Myths & Gears

A Brief Undertaking

A few days have passed since the attack on the city, and the squad has stayed on with Prelate Dumas at the Church of Morrow. The grey morning finds them in the courtyard of the cathedral, where Dumas has been overseeing the cleanup efforts. The good father wears a long face, obviously still stricken with despair after enduring the ghastly revelations of the ruined holiday festival, and his dark vestments are stained with mud from the debris of fallen stones and the decayed remnants of the undead army. He stands amidst a trampled garden that is now a muddy mess of tracks from the workers and wagons. Mostly patrons of the church, these men heft old bones and even older stones into wheelbarrows and horse carts to haul the remains away from the once beautiful courtyard.

Spying the members of the team, he calls to them and approaches. “Morrow bless you, my friends,” his voice deep with sorrow. “Another day of this, and the courtyard should be prepared for laying the good souls to rest who gave their lives defending this church. I would ask a favor of you. Would you be so kind as to fetch some minor items for me from the Quad? Normally I would send Wat, but… alas, he is one of our fallen,” referring to the youngest of the acolytes who served the church. Father Dumas paused, making a gesture for Wat’s passing. He produces a list of menial items, and Kah agrees to run the errand. On his way across the bridge, Kah spies a darkly garbed man paring his nails with a dagger, watching the party with a more than passing interest. A wagon obscures his view, and when it passes the man is gone. Later, in the Quad, Kah would catch site of the mysterious man again, but again loses him in the crowds. Indeed, for the Quad it is business as usual, with nary an acknowledgment of the events of the Longest Night.

Upon returning to the cathedral with the items, Father Dumas hands Kah a folded parchment, sealed with red wax. “A messenger boy brought this for you and your friends.” The note simply reads: Meet me at The Falling Star. You know where it is.

Dusk in Corvis is seldom different than day, except for the waterfront. Whereas in most sections of town business continues as usual, the coming darkness here presages the turning over of the district. Once the work bells ring out, dockworkers and merchants give way to rogues, thugs, and other ne’er-do-wells. It is often said, “On the docks at night only a fool walks alone.”
Corvis_Bridge.jpg
As the group makes its way toward the harbour, the graceful spires of Corvis become less frequent, giving way to the unadorned and sometimes squalid structures and canal-spanning bridges of the old city. The usual mist from the Black River begins to rise as night falls, and traffic thins as the proceed along the river. Nearby the faint lighting from a warehouse illuminates the cobbles, and from inside you hear the chug and hiss of steamjacks at work. Shouting and laughter spills from The Falling Star as they enter. The tavern is filled with the ususal rowdy bunch, but they do not find Cpt. Helstrom as they expected. Instead, they see the same man who had been following Kah at a table, a clean-shaven, wiry fellow with angular features, sunken green eyes, and long strands of oily black hairhanging down in his face. He wears a leather greatcoat over a black shirt and dark grey leather pants, wrapped in a multitude of straps and buckles. A long knife hangs from each hip, and two more hilts protrude from the tops of his thick boots. He cuts an intimidating figure, despite being lean of stature.

Waving them over to his booth, he looks the team over and says, “Seems as I’ve been watching yeh of late, so let me cut ta th’ quick of it. My employer ‘as a job he needs done. ’ad somethin stolen from ’im three days ago, an’ ‘e needs it stolen back. So, ’e’s charged me ta find a band o’ worthies ta take this on. You toughs seem ta ’ave the fire in yer guts fer such a thing. Ya think mebbe yer right fer this little job?” Watching them intently, he pushes a folded parchment across the table with a gloved hand. The note contains directions to what appears to be a warehouse on the backside of the industrial bourg.

He answers some questions for the group, calling himself Draegyn, but is reluctant to provide details of what the item is, calling it a “Thunderwicket. A prototype device. Ye’ll know it when ye see it.” He also refuses to identify his employer, merely insisting that they’ll be well paid. The team turns down his offer. He stands, shrugging as he picks up the parchment, and leaves the bar, saying “Yer passing up a lotta coin, mates. I’ll give ye a day te think on it. If ye change yer minds, I’ll be here temorreh night.” Coincidently or not, a couple blocks from the tavern, they’re ambushed by a small gang of bandits. The fight is going well, but then Draegyn appears, killing two of the bandits. He tosses the note with the directions to them, saying “Ye owe me one. Ye’ll be rewarded well, trust me.”

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Pyrik

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