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1:13 am, 24th Oct. 204 PR
Matthias sits at the desk in his second-story room in the new wing of The Brazen Strumpet. He is more than a bit intoxicated. And, as he's noticed numerous times in the past, under the influence of strong drink he finds himself wanting to write. Truth be told, what he really wants is to sing, but the other guests — most of them undoubtedly sleeping — would not appreciate that. He sighs. Writing it is, then.
He casually waves the fingers of his right hand over a blank page in his spellbook while subvocalizing a command word, enacting a cantrip that has taken him weeks to fine-tune. The page of paper blurs for a moment — or was that his alcohol-fueled, late-night (correction: early morning) vision? A faint wispy outline of a pen appears and the scholar-mage begins dictating.
"I've been training with Rengar the Bold d'Sizemordicus, and after our foray into the Barrowmoor I now possess more than enough to pay him for his services." The translucent, wispy pen dutifully transcribes the mage's words onto the page in a dark script, and he smiles at that.
A neat trick, that cantrip. It records his words in the interstitial spaces between the threads of magical energy that enchant his spellbook. So far, he's been recording several minutes of voice dictation daily and there's no sign of space running out. He moves his eyes further down the page an inch and the text above fades from view. Glances back at the top of the page, and the words reappear, clearly legible.
"Our little jaunt to the Barrowmoor on October twenty-third netted us enough cuprous to fuel our share of the Chapterhouse's machinery, experiments, and defenses for the remainder of the month. But supplies are still low. We'll tend to our respective duties today, and then I feel sure the Father Abbot will give permission for our absence for another day or two. In fact, he may bring it up before we do." The wispy pen faithfully transcribes.
Mattie yawns, stretches, then stands and doffs his magical cloak, hanging it on a peg on the wall. Returning to the desk, he sits again, admiring the mithril ring of interwoven vines that adorns his right index finger.
"The Chapterhouse quartermaster, Rafell, has been impressed with my torches. He's agreed to pay one copper apiece for them, up to fifty torches monthly. I think he thinks that I've got a pyramid scheme going, or that I'm thieving them from some nearby town. At any rate, the agreement is a win-win. I know he normally pays two shiny per faggot."
The mage glances into the corner, where six torches lean against the wall. Meanwhile, his magical pen transcribes his words.
Perhaps two or three hours later, Matthias jerks awake to the nerve-jangling alarm that blares throughout the chapterhouse. He leaps out of bed and into his trousers, then his boots. A quick check that his protective magical ring is on his right hand ring-finger, then it's shirt followed by protective cloak and he scoops up one of the torches from the corner of his room, lighting it with a cantrip as he exits into the hallway.
It's the Kobold Alarm, so probably not anything life threatening — athough, the little critters can easily be underestimated. It's better than the Breach From Topside alarm, and much better than the Red Alert Hazard Alarm.
The damned lowest level of the chapterhouse. Should've been taken care of years ago, but the fifth and lowest level is unfinished, serving primarily as an overly large, damp cellar-like storage space. Kobolds broke through years ago, and each time the holes were walled-over and sealed, it was only a matter of time before the nasty little pikers undid the Seekers' efforts once again.
A minute later, Mattie is rushing past Rafell. "Who's team am I on?" Mattie asks, slowing as he approaches the quartermaster.
"I don't know. Red team has the northeast, Blue has the west. You're Purple. Head to the southwest. I don't think anyone's there yet."
"Got it!" Mattie nods, picking up speed as he heads for the stairwell, takes the steps down two at a time, lit torch in his left hand, staff in his right. He deftly avoids tripping a pair of trips as he heads for the southwesternmost part of the bottom level of the chapterhouse. Contact! And shit, a fair number of the monstrous vermin!
It doesn't take Matthias long to mop up a handful of kobolds, and by then some other brothers have joined him in searching the areas where the chapterhouse sublevel deteriorates into Upperdark tunnels. Finally, after an exhaustive search, they retrace their steps to the stairwell. Having reset a variety of traps on this sublevel, they begin to climb the stairs...
A couple hours before dawn...
Matthias sits sipping coffee with Quartermaster Rafell, Thraxis Corvale, and Aury d'Rosenberg. They are soon joined by Karg Barrelgut and Brannock Tilden — the village's blacksmith and Oghman priest, respectively. The latter two apparently walked over to the chapterhouse together, as they continue a discussion and share a flask of hasiko back and forth.
Shortly, these six are joined by Billworth Turgen. He drags up a chair, declines an offer of hasiko, and accepts a mug of coffee from Aury. "I heard the alarm earlier and decided to just go ahead and get up. I've not been sleeping well anyway."
"Oh? And why not?" Matthias inquires.
Billworth sighs. "Silver Standard isn't happy right now. We're not getting our usual imports from Brookhollow in Caldamis. Something is making the villagers sick. Some have even died. I'm here to see if the Seekers can help. We need this investigated sooner rather than later."
Aury lifts an eyebrow at Matthias, then glances in acquiescence upon seeing the agreement in Quartermaster Rafell's eyes. "Of course we'll help, Bill."
"Meanwhile," says Rafell, "Thraxis, Karg, and I will put some additional defenses in place in the lowest level. We released a pigeon this morning to the duke in Threshold, to see if his Master of Kennels could spare some trained mastiffs. We'll definitely be starting intermittent patrols, and the addition of those beasts would beef up our defenses."
"No argument from me," Matthias says, then drains his mug of coffee.
"Good," the quartermaster says, slapping the table and standing. "You'll join a caravan heading out at first light for Smokeshadow. Then, tomorrow, you'll head south and board a barge on the Ash River. It'll carry you southeast and you should reach Caldamis by high sun on the third day. Saint Ygg's blessing!" And with that, the meeting breaks up.
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