Wyrd Tales in Port Doom

Voiceless cries, mouthless mutters

She watches, but I am still my own.

I tried to warn them again, but they do not listen. Even the follower of the Prodigal Son cannot hear me, let alone those poor, lost girls.

My cousin could hear me, though he did not take my council. I pleaded with him to let me go – to let my soul fly to the Father Above and Below – but his heart grew colder with the passing of my body. In the end, the chill consumed him.

I heard them speak of his passing – and of the passing of the flitting bird with so much potential. And when they drink from me, I feel their pain. They drink from me, and fill me with tears.

She watches, but I am still my own.

The creature appeared in my home. I could feel it’s eyes on me. Hungry with envy, and with lust. I cried out with a silent voice to the Father, but he also did not hear me.

I fear it. I did not think I was capable of fear any longer.

The follower of the Prodigal Son may have heard my cry. He spoke a word of power – not strong enough to break the chains that bind me to my bones, but strong enough to strip falsehoods from the creature. It fled.

I felt relieved. It was a temporary thing.

She watches, but I am still my own.

It did not return. But others did. They brought a part if IT with them, and I know fear again, because I feel Her gaze.

Her gaze is unpleasant, full of terror and ecstasy. I muttered a silent prayer. I am afraid it may be answered.

They took me – sending me into the hands of IT ’s slaves and fanatics. I can feel IT ’s tug, and I am no longer afraid.

I am terrified.

She watches…

The Perils of Notoriety

July 25th, 55th Year of the Dragon, 675 AS

My Lord,

The Subject has been invisible to the Eye for several weeks, and our attempts to refocus its lenses have been so far unsuccessful. More concerning, our remaining agents have been removed. Our last remaining Rendered attempted to follow the the Subject, was discovered, and used the failsafe when captured.

This activity was against orders – we are currently securing the means for a more thorough and vigorous Rendering process in order to quell disobedience.

Our remaining nonRendered agent has disappeared. This is not likely the work of the Subject, as there were no remains. This indicates another interested party, and one skilled enough to detect and dispatch that agent.

New agents have not yet arrived. Until they arrive we will attempt to use indirect methods of surveillance.

Yours in Service


August 14th, 55th Year of the Dragon, 675 AS

My Lord,

New information has surfaced, even in the absence of agents and the blindness of the Eye. The Subject – or more specifically her allies – have embraced a life in public. Their business -a tavern of sorts – seems to preoccupy them, and our assumption is that they spend most days and nights in the establishment. We do not believe they have ventured out since their expedition to the ruins of the Serpentine Adept.

We are now certain that whatever wards protect the Subject originate in those ruins. Divinations on the Adept himself have proven fruitless, but we have contacted the Insubstantial Agent as instructed. Given the information thereby gained, we believe that those wards are finite, and the Subject will again be visible before mid-Autumn.

Further negotiations with our Insubstantial Agent will require more collateral: permanent material of the second magnitude, or a red Pearlescent are acceptable. In a related note, please send funds for additional household staff, as the previous staff was used as collateral.

Yours in Service


August 21st, 55th Year of the Dragon, 675 AS

My Lord,

The Subject has grown careless, and has as a result become somewhat famous.

She and her allies were recently persons of interest in a high profile affair concerning a high society party at which the host was murdered. Almost immediately afterward, rumors in the lower echelons surfaced that her allies had started a gangland war in the Foreign Quarter, making enemies of a local (and therefore inconsequential) gang called “Shadefoot.” This group may be an ally, and we will approach them when possible.

The previous set of agents arrived as per your instructions, and were set immediately to work. However, within a night of arrival they were removed. Remains were left, but did not match the modus operandi of the Subject or her allies. They were left in various states of dismemberment or vivisection.

We suggest that we use local resources instead, as we have lost a significant amount of personnel and resources pursuing the Subject. However, attempts to recruit local resources have been difficult. Our most stable and experienced potentials have ceased communication and retreated into their fortresses inside the walls of the Port, while less experienced potentials (those without longer lifespans) are in short supply – many of those in the lists produced by the Eye are recently (and violently) deceased, while most others are currently under contract.

We understand the importance of the Subject, but also suggest that we suspend operations if possible.

Yours in Service


The Serpentine Adept

May 17th, 55th Year of the Dragon, 675 AS

My Lord,

The Subject has recruited three additional complications, and the latest attempt by your agents has failed. She left one alive, and he returned with his report, bringing the necessary components from the eleven others with him for disposition. He has since been Rendered, as per your instructions.

We will continue to work toward isolating the Subject.

Yours in Service


June 4th, 55th Year of the Dragon, 675 AS

My Lord,

We have new information on the Subject’s new allies:

  • The man is a warrior of some skill and great strength. He is originally from Doom, and has many friends in certain Quarters. He also has a few enemies. We have located a primary threat to him and will approach if necessary.
  • The dwarf has not been seen with others of his kind since coming under our Eye. This break with dwarven culture may be of use, and we will continue to watch for signs that he may be approachable.
  • The elf is the most dangerous to your interests of the three – possibly as dangerous as the tiefling warlock was, and for many of the same reasons. He has strong family ties in the Elven Quarter, which may be exploitable. We will begin the preparations to extend our vision and our reach should that be necessary.

Yours in Service


June 24th, 55th Year of the Dragon, 675 AS

My Lord,

Previous assumptions about the elf were correct – the Eye reports that the Subject went beyond the Wall in the company of three allies. Focusing the Lenses revealed a conversation about an attempt to block our capabilities, and showed the Subject entering a ruin known to be the last previous home of a magic user known as the Serpentine Adept.

We have since lost the ability to track the Subject, and must assume that the Subject successfully warded herself against our tools with protections of the sixth valence or greater. This is concerning in and of itself, as previous sessions with Focused Lenses showed that the Subject’s allies have no more than second or possibly third valence capabilities.

We are still recruiting independent agents in Doom, given the disadvantages associated with Rendered subjects. Even with the advances in transmutation we obtained in February, the Rendered are insufficient to deal with our current situation. Until new independent agents are secured, we will continue with physical surveillance.

Yours in Service


And New Beginnings

Some of the healer women – you know, the ones over near the Foreign Quarter – say that a body “climbs the thousand steps” when they lose someone, walking the steps of sadness and madness as they lay the souls of their loved ones to rest. Well the next few weeks after that awful business in Greenstone Tower, you could see the Anchor make every stop along that long stair.

The parties started the week after El and Raven put their friends in the ground. Yner – that dwarf that had just moved in – departed that week. Just packed up and left the morning after a raucous night and an equally raucous fight that spilled into and over the whole neighborhood. Long, quiet days were interrupted by nightly bar brawls, and the watch finally closed down the place for a month to stop them.

That didn’t stop the fights, mind you, just kept them inside the Anchor’s walls. The busybodies of the neighborhood would pretty often “happen to hear” shouts, and the sound of breaking glass from inside. Those more willing to snoop would also hear other sounds – sometimes tears, sometimes the grunts and groans of those desperate to lose themselves in the flesh.

It ended, eventually. Or at least the lunatic swings between mad and morose began to resemble the pattern before Death started claiming her due. The girls threw themselves into their work. Raven stopped spending her days puttering around the Filthy Lucre, and instead spent her days puttering around the Anchor. El – well for a while people didn’t recognize her, as she dyed her hair and changed her clothes weekly. She started practicing in the Anchor’s yard – doing sword tricks for the children passing by, only to quickly duck in the tavern when she saw an unfamiliar face.

Then the whole house went dark for a week. Never did find out why, but when we saw the girls after they finally crept out on evening Raven had a bit of a limp and El had her arm in a sling. Must have been nasty business indeed.

A few weeks after that… well things got a little strange. A dwarf showed up on their doorstep. A real friendly fellow – said his name was Grandor without even being asked, which if you ask me is kind of fishy for a dwarf. Those buggers hold secrets more tightly than gold. When he returned a day later, he brought a man with him – a big beast if I ever saw one – and an elf.

Now we see elves around fairly regular. There’s a few that wander away from Market Street proper every day, and one or two that frequent the wharf. And there’s was creepy sod – that Hathalrin fellow that kept showing up looking for men to hire. But this elf wasn’t like those folks – he had that whole elf-eye thing going on, to be sure. You know the one – like a cross between feeling sorry for you and afraid you might touch them. But this one would actually talk to people too. Breath of fresh air, if you ask me.

Anyway, those three kept coming back around for a while. They came back more frequently when the girls finally re-opened the Anchor for customers. But it wasn’t until the ambush that they stayed.

The ambush happened in the middle of the day and in an alleyway closer to Market Street than I think the Guard would have liked – the bunch that did it must have thought they would have an easy time of it, since there were a dozen of them. They certainly didn’t care that they had an audience – I actually saw the whole thing with my own eyes. They even wore colors – looked like a mercenary group or something.

And I think if it hadn’t been for the girl’s new friends, it would have just as easy as those thugs thought. In the end, El decided to leave one of them alive. Once she left with the other four – after a conversation I didn’t quite hear through my window a few stories up – that one cut a finger from those that died and ran off.

The three – the elf, the dwarf, and the man – moved into the Green Anchor that same day. Or rather, they simply never left. Until, that is, four of them left the city on a day trip beyond the walls. That’s when the trouble really started…

The Death of Guxes

Deprix’s Library was at hand. There are at least a dozen tomes of magic in here, this is the major breakthrough in my training that was lacking, information. In this room are but a pair of those damn monkeys. One is sized like Powder Keg, and the other the size of an ogre. The normal sized one speaks to me as if he is Deprix himself, but my superior skills can tell that this monkey is magicked and not Deprix transformed. I send Raven away, she has seen too many of her beloved pet massacred today, Magpie, the dwarf and I can handle the pair in the room with ease.

The fight goes on much longer than expected, even with the arrival of El, we are hardly putting a dent into the massive Powder Keg. We must win this fight, this room is too valuable to leave. The dwarf goes down, what was his name again? Bah, it doesn’t matter now. The creature focuses on me, and slams into me, but I resist falling to its attack. I won’t be able to deter it for long, but maybe enough where Magpie & El can finish it off. This sacrifice is worth it, they’ll slay it and put a stop to my bleedin…………..Magpie goes down……..El’s abilities are good enough to concentrate on the beast alone…….El falters……

I awaken, had Raven returned and been able to save us all? No, the place I am in, I am familiar with, but is not a place Raven could reach, let alone take me to. I have visited this place once before, when I took an oath, to follow a certain path, a vow that changed my life. I stand before the presence, and she speaks to me at a disappointing soft tone. I have failed her for the last time, my body will never be allowed to possess my soul again. I knew what failure would entail, my brashness would not let me see that I could fail. I secured the looting of the tower, as opposed to the chance to own it, this is my own fault, as we could have taken our time and not been rushed.

She intervened when my tribe tried to vilify me and slowly torture the body, a body that still had a soul. That soul didn’t last much longer than that day. My cousin’s pratering head tortured what little life I had left. I am doomed, by much my own doing. I was better than this, I should have withdrawn and lived to fight anew. Now, I won’t be fighting, this eternity won’t be hell, but I am sure I will tire of it at some point. I always do.

The Way Home
The Tiefling Sons return

After sending away Raven & El, to return the book, I got my cousin loaded on his horse, and scampered off to the west. Our horses were not pleased to be traveling without light, but I took care to get us on our way. The riders into the ruined settlement would find the riches that we left behind, but the prize we came here for was in our care.

The trip home was quite different than the trip out. While the composition was the same, an innocent, naive son of the chief and his cousin, who was sent to keep him out of trouble, the feeling of awe and bewilderment, gone. My benefactor was right, it would be better away. But now I go back, to deliver my cousin home.

My benefactor has not communicated with me since his death. I am not sure, if she is upset for the loss, or just has somewhat important matters to deal with, but the lack of communication is disturbing. My powers seem to be still with me though, so it hasn’t become a dire situation as of yet. I have been able to handle the creatures willing to take on a pair of horse and riders, without any real trouble.

I can finally see the outskirts of our encampments, I am home. The nights have not been restful, but knowing where I am helps, as I sleep outside, and will make my way into the village in the morning. This was always a safe spot, that the outer guards would let travelers sleep in, and the local creatures would leave alone. Was.

I was awakened to find my camp beseeched by several guards who brought me back to a state of unconsciousness.

Home was not how I remembered it. There are many tieflings here that I do not recall. It’s not that I knew everyone, but these brutes I would remember. I will remember. They know enough to have me in chains, my fingers balled up so I can’t make signs with them, and I’m heavily gagged. Someone knows enough about me to be cautious.

I’m left trussed up like this for a full day, I don’t sleep that night, so much as I pass into unconsciousness. That is a habit I would like to get out of.

Cold water is splashed on top of me, I look in the direction of where it came from. It is my Uncle. He questions my ability to keep his son alive, and my worth to anyone. He says he will love to see my head on a pike. But I know that won’t happen, I can tell it in his voice, he isn’t speaking with the air of authority he used to. He spits on me, and disappears from my limited sight. I pass out again.

When I wake again, I am still in this crude cell, but unencumbered by the restraints I had previously. I stretch, savoring that feeling. As I stretch, it is the first time in days I think back to Port Doom, to Raven and to what I should be there. As I start to stand, In my head, a familiar, commanding voice instructs. “LEAVE”. I push open the cell door, and see my stuff sitting on a table. I don the equipment, and exit the small building. I am pleasantly shocked, to see my Uncle’s head on a pike just outside of the crude jail. The area has a few other tieflings strewn about the ground, but no one is moving outside. I look over to where my family lived. The horses my cousin and I rode in on are awaiting me, ready for the journey. As I climb onto my horse, I see one footprint, one that doesn’t belong. It is good to hear the voice again. I leave, with my head held high, I know I can smell the fear, and I know I won’t be back unless instructed to.

Some time after on the trip home, I realize I acquired two items, that both belonged to my cousin. The first is his holy symbol. I don’t understand the significance of it, yet. The other item is a tad bit more personal, yet the use of it is more apparent. These are clues to questions I will need to attempt to answer when I return to the libraries of Port Doom. My trip back to the city went peacefully. The only creatures I encountered seemed drawn to my camp, and they were tasty. The voice has returned to her normal, comforting presence.

As I approach the gate, I think I will drop the horses and equipment off first, and then head to the foreign quarter, Raven is not ready for me in this state.

Of Mendicants and Mazes



When the Grand Caravan arrives at Port Doom’s western gates, the whole city stops.


Unexpected Visitors

To hear some tell it, this whole thing started with a knock on their door. Well, I guess it all started well before that, but it really didn’t get interesting until that knock.

It happened about a week before the Grand Caravan rolled back through Market Street Gate after its year long tour. In the pre-dawn hour – that time in between Raven staggering in through the door after being kicked out of whatever dive she terrorized that night and Barakas waking for his early morning cleansing – the thump on the front door of the Green Anchor woke Magpie, and few others.

A peek through the peephole showed a trail of blood leading away – or maybe toward – the front door. When Magpie opened the door with a jerk, the only visitor was a fresh corpse. He looked as if he had bled his last on the stoop of the Green Anchor, banging on the door with the last of what little strength he had left in his body. He was old and dirty – his beard full of nits and his shoes non-existent – and bled a dozen deep wounds.

Magpie had seen such wounds before, and hated those that put them there – skaven, or at least their kits, had done the man in. A cursory check showed the remnants of a belt pouch that had been cut away during his ordeal. It was enough to make a ranger mad enough to make the buggers pay. A quick check of his bloody trail confirmed her suspicions – he had crawled out of sewer grate to reach their door.

Of course, Magpie immediately roused the rest of the house – El from her beauty sleep, Barakas from his rituals, and Raven from her stupor. Guxes wasn’t home. It wasn’t a surprise, as Raven had “evicted” him a few nights back. The whole street had heard it.

A rousing call to action, followed by the idea that the man had been robbed and his poor defenseless purse was still out there all alone, spurred the housemates out the door and on the trail of the skaven. Into the sewers they sped, using a combination of Magpie’s skill at tracking and Raven’s brute strength to clear a safe path. They found the site of the man’s ambush almost immediately, and followed the skavens’ trail through the watery tunnels.

They finally found them at a water crossing – a raft attached to chains, meant to safely cross the rushing waters of the sewer outlet as muddy waters flowed from the city out to the sea. The ratlings were furiously pulling the chain – knowing now that they were in danger from real men… er… real women… and a tiefling.

The fight was over in less than a minute. The skavens’ leader was feathered with multiple shafts, and the ratlings were slain – some by sword, some by sacred Forge Fire – or captured.

The fact that they had visitors while they were out came as a surprise. The greater surprise was that the visitors had made themselves at home, and greeted the young women and tiefling as they entered.

She was a tiefling, and didn’t so much as sit as laze in her chair. He was… something else, ugly and large in a way that hinted at something non-human in parentage. They had an offer for the housemates.

The offer – to purchase the Green Anchor for a fraction of it’s actual value – was rebuffed with vigor and a healthy dose of profanity. The two uninvited guests were sent packing with nothing to show for their visit. The housemates scratched their head, more than a little perturbed about the incident, and argued for a bit about who left the front door unlocked.

After the hustle and bustle of a trip Port Doom’s sewers, a body needs relaxation. For Raven, that meant the smell of fresh wood floating on the deep blue sea. Unfortunately, with the Filthy Lucre still bound in dry dock undergoing repairs, that meant she had to settle for the close second: working said wood into shape before it was subjected to the tumult of choppy water. So while El scrubbed the filth from her hair on her second bath of the day, and Magpie and Barakas delivered the corpse in their front room the proper authorities, Raven set out for the docks.

It was at the pier there she saw a new neighbor – the Harpy’s Song – a ship barely more sea worthy and the Lucre herself. It had arrived the day before, with a skeleton crew and a flamboyantly dressed captain with a fancy hate and a tattoo of a blue bird on his cheek. Intrigued by this gent – who dropped a bag heavy with coin on the harbormaster to start repairs – she tracked his movements to the Skull & Crossbones.

Sure, Ginger had said, he was in here last night buying rounds for the lot. And a helpful urchin confirmed that Captain Bluebird had been friendly with a older gent who matched the description of the Anchor’s early morning visitor! A quick check of their movements showed that the two had last been seen near the very same sewer grate through which she and her housemates had passed earlier that day.

She returned, and roused the house – in their haste, they had missed a second trail, and that simply could not stand. Magpie expertly traced the steps of Captain Bluebird, running through miles of sewer tunnels to a trapdoor that emptied onto a street in an unfamiliar part of town, well north of Market Street but well south of Greenstone Tower. The trail led into an unassuming building on an unassuming street. The contents, however, were anything but unassuming.

After a quick breaking and entering, the young crew headed up the stairs, quietly moving past closed doors and a corpulent couple, contentedly tangled and snoring heavily on an ogre-sized bed. The foursome followed the trail – at this point, just bare footprints on a wood floor – to a door at the end of the hallway and opened it to find…

Captain Bluebird himself, laid out on a floor behind a heavy table, and quite dead. His hat was intact, but his heart was not. El claimed the former, with some coaxing from Raven, but the latter was spoken for, attached to what could only be described as a contraption mounted on the table.

The contraption was a jumble of gears and pipes, and at its center was a still beating heart:presumably the organ most recently belonging to Captain Bluebird. A quick examination showed the contraption had no discernible function. Instead, the quartet surmised that it was a test of sorts.

El immediately grasped the implications: “The Guardian!” she whispered.

Raven, not one to be satisfied with a mystery, headed down the hall to a door across from the corpulent couple containing a trio of sleeping guards. A quick an quiet interrogation showed three things:

1) The trio had large facial tattoos of their own – they were Red Ravens, a gang with both turf south of the Foreign Quarter and a bad reputation.
2) The interrogatee new nothing of the contraption, and claimed he was only “red level.”
3) Raven had a knack for instilling terror.

No sooner than a moment after the quartet left their victim, that victim raised an alarm, rousing his fellows. Back through the door El went, with her peers right behind, putting the Red Ravens to the sword. Raven held the door to the corpulent couple closed with a hank of rope earlier placed for just such a purpose, bracing herself as the door strained. With the alarm raised, Red Ravens swarmed up the stairs.

Again, the fight was over almost before it had begun. The Ravens were no match for the foursome, even when the door being held fast was burned with black fire and collapsed in a smouldering heap and the heavy lovers proved to be competent warriors – one warrior and one priest.

Soon, all that was left was the cleanup, which in this case meant “looting the bodies, searching the premises, and making a quick escape back to the Anchor.” The young bloods arrived at home: tired, sore, and smelling strongly of sewer, and reviewed their booty.

It had been a lucrative day. Including the purse they had recovered from the skaven, they had about a hundred new coins of various value, two sets of three gems (a BloodStone, a Jet, and a Tiger Eye), a pair of silver rings, and two identical amulets – a six tentacled octopus with six eyes.

Most intriguing, they found a list of names, twenty in number, with two crossed out with a heavy stroke of the quill.

One of the remaining eighteen was a name with more than a passing familiarity: Alira Banemourn.

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