A Strange Tale Part 3

Solomon Strange was hurled, head first, into just another day in the City of Doors.  His palms and knees landed first, scratching across the cobbled stones.  A cutter stepped on Solomon, "Getout the way, Berk."

Stange painfully rose up into the throng of people, there was a hole in his pants over his left knee and blood flowed from where he'd scratched the sidwalk.  The palms of both hands were raw and red, he took a moment to step back to the door he'd been flung threw, tested it's handle and found it locked.

"Beatty, what have you gotten me into that has brought us both to Sigil?"

"Solo!  Isisit you?!" A voice like gravelly thunder burst at the Inspector.  It had been nearly a decade, but he recognized it immediately.

Strange turned and saw the monstrous greenskin, now well over nine feet tall and nearly half as wide, more importantly he spied the orc's companion and grinned, "Tater!  Is that Bebe with you?"

"Aye!  She has glasses now!!  Ms. Bebe spotted ya 'fore Tater did, no lie!!!" Said the giant standing next to what most would believe to a rhinoceros, but as most things in Sigil, she was hardly what she seemed.  The creature leading the orc was, in fact a rhiknow, a distant cousin of the unicorn and indeed she had a pair of pink glasses on her head.

"Hello again, Solomon Strange.  Old Tater did not fully believe me when I told him our day would welcome an old and dear friend into our midst.  You look well and I am pleased to see you."  Beamed Bebe the rhiknow.

Solomon closed the distance between his old friends and was nearly squeezed to death, twice, by Tater and gave Bebe a warm kiss on her forehead.

Bebe concerned, said, "You have seen better days my friend. Touch my horn and know health and peace."

Strange took a moment to look at himself, a thought turned the heavy woolen longcoat of bright blue into a light duster of the same hue.  But he knew he still looked exhausted, with fresh wounds on his palms and a tear of the left knee of his favorite black trousers.  He accepted Bebe's offer and touched her horn.  It was pleasantly warm and it made him feel the way he did as a child, when his mother would take him into her arms and make all the bad things in the world cease to exist.  His wounds were gone now, and he felt like he'd slept for a full day.

Solomon smiled, "Thank you very, very much."

Bebe inquired, "Did she call you here by your oath?"

Strange smiled, "Are you asking or confirming?"

Bebe returned a demure smile to him, "My Eyes saw the Slayer at the Memorial, I had wondered if you would be brought back here as well."

Solomon stepped in closer, inspecting the pink glasses on his old friend's face, "Yes, my oath and some meddling from an unexpected quarter brought me to her," he quickly steered the conversation in a different direction, "I'm surprised you still need your Eyes these days, those are truly marvelous glasses."  The rhiknow almost blushed.  "And you Tater, your still working with her?  I'll wager she sees better than you these days?"  The mock was friendly and with a wide grin.

But it was Bebe who answered, "As you well know, loyal friends are hard to come by and besides, I enjoy his...color commentary."  Tater beamed in pride, she continued, "Where were you at before being pulled to the Cage?"

Strange's demeanor grew more serious now, as if a storm cloud passed over his face, "Back home I was working on a case where my comrades were being murdered.  I need this business over with, so I can help."

"In Greyhawk?"  Bebe asked.

Tater added. "Crimson."  

Strange stared at the greenskin, and Bebe answered his look, "His color commentary."

Solomon laughed and before answering her, "No, Jarlsburg.  Greyhawk is no longer my home, hasn't been  in many years, in fact.  You should know that."

"Confirming.  I have to make sure my Eyes are accurate.  You should at least visit there, I will freely tell you that your family dearly misses you."  Bebe's word were filled with kindness and concern for the necromancer.

"Fuscia."  Tater added.

"I'd like to, truly, but the Circle of Eight made it clear I wasn't welcome there.  Ever."  Solomon's words poorly hid his pain and he looked away from both of his friends into the passing crowd.

The rhiknow asked, "In Grehyawk?"

It took Solomon a moment to answer, he looked skyward and held back tears, "On Oerth.  But enough of the past, and your "confirmations".  I'm to head to the Smoldering Corpse, will you accompany me?"

"Eggshell."  Tater answered.

A Strange Tale Part 2

"Yer Solo, den...I'm...unimpressed. Der Crescent King makes ye sound like a boogity beast." Yammered the lad.

Solomon looked at the boy and contemplated responding to his taunt, but there was no time to waste and much to learn, "Am I to understand the Crescent King is behind the murder of my comrades?"

"Herherherherherhehee....what need of der King to extinguish two humans?" Barked the boy.

"Then why are you here and more importantly why were you hiding?" Solomon narrowed his eyes and began to mentally unlock one his spells.

"Now, now...Solo...no need for ye necromancy. Der King knows that all hell's a coming to town and he's gotten wind that ye Silvacloaks have been chosen as der First. Ye can calm thyself." The boy's tone began to turn more solemn, almost respectful and he added, "ye can't expect me to rest atop der corpses, can ye?"

"Did you see the murderer? Can you identify him? They are to be the First? But the stars are not right!" Solomon was beginning to lose patience.

"Aye...but none a dat's yer concern now, der King needs you off der board. He wants ye to remember ye owe him. Ye canna refuse, I'm supposed to say. The First will fall, stars or no stars... it's not ye fight. He says ye will pay him off when ye answer der dwarf's call'." The boy looked confused and nervous now.

It was at that precise moment when the jolt went through Solomon's body. Strange heard her whisper in his ear and understood her need. He reached into one of his coat's many pockets and found the penny. The Slayer's own bloodoath was calling him to her.

"So I'm to answer this call and then your King and I are square?" Strange asked, anger rising in his chest.

"Aye." Answered the boy.

Strange stared first at the coin and then at his fallen comrades. In paying back two debts, how many more would he incur? It was not time for the First to fall and someone had to stop it. But if the Slayer called him, her need was great. He turned to Codex and began to speak, just as the spell hit him. Solomon jerkily turned back to see the ring the black-eyed child had produced from his trousers. Strange felt himself begin to be teleported away, he could not let his fellow Watchmen continue to die.

He unleashed his spell then, uttering the command, "Boy. I know you now and you will reveal yourself to Codex and give a full account of who or what you saw slay both Silvercloaks, you will answer any and all questions he has for you. And when he releases you, and only when he releases you, you will stand and watch the sun rise and be burned finally and fully from this world. This, I command."

And then Solomon Strange disappeared through a door to a city far from Jarlsburg, yet close to everywhere else.

The only thing the dark-eyed boy could do was part the Veil and say, "Aye", then he looked at Codex and said, "I have been commanded to answer any and all of your questions."

A Strange Tale Part 1

The only furniture in the small room was an old bed and a dresser where a chamber pot sat. And both of the victims. They were piled, one atop the other, on the bed, laying face down. Their Silvercloaks piled on the floor, to the right of the bed and on full display so that when the Watch responded they'd see that not only had two of their own had been felled, but that they also had been members of the dreaded Silvercloaks.

Inspector Solomon Strange took in the whole tableau, before walking around the bed. He had known Clancy and Verra since working with them on the malediction of Donal Bluth. Solomon found it impossible to detach himself from the victims. He had drunk and cried with both of them after their collective failure at keeping a four year old girl's father from falling to the darkness.

Clancy was very rigid and by the book, but if he had your back, he would fall dead before letting you down. He had nine children, the oldest only eleven. He made them toys in his spare hours.

Verra was the daughter of the Minister of the South, yet she'd he had hidden that fact well from most of the Watch. She wanted to succeed on her own merits, her dedication made many had call her distant, even cold. Verra knew what they said, but hid her pain using her keen intellect and bravery as a shining beaconing in the night. A hardened veteran and a shy girl of only twenty-seven.

It was a sad day for the Watch and the Silvercloaks, in fact the second of such in a mere nine days. There were only ten Silvercloaks now, with three having fallen in short succession. This was ill tiding for the whole of Jarlsburg. It was ill work for Solomon Strange.

"INSPECTOR. I'M WAITING FOR YOUR OBSERVATIONS." Codex broke Strange's reverie, oblivious to his partner's sorrow.

"Of course, Codex. We have two victims, both Silvercloaks of the Watch. Inquisitor Clancy Drabb and Inquisitor Verra Ap...Frost."

Codex addressed his partner, "INSPECTOR? IT IS RARE FOR YOU TO MISTAKENLY PRESENT THE FACTS OF A SITUATION, ARE YOU FEELING WELL?"

"I am. Would you mind if I explained my mistake in private?" Strange took a moment to move his attention to the Seargent, a warforged he had worked with for nearly a year now. Codex had been at his side ever since the Uberwold Affair, the Watch insisting he would no longer be allow to work without a partner. He firmly believed Codex was chosen for his ability to record everything that Solomon said or did and that the information was reviewed by their superiors. The Watch, indeed. The warforge's very nature had made the last year a weary one for Strange, but he knew Codex took his duties seriously and they had almost begun to find some common ground.

The warforge answered, "OF COURSE INSPECTOR. MY OLFACTORY SENSES HAVE DISCOVERED SOMETHING UNFAMILAR?"

"Yes, I believe it's a hard candy known as a Fizzy Pop." Strange began getting that all too familiar sinking feeling in his gut, had had begun to detect the presence of something else in the room with them. A lifetime of dealing with darkness and death made him keenly aware of what lurked just beyond the Veil.

He looked over his shoulder and called to the lead Watchman standing in the hallway outside the room, "Constable Marple? Would you make sure that everyone out there gives us plenty of space?" Marple stared at the Inspector in utter confusion, Strange spoke again, "I"m saying back everyone up, please." It didn't require Marple's intervention for his warning to be taken seriously.


Solomon moved all around the room, his eyes scanning the faded wallpaper with it's rooster pattern, now barely visible after years clinging to the walls. He studied the ragged hardwood floor and the ancient and broken down dresser with a new chamber pot setting on it. Brand new, in fact. The Inspector looked over at Codex and gestured for the warforge to be ready. Then he inhaled deeply and held his breath, while simultaneously closing his eyes. Strange let down his wards and began to carefully adjust his senses to the Veil that squatted, usually invisible, on top of our own world like a malicious spider on it's prey. Or was it their world?

He opened his eyes and exhaled at the same time. Solomon found his culprit on top of the dresser, where the chamber pot had rested moments before. A young boy or at least a monster was wearing it's shape. The boy sat on the dresser swinging his legs, grinning to himself and sucking on a Fizzy Pop, until the goose pimples began to raise on his bare arms. He was well dressed in short pants and a short sleeve shirt, both all black, but no shoes. The boy's flesh was very pale and his hair was like woven shadows, dark freckles dotted his young face. The lad was beginning to realize that Strange could see him now. The boy's wide eyes were brimming with blackness, far darker than any night Strange had ever endured. Those black eyes began to narrow and stare defiantly at the Inspector's face.

"Ye see mine presence then? What are ye?" Spat the lad.

Strange spoke clearly, daring to stare into the inky depths of the boy's eyes, "I'm a shadespeaker. I'm going to guess that you know something about the corpses in this room."

"Herherheherher....ye mean your a necromancer, ain't dat right? A shadespeaker! Thoust kind are so deliciously afeared. Words dunna hurt ye, teeth and claws and steel hurt, well at least yer kind. And aye, I know something, but I'm only to parley with a bloke called Solo."

The Inspector took a moment to survey the rest of the small bedroom. There was a faintness to Codex now, he was less defined, hazy to his Sight. Solomon was both relieved and sad to see that his fallen compatriot's souls had moved on already. This could make his task much more painful.

Finally, Inspector Solomon Strange answered the boy, "It's been nearly a year since anyone has called me that. Hail young master ill met, you may know me as Solo."

Ironcloaks: Something Wicked

John W. and Chapen from the Ironcloaks game began working on some fiction outside the main game and their work inspired the following bits of foreshadowing for what's heading their way:

   Across from the church, two small figures prowled the shadows. Waiting to see if they would again glimpse their quarry before sunrise.

   “Glop, glop, glop, cruck.”

“What are you doing?” The older watcher screeched, his irritation forcing his voice up high enough to embarrass himself.

“Chwingg...glop, glop” The younger watcher spewed out unabashedly.

“Chewing what?” Asked the older one. 

 The younger of the two bared his prize through clenched teeth.

“You swiped her eyeball?!” The eldest was shocked at seeing the wench's orb held between his companions teeth like a sweet candy. Even now he marveled at how vividly blue their victim's eye had been. The youngest simply shrugged and grinned, “Oh, her memories are SO sweet.”

   The eldest began to chastise his bratty ward's behavior, both for making such a rash decision and because he was angry he hadn't thought of it first, but the wind shifted and when he caught the scent he froze before ranting. As he looked to his left to warn the younger one, he realized they'd both smelled Her by the look of fright on his companion's face.

   Their mission had brought them into the Gibbous Queen's territory and they were trespassing. If she caught them, she would have the right to punish them and there would be no way for the Crescent King to interfere on their behalf. Not that he would, he had refused to ask her permission in the first place and put them both in this jeopardy by asking them to spy on the knight.

   “We have to go!” The oldest hissed frantically, only now realizing that his younger partner had already begun squeezing down the rat hole they'd used to enter this alley, the wench's eyeball long forgotten, having dropped to the ground and rolled next to the alley wall. The older looked longingly at it and then began squirming down the hole, deciding it wasn't worth the risk.

     She read through his poetry again and wept, sobbing, knowing that the young boy who had written his love for the world in these verses was gone forever. She knew her sadness was compounded by the fact that he had been truly lost to her for almost seven years before his actual demise...no not death, murder! He had been murdered and she would find out by whom and she would have her revenge. Yes, an eye for an eye.

     The anger almost hid her sadness, at least for a moment, but then she cursed herself. His downfall had begun when he'd joined that....that....cult. The beautiful young poet, the little brother with eyes full of light, had disappeared fully then. She knew his grief at their mother's death had caused it. In many ways he'd died that day, as well as her. And now she was all that was left, gone were her mother, father, uncle, two sisters and now her third and last brother. All cruelly leaving her here, so she could rot each and every moment her fetid breath escaped her lungs.

     She should have fought that cult's grip on him. She should have pulled him back to her. Shame made her remember that he'd look so much like their beloved mother, that it hurt to see him. To look upon his face and see their own mother. The sobbing overwhelmed her.

    No, grief would not guide her. Vengeance would, first with the cult and then with his murderer. And maybe, just maybe, she would be blessed enough to join them all in the hereafter, sooner rather than later.

     Deep under the earth, he stood in front of the double doors to the inner chamber. Their stone faces etched in the language of the Wind Swords. He read their grave warnings, but they held no fear for him, his destiny was nearly at hand.

     He looked to the last three members of his party. They had started with nine, and this was all that was left. He had worked with most of them for over a decade and each had known and accepted the risks.  They were, after all, professionals. He would honor them all later, but now was not the time for nostalgia. Not here. Their requiem would not be in this dank tomb, but at a wake in the light of the sun.

     He looked at Rutger, the trap expert and motioned with his head to get started. He watched his oldest comrade inhale deeply and make a sign to the pagan god, Krysis. Then Rutger went to to work on the doors. He joined the rest who were all listening tensely for more denizens of this deep, dark hole shuffling toward them in the blackness. His senses took in the dampness of the cavern's walls and ceiling; the foul air that wrapped through the stone and his lungs; the elaborate stone tiling with it's symmetrical pattern that made up the floor. Finally, hen he heard the soft click of the door's mechanism and a small whirring as the ancient doors parted easily.

     He had requested that no one follow him into the the small chamber and none of them challenged it. The fleece was the only thing in the room, not even dust gathered here. It hung on the far wall on a small peg. It's wool as fine as the day it had been shaved.

     He removed it and began to study the words on the skin. The secret had been entrusted to the dwarves, hidden deep within the Jarl's Freehold. Such a remarkably odd choice, but the dwarves had owed the Monks at least that much. To protect the secret, to protect the world.

     He sighed and brought the fleece out to his waiting party. They had the practiced ease of tomb raiders, but he could see they were hopeful this quest was finally over. 

    He shook his head and fished into his sack for the Scroll he'd purchased and handed it to Wessely. “The Scroll will easily teleport us from this hole, read it quickly, please. And then we go to Jarlsburg where we will finish this.”