Adventure Log 19, The Cult of the Cannibal Goblins, Part 5
General Summary
Jakkora was dead, the magical darkness gone, and the loot divided up. The group had been successful, to an extent. Elitheris had a broken arm, and hung at her side in a sling. She hoped archery wasn’t going to be necessary for a while. Almë could feel the venom of the hydra bites in his legs, sharp, prickling pains that seemed to be spreading out from the locations of the bites. Eykit, his calves bruised by Almë’s berserk battering, were sore, but aside from a slight limp and some tenderness, we’re fully functional. Taid, of course, was fine, ensconced as he was in his protective armor. Almë never managed to hit him hard enough for any damage to get through the layers of enchantment, metal, and padded fabric.
It was time to go home, at least, it was time to go back to Port Karn. It was really only Eykit’s home; Elitheris had been living out in the wilds for so long that she didn’t feel she actually had a home. Hers had burned down decades before, and the entire town was but a bad memory. Taid was similarly homeless, being just an itinerant traveler looking to make his fortune. For now, Port Karn was as good a home base as any, and the inn he currently used for shelter had sufficiently good ale and whiskey to keep him happy enough. For now. Almë was new to Port Karn, and had no intention of actually staying very long. Just long enough to make enough money to continue his search for the killers of his wife. Mr. Wiggles, like most dogs, was happy wherever his pack was.
Wrapping Jakkora’s body in a cloak scavenged from one of the footlockers in the cave, they tied him across Wilbur’s saddle, next to the bag that contained the ogress’ head.
They headed out away from the cave complex and into the jungle. Elitheris seemed to have a good idea about which direction to go, and, being the outdoorswoman she was, the rest of them followed along. It was just past midday, and Elitheris expected to at least get to the farmed, civilized area before dark.
It wasn’t long before Almë’s condition came to the attention of the others. At first, it was just an occasional “giving out” of his legs, causing him to stumble. But, increasingly, it became more and more difficult for him to navigate the rough ground, which was rocky and covered in roots. It wasn’t long until the slight stumbling turned into outright falling down. The Elven gardener was feeling the hydra venom’s effects up into his hips, and he was having increasing trouble controlling his legs. He winced in pain with every step.
“We are going have to put him on Wilbur,” Taid said. He moved to the horse and started rearranging the load to provide a place for Almë to sit. They had to help him get up onto the horse, and he almost fell over the other side, only being stopped by Taid’s strong fingers in his tunic. Almë was also having trouble staying conscious, as the venom ate away at his tissues. Elitheris made him drink a healing potion, which perked him up a bit, but he was still badly hurt. They gave him a second healing potion.
Elitheris knew that the poison, until an antidote was given, would continue to work on Almë, doing damage over an increasingly large volume of his body. They had to hurry, although she knew that if he could live past the first eight to twelve hours, he’d likely survive. The trick was keeping him alive long enough to get to that point. They only had a limited amount of healing potions, and they had already used their healing spells on him that day. While they could cast it again on him, it became more and more difficult for the magic to work if cast within too short a time. Besides, the jungle was a dangerous place, and they only had a limited supply of mana. It would be best to hold onto what they had, in case of emergencies.
Within another hour, Almë didn’t bother trying to stay conscious, and let his consciousness fade to black. At least it wouldn’t hurt; the constant feeling of his body being squeezed around a cactus was wearing on him. Taid tied him to the saddle to keep him from falling off. They woke him up long enough to give him another healing potion.
While climbing over the roots of an immense tree, Eykit saw something that didn’t belong: a skeleton, dressed in tattered clothing, nestled in between some of the roots. It had been there a while, and despite the age, soiled state, and damage, the clothing was heavily embroidered, and cut in the finest fashion. By all evidence, it was the body of a wealthy person. How they got out into the jungle and who it was, they didn’t know.
Elitheris searched the body, beating Eykit to it. She found a fine eating dagger set, in a tooled leather sheath, looped to the back of the body’s belt. Extracting it, she saw that it was a dual sheath, one for the dagger, one for the pricker that went with it. It was a fine blade, still sharp, with engraved scrollwork along the upper edge of the blade. While only a mundane, utilitarian tool for eating, it was a very nice example of one. On the sheath was a monogram: MH.
After another hour or so, they finally broke out of the jungle, the fields and farmlands, separated by the ubiquitous hedgerows, stretched out before them. In the late afternoon sun, they could see the smoke from the houses of Meke Larnis, a farming suburb, about two miles north. The town itself, one of the larger farming towns, was hidden by the rows of trees and brush that made up the hedgerows.
Getting onto a farming path was a great improvement, despite it not being a full road. It was at least much better than having to hack their way through the jungle, and they made good time to the town.
And that was important, because the toxin had made its way up to Almë’s shoulders, and he was having trouble breathing. There was no telling if Almë would survive much longer or not. They had to get to an alchemist, who, hopefully, might have an antivenin.
Meke Larnis was a settlement of about 2500 people, pretty much all farmers, housed to support the farms and fields of the surrounding plantations. But it was large enough to have some services to support such a relatively large population. The stores were all at the center of town, surrounding the marketplace, with a bit of overflow extending up and down the main street. There was a blacksmith, a chandler, a general store, a barber, a common house, an inn, and, fortunately, an alchemist.
The shop was small, with a residence on the upper floor, and was simply called “Bokrug the Chemist”, carved on a wooden sign and painted in bright yellowish paint to make the letters stand out from the background. It was still open, and Taid, Eykit, and Elitheris walked inside. Almë was unconscious, and still tied to Wilbur’s saddle.
The shop consisted of a small area by the door, with a counter separating the front portion from the bulk of the shop. Everything was behind the counter, protected from casual theft. Alchemy, being rather labor intensive and utilizing expensive ingredients, made for rather small, easily concealable objects that were all too easy to steal. So alchemists didn’t give thieves the chance, keeping all of their wares in the back, usually in lockable containers. The more mundane things, like glues, paints, varnishes, and basic remedies were on a shelf behind the counter.
Bokrug was an old Orc, with age-yellowed tusks, brown skin, and a bright white shock of hair that likely hadn’t seen a comb in years. He looked up from a ledger and smiled as the three entered. “Good evening,” he said, “and how may I help you?”
Elitheris spoke first, “We have an injured companion that got bit by a hydra. We need an antidote.”
The old Orc eyes widened. “Is there a hydra attacking people? May Stuglock preserve us! Just a moment.” He turned, and went through the door in the middle of the wall behind the counter that evidently led to his lab and storeroom. He wasn’t gone long, coming back with a handful of vials, each with a yellowish liquid in it. “How many times was he bitten?”
It was Eykit who answered. “Twice,” he said, “Once in each leg.”
Bokrug held up two vials. “It’ll cost a hundred and twenty marks.”
A bright gleam entered Eykit’s eyes. “Let me see what I can do,” he said to Elitheris softly. “Good sir,” he said the Bokrug, “we are but poor travelers who happened upon some bad luck with that hydra. But it’s dead now, as we felt a little offended that it would bite our companion. So perhaps we can come to a more fair arrangment?”
The two of them exchanged words as they haggled. Eykit’s charm, wit, and circumstances got them not only the alchemist’s sympathy, but also a 20% discount. But there was only so much the alchemist could do, and he was limited by the difficulty in acquiring enough hydra venom to make the antidote, so Eykit was unable to get him to go lower.
They paid the requisite amount of money, purchasing the two doses needed to neutralize the venom in Almë’s body. They then roused him enough to make him drink the antidotes. Bokrug had said that it might take some time for the antidote to fully take effect, but it should at least stop the spread of the venom in his system.
Eykit turned to the alchemist. “Thanks, good sir, for helping our friend there.” He smiled, turning on his charm. “I was wondering if you could do us a favor. We found these alchemical pastilles, but we have no idea what they do. And we were figuring that using them willy-nilly would be dangerous, to say the least. Any chance you might be able to tell us what they do?”
Bokrug liked the friendly young Goblin. And he and his companions had had quite the scare. And, if he was being honest, it wouldn’t take him but a few moments to figure out what they had. “Sure,” he said. “Let me see them.”
Eykit motioned for Elitheris to get the five little pill-like disks out from wherever she kept them. She let them fall into his palm, and he proceeded to peer at them using a magnifying glass bigger than his hand. He sniffed them, and nodded, and then, on the countertop, pushed them into two piles, one of two pastilles, one of three. He pointed to the pair and stated, “These are Thanatos. It’s a deadly poison, so don’t get caught in the smoke cloud. It’s also illegal, so don’t go showing it around. If you look carefully it is more pale than the other three.” His finger hovered over the triplet, and he said, “And these are Morpheus. They cause a smoke that makes people fall asleep. And if you look carefully—” he handed the magnifying glass to Elitheris, who was trying to squint at them, her Elven telescopic vision horribly suited for close work, “you’ll see the loops of greyish material interspersed in the cream colored base.”
“Thanks,” Elitheris said. “How much do we owe you for that?”
Bokrug held up his hands, palms out, and shook his head. “No charge,” he said with a smile. “Consider it part of the service for paying customers.”
Taid purchased a couple of doses of hydra venom antidote, as well. Elitheris chatted with the alchemist in order to find out what wares he had. She came away with a few doses of Quick Seal Salve, an unguent that could act as a layer of skin over a wound, effectively a liquid bandage that stopped bleeding and aided healing.
Getting the immediate problem of Almë’s impending death taken care of got rid of the weight on their shoulders. And they all wanted some good food and a decent bed. So they went to the common house, ordered some food and drink. All throughout dinner, Almë tried to get Eykit to go back to the alchemist’s shop and rob it blind.
Not wanting an entire town with a hate-on for him, Eykit refused. He felt much more comfortable stealing in a city, where everyone didn’t know everyone else. More camouflage, more anonymity, and thus more safety. There would be no way he’d get away with robbing that alchemist, even assuming Bokrug didn’t have alchemical defenses, like a tripwire that dropped one of those Thanatos pastilles through a flame as soon as he entered the room. Being killed was a bad way to do business.
And even if he did survive the heist, having the whole town, and, by extension the Rural Watch after him was not something he wanted to contemplate. Yes, the Rural Watch was undermanned and underfunded, but they were still a bad enemy to have.
“Sorry, Almë,” he finally told the wheedling Elf, “if you want to rob it, go ahead. But you’d be a fool, and I think the rest of us would disown ever knowing you if you did. Besides, Bokrug is a cool guy. He might be useful if we come through here again. I’m going to give you a little hint on stealing: steal from people you don’t care about or aren’t useful to you. People you can afford to have as an enemy, if it gets down to that.”
Then they went to the inn. There was only one; although it was fairly large, and it even served food in the morning. Chickens and ducks could be heard clucking and quacking from behind the building.
The beds were decent, stuffed straw with a padded covers of what seemed to be treesilk fabric. Elitheris slept in a room with other women, Almë, Eykit, and Taid slept in another room, sharing a triple wide bed. Two other men lay sleeping in the second bed, at least one of them snoring softly.
The next morning they awoke refreshed, and the first thing that Taid did was cast a spell of Restoration on Elitheris’ arm, knitting the bone and letting her regain the use of it. It was a big spell, though, and it tapped him out. So he was grateful for the leisurely breakfast they had before heading northward to Port Karn. But the road was metaled and well-maintained, so they made good time, arriving in the New Square district in about an hour and a half.
Their arrival was not unnoticed; the New Square Skulls had been told to watch for them, and alert the Underboss Jakkit when they arrived.
The streets of Port Karn at midday were crowded, as they usually were, and filled with all kinds of people doing all of the different things people in cities did. Eykit, Elitheris, Almë, and Taid, who led Wilbur, walked down the street, weaving their way through the masses of people. Mr. Wiggles, as usual, had little problem threading his way past people’s legs, sniffing at anything and everything he could put his nose to. He drew a bit of attention, since he was armored in gambeson and chainmail. Not many dogs in the street had anything like that, and people looked around for the squad of soldiers they expected to see with such an animal. When they couldn’t see them, they quickly lost interest. Mr. Wiggles likely didn’t even notice them.
The streets were narrow, barely able to allow two wagons side by side, and made even more narrow by the overhanging upper stories of the buildings that flanked either side. It was a riot of color; laundry hung on lines strung across the road, flowers in window boxes were in summer bloom, and awnings of every hue shaded the sides of the road from the hot semitropical sun. Smells of every description flooded the air, from the delicious aromas of roasting meats being cooked by street vendors to the effluvia of the chamberpots that hadn’t been washed down into the sewers. All around was the susurration of a thousand conversations mixed with the shouts of the news readers and the entreaties of vendors. Occasionally, there was the barking of a dog or the screech of some bird.
Just another day in Port Karn.
“Oh!” exclaimed Eykit, “there’s my favorite sausage vendor!” He started moving in that direction but a hand grabbed his arm and spun him back towards his companions.
“Iceman wants to see you,” the man attached to the hand said in a soft voice. He was of average height, with nondescript brown hair around an average face. “He wants to see you now.” With that, he let the Goblin go, turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Fuck,” Eykit said. “I hate it when he does that.”
“Who was that?” asked Taid. “And where did he go? He was just there.”
“That,” Eykit replied, “was Wallpaper. Wallpaper Damian. He’s really good at disappearing. Makes me feel inadequate sometimes. I think it’s magic, but I’ve never been able to prove it.”
Elitheris spoke up. “What did he say to you? I saw his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear him.”
“The Underboss—the Iceman—wants to see us. Now. We’d better hurry.”
“Besides,” Almë said, “the faster we get there, the faster we can get paid.” He patted the wrapped form slung over Wilbur’s saddle. The bag holding the severed head of “Kalshebba” dripped occasionally as is swung slowly with the movement of the horse.
Jakkit Laarsiki, aka “The Iceman”, was the guild Underboss. He oversaw the day to day activities of the guild, and was the main conduit to the Boss himself, Toren Ghent. As conduit, he was also the gatekeeper, and anything going to Ghent went through him first.
He sat at a desk, in a room on the third floor above a bakery. The room, a bedroom converted into an office, wasn’t large, but there was room for two chairs by the desk and another two along one wall. A bookshelf was on another, filled with ledgers with numbers on the spines. He looked up when the young pickpocket, Jebbiz Yokiin, showed in Eykit, Elitheris, Taid, and Almë. Mr. Wiggles seemed more interested in Jebbiz, who liked dogs, and the Goblin youngster shared his lunch with armored pup in the hallway outside the office.
Jakkit looked at the four people standing in his office, his face in that immobile, stoic expression he was known for. “I’m going to be asking you some questions. Eykit, you’re first. The rest of you can wait downstairs. Jebbiz will get you when I am ready for you.” He made a little shooing motion with his hand.
Elitheris looked over at Taid, who looked back and shrugged. “Maybe we can get a pint while we wait,” he said, grinning. He turned to leave. Elitheris grabbed Almë’s sleeve and tugged, indicating that he should follow Taid. They went downstairs.
Next door to the bakery was a cafe. Elitheris figured that most of the staff was likely on the Skull’s payroll, and she wasn’t wrong.
Eykit stood in front of Jakkit’s desk.
“Sit, boy,” Jakkit ordered. Eykit sat. “You are going to tell me everything that happened starting from when you left my office….”
One by one, he questioned them. Mostly, he listened. But every so often, he asked for clarification, or for them to repeat part of the story. Sometimes he waited, then asked about something they had described several minutes before.
In general, the stories were remarkably similar; the only variances coming from a different point of view. Overall, the stories told were very consistent. This pleased Jakkit, and made his job easier. He had been expecting them to lie, or at least withhold information, but from what he could tell, they were telling him everything. It was a good day. He was amused by Almë’s wish to rob the alchemy shop, and figured that maybe Almë showed some promise. He would keep an eye on that Elf.
After they had all told their versions of the story of the cult of the cannibal Goblins, complete with a “goddess” of hunger, he paid them each the $1000 he had agreed to pay them. It was a bit on the steep side, and he was disappointed in himself a little, but they had come through and solved what could have been a very sticky problem. And brought back “Kalshebba’s” head, and the body of the illusionist who had masterminded the whole thing. Overall, he thought it was money well spent.
The group went back to the inn they currently called “home”. With the money they had, they could likely afford a real house or apartment to live in. Eykit, of course, had several places he could call home; the guild had lots of places he could use as a crash pad.
But for now, it was the inn.
Upon arriving, the first thing Elitheris did was get her books of magic out of the safe. She wanted to learn how to cast a better, more powerful healing spell. She had been seeing Taid cast it, and, since she had access to the knowledge, wanted to learn it as well. It would be useful. She also paged through her other book, the spell of Disorientation. She had felt its effects when she had first entered the Port Karn area about a month ago in the area around the mage’s tower ruins. But, after paging through it for a while, realized that there was some knowledge missing. She lacked the fundamentals required, and would need to get those first. She closed the tome, and refocused on the spell of Major Healing.
The next morning, as they were about to get some breakfast, the innkeeper, Krogan Steadyhand, said “There was a guy who inquired after you, good sirs and lady.” Krogan was an older Orc, likely in at least his 50’s. He was still strong, though, and not prone to lose his temper. He knew better, and decades working in the service of one inn or another had taught him some basic customer service skills. Including not losing his temper and ripping the customer’s arms off. Which he looked fully capable of doing.
His words got Eykit’s attention, and his sense of paranoia spiked. He didn’t like attention; it was bad for business, even if his business lately wasn’t always of the thieving kind. But he had just stolen a piece of art from a guild enemy only a few days ago. That little crime was still fresh, he figured. He felt the rush of adrenaline and his fight or flight instinct kicked in. He controlled it, however.
“Who was it?” Taid asked.
“Dunno. He didn’t leave a name. He just asked if any of you were here.”
“And you said....” Eykit prompted.
“That you weren’t here, and no, I didn’t know where you were.”
“What did he look like?”
“Human fella. Dark skin, goatee, nice clothes. Looked like a slumming lord. Or businessman. Wore one of them business uniforms merchants like.”
Taid frowned in thought, and Eykit said, “Think it’s that guy from the Crystal Palace? The guy who wanted to buy our shards?”
“Could be, I suppose,” Taid replied.
“Bardem’s Crystal Palace?” Krogan asked. Eykit nodded. The innkeeper went on, “It burned down two days ago. Several people died. The fire couldn’t be put out until whole building was ablaze. Damaged the surrounding buildings, too!”
“Why’d it burn down?” Elitheris questioned.
“Dunno, really. Rumor is it was related to the shards. But that could have been due to a shard connection, or from arson, or a shard theft gone wrong. Hard to say, and I haven’t heard much rumor-wise about it. Just that it was lucky that the fire didn’t spread fast enough to become a major problem.” He thought for a minute. “I suppose if it had been a warehouse used to actually store things it would have been worse, as it was, it was mostly empty space with little fuel to burn. As I said, lucky.” By the way he talked, the implication was that the innkeeper had been to Bardem’s Crystal Palace.
“Thanks for the heads up about that guy,” Elitheris told the innkeeper. “If he shows up again, let us know.”
“Aye,” he said, “goes without sayin’.” He grinned, his tusks glinting in the lamplight.
“Off to the mage guild then?” Taid asked. He had been wondering for days when the mages would be done examining the head of the Servitor. And he figured they should be done by now.
It was an uneventful trip to the Port Karn Agricultural Council’s mage guild offices. Out of all of the mage guilds in Port Karn, only PKAC had the funding and facilities to house an Esoteric Studies division. If anyone could figure out what that head actually was, it would be them.
When they arrived, and had explained why they were there, they had been shown to a small conference room. In it was an oval table, and six chairs. They sat, not knowing how long they would be waiting.
As it turned out, it was less than ten minutes. They were joined by two mages. The first was an old man, using his staff for support as he hobbled into the room and sat, almost fell, into a chair. He was a thin man, clean shaven, with a narrow jaw, thin lips, and bright, lively blue eyes that seemed to peer into souls. He didn’t look like he knew how to smile.
The second was a severe looking woman in her thirties whose expression reminded them of a cruel nurse in a house of the mad. “Grim” was only the beginning; she looked capable of ordering the deaths of thousands without remorse. Her short hair, lack of any makeup, and plain, functional clothing only added to her dark demeanor.
The old man spoke, in a high, reedy voice that still implied great fortitude. “I am Magister Jorick Fields, one of the high mages of the guild. My companion here is Lyta Brenner, our head of Esoteric Studies. She is the one that led the team studying the…artifact.” He smiled, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes, almost as if he was trying to be funny in a very unfunny situation. “Magistra Lyta, I yield the floor to you.”
Lyta nodded. “We have analyzed the head you submitted to us. Where, again, did you find it?”
The three people who had been to the old Orc temple recounted what they remembered. Almë, who hadn’t been there, listened intently, with various looks of wonder, surprise, and dread on his face. This took quite a while, actually, since both mages asked them questions at almost every stage of the tale. They asked what the ritual used consisted of, what the chant was, and it was used as part of the overall ceremony. How long did it take, and how many sacrifices did it consume? How were those sacrifices killed? What were the rituals that were used when they were killed? How long had the ceremony been going on? Had they not stopped it, how much longer would it have gone on?
It felt almost like being back in Jakkit’s office. Except at least this time, they were all together, not telling the tale by themselves. It was somewhat chaotic, with one person occasionally interrupting another with something to add, or to make sure the story was told correctly. But they eventually got through it.
There were many more questions, most digging deeper on some point raised by previous questions. A lot of it involved theoretical thaumatology, most of which the group’s only answer was a shrug. Only Taid and Almë had much experience with the theories and math of thaumatology, and only Taid had been there. But his knowledge wasn’t sufficient to satisfactorily answer the questions.
The information that the group had was pretty minimal, really. A pattern of disappearances had been noticed, so things had been going on for at least a week or two before they had been approached to solve it. Likely more, given that Kylen Pelorus had gone to the authorities various times before realizing they weren’t going to help. So, whatever had been actually going on, had been happening for quite some time. And the pile of wet bones in the pit below the drain indicated that a great many sacrifices had happened before they were stopped. Hundreds of people had likely died as sacrifices.
Eventually, when the questions were done, Lyta nodded once, a quick, sharp gesture. “The old book you had found…the cultists thought they had a summoning spell in it. They weren’t totally wrong, although it was in an older dialect so they didn’t quite translate it correctly. They likely thought they had a totem, that they could use to summon the…servitor. But that’s not the case. The spell told them how to free something. It was already there; not a statue or whatever that they could animate.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts, both the things she had discovered, and the information added by the story the adventurers had told. “Okay,” she continued, “the summoning ceremony requires six sacrifices, one each symbolizing body, mind, spirit, will, senses, and mana. These six were used as living power stones, until they were used up and others used in their place. These living mana sources were used to power the head priest’s spell, which, by all accounts, seemed to be some kind of transmutation spell, turning the sacrifice on the central altar to a kind of acid that would eat away at that crystal that encased the creature.”
“Let’s call that spell, ‘Transmute Blood to Acid’. It’s likely called something else, but that’s a good enough name for it for now. So that’s how they got the creature out, or nearly so.” She turned to Elitheris. “And you, by reading the carvings in the wall, have given us some of the background of this thing. It didn’t tell us what it was, but at least it gave us some context to work with.”
Elitheris’ “research” (really, just looking at carvings and figuring out the story they were telling) told them that Gijak Balorat had been a fairly standard (if a bit bloody) Orcish town, sacrificing to their god for his favor.
The carvings described how the Entity attacked the neighboring Orc nations, slaughtering hundreds. Refugees flooded into neighboring towns and nations, including Gijak Balorat, fleeing the creature. The Entity was systematically destroying Orc town after Orc town. The citizens of Gijak Balorat prayed to Kruge, their patron deity, to protect them. Because they had garnered his favor, he did, by giving the priests a method to trap the creature. However, the only way to do that was to use the blood of sacrifices to form a lattice that would entice and trap the marauding creature.
The creature soon got to Gijak Balorat, and started killing the townsfolk. The streets ran with blood, like a tide or flood. The entrapment ceremony began, as did the bloodletting of the sacrifices. This also attracted the creature, and it made its way to the temple, killing anyone within reach along the way. It came to the lower chamber, where the ceremony encased it in the blood lattice crystal. What was apparently the last scene in the bas reliefs was either a large feast, or a mass funeral. It was hard to tell. Possibly, it was both.
“But what is it?” Taid asked. “Much of what you have just told us we already knew.”
Lyta looked at him directly. “Yes. But it was necessary for context.” She paused. “We think it may have been a Younger Thing. Or maybe it’s an extension or appendage of a Child of Chaos.” She saw the puzzled looks on the four faces in front of her. “Let me try to explain. What we know, or think we know, comes from the dark depths of old myth. Some of the oldest stories told around campfires. We don’t know how accurate they were, or are, but there is enough evidence from other branches of study that makes us think that they hold quite a bit of truth in them.” She scowled and shook her head. “The tales are couched in metaphorical language, so it can be hard to tease out exactly what parts are true, and what parts are…embellished, shall we say.”
Magister Jorick spoke up, a smirk on his face. “Magistra Lyta has never liked poetry. She prefers hard data and logic. But when it comes to this kind of thing, she has no choice but to accept a certain amount of uncertainty.”
“And yes, I hate it,” she replied sharply. “The ancients should have told more precise stories. Their fluffy, fuzzy language makes studying the higher powers more difficult than it needs to be.”
Magister Jorick shrugged noncommittally. Lyta continued, a look on her face that made it seem she had just sucked on a lemon. Or that the subject matter she was about to talk about had a stench she really didn’t like. But she sighed, and went on.
“First there was nothing. Then something happened, and there was chaos. The chaos had always been there. Out of the chaos Things formed, formless, ever changing, and mindless, the Children of Chaos, also called the Progenitors. They needed no food or drink or air, for they lived on the chaos that surrounded them and that was ever present like a mist of morning fog. Sometimes two or more beings of chaos met in the infinite mist and intermingled, and the Younger Things were born.
“These Children of the Children were greater than their parents, and although they were less formless, they had more order, focus and drive. They had the beginnings of Mind. Not all Younger Things developed Mind; there were countless creatures that were beget by both the Younger Things and the Formless Ones, mindless and ravening, that existed in the spaces between the Children of the Children and the Children of Chaos. These creatures are analogous to the wild animals that live in the forests, mountains, and seas of the world.
“These Younger Things sought others of their kind, and mingled, and had their own children, who became more and more ordered with each generation, until most of the chaos had been bred out of them, leaving Order and Mind. They were like islands of solidity in a wild sea of variance. These were the First Gods, and while they were less powerful than their progenitors in terms of raw strength, they were able to use their powers focused by Will and Volition.
“But having Mind and Will also meant that they had Motives and Drive. Thus began the carving of Spheres of Influence, with the gods fighting over areas of control…zones of authority, if you will. Alliances were made, and broken, as the participants of the conflict warred. The War of the Gods went on for untold ages, and wasn’t only limited to the First Gods. The Formless Ones and the Younger Things also felt the effects of the War, and many were killed along with the Fallen Gods, which is what the First Gods that fell in combat are called.
“In the end, few of the Gods were left. Most had been killed in the constant fighting, leaving only the relative few that are currently known. These gods each have many names, for they are worshiped by many peoples in different lands, although they themselves seem to not have need of such nomenclature.
“In the Aftermath, they formed Lands Like Islands that were expressions of their Minds. These Planes of the Gods are islands of stability surrounded by the Primal Chaos like a sea of mist, organized and made stable by the Wills of their creators. They exist, but not in the sense of being a real place, for no map can be made of them because Space and Time have no meaning in these places. They are expressions of the god’s Will, and thus while stable, also are as changing as the god’s mood. Between and amongst these Lands Like Islands live the Formless Ones, the Children of Chaos, and the Younger Things. The Living Gods prevent them from entering their Lands Like Islands.
“Our world is akin to one of these Lands Like Islands.” She paused then, gathering her thoughts after her long exposition, as if to make sure she didn’t forget anything.
She continued. “These Lands Like Islands are both shadows of, and shadows projected, onto the Universe. In a way, they mirror what mortals call reality, and form it. They are both a part of the Universe, and separate from it, simultaneously. In their orgy of creation, the gods populated the Universe with the rocks, and seas, and land, and Life. In a sense, the Lands Like Islands and the Primal Chaos are coterminous with the Universe, and it is the Gods who uphold the boundaries not only for their Lands, but for the Universe as well, almost as a side effect. But they are not perfect, and not ever-watchful, and every so often one of the Formless Ones and their ilk manage to sneak past them, invading the Lands Like Islands or the Universe.”
Her brows drew down, making her severe face even more severe, if that were possible. “Four Younger Things are known to have made it past the Gods: They were given the names Ghebbiloth, Nurghleth, Kharneth, and Nemain. Port Karn, ironically, is named after Kharneth.” She got a sour look on her face. “I wasn’t pleased when I found that out.”
Magister Jorick spoke up. “We think the head you gave us is related to Ghebbiloth. What we don’t know is if it was a separate entity, or part of Ghebbiloth itself. From the description of the ‘Book of Summoning’ you gave us along with the head, we suspect it must have been one of Ghebbiloth’s ‘fingers’, so to speak. If it had been Ghebbiloth itself, you likely wouldn’t be here right now, and most of use would be dead as well. And, to be honest, I don’t think Ghebbiloth itself can be trapped.”
“All we can do is hope that there aren’t more of these things out there,” Lyta said. “Ghebbiloth isn’t known as the Chaos God of Destruction for no reason. And if it can manifest one of these Servitors, it could likely manifest another.” She shuddered. “We just have to hope that we will be able to defeat it when it does, although to be honest, I don’t know how we could do that, unless we get more help from the gods.”
There was silence, for a while, around the table, as this information seeped in. Then, at last, Almë said, “I have a question on a different matter.”
Lyta and Jorick looked at him, then Lyta nodded for him to go ahead.
“I am looking for some mages. They have some information that I need.”
Lyta cocked her head. “Who are these mages?”
“I don’t know who they are, specifically. Only that I think they use these symbols.” He pulled out a piece of paper, on which he had sketched three symbols. They were rather rough, as his artistic skills skewed more to sculpture, but they were clear enough. One was a bunch of berries, or grapes, but obviously vegetable in nature. The second as a heart on fire, and the third was a pyramid.
Lyta looked at them for a long moment. “What information are you looking for? Do you have any other information about these mages?”
“I’m looking for them. They hold information that I seek. As for which guild they are, I have no idea. Hence, I am asking you.”
Lyta closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. Exasperation tinged her voice as she said, “Without context, I wouldn’t know where to look. I doubt I can help you. But I will look in the obvious places and see what I can come up with. Don’t expect anything, but if I find something, it will be sooner rather than later. Either I can find something quick, or I won’t find anything at all. I realize that there are things you want to keep to yourself, but I would have a better chance of figuring out who these guys might be if you give me something to work with.”
“I would appreciate anything you can find out.”
Lyta looked at him directly for another long moment, willing Almë to give her more information to work with. She was disappointed. She stood, and helped Jorick to stand. “An aide will show you out,” she said, and the pair of mages walked out of the room.
Before they left the mages’ guild, they stopped by the Enchantments Division. Elitheris wanted some magic arrows, picking up a few. Having some “trick” arrows would be useful. She also looked into some magical armor. While she wasn’t usually a front line fighter, melees got chaotic, and she had seen how impervious both Taid and, to a lesser extent, Eykit were when it came to attacks. She wanted similar protection. Her inquiries about the cost of some enchantments on some new gambeson armor were encouraging. There were some relatively cheap protective enchantments that she would be able to get relatively quickly.
It was time to go home, at least, it was time to go back to Port Karn. It was really only Eykit’s home; Elitheris had been living out in the wilds for so long that she didn’t feel she actually had a home. Hers had burned down decades before, and the entire town was but a bad memory. Taid was similarly homeless, being just an itinerant traveler looking to make his fortune. For now, Port Karn was as good a home base as any, and the inn he currently used for shelter had sufficiently good ale and whiskey to keep him happy enough. For now. Almë was new to Port Karn, and had no intention of actually staying very long. Just long enough to make enough money to continue his search for the killers of his wife. Mr. Wiggles, like most dogs, was happy wherever his pack was.
Wrapping Jakkora’s body in a cloak scavenged from one of the footlockers in the cave, they tied him across Wilbur’s saddle, next to the bag that contained the ogress’ head.
It wasn’t long before Almë’s condition came to the attention of the others. At first, it was just an occasional “giving out” of his legs, causing him to stumble. But, increasingly, it became more and more difficult for him to navigate the rough ground, which was rocky and covered in roots. It wasn’t long until the slight stumbling turned into outright falling down. The Elven gardener was feeling the hydra venom’s effects up into his hips, and he was having increasing trouble controlling his legs. He winced in pain with every step.
“We are going have to put him on Wilbur,” Taid said. He moved to the horse and started rearranging the load to provide a place for Almë to sit. They had to help him get up onto the horse, and he almost fell over the other side, only being stopped by Taid’s strong fingers in his tunic. Almë was also having trouble staying conscious, as the venom ate away at his tissues. Elitheris made him drink a healing potion, which perked him up a bit, but he was still badly hurt. They gave him a second healing potion.
Within another hour, Almë didn’t bother trying to stay conscious, and let his consciousness fade to black. At least it wouldn’t hurt; the constant feeling of his body being squeezed around a cactus was wearing on him. Taid tied him to the saddle to keep him from falling off. They woke him up long enough to give him another healing potion.
While climbing over the roots of an immense tree, Eykit saw something that didn’t belong: a skeleton, dressed in tattered clothing, nestled in between some of the roots. It had been there a while, and despite the age, soiled state, and damage, the clothing was heavily embroidered, and cut in the finest fashion. By all evidence, it was the body of a wealthy person. How they got out into the jungle and who it was, they didn’t know.
Elitheris searched the body, beating Eykit to it. She found a fine eating dagger set, in a tooled leather sheath, looped to the back of the body’s belt. Extracting it, she saw that it was a dual sheath, one for the dagger, one for the pricker that went with it. It was a fine blade, still sharp, with engraved scrollwork along the upper edge of the blade. While only a mundane, utilitarian tool for eating, it was a very nice example of one. On the sheath was a monogram: MH.
After another hour or so, they finally broke out of the jungle, the fields and farmlands, separated by the ubiquitous hedgerows, stretched out before them. In the late afternoon sun, they could see the smoke from the houses of Meke Larnis, a farming suburb, about two miles north. The town itself, one of the larger farming towns, was hidden by the rows of trees and brush that made up the hedgerows.
Getting onto a farming path was a great improvement, despite it not being a full road. It was at least much better than having to hack their way through the jungle, and they made good time to the town.
And that was important, because the toxin had made its way up to Almë’s shoulders, and he was having trouble breathing. There was no telling if Almë would survive much longer or not. They had to get to an alchemist, who, hopefully, might have an antivenin.
The shop was small, with a residence on the upper floor, and was simply called “Bokrug the Chemist”, carved on a wooden sign and painted in bright yellowish paint to make the letters stand out from the background. It was still open, and Taid, Eykit, and Elitheris walked inside. Almë was unconscious, and still tied to Wilbur’s saddle.
The shop consisted of a small area by the door, with a counter separating the front portion from the bulk of the shop. Everything was behind the counter, protected from casual theft. Alchemy, being rather labor intensive and utilizing expensive ingredients, made for rather small, easily concealable objects that were all too easy to steal. So alchemists didn’t give thieves the chance, keeping all of their wares in the back, usually in lockable containers. The more mundane things, like glues, paints, varnishes, and basic remedies were on a shelf behind the counter.
Elitheris spoke first, “We have an injured companion that got bit by a hydra. We need an antidote.”
The old Orc eyes widened. “Is there a hydra attacking people? May Stuglock preserve us! Just a moment.” He turned, and went through the door in the middle of the wall behind the counter that evidently led to his lab and storeroom. He wasn’t gone long, coming back with a handful of vials, each with a yellowish liquid in it. “How many times was he bitten?”
It was Eykit who answered. “Twice,” he said, “Once in each leg.”
Bokrug held up two vials. “It’ll cost a hundred and twenty marks.”
A bright gleam entered Eykit’s eyes. “Let me see what I can do,” he said to Elitheris softly. “Good sir,” he said the Bokrug, “we are but poor travelers who happened upon some bad luck with that hydra. But it’s dead now, as we felt a little offended that it would bite our companion. So perhaps we can come to a more fair arrangment?”
The two of them exchanged words as they haggled. Eykit’s charm, wit, and circumstances got them not only the alchemist’s sympathy, but also a 20% discount. But there was only so much the alchemist could do, and he was limited by the difficulty in acquiring enough hydra venom to make the antidote, so Eykit was unable to get him to go lower.
They paid the requisite amount of money, purchasing the two doses needed to neutralize the venom in Almë’s body. They then roused him enough to make him drink the antidotes. Bokrug had said that it might take some time for the antidote to fully take effect, but it should at least stop the spread of the venom in his system.
Eykit turned to the alchemist. “Thanks, good sir, for helping our friend there.” He smiled, turning on his charm. “I was wondering if you could do us a favor. We found these alchemical pastilles, but we have no idea what they do. And we were figuring that using them willy-nilly would be dangerous, to say the least. Any chance you might be able to tell us what they do?”
Bokrug liked the friendly young Goblin. And he and his companions had had quite the scare. And, if he was being honest, it wouldn’t take him but a few moments to figure out what they had. “Sure,” he said. “Let me see them.”
Eykit motioned for Elitheris to get the five little pill-like disks out from wherever she kept them. She let them fall into his palm, and he proceeded to peer at them using a magnifying glass bigger than his hand. He sniffed them, and nodded, and then, on the countertop, pushed them into two piles, one of two pastilles, one of three. He pointed to the pair and stated, “These are Thanatos. It’s a deadly poison, so don’t get caught in the smoke cloud. It’s also illegal, so don’t go showing it around. If you look carefully it is more pale than the other three.” His finger hovered over the triplet, and he said, “And these are Morpheus. They cause a smoke that makes people fall asleep. And if you look carefully—” he handed the magnifying glass to Elitheris, who was trying to squint at them, her Elven telescopic vision horribly suited for close work, “you’ll see the loops of greyish material interspersed in the cream colored base.”
“Thanks,” Elitheris said. “How much do we owe you for that?”
Bokrug held up his hands, palms out, and shook his head. “No charge,” he said with a smile. “Consider it part of the service for paying customers.”
Taid purchased a couple of doses of hydra venom antidote, as well. Elitheris chatted with the alchemist in order to find out what wares he had. She came away with a few doses of Quick Seal Salve, an unguent that could act as a layer of skin over a wound, effectively a liquid bandage that stopped bleeding and aided healing.
Getting the immediate problem of Almë’s impending death taken care of got rid of the weight on their shoulders. And they all wanted some good food and a decent bed. So they went to the common house, ordered some food and drink. All throughout dinner, Almë tried to get Eykit to go back to the alchemist’s shop and rob it blind.
Not wanting an entire town with a hate-on for him, Eykit refused. He felt much more comfortable stealing in a city, where everyone didn’t know everyone else. More camouflage, more anonymity, and thus more safety. There would be no way he’d get away with robbing that alchemist, even assuming Bokrug didn’t have alchemical defenses, like a tripwire that dropped one of those Thanatos pastilles through a flame as soon as he entered the room. Being killed was a bad way to do business.
And even if he did survive the heist, having the whole town, and, by extension the Rural Watch after him was not something he wanted to contemplate. Yes, the Rural Watch was undermanned and underfunded, but they were still a bad enemy to have.
“Sorry, Almë,” he finally told the wheedling Elf, “if you want to rob it, go ahead. But you’d be a fool, and I think the rest of us would disown ever knowing you if you did. Besides, Bokrug is a cool guy. He might be useful if we come through here again. I’m going to give you a little hint on stealing: steal from people you don’t care about or aren’t useful to you. People you can afford to have as an enemy, if it gets down to that.”
Then they went to the inn. There was only one; although it was fairly large, and it even served food in the morning. Chickens and ducks could be heard clucking and quacking from behind the building.
The beds were decent, stuffed straw with a padded covers of what seemed to be treesilk fabric. Elitheris slept in a room with other women, Almë, Eykit, and Taid slept in another room, sharing a triple wide bed. Two other men lay sleeping in the second bed, at least one of them snoring softly.
Their arrival was not unnoticed; the New Square Skulls had been told to watch for them, and alert the Underboss Jakkit when they arrived.
The streets of Port Karn at midday were crowded, as they usually were, and filled with all kinds of people doing all of the different things people in cities did. Eykit, Elitheris, Almë, and Taid, who led Wilbur, walked down the street, weaving their way through the masses of people. Mr. Wiggles, as usual, had little problem threading his way past people’s legs, sniffing at anything and everything he could put his nose to. He drew a bit of attention, since he was armored in gambeson and chainmail. Not many dogs in the street had anything like that, and people looked around for the squad of soldiers they expected to see with such an animal. When they couldn’t see them, they quickly lost interest. Mr. Wiggles likely didn’t even notice them.
Just another day in Port Karn.
“Oh!” exclaimed Eykit, “there’s my favorite sausage vendor!” He started moving in that direction but a hand grabbed his arm and spun him back towards his companions.
“Iceman wants to see you,” the man attached to the hand said in a soft voice. He was of average height, with nondescript brown hair around an average face. “He wants to see you now.” With that, he let the Goblin go, turned and disappeared into the crowd.
“Fuck,” Eykit said. “I hate it when he does that.”
“Who was that?” asked Taid. “And where did he go? He was just there.”
“That,” Eykit replied, “was Wallpaper. Wallpaper Damian. He’s really good at disappearing. Makes me feel inadequate sometimes. I think it’s magic, but I’ve never been able to prove it.”
Elitheris spoke up. “What did he say to you? I saw his lips moving, but I couldn’t hear him.”
“The Underboss—the Iceman—wants to see us. Now. We’d better hurry.”
“Besides,” Almë said, “the faster we get there, the faster we can get paid.” He patted the wrapped form slung over Wilbur’s saddle. The bag holding the severed head of “Kalshebba” dripped occasionally as is swung slowly with the movement of the horse.
Jakkit Laarsiki, aka “The Iceman”, was the guild Underboss. He oversaw the day to day activities of the guild, and was the main conduit to the Boss himself, Toren Ghent. As conduit, he was also the gatekeeper, and anything going to Ghent went through him first.
He sat at a desk, in a room on the third floor above a bakery. The room, a bedroom converted into an office, wasn’t large, but there was room for two chairs by the desk and another two along one wall. A bookshelf was on another, filled with ledgers with numbers on the spines. He looked up when the young pickpocket, Jebbiz Yokiin, showed in Eykit, Elitheris, Taid, and Almë. Mr. Wiggles seemed more interested in Jebbiz, who liked dogs, and the Goblin youngster shared his lunch with armored pup in the hallway outside the office.
Jakkit looked at the four people standing in his office, his face in that immobile, stoic expression he was known for. “I’m going to be asking you some questions. Eykit, you’re first. The rest of you can wait downstairs. Jebbiz will get you when I am ready for you.” He made a little shooing motion with his hand.
Elitheris looked over at Taid, who looked back and shrugged. “Maybe we can get a pint while we wait,” he said, grinning. He turned to leave. Elitheris grabbed Almë’s sleeve and tugged, indicating that he should follow Taid. They went downstairs.
Next door to the bakery was a cafe. Elitheris figured that most of the staff was likely on the Skull’s payroll, and she wasn’t wrong.
Eykit stood in front of Jakkit’s desk.
One by one, he questioned them. Mostly, he listened. But every so often, he asked for clarification, or for them to repeat part of the story. Sometimes he waited, then asked about something they had described several minutes before.
In general, the stories were remarkably similar; the only variances coming from a different point of view. Overall, the stories told were very consistent. This pleased Jakkit, and made his job easier. He had been expecting them to lie, or at least withhold information, but from what he could tell, they were telling him everything. It was a good day. He was amused by Almë’s wish to rob the alchemy shop, and figured that maybe Almë showed some promise. He would keep an eye on that Elf.
After they had all told their versions of the story of the cult of the cannibal Goblins, complete with a “goddess” of hunger, he paid them each the $1000 he had agreed to pay them. It was a bit on the steep side, and he was disappointed in himself a little, but they had come through and solved what could have been a very sticky problem. And brought back “Kalshebba’s” head, and the body of the illusionist who had masterminded the whole thing. Overall, he thought it was money well spent.
The group went back to the inn they currently called “home”. With the money they had, they could likely afford a real house or apartment to live in. Eykit, of course, had several places he could call home; the guild had lots of places he could use as a crash pad.
But for now, it was the inn.
The next morning, as they were about to get some breakfast, the innkeeper, Krogan Steadyhand, said “There was a guy who inquired after you, good sirs and lady.” Krogan was an older Orc, likely in at least his 50’s. He was still strong, though, and not prone to lose his temper. He knew better, and decades working in the service of one inn or another had taught him some basic customer service skills. Including not losing his temper and ripping the customer’s arms off. Which he looked fully capable of doing.
His words got Eykit’s attention, and his sense of paranoia spiked. He didn’t like attention; it was bad for business, even if his business lately wasn’t always of the thieving kind. But he had just stolen a piece of art from a guild enemy only a few days ago. That little crime was still fresh, he figured. He felt the rush of adrenaline and his fight or flight instinct kicked in. He controlled it, however.
“Who was it?” Taid asked.
“Dunno. He didn’t leave a name. He just asked if any of you were here.”
“And you said....” Eykit prompted.
“That you weren’t here, and no, I didn’t know where you were.”
“What did he look like?”
“Human fella. Dark skin, goatee, nice clothes. Looked like a slumming lord. Or businessman. Wore one of them business uniforms merchants like.”
Taid frowned in thought, and Eykit said, “Think it’s that guy from the Crystal Palace? The guy who wanted to buy our shards?”
“Could be, I suppose,” Taid replied.
“Bardem’s Crystal Palace?” Krogan asked. Eykit nodded. The innkeeper went on, “It burned down two days ago. Several people died. The fire couldn’t be put out until whole building was ablaze. Damaged the surrounding buildings, too!”
“Why’d it burn down?” Elitheris questioned.
“Dunno, really. Rumor is it was related to the shards. But that could have been due to a shard connection, or from arson, or a shard theft gone wrong. Hard to say, and I haven’t heard much rumor-wise about it. Just that it was lucky that the fire didn’t spread fast enough to become a major problem.” He thought for a minute. “I suppose if it had been a warehouse used to actually store things it would have been worse, as it was, it was mostly empty space with little fuel to burn. As I said, lucky.” By the way he talked, the implication was that the innkeeper had been to Bardem’s Crystal Palace.
“Thanks for the heads up about that guy,” Elitheris told the innkeeper. “If he shows up again, let us know.”
“Aye,” he said, “goes without sayin’.” He grinned, his tusks glinting in the lamplight.
“Off to the mage guild then?” Taid asked. He had been wondering for days when the mages would be done examining the head of the Servitor. And he figured they should be done by now.
It was an uneventful trip to the Port Karn Agricultural Council’s mage guild offices. Out of all of the mage guilds in Port Karn, only PKAC had the funding and facilities to house an Esoteric Studies division. If anyone could figure out what that head actually was, it would be them.
When they arrived, and had explained why they were there, they had been shown to a small conference room. In it was an oval table, and six chairs. They sat, not knowing how long they would be waiting.
The second was a severe looking woman in her thirties whose expression reminded them of a cruel nurse in a house of the mad. “Grim” was only the beginning; she looked capable of ordering the deaths of thousands without remorse. Her short hair, lack of any makeup, and plain, functional clothing only added to her dark demeanor.
The old man spoke, in a high, reedy voice that still implied great fortitude. “I am Magister Jorick Fields, one of the high mages of the guild. My companion here is Lyta Brenner, our head of Esoteric Studies. She is the one that led the team studying the…artifact.” He smiled, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes, almost as if he was trying to be funny in a very unfunny situation. “Magistra Lyta, I yield the floor to you.”
Lyta nodded. “We have analyzed the head you submitted to us. Where, again, did you find it?”
The three people who had been to the old Orc temple recounted what they remembered. Almë, who hadn’t been there, listened intently, with various looks of wonder, surprise, and dread on his face. This took quite a while, actually, since both mages asked them questions at almost every stage of the tale. They asked what the ritual used consisted of, what the chant was, and it was used as part of the overall ceremony. How long did it take, and how many sacrifices did it consume? How were those sacrifices killed? What were the rituals that were used when they were killed? How long had the ceremony been going on? Had they not stopped it, how much longer would it have gone on?
It felt almost like being back in Jakkit’s office. Except at least this time, they were all together, not telling the tale by themselves. It was somewhat chaotic, with one person occasionally interrupting another with something to add, or to make sure the story was told correctly. But they eventually got through it.
There were many more questions, most digging deeper on some point raised by previous questions. A lot of it involved theoretical thaumatology, most of which the group’s only answer was a shrug. Only Taid and Almë had much experience with the theories and math of thaumatology, and only Taid had been there. But his knowledge wasn’t sufficient to satisfactorily answer the questions.
The information that the group had was pretty minimal, really. A pattern of disappearances had been noticed, so things had been going on for at least a week or two before they had been approached to solve it. Likely more, given that Kylen Pelorus had gone to the authorities various times before realizing they weren’t going to help. So, whatever had been actually going on, had been happening for quite some time. And the pile of wet bones in the pit below the drain indicated that a great many sacrifices had happened before they were stopped. Hundreds of people had likely died as sacrifices.
Eventually, when the questions were done, Lyta nodded once, a quick, sharp gesture. “The old book you had found…the cultists thought they had a summoning spell in it. They weren’t totally wrong, although it was in an older dialect so they didn’t quite translate it correctly. They likely thought they had a totem, that they could use to summon the…servitor. But that’s not the case. The spell told them how to free something. It was already there; not a statue or whatever that they could animate.”
She paused, gathering her thoughts, both the things she had discovered, and the information added by the story the adventurers had told. “Okay,” she continued, “the summoning ceremony requires six sacrifices, one each symbolizing body, mind, spirit, will, senses, and mana. These six were used as living power stones, until they were used up and others used in their place. These living mana sources were used to power the head priest’s spell, which, by all accounts, seemed to be some kind of transmutation spell, turning the sacrifice on the central altar to a kind of acid that would eat away at that crystal that encased the creature.”
“Let’s call that spell, ‘Transmute Blood to Acid’. It’s likely called something else, but that’s a good enough name for it for now. So that’s how they got the creature out, or nearly so.” She turned to Elitheris. “And you, by reading the carvings in the wall, have given us some of the background of this thing. It didn’t tell us what it was, but at least it gave us some context to work with.”
Elitheris’ “research” (really, just looking at carvings and figuring out the story they were telling) told them that Gijak Balorat had been a fairly standard (if a bit bloody) Orcish town, sacrificing to their god for his favor.
The carvings described how the Entity attacked the neighboring Orc nations, slaughtering hundreds. Refugees flooded into neighboring towns and nations, including Gijak Balorat, fleeing the creature. The Entity was systematically destroying Orc town after Orc town. The citizens of Gijak Balorat prayed to Kruge, their patron deity, to protect them. Because they had garnered his favor, he did, by giving the priests a method to trap the creature. However, the only way to do that was to use the blood of sacrifices to form a lattice that would entice and trap the marauding creature.
The creature soon got to Gijak Balorat, and started killing the townsfolk. The streets ran with blood, like a tide or flood. The entrapment ceremony began, as did the bloodletting of the sacrifices. This also attracted the creature, and it made its way to the temple, killing anyone within reach along the way. It came to the lower chamber, where the ceremony encased it in the blood lattice crystal. What was apparently the last scene in the bas reliefs was either a large feast, or a mass funeral. It was hard to tell. Possibly, it was both.
“But what is it?” Taid asked. “Much of what you have just told us we already knew.”
Lyta looked at him directly. “Yes. But it was necessary for context.” She paused. “We think it may have been a Younger Thing. Or maybe it’s an extension or appendage of a Child of Chaos.” She saw the puzzled looks on the four faces in front of her. “Let me try to explain. What we know, or think we know, comes from the dark depths of old myth. Some of the oldest stories told around campfires. We don’t know how accurate they were, or are, but there is enough evidence from other branches of study that makes us think that they hold quite a bit of truth in them.” She scowled and shook her head. “The tales are couched in metaphorical language, so it can be hard to tease out exactly what parts are true, and what parts are…embellished, shall we say.”
Magister Jorick spoke up, a smirk on his face. “Magistra Lyta has never liked poetry. She prefers hard data and logic. But when it comes to this kind of thing, she has no choice but to accept a certain amount of uncertainty.”
“And yes, I hate it,” she replied sharply. “The ancients should have told more precise stories. Their fluffy, fuzzy language makes studying the higher powers more difficult than it needs to be.”
Magister Jorick shrugged noncommittally. Lyta continued, a look on her face that made it seem she had just sucked on a lemon. Or that the subject matter she was about to talk about had a stench she really didn’t like. But she sighed, and went on.
“First there was nothing. Then something happened, and there was chaos. The chaos had always been there. Out of the chaos Things formed, formless, ever changing, and mindless, the Children of Chaos, also called the Progenitors. They needed no food or drink or air, for they lived on the chaos that surrounded them and that was ever present like a mist of morning fog. Sometimes two or more beings of chaos met in the infinite mist and intermingled, and the Younger Things were born.
“These Younger Things sought others of their kind, and mingled, and had their own children, who became more and more ordered with each generation, until most of the chaos had been bred out of them, leaving Order and Mind. They were like islands of solidity in a wild sea of variance. These were the First Gods, and while they were less powerful than their progenitors in terms of raw strength, they were able to use their powers focused by Will and Volition.
“In the end, few of the Gods were left. Most had been killed in the constant fighting, leaving only the relative few that are currently known. These gods each have many names, for they are worshiped by many peoples in different lands, although they themselves seem to not have need of such nomenclature.
“In the Aftermath, they formed Lands Like Islands that were expressions of their Minds. These Planes of the Gods are islands of stability surrounded by the Primal Chaos like a sea of mist, organized and made stable by the Wills of their creators. They exist, but not in the sense of being a real place, for no map can be made of them because Space and Time have no meaning in these places. They are expressions of the god’s Will, and thus while stable, also are as changing as the god’s mood. Between and amongst these Lands Like Islands live the Formless Ones, the Children of Chaos, and the Younger Things. The Living Gods prevent them from entering their Lands Like Islands.
“Our world is akin to one of these Lands Like Islands.” She paused then, gathering her thoughts after her long exposition, as if to make sure she didn’t forget anything.
She continued. “These Lands Like Islands are both shadows of, and shadows projected, onto the Universe. In a way, they mirror what mortals call reality, and form it. They are both a part of the Universe, and separate from it, simultaneously. In their orgy of creation, the gods populated the Universe with the rocks, and seas, and land, and Life. In a sense, the Lands Like Islands and the Primal Chaos are coterminous with the Universe, and it is the Gods who uphold the boundaries not only for their Lands, but for the Universe as well, almost as a side effect. But they are not perfect, and not ever-watchful, and every so often one of the Formless Ones and their ilk manage to sneak past them, invading the Lands Like Islands or the Universe.”
Magister Jorick spoke up. “We think the head you gave us is related to Ghebbiloth. What we don’t know is if it was a separate entity, or part of Ghebbiloth itself. From the description of the ‘Book of Summoning’ you gave us along with the head, we suspect it must have been one of Ghebbiloth’s ‘fingers’, so to speak. If it had been Ghebbiloth itself, you likely wouldn’t be here right now, and most of use would be dead as well. And, to be honest, I don’t think Ghebbiloth itself can be trapped.”
“All we can do is hope that there aren’t more of these things out there,” Lyta said. “Ghebbiloth isn’t known as the Chaos God of Destruction for no reason. And if it can manifest one of these Servitors, it could likely manifest another.” She shuddered. “We just have to hope that we will be able to defeat it when it does, although to be honest, I don’t know how we could do that, unless we get more help from the gods.”
There was silence, for a while, around the table, as this information seeped in. Then, at last, Almë said, “I have a question on a different matter.”
Lyta and Jorick looked at him, then Lyta nodded for him to go ahead.
“I am looking for some mages. They have some information that I need.”
“I don’t know who they are, specifically. Only that I think they use these symbols.” He pulled out a piece of paper, on which he had sketched three symbols. They were rather rough, as his artistic skills skewed more to sculpture, but they were clear enough. One was a bunch of berries, or grapes, but obviously vegetable in nature. The second as a heart on fire, and the third was a pyramid.
Lyta looked at them for a long moment. “What information are you looking for? Do you have any other information about these mages?”
“I’m looking for them. They hold information that I seek. As for which guild they are, I have no idea. Hence, I am asking you.”
Lyta closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. Exasperation tinged her voice as she said, “Without context, I wouldn’t know where to look. I doubt I can help you. But I will look in the obvious places and see what I can come up with. Don’t expect anything, but if I find something, it will be sooner rather than later. Either I can find something quick, or I won’t find anything at all. I realize that there are things you want to keep to yourself, but I would have a better chance of figuring out who these guys might be if you give me something to work with.”
“I would appreciate anything you can find out.”
Lyta looked at him directly for another long moment, willing Almë to give her more information to work with. She was disappointed. She stood, and helped Jorick to stand. “An aide will show you out,” she said, and the pair of mages walked out of the room.
Before they left the mages’ guild, they stopped by the Enchantments Division. Elitheris wanted some magic arrows, picking up a few. Having some “trick” arrows would be useful. She also looked into some magical armor. While she wasn’t usually a front line fighter, melees got chaotic, and she had seen how impervious both Taid and, to a lesser extent, Eykit were when it came to attacks. She wanted similar protection. Her inquiries about the cost of some enchantments on some new gambeson armor were encouraging. There were some relatively cheap protective enchantments that she would be able to get relatively quickly.
Rewards Granted
3 CP
$1000 each, for stopping the cult
Some alchemy (purchased in town)
Some magic arrows (purchased in town)
Knowledge about the Servitor
$1000 each, for stopping the cult
Some alchemy (purchased in town)
Some magic arrows (purchased in town)
Knowledge about the Servitor
Missions/Quests Completed
The Cult of the Cannibal Goblins
Character(s) interacted with
Bokrug the Alchemist, of Meke Larnis
Jakkit the Iceman, Underboss of the New Square Skulls
Magister Jorick of the Port Karn Agricultural Council, Mage Guild Division, Lord Mage in charge of Magical Operations
Magistra Lyta Brenner of the Port Karn Agricultural Council, Mage Guild Division, Head of Esoteric Studies
Related Reports
See The Old Orc Temple for notes on the Servitor, and what happened there.
Report Date
26 Nov 2022
Primary Location
Secondary Location
Related Plots
Related Characters
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