An Arm and a Leg

Interesting Times

I should have remembered old Lyesmith's advice: 'Never gamble when you've nothing worth betting". I'd had a deal go bad recently, and some thugs robbed me of everything save the clothes on my back. Of course, as a traveling merchant of magical goods, I didn't have much for them to take. Business has been bad for those of an arcane inclination ever since mechanization outpaced wizardry in day-to-day industry. But I would bounce back. I always did. It was as I was reacquiring some ingredients that I was offered the chance I should never have taken.

The chemist mentioned that someone was looking for talented individuals to help with a familial curse. I had taken on jobs like this before, and usually they are just the kind of low risk high reward proposition that I was in desperate need of right now. Stressed out city dwellers often believe that they are plagued by curses or spirits when it is in fact their own conscience that is haunting them. So you show up, cast a few spell, tell them that if they keep cheating on their wife the ghosts will come back, and collect your payment. The name of the family, however, gave me pause. Laverick. If any family were to have a curse, it would be them. But one curse I know they have is excess wealth, and I was eager to avail them of that.

So off I went. Although I had never seen Laverick Manor in it's hayday, I could tell that held only a fraction of its former glory. Seemingly home to only one heir and one servant, most of its grand halls were taken up by piles of dust and long shadows. The heir regaled us with stories of the curse, and wrongs that must be righted, as the servant placed a portrait of Aleksandr Laverick above the mantle. Suddenly, me and my companions fell into a collective hallucination of the past. Our initial reactions were surprisingly mundane considering what we were experiencing. I was stunned into inaction, while some other members of the party immediately started picking fights. Quickly though, we decided that the only way forward was to try and accomplish what we had been sent here to do, discover how to right the wrongs that persist in the present, and kill Aleksandr.

The factory, which we were near when we began our hallucination, was in the middle of a strike, and subsequent strike bust, so we decided to investigate. We learned from the foreman that Aleksandr's workshop was on the road to the manor, and that became our next destination. The two gentlemen guarding the workshop, however, informed us that we would have to wait in the manor itself, and so we did. I would have been impressed by the multitude of bustling servants, the bright decorations, and the wonderful tea, if only I could have forgotten the situation we were in. Because we were not, in fact, enjoying tea in a lavish mansion. We were sitting in a dark, dusty hall, collectively dreaming that we were sipping tea two rooms over and 3 years in the past.

Anyway, although it took us two tries to get there, we eventually met with Aleksandr in his workshop. The place was practically a single mass of machinery, more wondrous than any display of magic that I have ever seen. Though he had the home field advantage, we had the numbers, and we did him in without ceremony. I'm not quite sure how this kind of curse is supposed to be lifted, but I never immagined it would involve quite so much stabbing.

View
Dinners, Drugs, and Demons

Today, we ventured into the third portrait. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually relieved. In the portrait, nothing can rob you, kill you, or attempt to sacrifice you to an ancient blood deity. At least not permanently. I think. Honestly, once you get used to the visions full of pain and misery, it's not a bad gig. I only worry that the lack of consequences inside the portraits will make me complacent outside of them.

This portrait was of Melissa, the sole survivor of a dinner party that wiped out the city's high-blooded population. When we arrived at the city, we talked to the locals to get the lay of the land, and quickly discovered that there had been a rash of disappearances recently. The most recent of these was a western trader who vanished in the night a week prior. His compatriots informed us that he was headed to local tavern for a drink, but a quick search of his room told a different story. We found an opium pipe hidden amongst his possessions, and deduced that he had in stead visited the local den.

I would like to say that it was my street smarts that found the den, but Mungo was able to discern its location quite quickly. A little too quickly if you catch my drift, but who am I to judge. The proprietor of the joint showed us to a booth and filled the hookahs. I realized that it would seem suspicious if the hookahs remained unsmoked, but I refuse to partake in such things on principal. After all, my mind is intricately linked to the world of the arcane, so who knows what might happen if I lose control of my faculties? Mungo, on the other hand, had no such qualms. I guess its different for "bards". The drug seemed to hit him hard, although we would later learn that it had been laced with sedatives. When the owner returned, I questioned her about the western trader. Her face paled and she bolted for the exit. When I gave chase, I was stopped by a large goon with a club and an odd mask. Alone and with a stoned friend to take care of, I tried to resolve things peacefully, but the man had a strong way with words. So, I did the only thing I could think of, and made a tactical retreat. Kirin was waiting outside, and we ambushed the thugs, driving them off, but setting the building on fire in the process. Kirin tried to rescue Mungo from the building, but he was nowhere to be found.

Thanks to a convenient piece of torn cloak, we were able to identify the thugs as members of the "war hounds" street gang, and track down their base of operations. It appeared to be a normal building, but under a rug we found a staircase leading to a secret dungeon. We found the first cells full of lunatics raving about demons, but at the end of the hallway was Mungo, hung over but otherwise unmolested. We sprung him from his cell and pressed onwards. Past the secret dungeon was a secret lab, full of secret chemicals and chemists who were secretly assholes. After some violent interrogation, they spilled the beans that, under Melissa's employment, they had been kidnapping people to test and develop a poison that made people believe they were righteous crusaders, and that all others were evil creatures that needed to be purged. Furthermore, Melissa planned to administer the drug at the dinner party tonight!

 

Pt 2 coming soon

View

I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.