EPILOGUE: BATTLE OF THE CENTURY
Sally looks real good tonight.
She’s prolly got the best right cross I’ve ever seen and her uppercut has earned the House more gold than I can easily count, and I’m pretty good at counting things. She’s in her little cage preparing for the big fight, pounding away at a raw chicken leg hanging from a fishing hook.
On the other end of the room is her opponent, a nasty little fiend who almost took off my finger when I tried to handle him. The Redcap’s pacing around like some kind of hungry animal, his eyes filled with malevolence that almost makes me jealous. I remember when I had a look like that.
I was anxiously pacing around the cold iron cage in the center of the Basement—No, the Arena. I always get antsy when there’s a windfall about to be had. That’s a good sign.
I was so lost in counting stacks of ticket stubs and receipts in my mind that I didn’t even notice that someone was standing next to me.
“I don’t know,” Scurrow appraised. “The Redcap looks pretty focused.”
I looked up to him, bathed in the cool blue glow of the lantern he had hooked with two of his curled, ruined fingers. I wondered how my Mithril smile reflected that eerie light. “Ferocity vs raw, unbridled determination!” I exclaimed proudly, selling the fight to an imaginary audience of suckers—I mean, customers... “Now, that’s a story that’ll put backsides in seats.” I quirked an eyebrow and inquired. “How we doin’ out there?”
“Line around the block. It’s gonna be a goldmine.” He replied with none of the joy that one should report a statement like that with. The kid hasn’t been the same since...well...
“Speaking of goldmines...” I said, removing a rather cumbersome pouch from my belt and tossing it lazily onto the table closest to us. It landed there with a deep, bass-filled thud. “Your cut from last week’s Main Event.”
He looked at the pouch of gold and nodded, reaching out with one mangled hand to set the Lantern down onto the table so that he could reclaim his earnings with his cracked grip. The pouch vanished beneath his frayed cloak and I heard it clasp to his belt.
“Why you’d walk away from money like this is beyond my ability to reason, you know.” I said honestly. It was easy for me to say, of course. I never had any Brothers.
Scurrow shrugged his shoulders and expelled a sigh. “I know.” There was a long pause until he spoke next, turning to face me, his gruesome mitt extended in my direction. “It was nice doing business with you, Grovodor Kegplug.”
I gave him a smile and captured his wrist in my grip, giving it a stern, business-like shake. “The feelin’s mutual, Scurrow Shattergrip.” I hefted up my belt with both hands. “So, where will you go?”
“I don’t know, really. I’ll just choose a direction and keep going straight, I suppose.” He smiled at me. “You know—As the Fae flies.”
We both shared a laugh at that. He turned and started for the door.
“Hey.” I called out after him, motioning to the pulsating blue Lantern illuminating the room. “You forgot your Lantern.”
Scurrow Shattergrip looked over his shoulder at me and said, “Keep it.” and that was the last I saw of him.
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CHAPTER TEN: WELCOME HOME
“I am old and I am drunk. Old enough to recall when the grapes on the vine were lush and fresh, but drunk enough to swallow down the bitter drops left.” -Mister Rugvard
Synopsis: The entire city of Blackvine rejoices for the yearly Holiday of Vintner’s Deal in anticipation for the royal wedding between Lord Tannard and Lady Pollinor. A tense meeting between the criminal factions of the region meet in Lockenhelm Manor to hatch a deadly ambush for the questing Sir Landrick and his steely retinue. The Battle of the Shattered Forest rages on and sees the Green Fiend Crew dismantled, Sir Landrick betrayed, and Squire Vanderwall fulfilling his vow of becoming a Knight. Back in Blackvine Manor, preparation for the Royal Wedding are underway, but the procession is interrupted by the revealing of the Blackvine family’s inky black past and a most anticipated homecoming!
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CHAPTER TEN PROLOGUE: MY BLOOD IS OUR BLOOD
“Is Tannard Blackvine the last of his blood?” The voice was neither Male nor Female. It was a sound both utterly inhuman and indescribably beautiful. That voice sifted through my mind like a chilling wind, a whisper from a place where I almost lost someone I loved more than anyone has ever loved anything. The voice spoke in all languages and none at all. It screamed and it whispered and it raged like a storm yet was calm like a grave. My very blood stirred at the sound of it, as if it flowed backwards inside me, tickling its way through my body in an unnatural manner that made me want to giggle.
Or scream.
“He is.” Was all I could say. Or perhaps I thought it? I was not so sure if I was making words or birthing thoughts, but that did not matter so much. All was understood, no matter the method. “Yural Blackvine has expired in a manner that has aroused no suspicion, and our aims remain wreathed in shadows.”
There was a pause. I felt some of the strange, rubbery tendrils that comprised the floor I was kneeling upon twitch in an anxious fashion. For a moment, fear poured its way into me. “Good.” The voice from beyond cooed. I let out a slow breath and my heart’s thunderous pounding settled somewhat.
No, the tendrils did not twitch in anxiety. They quivered in delight.
The room around me was alive and pulsating with shiny, sleek and purple-pink walls comprised of entwining vines of fleshy tentacle-things. They interlocked and wove together like the fibers of some grotesque wool blanket. I heard a thousand world’s worth of whispers and screams echoing in my mind and set my eyes forth towards the roiling blue-blackness that swirled before my kneeling frame. That was the dark and unknowable womb where all these wriggling appendages were birthed from. It was a sinister tear in reality, a fraying of a set of prison bars, housing something magnificent and terrifying just a hair’s breadth away.
My gaze was lost in that pulsating void and I may have stared for an hour or two before the voice returned to commune with me some more. “As you have worked to further my aims from your side of reality, I have made my will manifest on this side. Soon, the wall-between-worlds that binds me here will be sufficiently cracked so that I might finally find freedom.”
That voice was heavy with emotion and the memories of eons. I could feel the hatred and the longing and the feverish desolation of this majestic being’s imprisonment, and I did not realize I was weeping until I heard the small pattering of tears upon the living floor coiled around me. “Tell me what must be done.” I practically begged. “Please.”
“Listen carefully, my faithful servant,” That eternal whisper called into my eager mind. “for when we commune next, it shall be face to face.”
I smiled in a fashion that would put the brightness of the sun to shame. “Oh, that will be a happy day.” I said with much certainty. “A day that your faithful Ushers have prepared for ever so dutifully.”
Another pause. More whispers. More screams. “My blood is our blood.”
“Your blood is our blood.” I replied immediately, and then began to listen.
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CHAPTER NINE: THE STORY SO FAR?
“You shall be my music, and I shall be your conductor. Let us craft a melody so uproarious that even the dead may hear.” -Lord Tannard, Regent of Blackvine
Synopsis: Yural Blackvine is put to rest in the long shadow of the majestic Strangled Tower and all of Blackvine is in attendance. The new Regent of Blackvine City makes a stirring speech to the people, promising to usher in a bold and new age. The Town Watch gets some much-needed reinforcements that are assaulted on their way to the City by some rowdy Goblins, arousing Sir Landrick’s mounting suspicion of hidden hands at work. Meanwhile, Grovodor Kegplug pitches the business proposition of a lifetime to the Fae Blood Brothers, who are suddenly flush with new inventory thanks to some help from the Coil-Born.
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CHAPTER EIGHT PROLOGUE: TO OUR FUTURE
I squinted and surveyed the area, feeling a hint of nostalgia at the lovely evenings spent here, far out from the hustle-bustle of Riverly. We had met here by the large willow tree for how many years, now? Alas, though, now was not the time to be softened by memories.
“Yes, right here.” I said evenly. Best to use small words, so that the poor Commoners wouldn’t be overwhelmed. These instructions needed to be carried out to the letter. “She will arrive at the Midnight toll of the Strangled Tower’s chime.
The Guard nodded grimly to me. I could not see his features behind his bulky helmet, but I would wager that they were unremarkable. “Shall we make her suffer, Milord?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I gave a wry smile, as it was good to have such ravenous dogs at one’s disposal for those times when heartlessness was demanded. “Make it quick and bury her here, by the tree that we loved so very much.”
“Aye, Milord.” His answer was immediate. I could have asked him to disembowel his own Mother for my amusement and he would have done so without a second thought. That is how very good I pay my agents. “Meet here at the Midnight’s chime. A quick death and a burial by the Willow Tree.” he repeated my orders back to my satisfaction. I may have to promote this one. “Anything else, Lord Baltheer?”
I let the question linger in my mind for some time, lazily raising the perfumed envelope to my nostrils and allowing her sweet scent to flood my lungs just one last time. I expelled a short, even breath and then casually tossed the envelope into the air with a flick of my wrist. The wind carried it someplace like a little paper angel.
“Do not damage her face.” I said sternly, giving a dangerous glance to make certain my words were as clear as crystal. “That would displease me greatly.” And I walked out from under the shade of our Willow Tree for the very last time.
CHAPTER SEVEN: FULL MOON FEVER
“We had no more space in the earth to bury the dead, and so, we piled them in the center of town like some gruesome pyramid. I still vividly recall the stench and the sight of it, and have yet to see anything that rivaled its horrific majesty.” -Londil
Synopsis: Mrs. Tetherbank is feeling under the weather due to her rather curious condition, leaving the Ushers of the Coil to tend to grim business without her supervision. A pair of Guards who may know a bit too much are considered to be loose ends that are bloodily tied up and disposed of in a most efficient manner, as Big Boss Skivel’s vicious Worgs are given a juicy surprise treat. The Priestess Londil returns to the plagued town of her birth to put the finishing touches on a virulent concoction that will assure Yural Blackvine’s fate, and rapidly ascend his brother to the throne!
“I don’t know what’s wrong with this blasted thing...” Jallick was in a bad mood tonight. Hells, he’s always in a bad mood. He poked a thick finger at the colorful lantern that seemed to be growing dimmer and dimmer the last few days, fading each and every time we laid eyes upon it. This was bad.
“Stop poking at it.” I chided. “If you break that thing, our business is ruined.”
He grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “And if it stops working entirely, our business is ruined as well. So, what difference does it make, little Brother?”
It was a good question, so I ignored it. “How many did we catch last night with it?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“Just one. Barely enough to keep up supply.” He gruffly responded.
I winced and occupied the seat beside him, folding my ruined hands under my arms. “Well, at least we have some time to restock our supply while we lay low and wait for things to calm down. Timing couldn’t be better, really.”
“Oh, yea?” Jallick was not inspired by my optimism. “And once things calm down, we’ll have a legion of Blood-Addicted customers ready to buy us out, and with our supply dwindling, how do you think they’ll handle the sudden lack of supply?” He quirked an eyebrow at me, expecting some kind of answer.
I shrugged and let out a deep sigh. It was the only answer I could think to give. We’d need about five Lumber Loppers to hold back a tide of Drug Addicts who were suddenly robbed of their particular fix. I leaned forth and squinted at the curious lantern with all its strange designs and the ghostly blue flame that dimmed by the day that flicked inside it. “Where’d you find this thing, again?”
Big Brother grinned as he recounted the tale. “Knocked over a Wizard’s Tower. He was so scared that he gave up everything without a fight, as long as we didn’t pound him too hard.” Jallick laughed and sunk his meaty fist into his palm. “So, we didn’t mess him up too bad.”
I smiled and let the strange blue glow wash over my face as I stared into the ghostly Fae-Light of the lantern that had made us such a profit as of late. “Well, if our supply continues to dry up, hopefully our customers won’t pound us too hard, right?”
Now it was his turn to not answer.
CHAPTER SIX: THE PLATE TRICK
Synopsis: Hail the Heroes! Sir Landrick and his youthful Squire Vanderwall are greeted with open arms by the people of Blackvine City. The Ushers of the Coil are tasked with making contact with a new group of Fae-Blood-dealing Brothers in the area and enjoy an unlikely reunion with an old Prison Pal, returning to the bustling streets of Blackvine just in time to watch as the Agents of St. Cuthbert ride boldly into town. Squire Vanderwall revels in the public’s adoration as his stoic mentor watches with disapproval as his young Squire delight the people with a demonstration of his massive greatsword in action.
CHAPTER SIX PROLOGUE: SENSELESS APPRENTICE
“Humans live and die in the blink of a Beholder’s eye, boy.” The old Man would tell me. “They need to move mighty fast, ‘cuz the Gods only gave them a handful of hours to fight their wars and prance about in their pretty crowns. If you only had half a century or so to forge your name into the world, you’d move pretty fast, too.”
Father lived to be 377 years old, so I guess he knew what he was talking about—But I digress...
“Sabdo!” Ignov was all big eyes and smiles, laying on the sort of false enthusiasm that only someone with hidden intentions was able. He was older now, of course, but his particular...habit had taken its toll on his features. His eyes were like tiny pinpricks, and his gums had little sparkle-flecks on the pink flesh of them whenever he fake-smiled too big or fake-laughed too hard. He seemed agitated and jittery, but was trying his best to come off as natural and friendly. I’ve heard how addictive Fae-Blood can be, and from the way he was scratching at his arms and chattering his teeth between words, I assumed he hadn’t had a few drops in a good, long while. “Business seems to be going well! I remember way back when I worked here, the place wasn’t seeing a quarter of this action!”
Shame, really. Good Apprentices are so hard to find, and this one had to botch things up by getting all wrapped up in that kind of mess. I remember the first time I found him actually working while under the influence. There he was, standing there like some groaning, dreaming zombie, hammering a dead chicken against an anvil with my hammer as if it were just the most normal thing someone could do. He was staring off into the distance, holding a conversation with little imaginary people, his breath forming into little letters of the nonsense-words he was babbling. It was, without question, the scariest thing I ever saw.
But, anyway...
“Well, if it isn’t my old friend Ignov!” I tried to match a fraction of his false enthusiasm and found that I failed dramatically. “How’s the world been treating you, Iggy?”
He tried to wet the glitter-sparkles off of his gums with his dry tongue. He failed. “Things are going great!” Ignov was carrying a large bundle in his hands that he heaved up onto the countertop that separated us. It took great effort for his spindly arms to do so. Whatever was in the bundle clattered unceremoniously, and my Dwarven ears immediately told me that there was a Plate Armor chest piece wrapped up in all that unwashed cloth. “I actually have a bit of a business proposition for ya!” He said under his breath, waggling his eyebrows at me and speaking as if he were offering the deal of a lifetime.
Sure enough, a dramatic heft of the wrapping-cloth revealed an old, battered, crudely made Breastplate. I’m not sure if it was the shoddy construction of the thing or its significant battle-damage that made me wince. Probably both. I looked at the wretched armor piece, then up to the grinning, sparkle-filled smile of my former Apprentice. He was expecting me to say something, so I did. “Whoever made this should be beaten.” I said evenly, and with very much seriousness.
Ignov’s face turned from triumphant to tragic in a matter of seconds. “Aw, it isn’t that bad!? Will you give me one hundred gold for it?”
At that, I let out a laugh that I had no control over. It exploded out of my lungs like a cannonball. “I wouldn’t give you one hundred dead crickets for this insult to the Blacksmith’s art. Where’d you get it?”
The Human’s sour expression deepened and his shoulders slumped forth as he answered. “I was pecking around what’s left of Trenchmaw Dungeon...found it on a dead guard.”
I set my fists to my hips and let out a breath. “I see.” was all that I said. From Blacksmith’s Apprentice to Drug Addict to Battlefield Scavenger was not an uplifting life-trajectory.
Seeing the displeasure etched upon my face caused a few tears to glitter at the corners of his glazed eyes, and Ignov’s voice lowered to a shameful whisper. “I just need a bit of money, Sabdo. You’ve always been real good to me, and I just...I just need a bit of help right now, okay? Can we say twenty-five gold? Please?” He swallowed loudly in a manner that seemed almost painful. “For old time’s sake?”
“I’ll give you ten.” I said after a hefty pause. “And know that I’m only offering that much because I know you.” Sure, haggling is in a Dwarf’s nature, but my words were more honest than anything else I had said that day. The plate armor between us was badly bent and the straps were torn to useless ribbons. It looked like it had been chewed on by a Giant. I reached into my pouch and plucked free my offer, jiggling ten gold coins in my calloused palm as I looked up at Ignov’s crying eyes. “It’s all I can do for you, Iggy.”
“Iggy.” I said sternly and loudly enough that he paused and looked over his shoulder to me. “Take care of yourself.” Was the last thing I said to him before he vanished into the streets.
CHAPTER FIVE: SKELETON IN THE CLOSET
“I’d take a thousand deaths over being entombed in the foggy theater of the past.” -Yadros the Diviner
Synopsis: A sterling pair of armor-clad do-gooders ride towards Blackvine in the forms of the legendary Paladin Sir Boltradd Landrick and his talented Squire Vanderwall, who draw closer by the day! The Coil-Born seek out the aid of the flamboyant Diviner Yadros to shroud their inner natures and intentions from the Paladin’s holy perceptions. The putrid Cleric of Incabulus named Londil comes up with a noxious notion regarding dealing with Yural Blackvine, and takes Plutov Dourstone the Ranger with her to run her spore-coated errands. Vulgrid takes to the streets to amass information on the servants of St. Cuthbert, and a seemingly routine visit to an old friend reveals the mysterious, fantastic backstory of one Mrs. Tetherbank!
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CHAPTER FIVE PROLOGUE: THE VOW
Of course, he claimed that it was because I forgo the use of a shield in favor of a heavy two-handed sword. ‘A Shield will save your life tenfold the count of foes you will cleave with a great sword.’ is what he says to me time and time again, hoping that I will someday listen.
I know several dead men who would beg to differ with that opinion, but alas, I am not a renowned Paladin...yet.
As a boy I would mimic him in the streets. I would run about with a barrel-top as my shield and yell with enthusiastic lungs how I was the famed Sir Boltradd Landrick! Though, when I felt the unwieldy heft of the real thing in my off-hand and experienced how ducking behind a clumsy shield obscured my vision, it became painfully obvious that I was not the kind of combatant that could competently wield one. Somehow, the two-handed blade seemed to meld into my hands. I moved with it like a new appendage, and I could carve brutal pieces out of my foes with notable competence.
To add insult to (very literal) injury, each time Sir Landrick breaks my nose, he refuses to let me heal it until the next dawn. He claims that it is unwise to lean too heavily on the ability to fade wounds away with but a touch. He claims that it will teach me to become hardened to discomfort and pain. He claims that it will humble me.
I would never confess it aloud, but I believe he does it to humiliate me. I do not think he likes it very much that his handsome and young Squire is amassing a reputation for himself outside of his Lord’s immense shadow. He believes the fame I am enjoying will swell my head and weaken my resolve to the Church and our cause.
Perhaps he is right. Or perhaps he is jealous.
We are riding for the City of Blackvine, a place that teeters on the edge of chaos amidst a power struggle between two squabbling Brothers. Corruption rots the Town Guard while its Lords bicker in their extravagant Manor House. Sir Landrick says that we will mediate between the Brothers and make the City Watch honest once more. We will bring the Church’s justice to Blackvine and set things right for its people. This will be my final test as a Squire.
I will not leave the City of Blackvine until I am a Knight. Before Saint Cuthbert and all of the Gods of the Multiverse, I Vow it.
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CHAPTER FOUR: WORGS ON PARADE
“Goblins! I should have recognized the particular grittiness of their befouled flesh.” -Mrs. Tetherbank
Synopsis: The Ushers of the Coil begin their nefarious scheming for the future of the city of Blackvine, but not before settling an old score with a potential rival organization who dares to insult the Coil-Born by attacking one of their Hostesses. A tense meeting between the Coil-Born and a rather...spirited band of Goblins and Bugbears known as The Green Fiend Crew ends without violence and a potential working relationship between both parties. Afterwards, our motley band makes their presence known to the ruling Lords of Blackvine City and attend a rather tense dinner with the City’s squabbling rulers!
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CHAPTER FOUR PROLOGUE: HOW THE VULTURES SMILE
It was easy enough to find where the ambush occurred. It had rained and more than a day had past, so the corpses that Mrs. Tetherbank left were not in the best condition. Pecked and torn to ribbons by the vultures and wolves and other hungry wildlife that dominate the Shattered Forest, leaving me little to go on as to what, exactly, we were dealing with.
I crouched there on the moist earth. I let nature speak its language to me, leading my gaze to the disturbances and clues in the area. I poked at the remains, nothing more than two piles of bones, completely skinned and gutted and stripped of any and all valuables. I looked up into the black branches of the trees that surrounded me, seeing countless fat, satiated vultures, their bellies filled with the information I needed.
They were all grinning down at me.
I muttered something under my breath and prodded the remains. There was one small body and one large one. A Halfling and a Half-Orc, perhaps? I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, trying to let the smell of their remains point me in one direction or another. I only smelled the ghost of the cruel rain, washing away all the tracks and scents that I desperately needed. I cracked my thick neck once on each side and decided that everything seemed to be against me today as I rummaged through the corpses on the ground. They were slashed and torn to ribbons, an arm dissected and flung here or there. Mrs. Tetherbank must have been in rare form.
The corpses were dressed in little more than simple rags and hooded cloaks. I sunk my hands into whatever pockets I could find, and pulled free a small, dull chunk of copper ore. Now it was finally my turn to grin, and I held the thing closer to my face, squinting my eyes as I appraised the curious little treasure.
Any non-Dwarf might have simply discarded the Copper chunk as being indistinguishable from any other, but to eyes like mine, every hunk of earth-rock had a story to tell and was as unique as a child. I ran my calloused thumb over its rough surface, smelling and licking the glittery, rust-colored residue it left on my skin. There were some dark black flecks along the edges of the small Copper nugget, which openly, loudly told me that it was carved out of a Copper Mine that was near a stream. I stood and made my way towards the single Copper mine that I knew was located near a river in the Shattered Forest. I had a scent up my nose now, and I would see it through.
I looked up one last time at all the pink, bloodshot eyes staring down at me curiously. I was not enthusiastic about my chances, but I decided to test my luck, regardless.
I concentrated and made the gestures and said the words to activate my ties to the natural world. When I opened them and spoke, it was in the wicked tongue of the carrion birds above me.
“Would you tell me what kind of beings these were before you ate them, friends?” I said.
“We are no friends of yours, Dwarf. On your way.” One of them spat, its voice reveling in cruelty.
I huffed a stern sigh and considered kissing the offensive avian with an arrow, but decided against it. I made my way towards the river.
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CHAPTER THREE: LANTERNS OVER LOCKENHELM
“You know, collecting money is always so much more fun than lending it out.” -Vulgrid
Synopsis: The Coil-Born plot and scheme on an angle to get into the good graces of Lord Tannard Blackvine. The Dwarf Hermit Ranger Plutov Dourstone travels into the Shattered Forest to look for clues about the mysterious assailants who dared to thumb their pointy noses at the Coil-Born's authority. In the meantime, the newest members of the Ushers of the Coil take to Blackvine City with the Butcher of Korble to make collections, coming across an inter-Dimensional traveler in the process!
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