May 8, 3043

City of Glenzor

Dearest Fea,

Greetings! I hope you are getting settled in comfortably at home again after our little adventure together. How are the babies doing? Did they like their gifts? So far, there's little to report about the aftermath of our exploit; the prisoners were turned over to the army and have presumably told all they know by now, but we've heard nothing back yet. Typical of the military bureaucracy, but after some consideration, I think it's probably just as well. The more we learn about the high-level plans and politics involved in this war, the more complicated our decisions become. It would be that way for any group that pretended to any sort of morals, I suppose, but our company is so polarized—we have two or three different moral stances to reconcile with our orders. We have yet to discover what our fifth and final assignment will be, but I sincerely hope it will be something simple and straightforward. (What are the odds...?) After that, we will need to decide, as a company, whether we intend to re-enlist for another five missions or not. That question is so far up in the air, right now, that it can't be seen by the naked eye...

Well. As usual, we have failed to use our leave time for rest and relaxation. As usual, we've found trouble without even trying—or trouble has managed to find us. Regardless, it has very quickly gotten ugly, and Lord Mikhael keeps muttering about how "this reminds me of Talnick,"—I'm sure that means even more to you than it does to me. I'm afraid this story is not going to be an elegant one, my dearest bard, as I am still not sure personally what all the details are or what order they go in, but I shall do the best I can to sort it all out for you.

The known facts are these: five days ago, by one of those odd coincidences that seem part of the adventurer's life, most of us had elected to spend our first day off in Belgabass Glenzor—Oldtown. It's an eerie place, if you've never been there: the buildings are all made of bruise-colored stone, and the streets are narrow, winding, and almost always filled with creeping fog. It's very dark there, because the inhabitants are almost all full orcs, predominantly those who cling to the old culture; they all seem to wear traditional kimonos and swear by No Cha and the other old orcish gods. Even before this xenophobic war Belgabass would normally be all but off-limits for an elf—especially an elf like me!

However, my young apprentice Sunny had invited Sindaraen and I to come see her in some sort of Oldtown street performance—she's half-elven herself, but seems to be a true prodigy with disguises. She regularly passes herself off as a half-orc, without the benefit of magic, and works downtown. I didn't think I'd need the mundane disguise, however; Sindaraen has been generous with the use of his Wand of Polymorph since he attained the level necessary to recharge it himself. I went as an orc, Sind remained human, and we both wore our military coats and insignia. I was rather enjoying the fact that I got saluted and Sindaraen didn't; at one point, an Oldtown guard told me I had best keep an eye on my friend (only he pronounced it like you would 'pet'), and get him out of Belgabass when the show was over. If only he'd known who he was talking to!

At any rate, that's what Sind and I were doing. I think Nicholas and Mikhael had come down shopping for a familiar, but I'm still not entirely clear—I know Mikhael believes, as I do, that 'Familiar' equals 'Liability', and I can't imagine Nicholas going against Mikhael's wisdom on this. (For such a 'fearsome loner,' Nick certainly doesn't do much without consulting Mikhael first!) It's unimportant, however; the person they had come to meet failed to appear at the appointed time.

Sindaraen and I watched Sunny's performance—some bizarre form of orcish storytelling mimery—and had begun searching for a place to eat, when we heard a scream from a nearby alley. I continued walking. I told Sind to keep walking. I told him to keep walking, but did he listen? I knew investigating would only get us into trouble. It's part of guild training—don't investigate screams in alleys—you will never, ever find anything that will brighten your day. SIGH.

Well, with his infravision spell up, Sind could only see the indistinct form of a body on the ground, and something short twitching and hopping in place, so naturally he brought out a light—and promptly began emptying his stomach onto the cobblestones. I finally came over to investigate, exasperated. The 'something short' turned out to be a severed leg, which finally fell over, but kept twitching; the body lay further down the alley, and I went in (warily) to see if anything could be done. At that point I guess Nicholas and Mikhael's carriage drove by, and they stopped to find out what Sindaraen was retching about. (Nicholas sounded much like me, later, when he kept saying "I knew we shouldn't have stopped—I just knew it...")

We successfully kept Mikhael from entering the alley—severed legs being bad things in general, but especially bad for Mikhael—and found a few peculiar things. Aside from the gruesome leg, I mean, which I finally skewered and 'killed'. There was blood splashed on both the walls, as you'd expect from the slashes that had amputated the leg and nearly decapitated the victim as well, but the body itself was bloodless. We immediately looked for tooth-marks, but found none—and that's when the guard showed up. We considered fleeing, but decided against it; we're getting far too arrogant in our old age. Besides, it turned out that the dead woman was the orc that Nicholas and Mikhael had arranged to meet, and we decided we'd best clear this up early on. Luckily, the guard captain accepted our (true) stories, and solicited our help in solving the mystery; the Glenzor guard has been seriously understaffed since the beginning of the war. We said we'd think about it, and headed for home.

And that's when we were ambushed by hyenaweres and giant wolverines in the streets of Oldtown. They picked two of our guards and our coachman off the carriage, then came after us as we emerged. I Webbed one end of the street, turning it into a one-front battlefield instead of a flanking maneuver, then was impaled by a yard-long bone arrow from the roof. Piqued, I took to the air as the others dealt with our remaining attackers. Sindaraen, assuming all tactics work everywhere, became a fire elemental, and was promptly felled by the were's 'sleep' gaze. Mikhael took care of his quite handily, but Nicholas and his pet panther fell victim to a wolverine's vile acidic musk. I found no sign of the assassin on the roof, but did find a handful of grasshopper legs on second inspection, suggesting we were dealing with a 'Jump'-ing mage-assassin. (Great.)

Also, I discovered a note attached to the arrow, giving us the startling and wholly unexpected news that we were meddling where we weren't wanted. Meddling! We had been trying to leave Oldtown, Fea! We'd have gone home, decided to leave it to the guards, and forgotten about it, if they'd just left us alone! None of us wanted to waste our full leave mucking about after a dead beast-dealer—especially not in Belgabass, where we're likely to get our faces stomped just for not being orcs. The ambush sealed our fates, though—Mikhael took it very personally, and we all had to agree that allowing the Scintillating Company to be attacked in Glenzor itself without retaliating would be setting a very bad precedent.

So...we met with our guard captain friend Logan Adder again, and he arranged a place for us to stay nearby—the Midnight Hunger Inn, appropriately enough, owned by—oh dear, I'm forgetting things again. In our initial conversation with Adder, after we found the body, we met several of the locals, including Koth, the guy who owned this inn. The people we met turned out to be important later, but I wasn't paying attention at the time—there's no point, when they all have names like Socket-Scraper. I wish I remembered why we'd been introduced to them all—it seemed many of them were just in the area, or ran businesses near the murder site; in other words, we should have considered them suspects. But we were so clumsy at the beginning of this investigation, I'm sure there were a hundred other clues we missed. We're just not used to thinking analytically, I guess—not this way, at any rate. Not in a city, where you have to get everything right the first time or the clues disappear.

We discovered that this was likely the work of a serial killer; similar deaths had happened in Oldtown every thirteen years for as far back as they had records—five increasingly brutal murders, five nights in a row. Records had been systematically altered or destroyed, however—somebody was paying to destroy evidence. We didn't do much else in the way of leg- or paper-work investigations, however; we were too confident in our magical abilities. I'm not really clear on everything that went on that next day; Sind and Mikhael zoomed about on the Flying Carpet (thanks again for that, by the way—it's come in very handy) casting Locate: Hyenawere, but were bounced all over the city by some kind of Misdirection effect that led them to pigeons and orcish children. The effect seemed localized in one area, and didn't go away; if it's an item, we want it.

We finally came up with a plan to release the two hyenaweres that had been taken alive from my Web and follow them back to their leader. The scheme became far more elaborate than it probably needed to be, but Captain Adder was very helpful in getting us set up. Mikhael, invisible and non-detect, created the illusion of a drunken and careless guard for them to kill; Sind tagged along to use his ring of TK to manipulate the ring of keys, which had to be real, of course. There was only thing we didn't foresee; after killing the 'guard', the hyenawere shape-shifted into the guard's likeness, then changed into his (illusionary) clothes! Luckily it was Mikhael, and he was using Advanced Illusion, which provides touch sensations, but it meant he had to remain very close to the creature in order to maintain the illusion. Aside from that, they left the guardhouse precisely as we expected them to; the only problem was that they did not take us to their leader. They ran through the streets for a while, then took to the sewers, curling up to rest in a little ledge in the sewer system. Fine, we thought. Sewers are a pain, but we can be patient.

Patience, however, only lasts for so long, especially when your husband is involved. Hours passed, and I eventually had to leave the stakeout, as my Polymorph was due to wear off, and I did not want to climb out of the Oldtown sewers as my delicate self. I went and hid on a roof nearby in case something did happen, and hoped Sind would reappear so I could get another Polymorph from his wand. More hours passed, and Simon finally showed up, and suggested we go in and flush the quarry out. I wasn't even sure it was a good idea at the time, but I suddenly understand how Simon can manage to get even Mikhael—one of the most eminently practical people I know—into such unique brands of trouble. There's just no resisting him when he's got an idea in his head.

So we went in; Simon ended up killing one, and the other fled. Mikhael and Sind followed, flying, and Simon and I took to the rooftops. Somewhere along the line, however, Sind came back for some reason, and appeared before Simon in faerie form. Exclaiming about "evil pixies," Simon took a playful swing at him and connected squarely with his neck—taking down his Stoneskin. Sind was furious, and said or did something that pissed Simon off in return, because the next thing I knew, Sind was back in his human form, plummeting two stories to the ground—sans Nightscar and all the other active spells he'd had up. Blanket Dispels are nasty things!

After that, there was no reasoning with Sindaraen. He quickly polymorphed himself again, and flew back up after Simon, screaming that he was going to turn him into a rabbit—and he didn't mean with Polymorph Self. I tried to intervene, but Sind just told me, essentially, to 'get lost,' and went on shouting "Run while you can, bunny boy!"

I can't help it, Fea; it was just the last straw. I gave up. I went home, curled up in bed, and wrote a letter to Bicker asking him to find me a new house. I've had it with Sind. I may be stuck with him in the Company, but that doesn't mean I have to live with him. If he doesn't start shaping up soon, he may get thrown out of the Company as well—I know Mikhael is just about fed up with him too. I always knew there were tensions bubbling under the surface in this group, Fea, but I didn't think the both of them would be willing to toss off our current mission in order to have at each other. I mean, I sort of walked away from it too, but by then I had no idea where Mikhael or the hyenawere had gone, no way to find them, and no disguise. I was out of spells, and hadn't slept in nearly twenty-four hours. And I went back as soon as I had rested, rememorized, and packed up my closet. Sindaraen and Simon spent twelve hours playing cat-and-mouse in the streets of Belgabass, accomplishing nothing except further exhausting themselves. And in the meantime, the murderer had claimed another victim.

I think we're beginning to fall apart at the seams, Fea. Did this ever happen to you when you were adventuring?

Sigh. Well, we went back to the beginning, re-examined our clues, followed up on things we'd discarded earlier...I don't remember what all we did. At some point in all this we'd cast Death Recall on the original victim, and seen the hand of a hyenawere grabbing her and covering her eyes, so we knew for sure they were involved. Other than that... Nicholas finally came up with a scrap of cloth from one of the crime scenes, which led us back to the tailor Ire Socket-Scraper, who provided us with a list of the people who'd purchased such a garment. Most were quickly discarded after a little judicious scrying, but we decided we had to go check out Brain-Boiler, an Ancient Ways healer who had previously been investigated when some of his clients turned up dead. Captain Adder had no trouble at all convincing us to come assist as he interrogated the man.

The orc had a nice little estate, for Oldtown. Invisible and Wraithed, I followed the butler back into the house when he announced the group, figuring I'd do a little clue-searching while the others questioned him. I had no trouble getting into the bedroom, and waited quietly as the ailing fellow prepared for visitors, but just as he left, he turned and looked straight at me and said, "It's all right if you observe, but please don't do anything to irritate me." Very odd, let me tell you. And more than a little unnerving.

However, he did go downstairs, leaving me free to snoop around; naturally, I didn't really find anything, other than an impressive array of skulls from various creatures and humanoids. Finally, I heard people coming up the stairs, just as my Wraithform was wearing off—it seems that the Captain and the rest of the party had decided to come inspect the fellow's wardrobe. He was protesting in the hall outside, complaining that this was 'very upsetting,' and that they really shouldn't press him... At that point, one of Adder's guards thought they saw him going for a weapon, drew on him, and sent him into some sort of fit. I'm grateful that I didn't see it; I gather he sort of turned...translucent, then...melted. It sounds very disturbing. Out of the pile of...whatever...that was left, wisps of steam coalesced into a spectral form with fearsome claws. When I opened the bedroom door, the creature was sinking a claw into the guards chest, and it quickly drained the body to a withered husk.

I quickly closed the door!

What? It was undead, Fea! Illusionists and undead just don't mix. I frantically reviewed my memorized spells as the sounds of combat ensued in the hallway. I ignored the animated skull that lifted off a shelf and came to attack me as I heard Nicholas shouting Mikhael's name, then Sind screaming from the next room. I headed out the back way, to see Sind fleeing out the back window with two of these skulls attached to him, still screaming "get them off me! get them off me!" I ducked out into the hallway behind Mikhael and Nick instead, figuring my D-Door was the only way to get us out of there in a hurry, but Nicholas had already grabbed Mikhael around the waist and dragged him away from the specter, and then Simon hauled him away from Nicholas and ran for the other back window. I just grabbed Nicholas and the nearest orcish guard and D-Doored out to the street, necessarily leaving the other two to their fate. We discovered Adder had fled, but didn't particularly blame him; the undead have that effect on some people. It took us a few minutes to regroup ourselves, especially since Mikhael wanted to go back and destroy this thing, but finally he relented. I think the opportunity to fireball Sindaraen may have had some small part in that—Sind was begging for someone to destroy these skulls, and we all knew his fire elemental ring gave him partial immunity to fire, so Mikhael got to light him up—and Sind thanked him for it!

Then we learned the bad part—the specter (or whatever it was) that had attacked Mikhael had drained two life levels from him. No wonder he was so mad; he's only a Thaumaturge (like me) now, and can no longer cast fifth level spells! As it turns out, the skulls I had so blithely ignored were also level-drainers—Sind had been drained all the way back to Warlock level. Now we were really upset. But that's not all, because then the specter-thing (back in its Brainboiler form) reappeared on the balcony and tossed the body of one of the guards down at our feet, saying something clichˇd like "Beware." (I don't remember precisely.) So we looked at the guard and discovered—lo and behold!—that it wasn't an orc! We finally identified it as a doppelganger in guard's clothing, and looked at each other for a long moment.

A few creative profanities later, we charged off at top speed for the guardpost, raising Locate: Doppleganger along the way. Sure enough, there they were as we surrounded and entered the building. Fighting broke out almost immediately, but didn't last long. I gather Mikhael and Nicholas outwitted a couple of them who tried to convince us that they were holding Bicker and Sonny hostae, back in the jail-cells. Mikhael asked Bicker who the main beneficiary of his will was, and when he didn't answer immediately, sounded the attack. (All 'gangers, of course. And Nicholas revealed yet another unique and nasty necromancy spell—Force Shapechange! Let's just say that from where I was standing, it sounded quite painful.) Meanwhile, Sin also managed to be efficient, Simon caught the last one oozing out of a cell window downstairs, and I personally pursued Logan Adder and slew him with a Phantasmal Killer. It was a particularly nasty phantasm, though—his worst fear was a seven-foot-tall robed skeleton, built of translucent ivory bones filled with sloshing blood, lit with an evil magenta flame burning up from the pelvis through the ribcage. Brr-rrr!

Well, we quickly reassured the real guards (who were standing around dumbfounded) and took control of the post. We placed the severed heads of all the dopplegangers on stakes outside, and flew our scintillating flag from the guardpost's flagpole, just daring our enemies to come tangle with us here. A thorough search of Adder's office turned up a scrap of paper referring to a ritual, "held this cycle by Molb," and the "honorable Roja," whom we believed to be the assassin involved in the plot. We agreed we needed to find out more about this, but in the meantime, we had to try to stop the third murder.

We staked out the streets, hoping that at least one of us might intercept the murderer, but heard screams from several different areas. Sin and Simon apparently saw one pair of wounded townspeople and tried to help them, but they later disappeared—I myself, scouting ahead for Mikhael and Nicholas in quickling form, encountered two hyenaweres savaging a young orcish woman. Now, see if you can follow my logic here, Fea. First, I was alone. I didn't have any spells that would affect both weres, other than causing some minor damage. They had a gaze that would put me helplessly to sleep if I looked too closely at them. I was in a tiny form, armed only with a dagger. The woman had already lost an arm and was near death—and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I had no healing, no potions, nor any way to carry or even support her. And on top of all that, I had the nagging feeling the whole tableau was fake—just a red herring, placed for our benefit, even though it did not seem to be an illusion. The best course seemed to me to run back and report to Mikhael and Nicholas. But now everyone is acting as if I had kicked a baby in the face or something! Now you tell me what else I should have done? I know chivalry is illogical, but after being lectured so for putting my life so 'nobly' on the line for Simon, you'd think they'd be glad I tried to think it through a little this time!

Needless to say, the third murder went off without a hitch—even more violent than the last. (But the woman I'd 'seen' turned up just fine, tending her grocery the next day. So there!) We were ready to tear our hair out. Either that, or go home and forget we'd ever come to Belgabass. After all, the guy who'd asked us to help was dead, right? But we couldn't quit now, not really; not with the reputation of the Scintillating Company on the line. Once again, we turned back to traditional mystery-solving. To make a long story marginally shorter, I'll skip the details of the next sleepless day we spent arguing, speculating, and researching, but we eventually deduced that Molb was Molb Marrowbrand, a lesser orcish noble with a certain amount of power in Oldtown. What's more, Molb had invited several influential locals (including Koth, SocketScraper, the solemn cleric, and several others we had met) to a dinner party the next night—the fifth and final night of the cycle. We could see no immediate way to turn this to our advantage, however, and we prepared to stake out his estate, hoping to stop the fourth midnight murder before it could occur.

We failed, of course. Or rather, I failed. I mean, Sin and Callous were the ones who followed the rickshaws out into the streets and missed the assassin, but I was the one who got us into trouble. See, everyone else was watching the estate from nearby alleys, but I was on top of the carriage house, staying invisible and silent. When midnight was upon us, and there was no sign of Marrowbrand coming out of the house, I decided to thin his ranks a bit and kill the hyenawere guard that had been sitting obliviously on the roof in front of me all evening. The backstab was flawless, but I became visible; I polymorphed into a dark draconian and flew the body silently across the street to Mikhael and Nicholas, hoping one of them could renew my invisibility. No luck, however, so I changed into a rat (that most invisible of Glenzor's creatures) and climbed back onto the roof of the carriage house. Apparently, I failed to notice that another guard had replaced the one I killed. Somehow, I got Held, and the alarm was sounded.

The rest was simply demoralizing. My little rat body was shoved into a bag, so I didn't see it, but apparently Mikhael came running to my rescue, and was cornered by several hyenaweres. So naturally Nicholas came to rescue him—and was trapped in a bubble of enveloping stone that rose from the courtyard floor. Eventually the rest of the boys joined in; from what I've been able to piece together, they took out several more weres and gangers, but were challenged by a talented hyenawere shaman-illusionist, who also trapped Simon in one of those stone bubbles—illusionary, of course. (Nicholas did not take ths captivity well, by the way, according to Callous. Even once he was convinced it was an illusion, he had trouble making himself function again. Do you have any idea where this phobia of his comes from? It seems to be getting worse....)

Well. The only thing I'm sure of after that is that someone cast an Ice Storm, shredding the bag, and me in it, dropping me into merciful unconsciousness. (I suppose it's some consolation that the Ice Storm also dropped its intended target, the were-shaman.) I'm not sure who retrieved me, or when the city guard began to arrive; I just remember blushing furiously when I regained my own shape. Two promises, Fea: I'll never be caught off guard like that again—and I'm never taking a form that ugly again! It was bad enough to be captured and helpless—but to be helpless in the form of a RAT! And the rest of them just wouldn't let it alone ....I threw a Color Spray and a Hold Person at Callous for his rude comments on the subject ("what's wrong, Laurie? Feeling at little RATtled?")—and I had to warn him after that, all I had left was a Phantasmal Killer....

Arrgh. With a certain amount of confusion and bickering, we regrouped at the Temple of Tyr, and began making plans for a final assault. We tried using "Interrogate Dead" on the were-shaman, and confused the issue even further; finally we agreed that we had to attack the Marrowbrand house during the day, "when evil is weakest," rather than waiting to fumble the fifth and final murder that night. We took a clerical Nap, rememorized, and set out into Belgabass Glenzor once more.

Once there, we sent in our best scouting team—Mikhael and Simon. I cast "Mikhael's Mindsight" on both of them, so we could keep track of their progress. They broke in without difficulty, then made their way to a back room where the (presumed) honorable Roja was making deals with a lesser illusionist acquaintance of ours—perhaps trying to replace the services of the shaman we'd killed? The view from Simon's eyes then settled for several minutes on a certain portion of the Roja's spinal column, as Mikhael continued to explore. Then all sorts of interesting things started to happen.

Mikhael found a secret door and passed through to a roomful of treasure—both the ordinary kind and the detailed files that could vindicate us—only to discover the nightmarish creature I had seen in Logan's mind, that dreadful skeleton we'd variously nicknamed Bone-Daddy or Flaming Pelvis, wielding a dagger that just reeked of evil. Mikhael tried to retreat, but it didn't work—fighting broke out, and several more weres came charging in, and the rest of us went diving in after Mikhael and Simon. (I'm so glad Nicholas wasn't contemplating the image he made—he was in draconian form, diving Improved Wraithformed at top speed through the hallways, with Sindaraen and I riding in pixie form on his shoulders, at one point dangling by our knees so we could cast Mirror Image before we got into combat...) By the time we arrived, Simon had managed to take the Dagger of Nastification away from the skeleton lord, and he and Mikhael were doing their best to keep the old boy from retrieving it. At last Nicholas encased the skeleton in a Wall of Force, while we dealt with some of his lesser minions. It took some doing to pin down the Roja/assassin, as he was Improved Invisible, climbing the walls, and using some very nasty swarming arrows, but Sindaraen finally snailed him—literally—with the Wand of Polymorph.

Then we spent the next several minutes arguing about what to do with the evil skeleton-warrior-thing. Sindaraen took this gruesomely sharp blood-drinking dagger (undoubtedly our murder weapon) out to the courtyard and destroyed it with a blast of fire, while Femir alerted some of the local guards. The skeleton lord paced its cage, watching us; it had propped books against the edges of the force-wall so that it would know exactly when the walls went down. We weren't sure precisely what it was capable of doing to us without the dagger, but it seemed awfully nasty, and after our experience with the BrainBoiler spectre, we weren't taking any chances. We put a second Wall of Force up when the first collapsed, needing more time to debate, and finish rescuing various prisoners in the house (including a doppleganger who claimed to be Marrowbrand). Then a third Wall, after that, from Nicholas' spellbook, as we continued to argue and Simon tried (against our better judgment) to loot some of the jewelry from the place. By that time the guards had appeared in force, and apparently one of them had called for high-power backup, because our dear friends Georgia and SkinEater showed up and shooed us out of the house. Well, we weren't about to let the play come to its end without witnessing the final scene—I discreetly cast my last "Mindsight" on Georgia as we left. (She may have noticed, but if so, she only frowned at me.) So we adjourned to the courtyard, spread out a blanket in full view of the troops, broke out the wine and cheese, and sat back to watch the spell's-eye view of the action inside.

It wasn't that it was all that exciting, really; it's just the opportunity to watch high-level mages at work.... The Wall of Force evaporated, SkinEater made a few simple gestures—and the skeleton collapsed in a pile of bones. (What spell was that?) He then began colleting the bones into a midnight-black sack; when Georgia objected, he demonstrated with a corner of robe how thoroughly the sack devoured things. She was silent. SkinEater went straight back to his carriage, but at least Georgia came to thank us, shared a glass of wine, and promised us that the roomful of files would be examined most carefully.

Then we went home to bed.

May 13

It's been a very ... interesting couple of days, Fea. We all took our time recovering, and I finished relocating myself—Khamul and I are now staying in the SunWolf House, fronting on the park. (Wouldn't Draug be pleased?) Baldarion is renting it to me, and I'm quite fond of the place already, even if it is right around the corner from the Bard's Guild. (Just kidding!) Directly across the park from me is One-Eyed Willie's, closed for the duration of the war. With Willie's permission, I've installed my apprentices there, along with Simon, whose usual place of residence is floating off the Parthinon coast. Simon and I have contributed to Willie's expansion fund, so that when life comes back to Glenzor, it will be a bigger and better Willie's open to the public. (Though with all these thieves involved, it may no longer be quite as impartial as it once was....!) I wouldn't put it past Simon to install a few extra tricks and trapdoors in the place as construction continues, but I simply shan't ask too closely for the time being.

At any rate, that kept me busy for a bit, until I got Mikhael's invitation (summons?) to dinner at his mansion on the 11th. He wanted to have a long talk about party strife—something long overdue, but which I was not looking forward to. However, we all assembled promptly enough (some of us looking slightly more peculiar than others in dinner jackets) and had a marvelous meal (courtesy of Nicholas, of course). Then Daniel stood and said it was time for us to TALK to each other. (Uh-oh!) He produced a small hourglass, and said we each had three minutes to discuss the party situation as we saw it. It was all very uncomfortable at first, but gradually people began to speak their mind. It couldn't tell you what we all said, now, but although none of it was terribly heated, we all expressed our frustration with the way that Sindaraen and Simon, especially, have been interfering lately with Company efficiency. Sindaraen responded fairly well, all things considered. He defended himself as expected, and didn't seem especially eager to change his ways, but he did listen, and apparently took some of it to heart. He says that he had hoped to take some time off after our next mission anyway, to do some intensive spell research; not to mention trying to find a way to rescue a certain winsome dryad from SkinEater's contractual clutches without sacrificing his own soul in the bargain. He does not wish to leave the Scintillating Company, but agrees that a temporary leave of absence, after we complete our next mission, may be best for all concerned.

Then Daniel went on to insist that we each air any other frustrations that we might have. It was quite fascinating, really, to watch the way he drew people out. Personally, I didn't have much to complain about, now that my situation with Sindaraen has been resolved, other than, perhaps, recent slights regarding my moral character. I expected things might turn a bit nasty, given how high tempers have been running lately, but perhaps it has simply been lack of sleep—by the end of the evening, we were all feeling quite warm and relaxed, and even surprised Mikhael and Daniel by suggesting an objective second look at our party's collection of magic. We made a complete list of everything we owned, compared strengths and weaknesses, and redistributed a few items in ways that made more sense. Thus Mikhael now holds the Ring of Invisibility, I am using Sin's notorious Ring of Telekinesis, and Sin is making use of the bracers Daniel never wears, and so on. It is a level of cooperation that would have been unthinkable even days ago, but somehow in the course of an evening we have become friends again. The main accomplishment, I think, is a gentleman's agreement that we will not turn an form of attack on each other, beyond our usual insulting repartee. No weapons, no spells—even if we know it to be harmless. All in all, a highly successful evening, even if Nicholas and Simon did walk away grumbling about Daniel's "goody two-shoes happy talk," even if Danny did mention that our last mission may involve the rakshasa we've been hearing vague rumors about for so long.

Well, you'd think that would be the end of this sordid little murder mystery, but it isn't, quite. The very next day, as I was puttering about my new house, arranging all those important little details, there came a knocking at my door. When I opened it, a palace guard presented a card with the gilt inscription, "His Majesty, Emperor Chullin." I looked out at the magnificent carriage in the street, gulped, and jumped into my magic closet. I spent a frantic hour and a a half dressing and arranging myself, then emerged a minute later as a stocky figure in what could only be the Emperor's Cloak ascended my walk. I dashed off a few quick cantrips to make sure my front room was presentable, bowed as low as I possibly could, and then found myself shaking hands with the Emperor of Glenzor. I tell you, Fea, I almost fainted! I honestly can't remember everything he said, something about rooting out treason among his nobles and saving Glenzor from an insidious threat, and this, and that, and something else, and most of all, Thank You! Right there, on my front doorstep, in full view of all the neighbors, and the bards across the way! Then he turned, walked back to his carriage, and drove away, leaving me standing there breathless, holding the Emperor's golden calling card in my hand.

Do you believe it, Fea? Here I've been, struggling to make a name for myself, to prove my loyalty to Glenzor, denied promotions and honors because of my pointed ears, and the Emperor of Glenzor comes to my doorstep to thank me for my service! Fea, the man barely leaves the palace anymore—and he does not make house calls!! I was stunned—I am stunned! Apparently he called on the rest of the party too, except Simon, whom he summoned to the palace, but still, it's such an amazing honor for any of us, for all of us, I just don't know what to think. What a coup for Mikhael! I'm sure there's political motivations behind everything, but I don't care—the Emperor came to my house! Zediconicus may have granted you all your titles, but I'll bet he never left a calling card with you—I'm just going to leave this one on the hall table for months for all my other guests to see!

All right, all right, I'm calmer now. We've had plenty of reason to sober up—Georgia has reported back to us about the files found in Marrowbrand's house. Apparently Marrowbrand himself has been dead for some time, converted somehow into that terrible skeleton warrior. His place had been filled by a doppleganger associate, whom we believe was still under his control, as were Logan Adder and his friends in the guard. The murders were part of some ritual involving the evil dagger, designed to resurrect the original Marrowbrand from his flaming bones. The hyenaweres were simply tools. BrainBoiler was a distraction only; if we were killed or discouraged, the plot went on, and if we destroyed him, it was one less undead for Marrowbrand to vie with in his plans to take over Oldtown. Either way, he would have a chance to discover how tough we were.

We're still not sure where the "honorable Roja" fit into this, since Sindaraen's polymorph had turned him into an unquestionable snail-for-brains, but in any case, they had some sort of plot underway to replace several notable people in Oldtown with dopplegangers—the thirteen people who'd been invited to dinner would not have been the same ones who went home that night. With these people under his thumb, Marrowbrand would have a firm grip on Oldtown politics, and as you well know, much of Emperor's Chullin's power base rests on the conservatives of Oldtown. He's alienated much of the more tolerant populace, either with the war itself, the dreadful wartime economy, or the embargo on elves and elven good within the city limits. Thus, Marrowbrand, steering Oldtown opinion, would have a formidable amount of influence on the throne, considering how insignificant his rank is among the orcish nobility.

It doesn't stop there, however, The records also show that Marrowbrand's activities were aided and abetted by a certain Scarnifex PainDealer—who just happens to be one of the military commanders above Daniel who oversee the Scintillating Company's missions. PainDealer and SkinEater are long-time rivals; PainDealer does not want to see SkinEater achieve a seat on the High Council. SkinEater is the only one in Glenzor who knows anything significant about rakshasa, and will necessarily be supervising our next mission; he would be greatly dishonored if we should fail.

If that isn't enough, we've got clan politics to throw into the pot. Chullin is a DeathMoon (as is Callous); they are currently the ruling clan. Zed was (is?) a VileRune, as is his (possibly dead) bastard son. SkinEater is also a VileRune, and wants to be shadow king, though not to sit on the throne himself. PainDealer, whom I believe is also a DeathMoon—he certainly favors their conservative, xenophobic agenda—may already be a power behind the throne, from the looks of things.

One other bit of trivia retrieved from the files (which have since been sealed, by the order of guess who?): Scarnifex PainDealer was a major patron of a certain weasely magus named Talnick, who met an early and unfortunate demise at the hands of a certain adventuring party led by a certain nonorcish noble, who has since displayed ties of friendship to a certain VileRune conjurer...

Is this all adding up for you, sister dear?

We are damned, doomed, dicked.

We're going on a mission that would be dangerous even in the best of times, against a magical creature of phenomenal power and near-infinite subtlety, who is a past master of illusion. We will probably be behind enemy lines, far from the security of cities and troops. We will be advised by a lawful evil conjurer whom we recently cheated in a business deal, whom few of us trust and none of us like. We will be assigned by a military man who may or may not know that we have seen proof of his conspiracies against the throne, and who in any case would like nothing more than to see us fail, disappear, perish, be obliterated. We can trust no one.

Except each other, of course.

This is going to be a hard one, Fea. I'll write you as often as I can, but I make no promises. We don't know yet when or where we're going to be assigned, but I'll certainly let you know. We have traded most of the magic we reaped from this mission in order to be sure that the magical bracelets we commissioned last year will be ready before we go—the ones that let us know when our companions are in trouble. I have a terrible feeling we're going to need them on this trip.

Be careful, my darling dearest, and we'll do our best to see you at Brandon's coronation/wedding party. You might want to go visit him regardless, okay? Take some of my recent letters, bring him up to date on how all his old friends are doing....I think he'd be glad to hear all the news, and I'm sure you would be welcome at his court. Take good care of yourself and your babies, and I hope that we will be seeing each other again very soon.

I love you very much, sister mine,

Laurie

P.S. One worry I can alleviate for you—BrainBoiler paid up rathr than face charges. According to Bicker, being undead is not illegal in Glenzor, but life-draining is. Mikhael and Sindaraen have had their vitality clerically restored at BrainBoiler's (very great) expense, and are feeling much better. Mikhael has suggested that we add the following to our flag: