks, much less shy now that Piea has left our group. He had hardly disappeared down the steps when we saw the water begin to roil.

“I like watching the failure of others,” Trask smirked, “especially if it was my action that sent them to their doom.”

What Cane had encountered was an Elasmosaurus. I’ll leave it to you to research the creature but, needless to say, it was large and vicious. Bleeding badly, Cane cried, “Look at my side! I’ve got a chunk out of it! That was a bad idea.”

Elasmosaurus--Public Domain

“We’ve got to kill it because there’s stuff down there,” Trask grumbled.

“Well, I’m not going to be bait for it!” Cane said hotly.

“Let’s stop being little girls about this and let’s go get this done, buttercups,” Trask growled, frowning with his one good eye.

I cast spiritual weapon and gingerly placed it under the water. The creature sat unperturbed as it popped away at him. Cane, healed somewhat by Vlad, swaggered back into the water after the creature, getting bitten once again. I heard Vlad screech in pain, realizing that he had cast friend shield, taking half of Cane’s damage.

Trask shot an arrow into the water, nicking it. I tried, too, but hit Cane instead. I heard a curse bubble from the water

“Ha ha ha ha,” Trask shouted. “How delicious! Friends make the best enemies!”

Sizzles entered the fray but the creature matched him bite for bite. Then it turned to lash at Cane again but this time he was ready. With the flash of his blade the fight was over.

We found that it had been protecting a pouch containing a silver raven figurine of wondrous power and a ring of freedom of movement. We quickly rolled dice for possession of the ring and, for once, the gods smiled on Cane.

The firelight is getting dim and I must get some rest before I go on watch. I’ll continue this story next time.

Always true,
Uncle Marquand