A confession of sorts.

Like all bullies the thug quickly crumbled though the companions were left none the wiser for his confessions. He had shown himself to Wanda to be clever but now he seamed somewhat more slow witted. How much of his confessions were factual how much fancy was anyone’s guess.

The man knew nothing of a cursed treasure though after a recent raid against the Schatzenheimers a gem had been delivered to the boss who had retired to his chambers to work, though the man presumed it was as much to contemplate the gems worth. He had his usual guard duties here and had contented himself with sharpening his tools until disturbed by some of the gang’s soldiers. They reported unusual activity from the Huydermans and it would seam the Wastelanders are under attack.

He had knocked on the bosses door but had been told in a two word answered to, “sort it” in a muffled voice from behind the door. Always following orders he had set about organizing the defenses and hadn’t thought to check on the boss in the sealed room until he had in fact sorted it. Things had changed slightly, there had been screams and the Huyderman bodies had started to decompose rather too quickly for the liking of the sneaks he had sent out. There was also the smell and the lads were spooked, that’s when he had ordered the wall built. The six blood soaked strangers arrived having killed some of his best men, he had been hoping for answers.

Listening intently Kirsten surveyed the room, a well appointed room which lay in a deceptively tidy state. A tapestry depicting some classical hung on the back wall and to either side shelves staked with ledgers and well made chests rose from floor to ceiling. A desk made of some Lustrian hardwood filled the room, the ink wells and papers scattered across it's top showed that some disturbance had occurred. The rich Araby rug the desk stood upon was another matter, sprawled across the blood drenched weave lay the decapitated body.

Kirsten gets some compliance (but not much).

Kirsten stood aghast as despite her best effort to control the increasingly more chaotic situation her comrades committed themselves to looting. Any pretence at a meaningful search of the thugs belongings was gone so she concentrated on the Forman, he at least would play the game. The foreman proved to be a man of weak resolve, after being held hostage he at least was compliant handing over his few possessions for inspection, none of which resembled a treasure of any kind least of all a cursed gem.

The looters soon discovered the contraband that was left. Piles of pipe weed stamped with the crest of a Marienburg family who surely had never been paid. Crates containing bottles of cheap Estalian wine made cheaper still for lack of duty paid. Straw wrapped bottles of Bretonian Brandy destined for the tables of the rich of Middenheim.

When Malmir returned demanding answers the foreman alone remained to answer and was as compliant with the elf as with the young thief. “The boss and his boys they is worried. And the others, they tried to get in here but we had to stop them. They never been like that before, all fired up like damnation itself was after them. Ask the boss he knows I’m sure, just let me go. I’ve a wife and our daughters little’uns to look after.”

A deal at what price?

There was a long pause, what words he had spoken up until now did not lend credence to the idea this was some slow witted thug. Wanda suspected a keen mind was making adjustments and decisions even as he crouched almost in homage to his dead lord.

"Do not think your killing Ronaldo has been forgiven or forgotten. He was a soldier true but to leave it unpunished would not look good. That said, many strange things are happening tonight and for the moment you have a truce."

The man grabbed Wanda around her wrist and dragged her to the anti-chamber. "Now you will tell me all you know with no omissions. I will know if you speak the truth and I will make it uncomfortable if you lie to me."

Headless!

Cautiously Wanda allowed herself to be escorted by the Head Tilean's henchman into what proved to be a rather small anti-chamber. A good trunk and bed lay to one side and what could best be described as a robust, butchers table to the other. Large blunt implements made to crush and inflict pain lay along side the more normal edged fair to be found in a hired killer's arsenal.

Ahead lay a strong oak door upon which the burly enforcer knocked in a comically genteel way. No answer came. After a brief pause the ruffian called to his boss, "Boss, Boss?" Again no reply came.

Deciding an investigation was warranted the brute forced open the door. Peering inside Wanda saw a well appointed room which lay in a deceptively tidy state. A tapestry depicting some vaguely remembered scene from Myrmidia's life hung on the back wall and to either side shelves staked with ledgers and well made chests rose from floor to ceiling. A desk made of some Lustrian hardwood filled the room, the ink wells and papers scattered across it's top showed that some disturbance had occurred. The rich Araby rug the desk stood upon was another matter, sprawled across the blood drenched weave lay a body that by the thugs actions could only be his now decapitated boss. Wanda had met the head, who was now headless.

The brute turned to look Wanda deep into her eyes, through an emotionless stare he spoke quietly, "did you do this?"

Into the den.

"Come on then Sorceress!", the heavy chuckled. "Someone of your standing really should be talking to the head."

With one giant hand he gestured Wanda in through the doorway he stood, bovine like, in front of.

With barely a pause Wanda left her companions behind.

A hive of activity?

Kirsten cautiously moved down the passage with Malmir acting almost as her shadow. As they neared the light at the end they stood for a while allowing their eyes to adjust to the relative glare. From the darkness they could see frantic activity. Less than half a dozen men were working shifting crates, barrels and heavy sacks onto small carts clearly ready to move the large rooms contents on. A Foreman watched the task being carried out, hands on hips. It was evident that some of the men were injured and all were tired.

Deeper and down.

Gingerly Kirsten opened the door.  Instantly the noise muffled by the door gained more clarity, at the end of a long, dark, downward sloping corridor crates were being moved and in some hurry.

Deadly quiet.

In the gloom Harbull made his way over to Johann to administer to his gangly new companion. Perhaps it was the poor light, the excitement and unusual circumstances but the Halfling was unable to reduce the slow trickle of blood escaping the wound in the boatman’s cheek.

Wanda wiped her mouth of bile and stood lost in contemplation while Werner search the room to discover a broken bottle of cheap crimson wine, perhaps a quarter of its contents remained bellow the jagged glass neck. He also was pleased to discover a bright lantern hanging by an easily lowered cord and some twenty bolts for the two crossbows in the room.

“Shh!”, hissed Kirsten, her attention, like Malmir’s on the door interrupted by the big man’s investigations. In the quite the faint thumping that Kirsten heard beyond the door was clearly audible to the Elf. Some distance away heavy, wooden objects were being moved.

Murder in the dark.

Malmir raced to support his new comrade, slicing the knife fighter across the cheek. meanwhile, clearly recovering more rapidly from the wash of blood than Werner Kirsten climbed over the over turned table.

Taking advantage of the surprise of Malmirs attack Johann swung a mighty blow at his opponents exposed neck. Years of pulling against the Reik's mighty currents gave the oarsman's keen blade power and the neck parted. The gruesome head landed in a shower of further blood at the feet of Harbull and Wanda, grimacing up at them.

Kirsten at first appeared to be considering the unopened door to the rear of the room but then seamed to reconsider. She returned to the stunned body of the man who had told her to leave. A practised killer would have found the heart from the stomach moving up under the ribs. Kirsten new to this deadly work had to find the strength to force her blade through the thick muscle and bone of the mans chest. But strength she found and once cleared the point of her sword quickly pierced the mans heart. Opening his eyes it was as though he looked deep into her soul and then was gone.

Bedlam in the Asylum.

Malmir’s arrow flies true enough and embeds itself in the ankle of the leader who clutching his ankle upon the floor made no further immediate movement.

Kirsten charged the nearest enemy which proved to be the thug Werner was attacking. Her blow landed clumsily but effectively upon her enemies thigh. Distracted by this attack the villain’s guard was down allowing Werner to swing a chop in from the side. Werner’s blow smashed through the arm and into the chest of his opponent, caving in one side of his ribcage. The arm was completely destroyed and blood showered Werner and Kirsten as the thug collapsed, dying almost instantly from shock and blood loss.

Johann pressed his attack but was unable to connect with his own victim who at that moment stepped back to draw a long dagger which he swiped at Johann’s face. “Die Imperial”, he hissed as the blade glanced across Johanns cheek.

In all the chaos Harbul and Wanda waited, small weapons drawn, eyes wide.

T2 is dead, T1 is injured.

The coiled spring.

Kirsten raised her crossbow and fired, a snap shot into a crowded room but hit where she had aimed, the apparent leader gripped his arm and dove for cover under the table. The shot was like the release of a trigger on a coiled spring. Hours of pent up anxiety and anticipation were quickly given vent.  Before the other two rouges could react an arrow came shooting from the dark. Missing its intended mark the arrow still struck home winging one of the other standing men. A victim of the confined situation of the room.

Before the thugs could react further large men charged into the room intent on doing violence. Werner drove his torch at one miscreant before the swing of his hatchet whistled over the head of his ducking victim. Having more luck Johann’s thrust connected with the belly of the man already wounded by Malmirs arrow.

Refusal!

"Well Tony, Ranald keepa his soul knew the boss better thana we did if he figure a trollop covered in shit would float his boat eh! You gonna have ta leave."

The evident leader of the group rested his crossbow on the table and waved Kirsten away.

Awkward!

The party except for Kirsten made themselves inconspicuous round a corner. After examining the outside of the door and finding nothing Kirsten bent to examine the handle. No lock was visible, this door would be bolted if it were ever barred. Kirsten tried the same ruse as before turning the handle slowly this way and that. The normal rotation proved correct and the door swung open all too easily onto a small torch lit room.

 

Three men playing dice sit round a table squarely facing the entrance. Dice are dropped and loaded crossbows picked up.

“Who are you, you gotta password or you gotta no business here?”

Another door.

Exiting in the direction the dying man had indicated the party found themselves in a channel of pungent filth. No doubt once a minor tributary of the Talb years of night soil have left the water shallow and barely flowing. 

 Unusually the once open sewer had been dug deep and wide with a covering of wooden boards in most places, probably to facilitate the hidden movement of contraband. The channels go in several directions, probably linking to other parts of the asylum, Kirsten found it easy to follow the thieves signs daubed on the boards that formed their low roof. The journey is surprisingly short and uneventful and unsurprisingly filthy. At the end there is a gap in the sewer walls and here once more a door presents itself, painted crudely upon the door is the sign of a fig leaf.

Honour amongst thieves.

As Werner controlled the flames Malmir examined the crossbow in the flickering light, an inelegant weapon, not a weapon for elves his own short bow was quicker and to him more deadly.

Kirsten tried in equal measure to seduce and intimidate their captive. Save your act girl, unless I get healing soon neither threat nor promises can sway me.

Harbull attended the wounded man held tightly by Johann. The Halfling quickly examined the puncture wounds on the victim’s torso. Try as he might there was no way to stem the blood, perhaps if he had some spiderleaf but he had neglected to bring any. He looked to Johann and then across to the two girls. He solemnly shook his head, why waste more time than necessary on this living dead man, he was no friend.

Wounded as he was he saw. He relaxed a little, “so I’m to die am I?” He laughed. “They are welcome to it.”

“To what?”, enquired Wanda.

“Save your breath, kill me now or sod off.” Coughed the reply.

Wanda thought for a moment, “you may die but we could avenge you.  I think our mission may bring us in to conflict with those who did this to you, if you help us you strike back at them.”

The man thought for a moment and nodded.  Answering Wanda’s questions he detailed how the gang had come into possession of a gem, supposedly cursed.  Their boss had taken ill shortly after and indeed something terrible that he would not detail had befallen him, something which lead to his arm being hacked off and burnt. This was some days ago and the boss had gotten steadily worse,  the arm not healing. The Valantinas had attacked that night, under a flag of truce.  The paper fig leaves were the calling card of their ‘clean-up crew’. They had taken the gem and were welcome to it.  If the group exited here they would enter the sewers, a short trudge following some secret signs he detailed would lead them to the Valantinas part of the Asylum.

An offer of help.

The lantern swung upwards, hit the ceiling and spilt much of its contents floor ward. As is the nature of lantern oil it ignited on the way down past the lit flame and caused a great flare of light.

Deep shadows were cast as Malmir quickly tried to disarm the wounded man. Bow stave collided with crossbow in an unlikely melee and the bolt was loosed thankfully to embed in a broken crate. Moments later Johann cam crashing in to grapple the wounded man.

Wanda picked herself up from under Kirsten in some confusion. The light was dimmer now, a puddle of spilt fuel burn on the packed earth floor casting flickering shadows. Almost too stunned to speak all she could hear was a chocking laughter in the gloom.

The dying man spoke grimacing against the pain caused by his laughter, "so your not Valantinas then. Such incompetence, I'd be fully dead by now and with none of the slapstick. Still your up to no good and need all the help you can find. I know things, get me to a healer and I'll help you."

More rooms, more blood.

After two rooms of carnage the group had gotten into a rhythm. First the Elf entered the dark room closely followed by Kirsten. They were staring at the corpses that littered the floor, a further four in the large dormitory area when the other companions arrived. The situation was the same, all of value gone, some bodies with bolts in them others with stab wounds. Each body had the same paper fig leaf on them.

There was only one exit  to the left of where they entered so the group followed the same process as before, this time a store room and three bodies. The men stood guard at the one opening towards the unknown. The halfling watched their backs while the two women and the elf searched the room. It was then that Malmir spotted one of the corpses move, slowly, with difficulty it was trying to raise a crossbow.

The empty box.

 Wanda reached into her sling bag and retrieved the small wooden box. it was intricately carved, inside it was lined with plush red velvet. It would have cost a fair amount to make but was not ostentatious. She had held magical artifacts before, indeed there were items intended to dull magical effects radiated by some of the more arcane substances in her masters laboratory. However she had no sense of magical power with these known artifacts and no notion of the magical properties of the box. A skill she would develop no doubt but here and now, nothing.




Meanwhile the search of the small room found nothing either. No items of value, no further clues and no arm.

Richer blood.

The three companions entered what proved to be a well appointed room, for a cell under the poorest part of town. A carpet covered the floor and the overturned desk was of a heavy expensive wood. The body in the middle of the floor was quite different to the bodies already encountered, it was well dressed, pock marked with weeping sores and mutilated. A whole arm had been cut off from it.
Given the circumstances all three felt uneasy however somehow Kirsten knew even here there was something more amiss...

Clues in the blood.

Harbull stood guard, looking back along the way they had just come. He looked over his shoulder first at his friend who stood guard at an exit immediately opposite him. Then over the room as Malmir examined the bodies and Kirsten the torch in it's bracket, Wanda stood silently. Finally he saw Johann to his far left, standing guard at the remaining exit from the hall.

Sighing he stared down at the poor dead fellow Kirsten had first discovered in the dark. Something about him looked familiar, yes, the slightly built ne'er-do-well who had accosted Kirsten at the docks and had set the thugs on them last evening. He was just wondering if he should tell Kirsten, to disturb her as she reached up to remove the torch when a great crash and flood of light disturbed his train of thought.

Meanwhile Malmir  had examined the bodies, six in all, two killed by crossbow bolts still embedded in their bodies the others all suffered from multiple stab wounds from thin short blades. There blood was congealing, almost dried.

With the sudden flood of light and returning of senses Wanda made the discovery upon one body of a curious  small piece of paper on which was drawn a fig leaf. Indeed in excitement of the discovery further examination proved that four of the bodies carried this strange paper symbol. Almost to match, the two bodies without paper, including the one nearest the door wore loose cords around their necks from which hung cheap metal stampings each depicting a single fig leaf.

The two men stood guard. Werner could see little from the exit he guarded even with the extra light from the open lantern, a corridor and perhaps a room. Likewise Johann's view disappeared into the gloom.