The Black Shingle Fiasco II: Electric Boogaloo

[YossarianLives]

Hill frowns, and takes the documents from you.

He has no comment on the books and letters written in Ignan - he understands the language no better than you. The professors briefly apologizes, explaining that the Elemental Planes are really not his area of expertise, before moving onto the next item.

The spellbook incurs a similar response. He is not a wizard. However, Hill does offer to refer you to a friend of his at the Academy of Transmutation: Senra's renowned school of magic.

The maps he passes over with a shrug, they apparently fail to interest him - until he reaches the maps marked with Abyssal runes. "Now this is interesting," he mutters. "I think these are maps of the Abyssal wilderness - incredibly rare. Judging by the terrain, I would guess this depicts the plains and desserts of the Upper Abyss." He pushes the map across the desk to show you. "And look at these runes," he indicates a number of twisted X-shapes on the parchment. "Those indicate great danger of some kind."

[Marlowe]

Avita's hand go to her belt pouch. "Plains and deserts", she repeats, taking out her writing materials. "No jungles? Brin said the hybrids are from--I think I'll just make myself a copy of that, while we're sitting around and chatting. And of the one showing the city underworld as well."

[YossarianLives]

Hill waves one hand. "Of course. The maps are yours. Now." He leans forward in his chair. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

[Marlowe]

Avita half-turns away, arms crossed over her chest. Her back is ramrod straight but her head bows briefly; "What we need to do, what everyone needs to do; is spread some of this information. Not everything,
not to everyone, but various temples, Guard HQ, anyone else in a position of authority should be informed about Laelth's plans to do something at that island in two nights time. About the Cartman within the city, about the other sneak. These are things people need to be told watch for, people need to prepare a response for.

"I can't help but wonder; here we are bouncing about the city like a charged particle inside some ridiculous magic engine lined with lead hoping to randomly bump into some other charged particle what we can exchange info with. Wouldn't it be a lot easier if we could just broadcast what we have to whoever might be interested and see who reciprocates? With aid, with force, with information we yet don't have?" Her head turns to Hill. "You don't know of any eager young student types around this place that might be persuaded to run some errands? "

[YossarianLives]

Hill watches you curiously, one thick eyebrow raised, and nods emphatically when you pose a question to him. "Certainly," he smiles. "My students might complain about having to run errands, but hard work is good for them. It builds character, humility. Tell me where your letters need to go, and I'll make sure they arrive by the end of the day."

[rax]

"Throwing a match into the wood pile to see who comes running? I take it you've had it with moving slowly and carefully then?" Sarrazin chuckles.

"Professor, I understand that local geography is likely not your area of expertise, but can you think of any reason why Laelth would be headed for Crab Island in particular? He claimed he could show us the threat the Zaghifd pose first hand, and I understand that locals already avoid the island. Can there be some connection between the Zaghifd and the island?"

[YossarianLives]

The Professor looks intrigued. He leans forward, one elbow on the desk. "Crab Island, you say? I've no idea how it could be connected to the Zaghifd, or the demons for that matter. According to local legend, some kind of underground fortress has been built beneath the Island and contains treasure beyond your wildest dreams - all protected by a mysterious guardian known as the 'Crab King.' I doubt its true, but there must be something on that island. The few people brave enough to explore it seldom return. Common opinion among the scholarly is that it is home to a band of pirates."

[Marlowe]

"Crab. Zanghifd. Claws." growls Avita. "You know, I really should have put that connection together earlier. There wouldn't be any written accounts from those that have survived the place; by any chance?"

[YossarianLives]

"It's somewhat common for thrill seekers to go exploring on the island. Most of them return unharmed, though some report attacks by giant, highly aggressive crabs... but none of them have found any kind of settlement. Others vanish without a trace." Hill pauses, looking thoughtful. "If I remember correctly, there was a book written on the topic about ten years ago. I'm sure we could lend you a copy."

[rax]

"Thank you, professor, forewarned is forearmed, is that not the saying? Even if there turns out to be no obvious connection to the invasion, then at least we may be prepared for the mundane dangers that could await us."

Turning to the rest of the team he asks: "Other than drafting the letters Avita suggested, do we need to trouble Emyera and Professor Hill for anything else?"

[YossarianLives]

With a letter of recommendation in hand, you bid farewell to Emyera and Professor Hill and leave the College grounds. They watch you depart in silence, only daring to talk when you are almost out of sight, beyond the gate.

You make your way toward the Academy of Transmutation, one of the world's finest schools for the magical arts. Your party leaves the sprawling estates of Old Senra behind, and returns to the smoke, grime, and stone buildings of the city proper. Following the directions of Hill, you head back west, toward the compound, Black Shingle, and the Academy.

Soon, you see the blocky, grey mass of the Academy looming over you: while other prosperous centres of education invest in art and elaborate architecture, the Academy is utterly utilitarian. It is nothing more than a massive stone tower of around ten stories, with a handful of extensions on the ground floor. People trickle in and out of the large wooden gate. You join them, shuffling into the windowless lobby. After getting directions from one of the receptionists behind a large oak desk, you head down one of the many passages into the Academy's belly. As you pass through the torchlit halls, you are struck by how mundane the whole place is. Everything is built of plain stone or wood, and the few students you meet are dressed much like those you see out on the streets. No one pays you much mind.

After nearly getting lost in the maze of narrow hallways, you reach your destination, the office of one Sofia Ammel, Professor Hill's contact. You knock, and almost immediately a voice calls "enter." Once the door is opened, you that the office is little more than a glorified closet. A tiny desk dominates the space, at which is hunched a middle-aged gnome woman with stringy hair and a face that looks accustomed to frowning. "What is it?" she snaps, pulling the drawstring of a little red sack. The only source of light is a wax candle stuck to the desk.

[rax]

"And a good day to you as well, learned madam," Sarrazin replies with overdone politeness. "I am Sarrazin Montayne, duly deputized member of the City Guard, as are my companions here. We come from Professor Hill at the Sage's Guild. He believes that you might be able to assist us in our inquiries," he continues, holding forth Hill's letter of recommendation.

[Marlowe]

Avita drops a stiff-backed bow. "Adept Sofia; Avita Santiago", she says quietly. "I trust you would not, for the sake of the city and all it's people and their collective wish not be be eaten by monsters, object to taking a look at a recently-recovered spellbook for us? And perhaps venture an opinion as to how it came into possession of someone not, if my observations serve me correctly; a Wizard in any sense. Oh, and we've got some letters and papers and description of an unholy ritual we need looked at too." Might as well start with the tempting stuff, finish with the spooky stuff; and mention the boring stuff in the middle.

"The ritual we already suspect to be a load of eunuch's testicles thrown together by a pratster to make a couple of dubiously-thoughtful people waste time and body fluids for his ethically-challenged amusement. But that's what we might term an inexpert opinion. We're hoping you can provide a better."

[YossarianLives]

The woman, who you presume to be Ammel, brightens up considerably. She takes the letter from Sarrazin, skims it, and hands it back. "Good to hear from old Hill," she mutters. By the time Avita has finished, she is looking significantly less cheerful; intrigued, yes, but more than a little fearful. "I'll certainly take a look." She takes the spellbook first, placing the heavy tome on her desk, heaving it open, and staring intently at the pages.

After a solid minute, she looks up again. "Well, this is a spellbook. No doubt about it. One moment." She pulls a small piece of crystal from her coat, and holds it aloft in one hand while reciting some kind of incantation under her breath. When she finishes, there is a slight flash of light around Ammel's eyes, before she pockets the crystal and goes back to reading. For a little while she flips through the book, before closing it with a heavy thud. "Definitely a spellbook," she concludes. "And with the instructions for quite a few powerful spells. Mostly conjuration; uh, the art of summoning creatures and materials. I could write out a complete list, if you would like." She shakes her head. "Though I have no idea who this originally belonged to."

Ammel moves onto the ritual. Lips pursed, she conducts a more thorough reading of the papers. Eventually, she tosses them onto the tabletop, sighs. "I can't say for sure," she admits. "It looks genuine, but I can't say for sure what it's supposed to do. Some kind of divination, like those used to contact others at great distances. Or on other planes. But I know I'm missing something." She pauses, looking uncertain. "Just a theory, but: I think it might be like an extraplanar signal fire. Used not to contact a specific entity, but to put out a general call, saying "I'm here, I want to talk."" Another, longer pause. She watches you, as if seeking validation. "If that makes any sense?"

[Marlowe]

Avita stares straight. Unblinking. "It does. We know the person summoned is perfectly capable of talking to others without need for rituals, old daggers, and blood--oh, that's right. We have the dagger, care to see it?--and if I'm not rushing you we have a pentateuch's worth of journals and letters written in Draconic Ignean which we'd like to have moved from the "needs looked at" to the "looked at and found to be silly" box as soon as convenient.
And, you know? There's just the slightest tinkling of a chance there might be something important in them. Adept Sofia;
would you care to have some context? There's been some odd things occurring these past few days, and we're trying to find out what it is."

[YossarianLives]

Ammel takes the dagger, holding it tenderly in both hands - for a gnome, it's easily the size of a shortsword. "I'm no historian," she mutters, "but this just looks like a dagger. An old one, I'd wager, and very well-made. But nothing more than a dagger." She gives it back.

"Ignan," she asks incredulously. "I don't speak it, but I know some of my colleagues do. I'm sure they'll be as interested in this as I am." She pauses, looking at you from under a furrowed brow. "But some context would be very welcome. Where did you get these papers? Why are they important? I presume this has something to do with the... um, Demonic invasion." Ammel shakes her head, grunts something that sounds like "nasty business."

[Marlowe]

Avita taps her fingertips together, ironclad lefts clicking against bony rights. "The volumes ansd letters in Ignean are--we presume--the private writings of a traitor to the city arrested today. He had been conniving with the enemy to allow them to obtain a certain artifact--a grey glass rod--which supposedly would let the Wheeler Demons command yet another transplanar host, the Handymen, Zanghifd, whatever. Our traitor seemed to take the view that this would save the city."

She lowers her hands. Holding them by her sides. "Which makes zero sense. And he wasn't a stupid man. So I know we've missed something important and it might be in all this mess of Ignean volumes and letters. There's others out for that rod as well, I believe; and that's hurting us as much as the Demons are. I don't wish to speak of treason, Adept Sofia. Since this mess began; fear of treason--talk of treason--fear of treason--this has done us more damage than the actual treason. But some there is.

"There might be a vital clue that could unravel all plots and save the city somewhere in all that Draconic Ignean. Then again, it could be a lot of badly-written "Everybody Loves Vecna" fanfiction, complaints about the staff, and decadent poetry about his genitalia. We're a pack of young volunteer paramilitaries pressed for time and we don't know. And can't tell. And for the good of where we live it would be nice if someone who could would take a look."

[rax]

"Colourful description aside, I concur with Avita. But a question occurs to me regarding the ritual, madam Ammel. You say it might be meant to send a signal to another plane, but that it doesn't appear to be meant to contact a specific individual. Whether or not that's the case, current evidence points to just one individual having responded when it was used, perhaps on multiple occasions. Can you theorize as to how that could be? Is there anything inherent in the ritual to prevent any number of interested parties from responding to the signal?"

[YossarianLives]

Ammel listens with rapt attention, absent-mindedly drumming her fingers on the desk. "I'm no soldier," she says tentatively, "but trusting the word of someone conspiring with demons seems exceptionally foolish. Not that you need to hear that from me." She looks down at the stack of papers with newfound significance. "In the months since the invasion, many of us here at the Academy have petitioned to mobilize our forces against the demons. All of them have been shot down by the chancellor." Her hand stops tapping, clenches into a fist. "He is unwilling to risk the lives of our students - like that will matter if the city is overrun! It has been over a thousand years since mages marched to war in any great number... but the forces we have assembled here are the equal of ten thousand regular soldiers!" She looks up. "I wish I could help you more, I really do. But I'm afraid my hands are tied. I'll make sure these papers are thoroughly analyzed and translated. It's possible there are codes hidden within the language, we can't be too careful. You're welcome to stay while we work on this, but it will likely take us most of the night. There's a lot here."

Ammel shifts in her chair to face Sarrazin, giving the handsome half-elf a searching look. "I can't be sure, but if you will allow some speculation - I would guess this ritual was used to make 'first contact.' Any preceding meetings were likely conducted with other means. Otherwise, as you say, any number of nosy demons could butt in." She shrugs slightly. "I could be mistaken, of course. I would suggest trying to perform the ritual ourselves, but it says here that you need a full moon, and the next one is in about two weeks."

[Marlowe]

Avita gives a wave with her gauntlet. "Our arrested traitor was conspiring with another. One significantly more dominant within their intimate-" a flick of an eyelid "-than he. I'm thinking deception began with that other. Unfortunately, the Demons snatched him before anyone had half the facts to act. And what would I know? I'm just a simple temple girl who knows nothing of such matters, just making my guesses as they match what we find."

She tosses her head back. Her hair is beginning to feel heavy. "I'll thank you brightly, Adept Sofia, for the attention to these writings. And to the list of spells in that book. And a point, our traitor had a book of plays by his bed." She draws out the volume. "It might have been just his regular reading. Both our scheming fellows were of the thespian appreciatory sort, yet it occurs to me that many of the simplest and hardest-to-break codes rely upon a simple key. Such as a book a copy of which both participants possess. Such as this might well be. An opaque series of numbers means a page, a line, a word. Or somesuch a thing."

She hands the collection over. "Easy enough to do. Damned hard to break. Unless you have the key." She puts her hands behind her back. "Or so I've heard."

[YossarianLives]

Ammel manages a weak smile. "You are very welcome." She takes the complete works, looking somewhat skeptical. Nonetheless: "I'll make sure we investigate it thoroughly," she reassures.

"I'll make sure you get the information as soon as possible." She leans forward in her chair, reaching for a quill and notebook, then pauses. "Was there anything else?"

[rax]

"I think we've intruded upon you for long enough, madam Ammel. Unless you have any more questions, Avita?"

[YossarianLives]

You bid farewell to Sofia Ammel and depart for the slums.

It is a long walk, past bustling markets, sleepy neighbourhoods, manufactorums belching out smog. The sun sets as you fight your way across crowded avenues, stroll down fashionable boulevards and the dark, greasy corners that decent folk try to avoid. As you get farther and farther from the warzone that is Black Shingle, people wander the streets in greater numbers, speaking openly and even daring to smile.

As you pass through the broad gates into the slums, the mass of people becomes even denser. People of all shapes and sizes jostle you as they hurry about their business. Some gnomes, but more humans, halflings, orcs, dwarves, even a few elves. They stumble through the streets with dirty faces and ragged clothes, shouting and hollering. Wagons loaded with goods tear through the streets, drunks spill out of taverns, others rummage through piles of garbage. Occasionally you see a family of hollow-eyed gnomes crouched in the mud, clutching each other tightly. Refugees or the homeless, you cannot tell. No one spares you more than a glance.

Eventually, though, you come to the apartment of Maia Fields' family. A grey block of three storeys, it is visibly crumbling, its walls covered in graffiti and moss. The Fields' flat is on the first floor: a narrow wooden door with the address etched into it. There are no windows anywhere. You knock. After a solid thirty seconds, you hear footsteps and the door creaks open. A short man of about forty grips the door with white knuckles, watching you from behind a thick brown beard. He takes in your weaponry, armour, extravagant clothes, and audibly gasps. "Good sirs. Madam," he mutters, voice dripping with false deference. "How can I help you?"

[Marlowe]

Avita drifts forward, attempting to look as non-threatening as she can. She avoids smiling. "Mister Fields? It may not look it, put we're City Guard. We're looking a little woolly-bully. It's an exciting time to be City Guard.
Anyway. We'd dearly like to see and speak to-" your daughter? Sister? Cousin? -a young lady name of Maia Fields.
Or get some clue as to where she is. Or where you last saw her. No, she's not in trouble. At least not with us."

[YossarianLives]

The man bows his head, flashes a quick smile. "That's me ma'am. Denny Fields." When you mention Maia, he frowns, scratches his beard. "My daughter," he grunts. "She should be with the dandy. Working. I haven't seen her for almost three days." He shoots a glance back into the darkened apartment, turns book to you. He leans forward speaking in a lowered voice. "Would'ye like to come in?"

[Marlowe]

Avita groans internally, but keeps her face still. "Well met, Mister Fields. Avita Santiago. And yes,
we'll come in". We'd have come in anyway, without an invitation. But I shan't be saying that. She moves through the door, looking around at the room inside.

She stands silent a moment, gauging the room. The decorations. The furnishings. Looking for religions symbols or icons. Anything that looks newer and flasher than the rest of the room would suggest. Anything that could give a hint. And then she says; "By "the Dandy", you refer to Maia's employer, Learned Thaddeus Broomsmith. Is that correct?" She waits for a nod.

"Mister Fields; the "The Dandy" was questioned by the City Guard this morning. After a bit of sarcasm, he confessed to a fairly serious crime. Maia, owing to a miscommunication-" Damn that Gnome to the Abyss. And not one of the nicer parts."-was not picked up. You understand, there's no reason to suspect her having anything to do with her employer's crimes, but she should have been interviewed anyway. For corroboration and detail."

She gives Mister Fields a moment to digest this, studying his face.

"What really concerns us is that a few hours later a band of armed men, belonging to an organisation we know had knowledge of Thaddeus's dealing, were caught in his house. Apparently in the act of looting it to benefit from his crime. They had Maia's keys.

"We very much fear that Maia might have fallen into the hands of these people. Or that she was suborned sometime in the last few months to spy on Thaddeus for them-and you understand that's not actually a crime-and gone to them in a panic. Either way, it's looking horribly like she is in the power of some people who increasingly seem to be not really all that nice at all."

She stares at Mister Fields straight. Eyes unblinking. "Or, she might have simply left the keys in the lock and run off and hid somewhere else. I really hope that's what happened. But we need to know, and find her if we can. So, we need you, or anyone else that can help, to tell us all about her activities these last few months.
Anything she's said. Any new acquaintances she might have mentioned. Any changes to her habits and-" She puts a hand to one of the Jesadian symbols around her neck. "-Observances."

[YossarianLives]

"Er, yes. That's the one." You follow Fields Sr. into the tiny apartment. It may have looked rough from the outside, but the interior is even worse: dark, dirty, and furnished with only the bare necessities. The room you're in seems to be sitting room, kitchen, and bedroom all in one. A fire burns low on the hearth, casting the only light in the dank apartment. A large insect skitters across the floor. There is hardly any decoration, and most of it old and filthy. A copper candle holder. The crossed circle of Saint Cuthbert. A rusted poker. The only clean thing is a chipped shortsword mounted on the wall.

Denny starts pulling up chairs for all of you, realizes he has only two, and just sits down to listen. When you mention his daughter's keys, he nearly falls off his chair. "I wouldn't know anything about that, ma'am." He rests his head in his hands. "Gods. I just knew something bad would happen to her." He looks up, face twisted in anguish. "Maia's been distant these past few months, that's true - always working. But I can't imagine she'd ever get mixed up in spying." A look of horror comes across his face. "She... she hasn't gotten mixed up with the gangs, has she? She's never had many friends, Maia, and... well... the things we do when we're feeling lonely. She usually stays the night at that Thaddeus' house, but I never thought he'd be the criminal type... I know Maia spends lots of time at the library, and the Temple - of Saint Cuthbert, the Cudgel, that is. But none of that is out of the ordinary. No friends, as far as I know." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you more."

[Marlowe]

Avita spreads her hands, palms out. "As I said, Mister Fields, we don't suspect Maia of anything criminal. The idea we have that she might have been spying on Thaddeus--a criminal himself, I'll remind you--for a third party is purely our speculation based on her keys ending up in someone else's hands. And if it IS true, then that's still not a crime. We have no interest in Maia except to see what she knows and to provide her the protection she is owed as a citizen of Senra."

She turns to face the symbol of Saint Cuthbert. Her hands clasp behind her back, the gauntleted fingers cold against the bony ones. "The thing we do when we're feeling lonely. I rather doubt Thaddeus was interested in her in that way, if that's what you're thinking. He seemed to favour the T-bone over the filet. So; no friends? Boyfriends?
Girlfriends?" She darts Mister Fields a raised-brow look. "I'm on completely the wrong tack here, aren't I? Sorry. Temple upbringing." She waves a hand vaguely and turns her head away for a moment. Cabal Macabre. I'm assuming everyone's like me when I keep running headlong into empirical proof that everyone else is a total freak. Her gaze darts back. "You mentioned a library? Which one would this be?"

[YossarianLives]

Mr. Fields looks profoundly uncomfortably, his eyes rolling to look at everything except the members of your party. "That's good to hear," he murmurers, coughs dryly. "The library - somewhere in the Green District. Next to the Flag Bearer's Plaza. If I remember rightly, she was particularly interested in the maps."

Spoiler: Sarrazin

Show

Denny doesn't seem to be lying or holding anything back

[rax]

"Maps?" Sarrazin says, suddenly breaking his silence. "Did she ever say what kind of maps?"