LANTHI-UME

PLAY-BY-EMAIL

CAMPAIGN 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

August 2006

Introduction 
 

      Lanthi-Ume. A City of Legend. A City of Dreams. A City of Destiny. And now it is your home. Brokering passage on the merchant trader, The Brethica, the journey to the fabled city is now behind you. With a final nod to those sailors you’ve come to know over the past while, you made your way to the longboat making ready to cast off and carry you to your new home.

      We begin our tale...  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Year of Broken Masts (1306 OC)

3^rd Bell of Dusk, Lordsday, the 4^th Day of Greenstorm 

      The pale eye of the full moon glared down on the longboat and its huddled passengers as they slowly sculled towards the island. Wreathed in a dank sea mist that carried the sour smell of rotting seaweed, the small boat shuddered through seas as black as a shark’s eye towards shore, the small craft fading and reappearing like a wraith as it passed through wisps of fog. Incessant rain slashed in from the right, trickling down the drawn hoods of the cloaks of the passengers and drumming on the hull of the boat. The sailors who rowed muttered curses and shot dark glances at the motley group at the boats center.

      Juggens, the boson mate of The Brethica, hawked and spat over the bow, running a rough hand over a weeks worth of patchy beard. "Put yer backs innit lads. The quicker we's deliver this lot, the quicker we's back aboard an' away 'pon the witches tide." A rumble of distant thunder boomed emphasis.

      Bannar Cane drew his sodden cloak tighter about himself, the downpour turning its deep red to black. Once his fathers, the patched and frayed garment was all he had left of his memory. Beside him, the massive tribesman Reef smiled at the rain that trickled over the tattooed swirls that darkened his face, reveling in the waves that thumped against the hull. The elves sat together, as they were wont to do, sylvan whisperings floating between the silver-haired mystic Nailo and the fair-skinned Azeeze, whose silver-threaded tunic glimmered in the flashes of distant lightning.

      Lacon huddled in the gloom of the boats port side, a dark patch of shadow in the feeble moonlight that managed to escape the dark clouds above. Water trickled down the back of the boiled leather that girded him and he shuddered at the feeling. Aeric Des’rata leaned over, the neatly trimmed blond hair of the sorcerer contrasting with the black locks that hung to Lacon’s shoulders, plastered to his skull by the rain. The wizard chuckled, his blue eyes gleaming, “We’ll be ashore soon, Mr. Jivall, and I’ve coin to spare. It might buy a haven from this hell spawned weather tonight.” Lacon nodded, saying nothing. �

      The shadowy bulk of land hoved into view through the mist, the white of breakers marking the dark line of shore. A hundred docks jutted into the dark sea ahead, each bearded in green algae and scattered with single and double-masted vessels bobbing on the surf. The distant lanterns on shore glowed like fireflies in the mist, the distant ringing of a church bell tolling the hour.

      The shattered hulk of a carrack lay on the rocky coast of the islands southwest end, it's back broken, its mainmast still thrust skyward, the torn remnants of canvas still fluttering from its yardarms. Ratlines still wound from spar to spar, holed cargo nets forming a vertical maze. The sailors shipped oars for a moment to show their respect then dug in again as the current begins to swing the bow towards shore.

      The longboat swept around the landward side of the isle, the horizon to its left suddenly awash with the twinkling lights of Lanthi-Ume, the cities buildings roofed in colorful tile and massive three or four-masted galleons and manowars lining it's many docks. A marked contrast to the shore to the right, where squalid buildings constructed one atop the other crowded the cliffside and prayed their stilt-legs would continue to hold them aloft. No lanterns shone here, the windows and doorways dark. A distant scream suddenly carried over the water, then cut off abruptly. The sailors labored on in silence, working hard to clear the shoreline quickly, then turned inland at last.

      The longboat finally thumped against a half-sunken piling and a sailor expertly tied off, then leapt down to a narrow pathway of planks set over a sea of squelching grey-brown mud to steady the boat against his hip. The dark forms of mist-shrouded buildings loomed over the wooden pathway like wary giants as it meandered up the rise, leading towards the cobbles above and the lanterns of a large building set on the cliff's edge, the wooden placard unreadable at this distance but unmistakably that of an inn. Somewhere warm, somewhere out of the rain.

      Juggens hawked and spat something green and wet into the squirming mud just off the plank-covered path. Wiping his shining chin with a dirty sleeve, he pulled his lips back into a twisted smile of black teeth.

      "Welcome ta' the Warrens, lads." 
 
 

      Aeric paused for moment, watching the shadowy form of the longboat grow smaller as it returned to The Brethica. The Warrens seemed a more dangerous place without the boat for some reason, as if an avenue of escape had been cut off. His mother had spoken of the place from time to time, none of her stories pleasant ones.

      Leaping to the middle of the plank walkway, he squinted against the pelting rain at the darkened rooftops above. Any one of them could hide an enemy, an assassin in every alley. He loosened his daggers in their sheaths and saw Bannar nod at the gesture, a few strands of the soldiers red hair plastered to his face from the rain.

      Drying his hands on his trouser legs, Bannar spoke, “If even half the stories I’ve heard about this place are true, it’s likely we’ve eyes upon us already. You may want to cover that tunic Azeeze; silver thread might be too tempting a target for some.”

      Bannar let his gaze sweep across his companions, an odd mix of elves and men. Lacon seemed most at ease here though he mostly kept to himself, the wiry sailor walking over to the massive barbarian Reef. Aeric slipped over to Reefs other side, keeping the man between him and Lacon.

      “Looks like we’re all in this together,” the wiry sailor said over his shoulder, “You elves might want to stick with us.”

      He turned to Aeric, “Maybe you want to ask a local where the good eats are?”

      Aeric ignored the comment, frowning "Gentlemen, since we are all new to the fair city of Lanthi-Ume and a few of us look a little newer to city life than others, I suggest we all stick together for now and get a seat by the fire and dry off at the Inn up the street.  I know I could use a drink and maybe the company of a beautiful barmaid."

      Bannar moved up to the trio, “A direct path to the bar with eyes and ears open seems to be the most logical choice given the hour.” Loosening his blade in it’s scabbard, he took the lead.

      Aeric spoke up, "Time to get dry and a drink, gents!" before moving after Bannar.

      Lacon nodded, shrugged, then gave Reef a long look, “"So, what's with all the tattoos, anyway?"

      The barbarian laughed, “They are my moko, my spiritual connection to Waru, the great spirit of the sea who protects my people. When I am a full shaman of the Jolago, they will cover me like a second skin, showing me the secrets of the hidden magic of Waru, but for now, the ink on my face marks but the beginning of my path.”

      Grasping his carved greatclub, the large warrior strode after Bannar and Aeric, the elves following behind.

      The rain ran from the eaves and gargoyles above to form a swift-moving stream that gurgled over the planks laid down to give secure footing in the mud. Moonlight turned the raindrops silver; the lights of sporadic lanterns turned them gold. The alleyways that intersected the pathway were unlit, sheeting water splashed from the cobblestones at their entrances and pooled in the hollows.

      Lacon heard it first, “You hear that?” cocking his head, he listened, the rain trickling down his face.

      Bannar nodded, “It came from the alley. Someone’s in pain.”

      A figure suddenly rose from the shadows just beyond the alleys mouth, his grey cloak in tatters, bandage-like wraps wound around the arms of the dark leather that covers him, a curved dagger in each of his hands, twin trails of something dark below his eyes, like tears of bloody tar.�

      Behind him, a weak groan and the sounds of fists meeting flesh echoed off the wet bricks of the alleyway.

      “Nothing but trouble for you here,” the figure rasped, “Move along.” 
 
 

      Bannar let his hand drop to the hilt of his sword, his mind already playing the likely angles of attack. A shadow fell over him and he spied Reef move up beside him, the barbarians greatclub in easy reach, Aeric hugging the shadows just behind the barbarian and Lacon clambering atop a nearby rain barrel for a better vantage point into the alley, an arrow already nocked to the string of the bow he held ready.

      We’ve only just arrived and we’re gelling as a team, Bannar thought.

      The figure before him pointed his daggers at Bannar, hissing, “Ye just leave those hands away from that sword hilt, Mister. We don’t want any heroes. Heroes don’t go round here, understand?” The man stepped back, then again, retreating back down the alleyway. �

      Aeric squinted down the alleyway, scanning for a likely protrusion he could use, spying at last a rusted metal hook that had once likely supported a lantern. Dipping into one of the many small pockets that lined his belt, he extracted the remains of a withered firefly and called to mind the words of a minor incantation.

      The shadows of the alleys mouth hid the arcane passes he made and the pelting rain dulled the words he spoke in a tongue more ancient than any invented by man, but the effects were nonetheless impressive.

      Light flared from the piece of bent metal, revealing the forms of three other figures in the alleys depths, all menacing a toppled fourth, who lay curled into a protective ball as they rained kicks and punches upon him. All three thugs reeled from the glare and backed away from their victim, hands dropping to the handles of the curved daggers at their hips while they sought the source of the illumination.

      “There’s trouble at the front. Wizard and worse,” snarled the first warrior.

      “We’ve got what we want anyway. He didn’t see anything,” said another.

      The first warrior nodded, and then the quartet turned and raced into the shadows of the alleyway, vanishing into the night.

      Aeric exhaled in relief, "Well gentlemen, I wouldn't exactly call ourselves heroes but I definitely like the way you all face a little danger.  I don't know about all of you but I know that if I was beaten and bloody in an alley I would surely hope some kind passerby wouldn't just leave me to bleed out."  He gestured for Reef and Bannar to follow and moved into the alley towards the beaten man who still curled into a ball. The man shook and jerked as though the beating continued, quivering with fear and pain.

      "Keep your weapons at the ready good sirs.  I'm sure our friends never went far, and very possibly they just went to bolster their numbers!"

      Bannar nodded at Aeric’s words, his longsword already in hand and raised into a likely guard should anything approach down the alley.

      Eso’Teric moved into the alleyway to join Aeric. “What manner of man binds himself in funerary wrappings and marks his face with ash? I thought him an undead fiend for a moment.” Most puzzling, he thought.

      Reef moved alongside the golden-haired merchant’s son and the silver-haired elf, his tattoos twitching in answer to the angry sea that roared inside him. “And what manner of coward beats an unarmed man three on one and then flees when a true battle drew at hand?” “One of you hold him still. I will need him steady if Waru is to help me heal this man of his hurts.”

      Lacon slung his bow over his shoulder and ran his fingers over the worn stones of the building's wall in search of handholds. Up the wall he slithered, his arms and shoulders screaming with the strain by the time he hooked a leg over the jaw of a gargoyle and pulled himself onto the rooftop that ran alongside the alleyway. 
 The tiles were slick with rain and he slipped often, riding the slick tiles down and then clambering up inclines on the strength of the speed such slides gave him.  
      The thugs below him were dark patches against the cobbles of the streets through which they fled. They never hesitated at junctions, each seemingly knowing the path even in the dark and storm. The roadway beyond the alley was too wide to leap even were the tiles dry, and Lacon cursed silently as his quarry scurried away, knowing that by the time he reached the street, they would have vanished completely.

      “They’re Grey Knives,” a voice said behind him.

      Lacon whirled, scrambling for his bow, knowing it was already too late. A slender figure detached itself from a snarling gargoyle pouring water from an elongated snout and moved into the moonlight, the silver light glancing over walnut skin, narrow upswept features, dark eyes, long brown hair, and the arrow nocked and aimed at Lacon’s heart.

      Lacon paused and lowered his hand. “I’m not with them.” “I know. That’s why you’re not dead yet.”

      “They were beating someone. And we chased them off, “Lacon said.

      “We?”

      “A bunch of us, we just got dropped off by our ship, back that ways a bit.”

      The wood elf glanced in that direction and nodded, slinging his bow over his shoulder. “I apologize if I startled you. The Warrens are dangerous, the rooftops doubly so at night. I am Alba Nuadh and no enemy of yours. We should return to your ‘We’.”  “After you,” the wood elf suggested.

      Returning to his companions, Lacon found them clustered around the thug’s victim.

      Eso’Teric and Aeric took Bannar’s place as sentry, spell components ready at hand and arcane syllables on their lips. Azeeze cocked his crossbow with a click and settled a bolt into the swan-winged groove of the weapons steel arms, the wood elf’s blond hair catching the moonlight.

      Bannar moved to the fallen man, cradled him with his knees so that Reef could get to work, and then glanced around at his companions. Where did Lacon get to?

      A noise drew his gaze upwards and he spied the dark-haired sailor clamber over one of the gargoyles on the rooftop along the alley and began to climb down the wall. To his surprise, a second form followed Lacon down the wall, a wood elf by his long dark hair and garb.

      Reef knelt by the victims side; a thin gaunt stick of a man with a pinched face and an overlarge nose, now broken and weeping blood onto the cobblestones. His left eye swollen shut, the man peered at the Jolago tribesman from his right, “I told dem fella’s. I aint got nuthin’. I ain’t seen nuthin’ I ain’t even been down dere today at all, cuz a’da rain ye’see. Floods de tunnels right out and de rats all git gone somewheres. I swears it on me mudders grave I does. I ain’t seen nuthin!” The man threw his hands over his head as if he expected another strike.

      “Rest easy. We are friends, not enemies, “Reef said soothingly. “Your hurts will heal in time. Who are you, and who were those men that attacked you?”

      The man’s voice is a thick nasal whine, made worse by his broken nose. “Who am I? I’m nobody. Vink. Vinkar the rat catcher. Ye gots rats, I’s the guy takes care o’dem fer ya. Gets me a copper gull each I does. Lots o’rats this year, bigguns too, up from da sewers unner the city. All the inns on the strip pay to keep they’s rats down fer em, can’t have no rats if’n ye wanna be in the inn business.”

      “Them fella’s was all Knives. Askin’ me if I’s was ere, or dere, an’ whatever. I tol’em jus’ wut I tols you. I ain’t been nowhere’s near dem tunnels today. They muss’a tot I wuz lying or summin’ but I swears it be true.” 
 
 

      The newcomer wood elf stepped from where he lounged by the alleyway wall.

      "Greetings gentlefolk and well met. I am Alba Nuadh, lately of Llordelva. I too am new to Lanthi-Ume and have been traveling solo, but could use companions to help assure my survival. I saw your brave feats from the rooftops above as you scared off the muggers perhaps saving this mans life."

  The slender brown-haired archer offered the rat catcher his hand and asked, "Do you have a safe place to stay tonight, we'd like to know more of this organization, but if you feel you must rest and inform us tomorrow we understand."

      Lacon stepped in. "Indeed. Let's get Vink here some food and shelter; he may be able to help show us around in the morn.” He turned to the others, “I don't know about you all, but my smallclothes are drenched and starting to chafe in ways I’d rather not think about.”

      Vink accepted the extended hand and pulled himself to his feet, scrabbling in the mud until he came up with a gnarled staff whose far end hung with a half-dozen rats tied by their tails. “Nah, nah. Been too long gone already, I have. Da missus you know. She worries if’n I’m out too late. Besides, t’ain’t healthy to speak o’da Grey Knives. No sir. I leaves them Deathwalkers alone and they’s leave me alone most o’da time. There’s a place up The Walk I rat catch fer. Good grub, good prices. Jus up da way dere. Get yerselfs settled and all dis’ll blow right over. Mark my words. Could be I’ll join ye fer breakin’ da fast if’n I can convince da wife to let me out again.” Leaning on his staff, the rat catcher staggered away with a bloody smile and a nod to each of the companions in turn.

      Bannar watched him go for a moment, thinking to himself that whoever those thieves were he wouldn’t have been happy even if they had gotten what they had come for.  Too bad we didn’t have connections so we could find out more about them, “Did any of you elves see any markings on those other guys?”

 Eso’Teric and Alba shook their heads. Azeeze stood from where he squatted further down the alley, rubbing his thumb and fingers together. “They’re dead men,” he said showing the black smear that covered the tips of his fingers and clung even in the rain.

      “Silver tarnish,” the elven warrior continued, “These men had silver coins on their eyes sometime recently. Old coins.”

      Eso’Teric searched his memory, “The Boatman?”

      Azeeze nodded, “These men have already paid passage to Charon, who ferries the souls of the dead across the black waters of the Styx. Might they be some sort of death cult?”

      Funeral wrappings, Ash, The Boatman - Rengeth! Bannar cursed, slipping into High Lanthian, What have we stumbled into here?

      He walked towards Aeric, “I think something might be going down in the area that Vink works.  The flood waters may have changed something on his regular route.  The Grey Knives may have backed off merely because they had more pressing business this night.  If we wait out the night that business may be done, “he said raising an eyebrow for emphasis.

      Aeric scowled, “Maybe. Makes sense even, but you heard Vink. The rain floods the tunnels. And we don’t know how many of these Grey Knives there are. There isn’t anything going on that can’t wait until morning.”

      Alba nodded to Lacon and his fellows, his gaze lingering on Azeeze for a moment longer than the others, "Perhaps gentlemen, we should take our new friend Vink’s advice and find ourselves a barstool somewhere and become better acquainted. I thought I spotted an inn atop this very hillock, probably the one Vink mentioned.”

      As the party moved up the boardwalk, Reef, Aeric and Bannar fell into an easy line, Lacon and Alba just behind, and Eso’Teric and Azeeze a fair-haired couple in the rear. Wringing out his scarlet cloak, Bannar smiled at his new friends. “You all handled yourselves pretty well back there.”

      Aeric smiled back, “Did you hear him? We don't want any heroes. Heroes don't go round here.”

      Bannar nodded to Aeric and shot a cocky grin towards the barbaric Reef, “I don’t know if you’d call us heroes exactly, but they’re sure as sh** not ready for us.”

      Reef nodded, “How could they be? We have Waru on our side.”

      The groups boot heels drummed out a rhythm on the planks of The Walk as they climbed ever higher, the streets widening at last into a small courtyard of rain-washed stones lit by a scattering of iron lamps, each marking a street exiting the place and winding into deep shadows. The massive edifice of the building to their left caught their eye, four stories of stone and cross-timbered walls whose whitewash bore flaking wounds.

      The battered wooden sign of the inn swung gently in the sea breeze, its faded gilt lettering spelling out the structure's name.

      "Mary's Place"

      Wooden steps rose to a broad deck that skirted the place on three sides, the green awnings above dark and dripping in the rain. A few men took their leisure among tables and benches set up below the awnings, blue cloaks over chain armor, the smell of pipe weed and herbs more exotic carrying on the sea air.

      Double doors on swinging hinges lead into the place, where the orange glow and warmth of fireplaces and the hum of conversation and clinking glasses beckoned. 
 
 

      Through the slatted swinging doors, the common room formed a crowded crescent around the oaken bar to the right; iron lanterns hung on the sturdy posts that dotted the place spilled pools of amber light on the customers huddled in conversation and drink below. Booths that offered more privacy lined the near wall while the far wall was composed on lead-lined glass, and offered a wondrous view of the city of Lanthi-Ume across the harbor, a view reduced to a smear of light and color by the rain.

      A middle aged woman with her graying hair tied into a bun tended bar, moving effortlessly with a smile and a laugh from patron to patron filling orders. An old plank nailed above her bore the crude inscription, “No Blood, No Thud.”

      A burly man in a leather vest rose from a stool by the door, the short tusks that protruded from his lower lip betraying his half-orcish blood. "In or out, fish. Don' be standin’ dere jus' gawkin’, Yer lettin' in da rain." The heavy cudgel that hung from the bouncers’ hip may explain the thud part of the inscription above the bar. 
 
 

      Bannar hung back, watching the blue cloaked men warily. “You others go on ahead. Set a place for me and order me up some tea. I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.” The mercenaries on the deck paused to watch the companions enter the place, and then resumed their card game, a small pile of copper and silver coins set before each. Bannar recognized the game as Three Dragon Ante, a popular game of chance derived from an older dwarven game and one where the winning hand was comprised of the strongest three-card flight of dragons dealt. One of the soldiers, losing his coins, gathered his cloak closer about himself and shuddered in the chill and damp.

      Bannar noted the yellow shield-shaped badge on the garments right breast and the rearing boar stitched there in blue. Blue Boars, he thought. Mercenaries and private police for those who could afford them, said to be as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.

      One of the men growled, “You see that lot? The whole f***ing place is going to the Shinies.”

      “Not for long is what I’ve heard,” another said. “Word is someone’s offered up a bounty on them.”

      “Who?” another asked.

      “Who knows? I’m just saying what I heard. 100 gold crowns for elf blood and a set of ears.”

      “Your making’ this sh** up! Who pays that kind of money?”

      “No, no. I tell you I heard it. Wizard might pay it, or maybe the dark elves. There’s no love between them two. Gerezan told me, said he heard it from Malek.”

      “Gerezan should stay away from those Grey Knives. Their not right in the head, those guys. If Malek’s in, hell, maybe it is the dark elves. Want to make a play?”

      “F*** that sh**. Did you see the size of that tattooed fella? And that other guy was Scarlet Legion unless I miss my guess. Besides, good luck collecting money from a dark elf,” one said, then slowly ran his finger across his throat. The mercenaries gave a dark laugh before returning to their game of cards.  
 

      As the rest of you entered and moved towards a vacant table, a slender young barmaid cleared the coins from its top into the pockets of her apron and whisked the mugs of the previous occupants out of your way, blowing a ringlet of golden hair out of her eyes. She nodded at you, and then started and an odd look flitted across her face.

      “Actually, the view from the terrace is so much nicer than here. If you’ll kindly follow me, I’ll get you situated.” She moved off towards, and through the sliding doors that lead to the back deck, pausing to gather an armful of menus along the way.

      Lacon piped up, “We’re waiting for two more.”�

      She nodded, setting the stack of menus on the table, “I'm Marilee, and I'll be your server tonight, gentle sirs.” “Mary's Lordsday specials are the battered whitefish and grilled potato platter and the long shell mussel basket and we've got cold Whitebottom Pale and Mirkwater Stout on tap. I’ll give you gentlemen a little bit to think about it and I'll be right back to get your orders", she flashed a nervous smile then caught a look at Aeric and winked before winding her way back towards the bar.

      It wasn’t long before Marilee sauntered back and jotted down your orders on a small slate, returning a few moments later with a tray filled with drinks.

      Lacon pushed himself away from the table and wandered towards the front door. Maybe those blue-cloaked soldiers out front knew where he could find a magistrate or at least someone with some pull in the city. Bannar moved from the shadows as Lacon neared the doorway, shaking his head.

      “They’re no friends of ours.”

      Lacon shrugged, “Your tea is on the table and I think you over tipped. Come on.”

      The pair moved into the back once more, both thinking to themselves, where’s Reef?  
 
 

      Reef had stormed through the inn’s doorway, his soul raging at the unjust attack he had witnessed, anger coursing through his soul and heating the intricate designs on his face. He walked straight to the bar and cast all discretion aside.

      "A mug of mead, and knowledge of the Grey Knives", he growled, sliding two gold crowns across the polished oak.

      The bartender gaped at him and swept the coins into the tip track that ringed the bar then reached up to pluck a mug from the pegs above the bar. As the amber mead flowed, she leaned forward.

      “I’d probably keep such questions to yourself stranger. It would certainly be healthier for all involved. Luckily, Tarot is with you. I know a man who might be able to help with your questions. He’ll want payment, but if that’s what you want I’ll set up the meeting. Give me a few minutes and come when I signal. I’ll need your name.”

      The barbarian glanced towards the doorway where Bannar stood guard, keeping watch for any trouble. “I go by the name of Reef.”

      “Fine then, Reef. Give me three shakes of a lamb’s tail.”  The barkeep moved out from behind the bar and over to one of the private booths along the inns near side, its sole occupant wreathed in blue smoke. She spoke for a few minutes, glancing towards Reef from time to time as she did. Finally she flicked her hand in his direction and he moved towards her.

      The man was slender, but wiry, a vest of dark blue showing off the lean muscles of his arms and chest. His hair was a mass of short, oiled curls, slick and gleaming in the firelight. His weathered face had spent a lot of time in the sun and crow’s feet stalked from his dark eyes, deep lines from the corners of his mouth. He exhaled a breath of smoke and set his thick cigar on the clamshell ashtray before him, raking the barbarian with his soulless eyes.

      His voice was a dry rasp, “Please be seated. If you need to name me, call me…Guttersnipe.” He drew on his cigar again, exhaling with a sigh before drawing the privacy curtain across the booths open end. “So, Reef of the Jolago, Meriam tells me you are looking for a certain knife. How might I be of service and what is it worth to you?”  
 
 
 

      Aeric smiled to himself as he stepped into the inn. There was something about the smell of pipe weed and of roast on a spit that made an inn so inviting. The smell took him back to his childhood and how his mother always smelled after finishing her shift.

      Following Marilee to the back deck, he ran his fingers through his hair and shook out his sodden travel cloak, hanging it on a nearby peg. As the others ordered, he perused the menu.

      “A bottle of the house red and four pitchers of the pale if you don’t mind, fair lady.” He caught the wink the waitress shot him and returned one of his own.

      Aeric turned to Alba, the slender elf seemed almost childlike in the wooden chairs of the place. “So what brings you to this place?”

      The elf regarded Aeric with slanted eyes like polished walnut. “I seek an answer to a question. What has become of my father? The path to the answer begins here.”

Aeric had just opened his mouth to respond when Marilee returned with drinks, barely managing to set them down before Aeric swept her onto his lap, where she pretended to struggle. "Sweet Marilee, could you please do me a favor and round up all of my friends and ask them to return to the table?” “We've all had a very long journey and have a lot to discuss before we retire.  Oh, and speaking of retiring, “he said with a playful pinch, “I would like to inquire as to the availability of some rooms in this fine establishment."

      Marilee giggled and fought to her feet, “Two of them are at the bar, the skinny guy with the black hair and the guy with the red ponytail and I saw the big one with all the tattoos go into a private booth with someone. I’ll tell Meriam you need rooms, though.” She swayed away with an extra swivel of her hips for Aeric’s benefit, heading for the bar. 
 
 

      Bannar moved to flank Lacon as the pair moved towards the bar, a move that afforded the pair a wide view of the inn’s patrons.

      The matronly barkeep glanced at the pair and smiled, “Always a pleasure to see new faces around here. What can I get you gentlemen?”

      Bannar leaned in, “My pardons Madam, but a large friend of mine with tattoos appears to have wandered off.  He is a gentle soul, but carries a large stick and I like to keep tabs on him.  Have you seen him?”

      She chuckled, “Yes, I saw you come in together. Heart strong and head weak that one is. He asked me for a favor. Paid well enough that I did it, and he’ll be back with you shortly once the meeting is over. Never fear.”

      A slender girl with a low-cut blouse and a head of golden ringlets slid up to the pair. “Your friends are on the back deck looking for you two.” Her blue eyes slid over the pair and slid on by, seeing nothing to catch her interest. “Oh, and the good looking blond one asked about rooms.”

      Bannar nodded, turning towards the far corner and the wondrous view it gave of the city, thinking it a strange oasis of sorts in the dangerous Warrens.  “I never expected something with such a view from the Warrens.”

      “Few do. My mother put that glass wall in after the old wooden ones kept getting smashed in during one battle or another. Somehow, that wall has never been as much as cracked since.”

      “My companions and I may prefer to pay by the week for a few rooms if that's a possibility?”

      “Sure it’s possible. I’ve got side-by-sides on the third floor, each sleeps four. They run a swan each a night, two with break of fast. We’ll call it 2 crowns, 8 swans for the week for both. Come see me for the keys when you’re ready to turn in. Stairs are around the end of the bar there. You can’t miss them.”

      “I will warn you, though. We have been known to be called heroes,” Bannar said.

      The bartender laughed and pointed to the wooden post nearest the bar. “Heroes, is it? We’ve known a few.”

      Both Lacon and Bannar saw the multitude of names and symbols scratched into the posts surface. Tridar of Wayfarer, Undella of the Horn, Raxx Gildenstave, Shrill…something, many written over older inscriptions, and then written over again.

      Lacon whistled appreciatively and turned to the innkeeper. “We’re new here and looking for work. Might you know where a fellow might pick up some?”

      “I might. It’s not glamorous but it’s honest. The rain has driven the rats up and out of the sewers under the inn and my normal rat catcher is missing. Clear the vermin out of my cellar and you’ll stay for free. What do you think? Sound up your alley?”

      Lacon shrugged, “I’ll pass it on to the others. We’ll think about it.”�

      The pair made their way towards the back deck, arriving in the middle of Aeric hoisting a glass of wine, seemingly in mid-tale, though Bannar noted that sorcerer’s eyes were secretly scanning the inn’s main room behind the pair as they approached.

      Bannar swept up his mug of cold tea and hoisted it high, grinning, “Gentlemen, let me be the first to toast the newest heroes of the Warrens. It turns out we are in fine company. Have you ever been referred to as a hero, Lacon?  Or you, Azeeze?” the soldier extended a hand to Alba, “Sir Elf, be welcome, companions in a place like this are always most welcome. I bring tidings.”

      “Those men on the front deck were Blue Boar mercenaries, enforcers for anyone rich enough to afford them. Turns out one of them heard that someone is offering a lot of money for elf blood an ears and I heard the Grey Knives mentioned.” Bannar looked at Eso’Teric, Azeeze and Alba in turn. “And one of them mentioned dark elves.” 

Reef in the booth with Guttersnipe 

      Reef regarded the man lounging opposite him in the booth. Guttersnipe was it? He thought, even the name irritates me. The foul stench of wickedness of this place fueled his anxiety even as it strengthened his resolve.

      "I am Reef of the Jolago, and have witnessed wrong doings, and have received open threats from the Grey Knives. Who are they and what business do they serve in The Warrens. What is your price?"

      "I already know who you are and my time is precious. Do you really want to know that badly?"

      "What exactly does your time offer?” Reef asked, striving to keep his seething anger in check.

      "It's hard to say. Maybe answers to your questions. One hears a lot if they know where to listen."  Guttersnipe fiddled with the ornate silver ring on his left pinkie and regarded the barbarian across from him,”50 crowns buys you the answers to three questions if I know them. I hope you make the questions good ones. Do we have a deal?"

      Reef reeled at the price, almost every coin he had left. Maintaining his composure, he nodded and paid, "So be it. Who are the Grey Knives?”

      Guttersnipe counted the gold coins carefully before sliding them into his belt pouch. "I suppose you'd call them a thieves guild, but they're not. Not really. Oh, the Grey Knives steal and kill and break the law like a regular guild, but at the end of the day they're motives are different. They want to live forever." He paused to light another cigar from the stub of the first. "What's your second question?"

      "Where exactly are these band of misfits located?" Reef demanded, leaning forward threateningly. If Guttersnipe was in any way intimidated, it failed to show in his manner. Reef cursed silently, thinking that he should have taken Bannar with him. He seemed the diplomat of the group.

      "Oh, they've got four or five strong houses scattered around The Warrens but their main base of operations is down by that sunken ship you must have passed on the way here. The place used to be a slaughterhouse if I recall correctly. Turns out it still is, just in a different way. Hordon and Sons or some such above the door. You've obviously got more balls than brains, so I'll tell you this for free. I'd steer clear of that place. They don't fuck around and they've got some heavy hitters." Guttersnipe grinned at Reef, "Third question for all the marbles?"

      "The man that was attacked tonight, Vink the rat catcher, what was it that he witnessed or that they thought he had seen? What’s brewing with these Grey Knives? What are they planning for The Warrens?”

      Guttersnipe scratched at his chin and exhaled smoke, "That’s three questions right there and you’re fresh out. They attacked Vink did they? Good to know. He works the tunnels under this part of The Hovelry mostly. I'd heard the Knives had picked up a gig as hired muscle, but never heard who held the purse strings. If Vink was taken out, whoever hired the Knives is using those tunnels for something and don't want any witnesses. Lots of ways into those tunnels though, they can't be watching them all." 
Guttersnipe stopped smiling, "That's all three big boy. Pleasure doing business with you, now get the f*** out of my booth already."

      Reef paused, "Who are you really? Maybe we can help one another...."the removal of a threat can result in personal gain."

      Guttersnipe chuckled, "Maybe, but 50 crowns is hardly going to inspire me to tangle with Mask, The Shroud or a bunch of death crazy fanatics. Best of luck. I don't imagine I'll be seeing you again." He pulled the curtain aside to allow Reef to exit easily.

      The big barbarian wandered to the back deck of the inn, mulling over what the information broker had told him. If he could find an unguarded way into the tunnels, maybe he could stop whatever the Grey Knives were doing.

      “There he is!” Aeric said, “Where’d you get lost to?”

      Reef nodded to Aeric and the others and sat, quickly filling them in on his talk with Guttersnipe. He noted that the elves had drawn up their hoods or, in the case of Alba, tied his long brown hair in a way that concealed the points of his ears.

      “Trouble?” he asked. Bannar repeated what the Blue Boars had said on the front deck, his face grim.

      “On the other hand, we’ll stay for free if we pick up where our friend Vink left off,” Lacon said. “Let’s settle in for the night and tackle the rodent problem in the morning.”

      With a scraping of chairs, the companions rose and gathered the keys to their rooms. The goose down mattresses of their beds whisked them away into slumber moments after their heads touched the pillows, the softness a far cry from the straw tacking they had slept on during the voyage on The Brethica. The elves settled themselves in positions of repose and fell into The Reverie, that dream-like trance that refreshed and invigorated the elven mind and body.

      Outside, the storm wasted it’s fury on the cities rooftops, the drumming of the rain and the howling of the wind a wordless lullaby. 




*NOTE*  I Cleaned this up a bit. If anyone notices language that I missed please let me know. I would also encourage everyone to let grim know what you think of this, and provide ideas/suggestions.

I have the first 5 chapters of this story, so let me know how often you guys want to see more.

Enjoy.