ROTR Session 23

Stable diplomacy

Jinx and Vannrik had little choice but to leave Magnimar’s affairs in the hands of Cletus, Sayaad, and—whether they trusted it or not—Justice Ironbriar. Daverin’s stolen mare was somewhere in the wilds of Varisia, last spotted the day before. If they did not leave now, the trail would vanish for good.
They mounted rented horses from the Chelaxian stablemaster Vannrik had spoken with the previous day. One last confirmation placed the gray-dappled criollo upriver: follow the Yondabakari for two hours, and they should reach the spot where she had been seen.


  The ride east carried them past a sharp divide in the landscape. On their side of the river stretched calm fields and rolling countryside. Across the water, the Mushfens simmered under low fog and twisted trees.
"This would be a nice scene for some tea," Jinx mused, taking in the peaceful contrast. But they had no time to indulge.
They reached the landmark the Chelaxian had described, but the mare was long gone. The ground, however, told a story. Fresh hoofprints. Many of them. Deep impressions from wagon wheels. The soil beneath still firm, the edges loose.
Vannrik crouched, studying the tracks. They belonged to several horse-drawn wagons, likely passing by earlier that morning. Could be merchants. Could be a Varisian caravan. Either group would happily take an unattended horse, though Varisians were the more notorious for it.
With any luck, the caravan had not traveled far. If they pushed hard, Jinx and Vannrik might still catch up.


  The horses began to slow just as color appeared in the distance. Wagons. Bright paint. Cloth streamers. And the drifting notes of a fiddle rolling down the road. Ahead, a three-wagon Varisian caravan moved at an easy pace, surrounded by riders and walkers. As soon as the Sentinels saw them, the Varisians saw the Sentinels.
A rider broke off from the group and approached. He was lean, sharp-featured, wrapped in a cascade of scarves that trailed behind him like banners. His black hair and smiling beard framed an expression of practiced charm. There was no doubt, these were Varisians.

  "Greetings! Are you travelers going the same way?" the rider called out, giving Jinx and Vannrik a quick, curious look. "Don’t ride so fast. You’ll tire out your horses."
"We were actually hoping to catch up with you. Hoping that you would have some information for us." Vannrik said, matter of fact.
The Varisian lifted an eyebrow, interest obvious.
"We are looking for a missing horse. A gray Criollo with dappled fur, a young mare." Vannrik continued.
The rider settled deeper into his saddle. "We’re a little far south of the Velashu Uplands where horses roam freely. Still, they do spill into this territory. We pick up horses from time to time. How could such a horse be missing?" He shrugged. "Tell me the story."
Vannrik explained. "Well, someone stole the horse in Sandpoint. Rode for Magnimar, and because she didn’t have the proper documentation, left the horse outside of the city."
Something tightened in the rider’s eyes. "From Sandpoint? Who stole the horse?"
"A scholar." Vannrik said, not sure what the rider was fishing for.
The question came instantly. "A fugitive or something?"
"Yes, a fugitive. She’s currently wanted." Vannrik admitted.
"Are you sure it’s a she? I heard that there was a murderer holed up in Sandpoint."
Vannrik blinked. "That’s a different guy."
Jinx nudged his horse forward. "At what time did you hear about a murderer?" His three eyes fixed sharply on the man.
"A couple of days ago." the rider replied. "He claimed to be some sort of hero, but it turned out that he was a murderer, and then he escaped."
"Never heard of him." Jinx lied coolly, easing his horse a little off the road. Rabie’s shadow made the air thick. The Varisian clearly held strong opinions.
The rider shifted his attention back to Vannrik. "So you are from Sandpoint, then? Or are you just travelers?"
Vannrik kept polite. "I’m Vannrik, pleased to meet you."
"I’m Jinx," the gnome said. "You might have heard of my name."
A grin curled behind the rider’s beard. "There is a lot of news from Sandpoint, are you those heroes that the saved the town from Goblins. Was that you?"
"Not just us, but yeah."It was hard not to be boastful after all that they've been through.
"Really? Who else?" he pressed, smiling, but the urgency in his questions betrayed something sharper underneath.
"A companion that we recently lost. And a tiefling."
The man’s expression didn’t shift, because he hadn’t heard the name he was searching for.
Vannrik noticed. "I don’t know if they want me to spread their names, so I’ll let them have their anonymity."
The rider laughed softly. "I thought heroes all wanted to be famous but that could just be me, yeah?" Then, smoothly: "So, about your horse.."
But another set of hooves interrupted him.

  "Petru, what’s the commotion?" called a newcomer, similar features, likely a cousin, as the caravan rolled behind him.
"They’re looking for a horse," Petru explained.
The newcomer frowned. "We don’t sell our horses. You know that."
"A stolen one." Vannrik clarified.
"Our horses are our own." the newcomer said with a warm assuring smile.
To Vannrik, it was the opposite of reassurance. "We know that you didn’t steal it. But it was stolen before it was released into the wild."
"Sure, anyone can say that."
"Yes."
"Just like anyone can say that the horses are theirs."
"Exactly, but we’re the ones riding her now. So no horse for you, I’m afraid."
Jinx watched the man’s relaxed posture. The newcomer was treating this like a joke. Whether the horse was stolen or not didn’t matter—ownership now belonged to whoever physically had it. More scouts had drifted closer, drawn in by the conversation.
Petru leaned toward his cousin. "Did you know that these are those heroes from Sandpoint?"
"Oh? Is that so!" chimed another scout—this one in blue, wearing a wide-brimmed hat. He tipped it with flourish. "Greetings! My name is Costache. You’re some kind of heroes then?" His smile was almost as broad as the hat’s brim.
"We saved a town, so I suppose so." Vannrik admitted.
"You know what? I’m sure I can convince my countrymen, my cousins, to trade you that horse back somehow." Costache said. After the briefest pause: "Of course, you would do something small for me in return. You will get your horse and some coins in pay on top of that. All you need to do is offer a little of your protection. What do you say?"
"Did you just confirm stealing a horse?" Jinx asked, raising a brow.
"He said he would trade it ‘back’ to us. That implies it was ours to begin with." Vannrik cut in quickly.
"Forgive my distant cousin," Petru said, hands raised. "His Taldane is not so good. He meant that he would give you the horse to bring ‘back’ with you. I can understand that you sound Nordic, Ulfen or Jadwiga or something." His voice dropped into a smooth purr. "It’s a communication error. What are we to do?"
Costache nodded sagely. "Nobody stole a horse. At worst, somebody found a horse. No one can prove whom it belongs to. But it is in my care now, so I’m the only one who can get you that horse. Without a fight, at least. I hope you’re not robbers." He gestured at the surrounding scouts.
Jinx and Vannrik shared an uneasy glance.
Petru nudged his horse forward, pushing deep into their space. "We are in need of good fortune. We were on our way to Magnimar to see justice brought to the killer of a cousin of ours. But unfortunately justice has eluded us." He let the weight of his words sit. He knew exactly who Rabie had been to them, and chose to circle the truth rather than strike it. "We are down on our luck. I hope that these fine heroes from Sandpoint could show us a kind favor. Being heroes and all."
Jinx seized the chance to redirect. "Now you speak my language, friend. I am luck, the bringer of luck. I still don’t know who you are, though."
Petru chuckled. "My cousin of many cousins away already introduced himself. It’s true I had yet to do so, I am Petru Cojoc. Nice to meet you." He added a dramatic flourish to his bow.

  As the group picked up speed to keep the wagons in sight, Jinx guided his horse alongside Costache’s. "So do we need to escort you to get our horse back?"
Costache nodded easily. "Yes, just my two wagons." he explained. "We are splitting off from the rest of the troupe in a couple of hours. I’m traveling for business. I don’t entirely trust the clients I’m dealing with, that’s why I could use all the protection that I can get."
Jinx glanced over the group, unimpressed. "It’s just the two of us," he noted.
Costache smiled as if he had expected that. "I’m willing not only to help you get your horse back, but I will pay you handsomely. I will be generous. Twentyfive goldpieces for the both of you."
Vannrik’s voice cut in immediately. "Each?"
"That’s right." Costache said, but when Jinx’s expression didn’t soften, he reached into his pouch and paid five gold pieces up front. He then turned toward another rider. "And Petru, you are also good with knives and sword? What do you say?"
Petru answered with a confident smirk and a nod. "My family owes yours a debt. Of course I will do this for you. We’re all family of the road. I will do this thing for you."
"Then it’s settled," Costache said, shifting his attention back to Jinx and Vannrik. "I will arrange for your horse so that you may take it with you tomorrow."

  Several of Costache’s hired guards lounged in the rear wagon, broad-shouldered men armed with crude weapons, thugs lacking the discipline and experience of true fighters. The lead wagon was driven by Costache himself. Beside him sat a Varisian woman who offered a polite introduction as she noticed the newcomers. "My name is Ellyris."
Jinx tilted his head thoughtfully. "Are you acquainted with this man?" he asked. "Married?"
Ellyris smiled and leaned closer to Costache. "We’re trading partners, but I would like to think that we have become more acquainted than just that."
Petru rode up beside Jinx, grinning like a mischievous child. "It almost sounds like the gnome wants to marry into the family, eh?"
Ellyris laughed softly and smoothly redirected the conversation. "You two, have I not heard of you?" she said. "I heard some tales when I was visiting Magnimar taverns. Sounds like you were quite the audacious people. I like it." She punctuated the comment with a wink.

  She turned her eyes back to the road. "We will be traveling with the Cojocs for a couple of hours more," she continued. "Then they will be following the Yondabakari, and we will cross it."
Her gaze drifted across the river toward the fog-choked Mushfens. "Then two or three hours later we will arrive at our destination. That’s where we will do the deal and spend the night. In the morning you can return wherever you want."
Petru frowned, clearly unsettled. "We’re going to cross the river? We are going into the Mushfens?"
"That is right." Ellyris replied calmly.
Petru turned toward Vannrik. "You’re not from here, Northman. The Mushfens is a large marshland, very swampy. The southern coast of Varisia is a dangerous place."
Vannrik grimaced. "Also not an ideal place to lead our horses and wagons."
Petru nodded grimly. "Normally us Varisians would know what dry stretches are willing to carry our wagons, but still.." He glanced uneasily south. "Mucky and muddy roads are bad, but Boggarts and other nasty things live there. It is good that you came along."
Ellyris did not waver. "I have specifically chosen this place when Costache asked me to find a location. Our clients don't like to be out in the open. The Mushfens are not that dangerous. Only close to the river side."

  By now the situation felt murky enough to raise Vannrik’s suspicion. "Just what kind of deal are you conducting?"
Ellyris didn’t look back. "I have to ask Costache about that. He’s the one doing the deal."
Vannrik shrugged and guided his horse closer to the front wagon, repeating the question directly.
Costache answered without hesitation. "I’m doing an auction," he said matter-of-factly.
Vannrik pressed on. "So what are you auctioning?"
Costache hesitated, then smiled thinly. "Ah! Something of value, an item."
Vannrik urged his horse even closer to the driver’s seat. "Let me ask in no uncertain terms. Are you selling something illegal?"
Costache lifted his wide-brimmed white hat, revealing an open and unwavering expression. "No."
The answer left no room for debate.

  And so it was done. A few miles farther upriver, Costache and his two wagons broke away from the Cojoc caravan. Vannrik, Jinx, Petru, two wagons, and a gray horse continued onward together, heading north along the Yondabakari and toward the mist-choked Mushfens.

The crossing

Just as Ellyris had promised, a stretch of the Yondabakari had choked with silt and sediment, the riverbed rising enough to allow a careful crossing. Someday a merchant consortium might hire laborers to dredge it clear, but for now the ford remained, a fragile invitation to the far bank.
Vannrik dismounted and waded into the current, water climbing to his knees as he steadied the horses one by one, murmuring reassurances while guiding their hooves over unseen stones. Petru, never comfortable in the saddle, devoted every scrap of attention to simply keeping his mount upright and moving forward.
Jinx rode alongside Ellyris, the two sharing a quiet conversation amid the splash of water and snort of horses. "What does your card predict?" she asked.
Jinx considered the omen before answering. "My card predicts that I will be shielded from harm today."
Ellyris exhaled, visibly relieved. "Shielded from harm? That’s good, than we have nothing to worry about."
Jinx tilted his head slightly. "It specifically mentions me," he gently reminded her.
The Varisian woman opened her mouth to replyb but her words died as movement caught her eye. Figures spilled from the nearby underbrush, blades flashing and voices raised in triumph. "Hahaha! They walked right into our trap!" one of the dozen bandits crowed.
Another voice rang out over the water. "Have at them lads!"
A third followed, filled with greedy fervor. "Their treasures are ours! The Sczarni will thrive!"
Petru swore as his horse reared beneath him. "Do you know how some Varisians have a bad name?" he shouted to Vannrik over the chaos.
He spat into the water and gestured furiously at the ambushers. "It’s because of these guys." Petru continued. "Bad apples, thugs, thieves and cutthroats."
The bad apples, thugs, thieves, and cutthroats descended on the small caravan from both sides of the river at once, splashing through reeds and mud with weapons raised.
Petru drew back an arrow, steadying his aim on the most imposing figure across the water. The bowstring snapped forward, and the arrow buried itself in the man’s shoulder, forcing him to duck as another shaft hissed past his head. Petru urged his horse onward, pressing the attack without hesitation.
Jinx peered around the corner of the wagon and felt his stomach tighten, there were far more bandits than he’d hoped, a loose army surging toward them. As he weighed his options, Ellyris called out that there were special arrows hidden behind the bed curtain inside the wagon. Another possibility, then.
Jinx’s sharp mind raced. The Sczarni looked confident, even arrogant, but their resolve felt brittle compared to his own. Spotting multiple openings, he nocked an arrow and fired into the advancing troupe. Two bandits staggered and collapsed into the Yondabakari, carried partially under by the current.
"You’re gonna pay for that little man!" one of their companions shouted.
Jinx glanced back toward the bed compartment, lips curling. "No, I’m not. But you will."
The smirk vanished as boots thudded against wood, some of the thugs were climbing onto the back of the cart, while others had surged in from the front faster than he’d expected. Steel flashed. Jinx rolled aside just in time, batting a sword away with his bow before slipping fully into the wagon, miraculously unscathed.
Vannrik thrust his hand forward, calling the elements to his command. Without pause, he shaped the summoned force into an icy spear and hurled it toward the Sczarni leader. The man still clutched the arrow he had torn from his own shoulder when the elemental weapon grazed his thigh.
But Vannrik was far from finished. He drew forth the gales of winter, and snow and frozen shrapnel screamed down onto the riverbed. Forced back, the Sczarni leader leapt with a roar into the water and waded straight for Petru Cojoc.
The man wielded a pole tipped with cruel metal hooks, perfectly designed to tear riders from their mounts. The hooks caught in the many layered folds of Petru’s clothing, and with a sharp yank the Varisian was ripped from his horse, slamming into the shallow river.
Before Petru could rise, the enemy was on him, driving a dagger deep into his arm. Blood clouded the water as Petru forced himself upright through sheer stubborn will.

  With a dramatic flourish, Petru tore free his scarf and snapped his wrist. Hundreds of tiny knives glittered from the fabric, sewn into its folds. He spun once, and the scarf lashed forward, carving bloody gashes across the Sczarni’s face. The man clutched at his wounds, his hand slick with red.
"You wouldn’t hurt a family member, would you?"
Petru scoffed, still clutching his injured arm. "The Sczarni are no family of mine."

  "Should I take my chances?" Jinx pondered, scanning the chaos. One group battered at the front of the wagon, another fought to force their way in from behind. He decided in an instant.
Jinx darted deeper into the wagon and yanked open the bed curtain. Beneath the bed sat a small chest, just as Ellyris had promised. Inside lay arrows with gnarled, twisted heads like antlers. He grabbed one and hastily set it to the bowstring. But in his rush, the shot sailed harmlessly over the attackers’ heads.

  "Chop him down!" the Sczarni screamed as they flooded into the wagon.
Swords and daggers slashed toward Jinx, but the gnome ducked, weaved, and kicked a chair hard into the press of bodies, buying himself precious seconds as steel rang and the fight closed in around him.

  Vannrik surveyed the chaos unfolding around him. He saw the gang swarming over the cart, then turned his attention to Petru, who was still locked in a deadly dance with the Sczarni leader in the river.
The Varisian called out without hesitation. "I can take care of this one if you want to save your friend."
Costache offered a far less reassuring kind of motivation, his voice sharp with panic. "Vannrik! Do what you’re paid for! Get them out of my wagon!"

  Vannrik spurred his horse forward, trudging through the river at Costache’s command. Once within range, he summoned a cluster of gleaming, razor-sharp ice spikes and hurled them like a frozen volley toward the attackers. The thugs scattered at once, diving beneath and into the wagon for cover.

  The Sczarni leader snarled, rolling his shoulders as he twirled his dagger with practiced ease. "It’s now or never," he spat. "One of us is not getting out alive."
He slipped beneath Petru’s bladed shawl and drove the dagger deep into Petru’s side, then struck again as he spun past. Petru staggered back, and the Sczarni leader seized the moment, planting a foot in the stirrup of Petru’s horse.
But Petru reacted instantly. Clutching his bladed scarf tight, he angled his strike carefully, avoiding the horse and targeting only its new rider. The fabric whipped around the man’s body, tiny knives raking across his neck. With the enemy hooked and barbed, Petru pulled hard, yanking the thief from the saddle.
The Sczarni leader hit the river with a sickening smack. "How could I have known that this caravan would be guarded so well?" he lamented, just before his face slipped beneath the surface.
His body went still, and the river carried a spreading red current downstream.

  Jinx scanned the advancing thugs desperately, searching for a way out. There was none. Worse still, they were closing in fast. "Shooting is not a valid option right now." he stated.
From the driver’s seat, Ellyris shouted back, "But Jinx, didn’t the cards say you were protected?"
"I am, by running!" Jinx yelled in reply.
"That makes no sense!" she shot back.
"I’ll lead them away from you!" the gnome promised.

  Jinx sprinted for the end of the cart, thugs immediately giving chase. "There is no running from the Sczarni!" one of them bellowed.
Yet the prophecy of Jinx’s card held true. He was impossibly quick, slipping past slashing blades and swinging hatchets that failed to find their mark.

  Vannrik, however, couldn’t see that. All he saw were thugs pouring into the wagon, and no sign of Jinx escaping. Fear tightening his chest, he urged his horse closer, peering into the wagon’s entrance as he hurled another barrage of icicles.
Three Sczarni fell, frozen mid-charge, but it did nothing to ease Vannrik’s worry. He still couldn’t spot Jinx.

  Behind the wagon’s rear curtain, Jinx fumbled through his pockets. He crushed herbs, mixed powdered chemicals with water, and smeared the rapidly expanding mixture across himself. Within moments, his soaked skin and clothes blended seamlessly into the surrounding environment. A crude but effective camouflage dye.
A voice thundered nearby. "Do you think you can hide?"
The Sczarni burst through the opposite side of the curtain. Jinx hadn’t even had time to fully conceal himself. His luck faltered as a sword slashed across his bicep. He groaned, teeth clenched, then noticed something strange.
There were fewer of them now.

  Vannrik quickly learned why. The Sczarni had split their forces, turning their attention toward the Jadwiga and the Varisian at the driver’s seat. A thrown dagger grazed Vannrik’s cheek. He tried to retaliate, but his horse reared in panic, throwing off his aim.
Petru thundered past on horseback and leapt straight into the fray. His colorful scarf spun in wide, deadly arcs, blades tearing through multiple enemies who screamed in agony.

  Jinx heard the tide of battle shifting. He kicked the remaining attackers harassing him off the wagon and vaulted back inside to rejoin the others.
By then, Vannrik had also clambered onto the wagon, a massive club of ice formed in his hands. The wagon became a whirlwind of chaos; steel, ice, and fabric clashing in brutal close quarters.
Though the defenders bore cuts and bruises, they held their ground. Petru, unfortunately was not so lucky. One by one, the Sczarni fell or fled, until the survivors finally scattered back into the wilds, leaving the battered caravan standing amid the aftermath.


As the echoes of battle faded and the wounded were tended to, the caravan slowly caught its breath. Jinx settled down beside Ellyris, brushing river spray and blood from his sleeves. "See, my lady? I told you we were going to be allright"
Ellyris managed an uneasy smile, her eyes still scanning the darkening riverbank. "They almost had you though."

  Nearby, Vannrik knelt beside Petru’s motionless form. A vicious blow to the back of the head had left the Varisian unconscious at the end of the fight. Muttering quiet words and working practiced hands, Vannrik applied herbal mixtures and restorative magic, moving quickly between the Sentinels and injured members of the caravan.
Petru stirred, drawing in a sharp breath as awareness returned. "Thanks," he said weakly.
"Anytime," Vannrik replied, already preparing another solvent.
Petru swallowed and exhaled slowly. "I was afraid that I was going to bleed out. You are a merciful lot," he continued. "Again. Thank you."
He turned his head toward the lead wagon, fixing his gaze on the caravan master. "Costache! How many people know about this deal of yours?"
Costache answered without hesitation. "Just four contenders,"
Petru pushed himself upright, wincing as he found his balance. "And I guess they were not one of them,"
Costache shook his head firmly. "The Sczarni don’t have enough money to participate in my auction."
Petru’s eyes drifted toward the far bank of the Yondabakari, now cloaked in shadow. "They might have enough ears to learn about it." He paused, then asked, "Is it far?"
Costache raised his voice so all could hear. "Two more hours," he declared. "It’s not far. But our road is muddy. That is the hardest part."
By the time the horses were calmed and coaxed across to the far side of the river, dusk had fully settled, smothering the Mushfens in purples and deepening blacks.
Ellyris waved a hand dismissively as lanterns were lit. "Just your lamps and torches," she said. "Fire will keep most of the monsters at bay."
Petru murmured a quiet prayer under his breath, drawing what courage he could from familiar words. "Desna’s wings flutter everywhere," he reminded himself.

The Mushfens

Dragging horses and wagons through the Mushfens swamp was an exhausting ordeal. Thick undergrowth clawed at wheels and legs alike, while the narrow mudpath gleamed slick and treacherous beneath their feet.
The glow of torches and lanterns pushed back the dark, but only just. It offered little comfort. At the edge of the light, Jinx caught sight of shapes half-buried in the muck—human hands, pale and swollen, slowly sinking beneath the surface. In the flicker of firelight, they almost seemed to twitch.

  "That’s menacing," Costache remarked flatly.
A smile curved across Ellyris’ face, pleased rather than disturbed. "That’s the point. As long as we move fast enough the undead corpses that lie in the swamp will not be able to attack us. But they are good at scaring people away."
Petru grimaced, eyes fixed on the ground below. "Stay on your horses, stay on the wagons."
"Just keep the pace," Costache added bluntly.
Ellyris glanced back at the group. "We are nearly there,"
A grin spread across Costache’s face. "What a place you have chosen. I couldn’t have picked a creepier place myself. But it does the job. We will have all the discretion that we need."

  Not long after, the wagons rolled up before a dilapidated manor rising from the waterlogged earth, hemmed in by towering reeds. Moss and grime had devoured most of the old paint, leaving the walls stained and weary, as though the structure itself wished to sink back into the swamp.
As the horses were tethered, Costache approached the caravan guards. "Allright, I’m going to see if they are already inside. Make yourself comfortable. If none of my guests attack us.. Which I hope they won’t then your job is finished for me."
He stepped onto the warped porch boards, then paused and turned back. "Just keep awake long enough until they are all gone. That is all that I’m asking. One more thing, I know that the guests are a bit…" He searched for the word. "..special. Don’t try to agitate them. They are guests after all."
"Make yourself comfortable." Ellyris added, before both of them disappeared into the manor.
Jinx blinked, uncertainty plain on his face. "Thank you?"

  Petru lowered himself onto the creaking porch steps, stretching his sore legs. After rummaging through his belongings, he spoke quietly. "You know what?" he said. "I know that you have kept bad company in the past. There is no campfire here. We don’t have to dance around the subject."
His gaze rested on a half-finished scarf.. long and colorful, its ends trailing loose, frayed threads.
Jinx stiffened. "What subject?"
Petru didn’t look up. "This Rabie fellow. I know of him. He killed my cousin. And I know that you know. We all know."
His face twisted with anger and grief. "The rumour is that he died. That is why he couldn’t attend the trial."
The torchlight caught the moisture in his eyes as he looked at Vannrik and Jinx. "Is he truly dead?"
Jinx hesitated, but ultimately decided to keep his cards close to his chest. "I don’t know. I haven’t seen him."
The firelight deepened Petru’s scowl. "Shame. It would have been good if he died. But then again.." He clenched the scarf in his fist. "Maybe it can be my hands that deliver justice."

  Jinx stepped forward carefully. "Do you know what the story is behind that rumor? I heard that he might or might not have killed somebody. It seems too easy to say that he did.Why would he have done such a thing?"
He relaxed his posture deliberately, knowing how fragile this ground was. "Was your cousin a holy person?"
Petru lifted the scarf. "She was making this for him. He was a boy that she fancied. She wanted to present it as a gift. She was young, stupid and in love."
There was a long pause.
"If I find him. And if he is still alive, I will strangle him with this. And justice will be done."

  Jinx let out a slow breath, choosing not to push further. "Good luck. I hope you find peace, my friend.."
Petru tucked the scarf away. "I see you as good people," he said. "I do hope that if he ever turns up you will contact the family. Like your elf friend Shalelu did."
Jinx raised an eyebrow. "You met her?"
"Yeah, she told us that he confessed to the murder. That he was going to be taken to Magnimar for a trial. But now apparently, he has died in Sandpoint."
Petru shook his head slowly. "But I know that you two are good folk. You saved my life. I appreciate that."


  Jinx, Vannrik, and Petru stood in silence, watching the Mushfens. Nothing prowled between the twisted trees, and no distant sounds hinted at an approaching group. Eventually, their attention shifted back to the manor itself, the soft candlelight glowing behind its windows, the low murmurs of voices drifting from within. If negotiations were to sour, it would be far better to already be inside.
The hallway beyond the entrance was narrow and dim, lit by a single candle mounted between two staircases that climbed upward along opposite walls. Several doors led off into side chambers, their purposes unknown. The Sentinels decided to get their bearings before committing to any one position.

  The first door opened onto what appeared to be a kitchen and pantry. Chaos reigned inside. A goblin stood atop a counter, furiously mashing pickles into a cast-iron pot while others scurried about, assisting in tasks that only vaguely resembled cooking.
"No, no. That will not do!" the goblin barked, sloshing pickle juice across the counter.
Ellyris was already there, locked in a circular argument with the chef. Jinx’s hand instinctively drifted to his bow.
From his perch, the goblin continued, "My king and your master have ordered me that I prepare them dinner before you bring the wine!"
He slammed the pot down. "So first dinner! It’s going to take me at least an hour."

  Ellyris’ patience snapped. "I don’t take orders from you, goblin."
The goblin straightened, pickle juice dripping from the rim of the pot. "We are your guests!" he demanded.
Ellyris glanced back toward the guards and exhaled sharply. "Fine. I will return in an hour to bring them the wine."
As she stomped past Jinx, Vannrik, and Petru, she added quickly, "I’m sorry that you had to hear that."

  Vannrik gently stopped her with a raised hand. "Wait, where do you need us to guard?"
"Any place that is not locked tight is for you to guard." Ellyris replied, shooting one last venomous look back at the goblin before steadying herself. "Make sure that our guests behave."

  Jinx’s voice dropped low and rough. "Why do we have goblins here, if I may ask?"
His grip tightened on his weapon.
"Because they are one of our clients," Ellyris answered as she stepped back into the hallway.
Jinx arched a brow. "You have goblins for clients?"
Ellyris simply smiled. "Yes."
She turned and disappeared down the corridor.

  Jinx shook his head slowly. "What’s happening to this world?"
Petru wrinkled his nose in disgust as he closed the kitchen door behind them. "I don’t know. But I wouldn’t try their cooking."
He gestured farther down the dim hallway. "Let’s try this door, eh?"

 

The first delegation

A little farther up the corridor, two figures rested with their backs against the wall, flanking a single closed door. Their posture was casual, but their eyes were sharp, tracking every movement. One of them spoke up as the Sentinels approached. "We're all here to keep the peace, right?"
Vannrik slowed, studying them carefully. He didn’t recognize either man from the caravan, meaning they must have arrived with one of Costache’s other clients. "No, we’re just added security." he explained.
The two men sized them up in silence. "Ah, I see. Costache brought some guards of his own " one of them said, straightening and subtly shifting his stance to reveal the scabbard at his hip. "Just keep out of this room. My master has his luggage in this room, so there will be no entry."
Jinx tilted his head. "Who’s your master again?"
The guard’s expression hardened. "All you need to know is who he represents. He is a representative of the Auspis Consortium."
Jinx frowned. "I never heard of them.." he said slowly. "What is that?"
Petru chuckled softly. "Fancy tradespeople," he explained. "They trade from Varisia to Ustalav and beyond." He shook his head. "They have many fingers, in just as many pots. And all of them are used to count coin."
"That’s right. So you better keep your distance." the guard confirmed.
Petru gave an exaggerated bow. "Of course. You go guard the luggage. And we will keep an eye on the rest."
"Good." the guard replied. "Then there will be no need to fight."
Jinx narrowed his eyes. "I don’t like the way you speak, my friend."
The man leaned forward to squint back at him. "And I don’t like the way you look, but our masters are dealing in trade now. So it’s in our best interest that this does not summit to a fight."
Jinx measured him carefully. He was no barghest, no yeth hound, none of the true horrors Jinx had survived. "I could take you in a fight. Even one on one probably."
The guard’s mouth twisted into a wicked grin. "Are you threatening me?"
Jinx laughed. "I’m not threatening you. I’m reading your fortune, you fool!"
"A fortune teller?"
"Not just any fortune teller," Jinx replied, lifting the hood of his ragged cloak and revealing his white third eye in full. "Have you never heard of this eye before?"
The man barked out a laugh. "By Asmodeus, what is that?"
Jinx held his gaze, unblinking, but Vannrik stiffened at the invocation of the Lord of the Hells.
"You be careful now," Jinx advised quietly.
Petru shook his head and placed a firm hand on Jinx’s shoulder. "You make sure that the luggage is safe," he said. "And we continue with the patrol, eh?"
Despite Jinx’s lingering urge for confrontation, the group moved on.

 

The second delegation

Farther down the hall, another guard blocked access to a side chamber. His face was hidden behind a simple mask, his voice calm but resolute. "My master has made his chambers here. He will be leaving tonight. Until then, there will be no entry."
Vannrik had nearly walked past, but paused and tilted his head. " Who’s your master?"
The guard raised his hands slightly. "My master is a holy priest. Have you heard the word of the church of Razmir the living god?"
"No, I have not." Vannrik admitted.
The mask reflected a dull orange glow from the candlelight. "It’s a shame that my master is bidding in the auction. He would have a word or two to enlighten your vision and upheave your spirit."
"Well, too bad." Vannrik sighed, already turning to resume the patrol.
"The living god protects us all!" the priest proclaimed, finger raised.
Vannrik took a step away. "I’ll protect myself, thank you very much."
"It is not just protection friend, Razmir is the god of the wealthy. Riches and comfort would be yours. You should talk to my master once he has purchased the relic."
That stopped Vannrik short. "What relic?"
The priest shook his head. "He has not told me."
"Any ideas or educated guesses?" Vannrik pressed.
"It must be something powerful because there are three people bidding for it. I heard that they expected a fourth one.. But this Tsuto did not show up. So we are left with only three bidders."
Vannrik’s eyes narrowed. "Is your master as strong as this Tsuto?"
"I don’t know this man.." the priest replied, uncaring.
Petru raised an eyebrow. "Do you know this Tsuto guy?"
Vannrik leaned closer and whispered. "Yeah, he’s dead."
Petru shrugged. "Hard to attend an auction when you’re dead."
"Let’s leave your masters room in peace." Petru said as they moved on.

  From beyond the wall of another room came a muffled laugh and a booming voice. "No, no, no. First the meal.. Then we start the bidding. Don’t worry. I have it with me."
Costache was clearly already entertaining his guests.
A nearby door drew the Sentinels’ attention. Its wooden panels were carved in detailed relief, forming the shape of a face. As they leaned closer, the carved features shifted, lips creaking open. "Whom do you serve?"
"I serve no master." Vannrik answered quickly.
"Incorrect, no entry." the door croaked.
From the other end of the hall, the Razmiran guard observed them. "That door has not been opened all night."
"Has anyone tried brute force? Would that work?" Vannrik asked.
The priest shook his head. "I don’t think Costache would appreciate it if we demolished this house."
Jinx leaned out from behind Vannrik. "Do you know who Costache serves?"
"Costache? I don’t know. But somehow he get his hands on a fancy relic. Taken all the way from Taldor. That’s all we know."
"Do you know if he follows a god?" Vannrik asked.
The priest shrugged. "As a Varisian, I would guess Desna."
"We might want to try Desna." Jinx said, placing a hand on the door.
"Who do you serve?" the door repeated.
"I serve Desna" Jinx answered.
"Incorrect., no entry" the door replied.

  Petru gestured toward the stairs. "I guess our sweep of the upper floor is done. We continue to look downstairs and then we can guard the door to the auction, yes?"

 

The third delegation

Downstairs, one of the remaining doors opened into what could only be described as a goblin pig-sty. Drunken goblins sprawled everywhere. "Come in, come in! Feast with us! They’ve got drinks here. Beer!" one shouted.
"It’s tasty!" another added.
Amid the chaos stood a frazzled Varisian bartender pouring drink after drink. "It’s one silver for a drink. You’re sure that your king is good for it? Yes?"
"Yeah, yeah! Another!" the goblin replied.
"I pass on drinking with goblins today" Jinx muttered.
"Let’s drink to our brethren further north. I hear they are busy with an assault on some town!" a goblin cried.
"Let’s drink to their-" BURP "Victory!"
The goblins cheered and drank deeply.
"So are you here to do that auci..aushu.. A… that deal too?" one asked.
"For as far as I know we’re only here to make sure that everyone is safe and that everyone has a good time." Petru replied, tossing the bartender a silver piece.
Petru raised his cup. "It is Varisian custom to have a drink on the road. Me and my friends will be off. Good luck to you."
Jinx and Vannrik couldn’t leave fast enough.
As the door closed, a goblin shouted, "Once our king has the artefact, the assault on that Blandpoint will become unstoppable."
"I don’t know what’s going on with these goblins everywhere.. But I don’t like it." Jinx muttered.
"Perhaps you could have been a bit more thorough in your goblin slaying but I am not criticizing. That is your business. Not mine." Petru replied.
Jinx shot him a look. "You’re correct. Perhaps we should have done a better job with all those goblins."

 

Peeling off the skin

Beyond another door, a woman slept on a sofa in what had once been a private library. Dusty tomes lined the shelves. The group quietly moved on.
Another door led outside. The Sentinels circled the manor, checking for lurking threats. Through an upstairs window, they saw Costache speaking with a masked priest, an elderly man in fine clothes, and a goblin standing proudly atop a chair weighed down with gold. The glass had thinned over the ages and did little to stop the voices from within the room.
"I will show you once we are done eating. The cook will arrive any moment now." Costache assured them.
The elderly man wagged a finger. "First we must determine that it is authentic, that you are not trying to swindle us."
Costache tipped his hat. "I assure you that the hand of the Gorilla King is real."
"And with the hand, no one will be able to stand in the way of the righteous legions of Razmir." the masked priest intoned.
The goblin puffed up proudly. "With that hand the blasted town of Sandpoint will finally be toppled! Our cousins will make good use of it!"
The elderly man laughed. "The Aspis Consortium has more gold than any one of you. The hand will go with me tonight."
Vannrik turned to the others, keeping his voice low as the muffled sounds of the manor carried through the walls. "Do any of you know what that Hand is about? Ever heard of it?"
Petru let the question hang for a beat, then broke the silence with a small gesture of his chin back toward the rooms behind them. "Do you want to hit the books?"

  They slipped back into the library, careful with their steps. The woman on the sofa still slept, oblivious to the danger and intrigue unfolding around her. The room smelled of dust and damp rot; entire shelves had been claimed by mold, pages fused together in swollen, gray clumps. It didn’t help that the three of them didn’t even know what, exactly, they were supposed to be hunting for.
Vannrik and Petru began pulling titles that seemed remotely relevant; zoology, occultism, old legends. Jinx, however, chose a sharper path. Instead of guessing at the answer, he traced the artifact’s origin like a trail of footprints.
The Razmiran guard had said the relic had been taken from Taldor. That single clue narrowed the world. Between brittle gazetteers and decaying histories, Jinx unearthed a book with a promising spine: The Taldorean Conquest and the Defeat at the Hands of the Gorilla King.
The tale inside was uglier than expected. According to the text, the beginning of Taldor’s decline came when their great army of exploration marched to conquer the Mwangi Expanse, only to be broken by something called the Gorilla King, a demon king of apes who stopped their imperial ambition cold.

  As Jinx flipped through the pages, Vannrik’s eye caught on a curious leatherbound tome wedged behind other books, as if someone had tried to hide it in plain sight. The title was stamped into the cover in neat lettering: "Serving your hunger"
It didn’t match anything else in the room. Vannrik’s fingers tightened around the cover,. He winced. The leather didn’t feel like animal hide.
"I found something odd, come here to check it out."
Jinx hurried over, excitement sharpening his voice. "Show me!"
He said it nearly loud enough to wake the sleeping woman.

  The book was worse than strange. Serving Your Hunger was one of the unholy, profane texts devoted to Urgathoa; goddess of undeath and disease. It had been written by her first knight-commander and antipaladin, rewarded for its completion with the Defiled Disks of Urgathoa. The pages contained the goddess’s basic tenets, lavish recipes for decadent meals, some copies rumored to include instructions for cooking humanoids, and the most infamous paths to undeath, focusing on ghouls, wights, and vampires. Riddles were threaded throughout, designed to jar the mind loose from ordinary morality and moderation, and the text read like a primer meant to soften a reader into viewing the undead as something to embrace rather than fear.

  They were still trying to decide what it meant when a familiar sound drifted down the hall: the waddling footsteps of a goblin. A singsong voice followed. "Dinner’s ready"
Dinner, and with it, the auction, was about to begin.
Jinx didn’t stop staring at the leatherbound tome. "Do you think this opens the door upstairs, perhaps?"
Petru repeated the thought, weighing it aloud. "Perhaps," he said. "But they are going to start eating and bidding on the item soon. Should we not make sure that the guests don’t.. You know.. Try to outbid each other with swords?"
Jinx snorted quietly, still reading between the lines of the book. "It will take some time before they have stomached that goblins food.." he muttered. "We have time."

  They returned upstairs and approached the strange carved door, the one whose wooden face had already rejected them once.
Its lips creaked and shaped the same demand. "Who do you serve?"
Vannrik answered plainly. "Urgathoa."
To his surprise, the door refused him again. Vannrik’s brow furrowed as he looked to the others. Then realization struck. "I serve my hunger." Vannrik stated.
The door’s voice rumbled, almost curious. "You serve your hunger?"
Then, warmly and wrong: "Be welcome."
With a long, groaning creak, the door opened.

  Beyond lay an old bedchamber, more weathered and abandoned than the rest of the rotting manor. The air was stale, heavy with damp and a faint, sour sweetness. The Sentinels slipped inside and closed the door behind them, there was no time to answer awkward questions from other guards, not now.

  Petru checked the nightstand first. An old glass sat there, still carrying the smell of aged wine… but something else clung beneath it, foul and sharp. He couldn’t name it, but suspicion coiled in his gut.
"Telltale signs of poison."
He looked over his shoulder, just in time to see Vannrik pull open the wardrobe.

  Vannrik’s expression twisted into immediate disgust.
Inside the wardrobe, the space had been divided into neat squares. Within each compartment, hides had been stretched and stored, unmistakably human. Vannrik recoiled a step.
One hide had not been properly fastened. It slipped free with a wet whisper, slithering out of the closet and spilling onto the floor as though alive. A thin, airy moan followed it.
"Fleeeesh…"
As it hit the boards, the skin unfolded, rising into a hollow humanoid shape. A grotesque dissection split it open from bottom lip to scrotum. The thing was empty inside, a puppet of skin and misery. It lunged toward Vannrik with a wide, snapping arc. Vannrik retreated just in time.

  Jinx reacted instantly. Bow up, arrow nocked, and released. The shot punched through the flapping skin and sank into the wooden wall beyond. In the torchlight he could see the creature’s thinness: blood vessels and arteries still faintly visible beneath the surface. Freezing them would make the thing brittle. He knew exactly who to call.
"Vannrik! Freeze it!"

  As Vannrik gathered himself, Petru sprang onto the bed, scarf already in hand. With a sharp flick, the embedded blades shredded through the skin like parchment.
"Where’s my flesh!?" the creature moaned
Vannrik answered with a scythe of solid ice, hacking away in heavy arcs. The blood vessels stiffened; whatever liquid remained inside the skin froze solid. Jinx’s idea was working.
The creature’s voice grew hoarser, more hollow with every tearing strike. "Allebra. Where have you taken my flesh?!"
A foul smoke seeped from its wounds and its toothless mouth, filling the bedchamber with a rancid swamp-stench.

  It hurled itself at Vannrik, swatting wildly, yet it had no claws, nothing but limp, hateful force. It slid toward Petru next, but Petru kept just out of reach, snapping the scarf again and again.
"Allebra, where is my flesh. Where are my bones!?"
Jinx could taste the Mushfens on the air and guessed the skin had been tanned in the swamp itself. He kept firing, arrow after arrow, punching holes that made the creature sag and flap uselessly.
Petru retreated a step, whipping the scarf to and fro, carving more lines into what remained until the thing finally collapsed into shredded, frozen fragments, nothing left but scraps and shards.

  Silence returned, heavy and wrong.
Jinx lowered his bow. "That’s just sad.."
Vannrik stared at the remains. "What an odd creature," he said. "I believe none of us got hurt. But it was still terrifying."
Petru pinched his nose shut and peered into the wardrobe again. "I thought I heard it cry out to someone."
There, carved faintly into the woodwork, was a name: Allebra Stupros. Petru grimaced. "I guess this Allebra took this man’s skin. Who knows the flesh went.."
Vannrik’s gaze flicked back to the vile tome in his mind. "My guess is that the flesh was eaten. Considering what we saw in the book."
Petru recoiled from the wardrobe as if it might breathe on him. "I hate how good of a point that is."

  Jinx recognized the Stupros name immediately, a family as old as Magnimar itself. He’d heard rumors: a manor not far from the City of Monuments, wealth beyond sense, and vile stories whispered behind closed tavern doors, profane rituals, wicked orgies, sins piled high. Then, one day, the family simply vanished. No one investigated. It had been easier to assume the gods finally laid divine judgment upon them. The family had been said to have one son, perhaps this Allebra.
As Jinx explained what he knew, Petru rolled his eyes with theatrical dismissal. "Tssk. Settlers. Nomadic life is better for your mental health."
Jinx shrugged. "I can agree with that. To a certain point at least."