Session #32 - The Return to Baldur's Gate

Telus and Katla cast some spells to establish a basic connection that would allow them to communicate with one.  How long the effect would last, and across what distance, was difficult to predict, but being able to leverage Telus and Sylvyra’s knowledge and resources could only be a benefit to Katla and her friends as they attempted to unravel the mystery of this curse.  

Sylvyra offered to teleport the party directly to Baldur’s Gate, but the weather was nice and all agreed they walking would offer them a bit of a break.  While things had been improving in Elturel, the air was still tainted by a sulfurous scent that, when combined with the pyres of the dead, was not particularly pleasant.  A cool, sunny day of travel in the clean air was exactly what they needed.

They made good time and expected to reach the city’s southern gate sometime just after dusk.  The journey itself was uneventful and their encounters limited to a small number of fellow travelers, some on their way south toward Candlekeep and Elturel, and a few slow-moving groups headed in north toward Baldur’s Gate.

About an hour south of the city the road entered a wooded area, the sun now low enough in the sky to be blocked by the trees.  The air became cooler and the shadows ebbed and flowed as the breeze blew through the branches.  This was no cause for concern.  Certainly there was wildlife in the area, but it had long ago been cleansed of evil.  Besides which, the four adventurers knew how to handle themselves. 

A strange growl came from the woods to the left of the road.  Kent stopped and cocked his head to the side.  “Donyxn, you ever heard anything like that before?”

“No.”

Kent turned to the tiefling.  Donyxn almost never answered a question with a single word.  And when he did, it often meant trouble was coming.

The rogue continued forward while the others hung back and spread out.  He stopped after about twenty feet.  “Well I certainly have never seen the likes of that before.”  

The creature emerged slowly, almost casually, from some low brush.  It was perhaps the size of a pony.  Its skin had an orangish hue and muscles bulged from its bulk.  Rough armor greaves covered its legs, and similar metal plates sat atop its back.  The head protruded from the armored spine and ended in a large, round mouth entirely surrounded by six inch teeth.  Emerging from its maw was a thin, barbed tongue that whipped about lazily.  The tongue, at least the part they could see, had to be a least four feet long.

“It’s a canoloth,” said Almont.  Donyxn and Katla turned to regard the cleric, though Kent’s eyes remained trained on the creature.  “Demonspawn.  The guard dogs of the lower planes.  It is either guarding something specific, or its master is close by.”

A slow clapping sound came from further up the road.  “Very good, cleric,” said a deep, slightly raspy voice.  

The road bent to the right up ahead, and standing about ten feet to the side of the curve was a tall humanoid, a second canoloth sitting next to it like an obedient hound.  “I am Malek.  I see that you are traveling with a tiefling.  He wouldn’t happen to be the one known as Donyxn, now, would he?”

Malek stood almost eight feet tall and his grayish skin stretched tight over his muscular physique.  Some cloth wrapped around its waist provided the slightest bit of modesty, but otherwise there was nothing to obscure some of its more bizarre physical attributes.  Its legs had a second set of joints, resembling those of a bird, and ended in clawed, splayed feet.  While that was moderately disconcerting, it was the arms that attracted everyone’s attention.  Malek's right arm seemed too small for its body, something more fit for an average human than an eight-foot-tall monstrosity.  Meanwhile, the left arm looked as though it was originally part of an even larger creature, the massive hand almost able to touch the ground.  The top of its scull showed bony ridges and its ears resembled bat wings.

“What business do you have with this tiefling called Donyxn, then?” asked Kent.

“It is said he carries a relic.  The Sword of Zariel,” Malek said, voice raising at the mention of the weapon and its smaller arm making flourishes as it were holding a sword. 

Donyxn pulled his wings back as best he could, but it was impossible to hide them.  The sword hung from a scabbard across his back, its handle sticking up above his right shoulder.  “No, I am not the one called Donyxn, Donyxn the Devil Slayer.  It is said he is at least ten feet tall and radiant to behold.  You would know him immediately if you saw him.”

Donyxn’s prowess as a storyteller was well-known to his friends, as was his tendency toward embellishment.  The tiefling could hold tavern-goers in the palm of the hand as he recounted his various exploits, and none were the wiser about the liberties he took in the telling.

But he was a horrible liar.

Kent visibly winced as Donyxn finished the description of this “other” Donyxn.  

Malek grinned broadly, obviously not believing a single word of it.  “Ah, well Donyxn sounds like a very recognizable character, and I thank you for that fantastic description of him.”

“What do you want with the sword, Malek?” asked Kent.

“I’m am, shall we say, a professional acquirer of rarities.”  Malek scratched at his chin.  “Yes, I believe that best describes what I do.  When someone wishes to acquire something that is incredibly rare, or valuable, or seemingly unobtainable, I obtain it for them.  For a fee, of course.”

Almont had walked up the road and now stood next to Kent.  “I want to kill him, Kent,” Almont said.

Kent didn’t take his eyes off Malek.  “You know, Almont, I’m pretty sure he can hear you.”

“That was the point, Kent,” Almont replied.

Malek held out its palms in a gesture of peace.  “My friends, my acquisition of the sword doesn’t need to involve Donyxn’s death.  In fact I’d be quite happy to simply pay him for the sword.  Of course, should he refuse my generous offer, I would need to employ more direct methods.”  Malek shrugged its shoulders and made an exaggerated frown.

“Well it’s a good thing that Donyxn does not travel with us then, isn’t it,” Almont said, more as a statement than a question.

“Indeed,” replied Malek, the grin returning to his face.  “The road is yours.”  With that it gestured magnanimously as if it was welcoming them into its home.

By this time Donyxn and Katla had joined Kent and Almont, and they continued on.  As they reached the curve in the road and came up alongside Malek, he spoke again.

“Should you have news of this Donyxn’s whereabouts that you’d like to share with me,” it began, looking directly at the tiefling, “you may pay a visit to the home of Thurstwell Vanthampur in Baldur’s Gate.  He will know how to reach me.”  They continued on, not looking back.  “Oh, and if you haven’t come seeking me within three days, I will once again find you.”

After a few minutes Kent asked absently, “Thurstwell Vanthampur… it sounds familiar.  Where do I know that name from?”

“We visited his house when we were last in Baldur’s Gate,” Katla said.  “If you’ll recall, we killed his imp servants and you may have roughed him up a bit seeking information about the Shield of the Hidden Lord.”

“Oh, THAT Thurstwell Vanthampur.  Weasley guy.  No backbone,” recalled Kent.

“The one in the same,” said Katla.  “I’m sure he won’t be happy to see us again.”

———————————————————————-

They arrived at the southern gate of Baldur’s Gate half an hour after sundown.  A group of Flaming Fists hung around the entrance, but the mercenaries seemed to pay no mind to the people entering the city and the group passed through without attracting any notice as they mixed in among the various merchants and travelers.

It seemed a bit late to try to track down and visit Machil, so they headed down to the waterfront in search of ship Vayo told them about.  It wasn’t hard to find it - not only was the ship obviously moored in its slip more or less permanently, but it was also the same ship they visited previously when they were last in Baldur’s Gate.  On that occasion they were also in search of magic items.  Unfortunately, as so often was the case, trouble seemed to find them and violence ensued.

“Looks like this place might be under new management.”  Katla pointed to the wood sign that dangled from a pair of chains.  It read Low Lantern.  “At the very least the name has changed.”

“Do you think they’ll remember us?” Donyxn asked.

“Probably not,” replied Almont.  “If I remember correctly, the only person we left alive was the bartender.”

A few individuals dotted the main deck, most of them drinking and smoking in small groups, none of which paid any mind to the new arrivals.  The four adventurers went down the stairs set into the front of the ship.  Unless the layout had changed, they expected to find a tavern on the next level.

They emerged into an open level that ran the length of the ship, stout wood posts and beams allowing the space to exist with no interior walls.  To the right was a bar long enough to seat four people, next to which was a second stairway going down, which they assumed led to rooms for rent.  Tables dotted the space, though only two were occupied. 

Four humans dressed in longshoremen’s gear sat at a table to the left, across from the bar.  At the far end of the deck sat a table and chairs of much nicer material.  Hardly formal, but a significant improvement over the rough furniture in the rest of the tavern.  The same was true of those seated at the table, three men in merchant garb and a male half-elf who was even more finely appointed.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs Kent hooked his thumbs into his belt and surveyed the deck.  “Huh.  Looks like they managed to clean up all the blood,” he said to no one in particular.  Looking over to the bar he saw a hulking half-orc bartender looking at them as he used a cloth to clean a ceramic mug.

“That’s the same bartender from before,” Katla whispered.  “Mork was his name.  Do you think he recalls us?”

“Only one way to find out,” Almont replied, and strode to the bar with Katla following.

The bartender nodded at the pair.  “Three ales and a wine for the lady, friend,” Almont said.  Mork nodded with a grunt and began to pour the drinks.  If he recognized them, he gave no indication.  

The first mug was placed on the bar just as Kent and Donyxn arrived and the dwarf grabbed it greedily.  The wine came last, and Almont was surprised to see how fine the glass was.

“That’s two gold,” said Mork.  “A bit ‘spensive, but da lady should have some of the good wine.”

Almont nodded and fetched some coins from a pouch on his belt.  He placed the two gold pieces on the bar.  As Mork’s hand came across to collect them, the cleric added a third coin, this one made of much more valuable platinum.  “That one is for you my friend.”  The extra didn’t seem to phase the half-orc.  Almont assumed that a bartender in a place such as this often received extra coin for information.  “I believe this used to be a place where one could acquire magic items.”

Mork grunted, not surprised.  “Not allowed sell magic items in Baldur’s Gate.  But this place safe.  People give gifts here.  Sometimes gifts magic.”

The four men at the table across from the bar whispered with one another and shot glances at the group.

“I don’t particularly like the way those gentlemen keep looking over here,” Katla said as she sipped her wine.

“Nothing to worry about for you, Katla,” Kent remarked.  “They’re all debating whether or not they could take us in one-on-one fights.”

“I’m sorry, they what?”

“Aye.  They all seem to think they could take me in a fight.  Most of them aren’t so sure about Almont, though the big one insists he could,” said Kent.  “You know, I’m going to buy them a round.”

Katla sighed.  “And this is how it always starts,” she said into her glass as she took anther sip. 

Kent and Donyxn followed Mork to the longshoremen’s table when he delivered the drinks, while Almont and Katla remained by the bar.  The conversation seemed cordial, until Kent unsheathed his scimitar and placed it on the table.

The sight of the magic blade attracted the attention of the half-elf at the other table, and his companions also turned to see what was happening.

It only took a moment for Almont and Katla to arrive.  They were just in time to hear a wager being made.

“That’s right, Dutch,” Kent said jovially to the largest of the human.  “A game of dragon dice.  Best two out of three.  You win, you get my scimitar.  I win, I get the gold that’s in your pocket.”

“Mister, I’m sure I don’t have enough gold to make this a fair bet,” said Dutch suspiciously.

“Well how much have you got?” Kent asked.

Dutch emptied a pouch on the table and the four men began to count, which took much longer than it should have and sparked some disagreement before they arrived at a figure.  “Twenty-two.  Twenty-two gold pieces.”  

“Fine.  My magic scimitar against your coins.  Deal?”

The rules of dragon dice were simple.  Each player had four six-sided dice.  The goal of the game was to have the highest total, without going over 21.  The first person could choose how many dice to roll in the first round, using some or all, and it went back and fourth until both players decided to stand pat, both had rolled all four dice, or one of them busted by rolling more than 21.  Almont had seen Kent win at dragon dice countless times.  The secret wasn’t so much skill as it was that the rogue had a set of magic dice that he could control with his mind.  Winning, after all, was the important thing.

Dutch accepted the bet and both players put their dice on the table, Kent grinning.   Almont cleared his throat and when Kent looked at him, he inclined his head slightly toward the table.  Kent turned back and looked down, the grin melting from his face.

He’d pulled the wrong set of dice from his bag.  These were not magical.  He could no more control them than he could the weather.  Donyxn stifled a laugh.

Dutch went first, rolling three dice for a total of nine.  Kent followed with three of his own for 10.  As Dutch rolled the last die around in his hand a bead of sweat tricked down the side of Kent’s brow.  The roll was a two, giving Dutch a total of 11 and meaning that Kent would win with anything other than a one.  He rolled a two, exhaling forcefully.  He was lucky to win with such a low total.

Kent went first in the second round, rolling three dice to get 13.  Dutch rolled there of his but only managed a 10, so was forced to roll his last die.  A one.  Almont thought Kent might black out from the sense of relief. 

The dwarf raked in the coins as Dutch’s friends tried to console him.  They were taken aback when Kent pushed four coins back across the table.  “No need to be greedy when we gamble with friends.”

Almont and Katla went back to the bar while Kent prodded the longshoremen for information.  

“The half-elf over there is Tony Merlo,” said Kent after he and Donyxn returned.  “As for Machil Rillyn, they said the name sounded familiar and figured the family probably lived in the upper part of town.”  This made sense, as they knew the wealthier families resided in a separate walled-off part of the city that had additional guards.  “I asked ‘em about Malek too, but they thought I was making things up.”

“To be fair, Kent, you do lie quite a bit,” remarked Donyxn.

“I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you, boy, the worst liar in the realm.”

“Gentlemen, we seem to have Mister Merlo’s attention,” Katla interjected.  “Perhaps it is time to discuss business.”

They replenished their drinks and headed to Tony Merlo’s table.  The half-elf greeted them with a warm, practiced smile.  “I was curious to see if your engagement at the other table was going to end in fisticuffs,” he said.  “I would have liked to have wagered on a fight.”

“It’s still early,” Almont replied.

Tony’s grin grew wider.  “Indeed, indeed it is.  Please join us.  I am Tony Merlo.”

“A tabaxi alchemist in Candlekeep named Vayo told us that you were the person to see in Baldur’s Gate about magical items,” Almont said.

“Tsk tsk, sir,” Tony replied, shaking his head.  “I must remind you that trafficking in magic items is strictly prohibited in Baldur’s Gate.”

“But surely it is not illegal for one to give a gift to friend,” Katla interjected with a thin smile.  “And perhaps to then also receive a gift in return.”

Tony nodded.  “Indeed, m’lady.  This is quite true.  And I think you’ll find that I am one who is known to be very generous when giving gifts to friends, especially new friends.  It is always nice when making new acquaintances to learn what gifts they would find particularly wonderful.”

The group stood in silence for a few seconds, all realizing that they hadn’t come here with any specific items in mind.  

“Perhaps some magic crossbow bolts for my dwarf friend here,” Tony suggested helpfully.  “Not that I’m in any way trying to disparage your abilities, of course.”

“Aye, those would be welcome,” Kent agreed.

“And a belt of giant strength,” Almont added.  All three of his companions turned and looked at the cleric quizzically.  “What?  I can be more effective with my warhammer if I’m wearing one.”

Tony nodded.  “That is an unusual item, but not overly difficult to find.”

“And a sword,” Donyxn said.  “Nothing magical, mind you.  Just a very fancy sword.  Something that would really catch the eye and attract attention.”

Now everyone turned to the tiefling, who returned their gazes sheepishly.  “You know.  People are on the lookout for a tiefling with a fancy sword, so…”

“Well that should be easy enough, my new friends,” said Tony, bringing their attention back to him.  “Is there anything else that I can help you with tonight?”

“Do you know a man named Machil Rillyn?” Almont asked.

Tony leaned back in his chair, as did his companions in theirs.  “I did.  Past tense, I’m afraid.  He was a very good friend and one known for giving unique gifts.  Unfortunately he amassed some considerable debts, and from what I understand those debts cost him his life.”

“I am sorry to hear about the loss of your friend,” Katla said sincerely.  Tony nodded in acknowledgement.  “Would perhaps any of Mister Rillyn’s family still reside in Baldur’s Gate?  We are seeking information on an item that Machil may have come across in the past.”

“Indeed,” replied Tony.  “His daughter Yvandre leads the family now.”  He gave them directions to where the family home was located before leaning in and adding conspiratorially, “The manservant Tarreson likes to have a drink or three, if you catch my meaning.  A liquid gift could go a long way in loosening his tongue.”

“My kind of servant,” Kent observed.  

“One last question before we leave you to your evening, Mister Merlo,” Katla said.  “Would you by chance be familiar with a rather large, muscular creature that calls itself Malek?”

Tony’s jaw almost hit the table at the mention of Malek’s name, though he recovered quickly.  “He… it… is not something I choose to do business with, and I would recommend that you stay away from it.”

“It may be too late for that, I’m afraid, as he seems to have taken an interest in us.”

“Well that is indeed unfortunate.  It is said that Malek can acquire anything, and I do mean anything, that someone may want,” Tony said.  “But its services are extravagantly expensive.  And incredibly dangerous.  If Malek is interested in an item you possess, I would recommend either making a deal with it, or making sure you no longer possess the item.”

————————————————————————

They took rooms at an inn called The Elf’s Song that evening, and when they gathered in the morning learned that their tattoos had expanded overnight, detailing the next part of the Princess of Shadowglass’ story and now covering both arms and chests. Well, almost all of their tattoos.  

“Mine is the same as it was before,” said Katla.  “It is no different than it was yesterday.”

“I attempted healing magic upon myself last night,” Almont told them.  “It should easily remove a curse, but had no effect.”

“What does that mean, then?” Kent asked.

“Likely that we ourselves are not cursed,” Donyxn interjected.  “The curse itself is likely on some other object or thing.”  He thought for a moment.  “Perhaps we should have tried the spell on that damn book.”

“Too bad we didn’t bring it with us,” Kent observed.  He was correct - it had been left with the librarian Telus back in Candlekeep.  

“My truesight can see changes in us,” Donyxn said.  “It is as if we are becoming fey creatures ourselves.  Almont, you can now see in the dark, can you not?”  The cleric nodded.  “And don’t ask me how I know, but it appears your body chemistry is such that potions will no longer have any effect on you, and therefore likely me as well.  Though Katla seems to not be affected the same way, perhaps because the curse did not seem to take a deeper hold on her overnight.”  These were troubling developments to be sure.

“Well, gentlemen,” began Katla, “at this rate your entire bodies will be covered in ink before the week is out.  We need to make some progress, and right now our most promising lead is Machil’s daughter, Yvandre.  I suggest that is where we go next.”

After purchasing two bottles of mid-tier wine from the innkeeper the party headed uptown.  The group of Flaming Fists guarding the gate to the upper city ignored them as they passed.  

They had no trouble finding the Rillyan house.  It was modest by the standards of this part of Baldur’s Gate, but just about anywhere else it would have been a significant structure.  A wall surrounded the property, though the front gate was open.  On the other side was a small, though well-tended, courtyard.  The exterior of the two story house also appeared well maintained.  

It took a full minute before anyone responded to their knock at the front door.  When it opened they were greeted by a man who appeared to be in his 60s, though quite fit and who looked like he knew how to handle himself.  His servant’s attire was of fine quality, but if you looked closely you could see signs of wear and small repairs.  His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as though he had been out on the town the night before.  

“Good morning.  I wasn’t aware that the lady was expecting any visitors today.”  It was more an accusation than a statement.

“My apologies for our unannounced visit.  I realize the hour is early,” Katla replied smoothly, though with a hint of judgement in her voice.  The servant pulled down at the bottom of his coat, adjusting it self-consciously.  “We would like an audience with Yvandre if she would be so gracious as to receive us.  We have some questions about an item her father may have encountered on his journeys.”

The servant looked at each of them in turn.  When he got to Kent, the dwarf titled his head toward the two bottles of wine he held and mouthed, “For you.”

“Wait here,” the servant said.  He then closed the door.  

Donyxn crinkled his nose.  “Is it just me, or was that man practically sweating alcohol?”

Half a minute later the door opened again.  “Come.  My name is Tarreson.  Welcome to Rillyn Manor.  The lady will receive you in the lounge.”  Kent made sure to hand the bottles to Tarreson as he entered.  The servant put them on the floor by the door and covered them with a coat before leading them down a hall and into a sparsely furnished room.  

A table surrounded by six chairs sat in the middle of the room.  Shelving lined two of the walls, but the shelves themselves were almost entirely empty.  A third wall housed a fireplace, while a fourth was comprised of windows and a set of doors leading out to the courtyard.

“The lady will be with you shortly,” Tarreson said, before heading back to the entry.

The interior of the house showed its wear more than did the exterior.  It was obvious that it had been well appointed at one time, but now it looked as though most of the valuables had been removed.  The family was keeping up appearances with the exterior, but the story on the inside was one of limited financial resources.

“If you are here for money you think you are owed, I have nothing for you,” a female voice said from the doorway.

The four adventurers turned to regard Yvandre.  She was taller than average, probably close to six foot.  She wore an outfit resembling that of a calvary officer, complete with braided gold epaulettes and bulky sheathed saber hanging from her belt.  Her brown skin showed some wrinkles around the eyes, giving the impression that she was a woman with many worries.  Perhaps most notable in her appearance was that she was missing her left arm at the elbow.

Yvandre stood with a relaxed confidence, but with her feet shoulder-width apart, her stance that of someone who was being polite, but cautiously so.

Katla bowed her head slightly.  “No m’lady, we are not here for something so crass as a debt, I assure you.”  The elf looked up and met Yvandre’s gaze.  “We come instead with some questions about an object we believe your father once possessed.”

Yvandre laughed with a slight snort, her extended right arm sweeping across the room.  “As you can see, there is not much left, sorceress.  Certainly not anything of value.”

“What do you know of this?” Almont asked.

Yvandre turned to the cleric and gasped at the sight of his right arm, the sleeve of his jerkin pushed up to expose the tattooed writing.

Kent chuckled.  “Looks like she’s seen it before.”

“I take it by your reaction that you know what it is, and perhaps what caused it,” Almont said.

Yvandre regained her composure.  “Curing that damed curse cost my father and my family everything we had.  And the debt he incurred cost him his life,” she said bitterly.  “Is it only you who is affected?”

Kent and Donyxn both rolled up their sleeves to expose arms.  Yvandre shook her head and turned to Katla questioningly.

The elf nodded.  “I’m afraid so.”

“Yvandre, can you tell us how the curse progressed when you father was struck by it?” Donyxn asked.

She sighed.  “The writing covered every inch of him, other than his face and his feet.  He gained strange abilities.  He could read texts in languages he had no way of knowing, and he could send telepathic messages.  He also found he could no longer wield his sword effectively.”  Her hand went instinctively to the pommel of the saber dangling from her waist.  “It was terrible to behold, I assure you.”

“Well that doesn’t make me feel good,” Kent muttered.  

Yvandre turned to Kent.  “My apologies, dwarf.  I forget myself in my own grief.”  She cocked her head and her expression became questioning before she turned to Katla.  “The book.  It was supposed to be safely locked away in the library in Candlekeep.  How did you encounter it?”

“It would appear that the book reached out and touched the mind of a junior librarian, who passed it along to a friend of ours,” Katla replied.  “Fortunately for him, he had not yet regarded it.  We, however, did.  Might your father have left behind any information about the book, or the curse?”

“I’m not sure,” Yvandre said.  “While anything of value has been sold off, my father’s study still contains many of his papers and some odds and ends.  You are welcome to look.”

Yvandre led them down the hall and unlocked a door with a large metal key she pulled from her belt.  The study looked as though had once been well organized and one could imagine Machil sitting at the desk with a glass of wine looking over various items he had found on his adventures.  But now it was more of a disorganized mess.  Not like it had been ransacked, but more the result of someone frantically going through everything in search of something.

“Please, take your time.  I haven’t bothered trying to organize it.  Frankly I don’t have the energy.  But perhaps you will find something that will help.”  With that, Yvandre turned and left.

They spent half an hour rummaging about.  Almont paged through a dusty tome.  “This is a book of regional history,” he said, stopping on a page and studying it more closely.  “There is a reference here to a realm of three crowns.”  He looked pensive.  “When Kent last told the story of our defeat of Yeenoghu, I had a vision of a spear, the head of which held three crowns.”  The cleric frowned and continued to flip through the book.

Katla rolled a large map out across the desk, creating contours as it extended out over various piles.  It covered the entire region and was quite detailed.  The legend was labeled “Delimbiyran and Environs”.  A red X marked one spot, with some writing next to it that said, ‘Haven of the Red Quill.’  

“This could be useful,” Katla said thoughtfully.

“I found this,” Donyxn said, putting a hand-written note on top of the map.  

To my family.  Forgive me the vanity that took me from you, and must soon claim my life or soul.  You know how ambition corrupted my love for you.  I pray that someone avenges the evils done by Nintra Siotta, Princess of the Shadow Glass, Lady of Dread Omens, Seeker of the Three Crowns.  But spend not your own lives against it.  The scrivener bound her in this haven, and only there can I be free of her.  But it is too late for me.

“There’s your three crowns again,” Kent said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

The sound of a throat clearing from the doorway startled them.  They turned to see Tarreson, a small scrap of stained paper in his hand.  “The master was clutching this when he returned home for the first time after being afflicted.  I thought perhaps it would be of use.”

Only a portion of it was legible.

… stairs among the surface ruins of Delimbiyran and descend deep to the Haven of the Red Quill.  The guardians almost finished us before the door was opened.  Gods how I wish…

“Tarreson, who did Michal travel with?” Almont asked.

“Mercenaries, mostly.  Adventurers,” he replied, before looking at them nervously.  “No offense intended.”

Almont waved off the slight.  “Where had he last been?”

“Hmm.  Daggerford, I think.  They had a map they were following, and when they returned the master was showing signs of the curse.  His companion Strum did not come back with him.”  Tarreson made some hand gestures that Almont assumed had a religious or curse-warding meaning.  

“Well, it seems we have some leads,” Kent said.  “Best we get to work.”