Letter Four

Dear Sneffles,
I was just starting to think of Finarfin as my little buddy when he turned on me like a white-haired lair worm. He was mad because I spilled the beans about the 1000g we embezzled that I told you about last time. He was mostly p-oed that I’d managed to blame him even though it was my idea, hissing that the next time I fucked up he’d spit acid in my face. I think he means it.

Once we left the necromancer’s joint we took the barbarian’s pieces back to Kroft who patted us on the head and laid another 1000g on us. The boys decided to get lunch but quite honestly I couldn’t eat much with the stink of Rolf’s lair still in my nose.

We then tried to figure out what to do with the loot, some of which was magic. That’s when the spooky stuff started happening. Phantom harrow cards popped out in front of the items explaining their usage. Convenient, I know. They belonged to a gypsy called Zollara who was dead the last time anybody saw her. Yet here she was, reaming Finarfin for not carrying her deck. She left us each three cards to remember her by when we needed a little special help.

We then went off to pawn some of our loot. I gambled with Burns over a ring of protection and predictably lost. Finarfin suggested that Burns had cheated me on the roll but Ma always taught me that it’s my own fault whenever I get fooled so if he did—and I’m not convinced of that—more power to him. We sold the robe of bones, which was nothing like the robe of sex-bones you used to have. (Whatever happened to that smelly old thing anyway? The last I remember seeing it, it was chasing a Barbarian down Sand Street.) Ours was necromancer shit anyway and I was glad to be rid of it.

We went to Crazy Bombur’s to sell the rest of the stuff and he must have been drunk because he gave us a hell of a deal. All that loot was burning a hole in my pocket so I bought some better armor that Bardar recommended and got myself a good suit of clothes as well—original Banjomi! Wide cuffs, gold links, and creased crotch-flap. Burns says wearing good threads is best for stealing but I’ve always liked carrying a bit of flash for its own sake, as you know. By then I was too poor to buy the Starknife I wanted but I’m sure with this crew we’ll be rolling in dough.

I was worried about old Rolf coming after us for busting up his joint and killing his pets so we went back into the boneyards to the Temple of Pharasma to find out more about him but what little they said didn’t make him sound very ambitious so we forgot about it and split up for a few days. You would have been proud of me. Instead of joining Finarfin and his playmates for a zong-fueled fuckathon I decided to take Master Orisini up on his offer for training. Burns caught my enthusiasm and spent a couple days there himself. They mostly beat me up but by the end I felt like I was starting to get the hang of two-handed fighting. Now I wish I owned a rapier, like Burns. He can slice a wart off a sand flea’s ass with the thing. Fun-time ended when that fucking plague ship showed up near Oldtown. But we didn’t know that until later.

I met the boys the next day. Burns said the bulls had rumbled an empty ship drifting in from parts unknown—always a good sign, right? Those crazy bastards decided we should investigate the matter ourselves! I was floored but couldn’t lose face and tagged along. Besides, they’ve led me right so far. I also had to admire them. As Uncle Jack always says, “You can’t make hay while sitting on your ass.” Well, maybe you can.

Finarfin put a lot of thought into it and got elixirs of breathing and swimming before we headed down to the shoreline where we liberated a boat and rowed Burns and Finarfin out to the wreck. They quickly sank out of sight although we could see their sunrods glowing until they actually entered the wreckage. Finarfin came back first with a chest full of silver. I’ve gotten so used to gold that I wasn’t much impressed—it came to a little less than what you're worth per minute.

I had a bad feeling about the loot and let Bardar carry it to the Bank of the Aladarian Monastery. Remember that Aladar cleric who embezzled all that money to keep you in furs? He was a funny guy. I was sorry when they nabbed him and chain-whipped him to death. They say his last words were, “It was worth it.” Desna knows I pray they'll be mine.

Finarfin (whom I discovered is a complete stoner) knocked back a flagon of happy juice and went off into the corner to commune with the booty. Even that pitiless bastard was shaken by what it showed him—yes, he foresaw the plague coming. He was running around like he’d taken a hot poker up the ass but I admit I didn’t take him very seriously, although I did drop you a note to keep an eye out for empty mansions to loot.

We dumped the silver, whose dangerous emanations the plague seems to be coming from, and bought the antidote before moving on. All the good times had busted me flat so Burns loaned me the dough. He charged me no interest and rounded it off in my favor when I paid him back! I guess I'll find out what he wants later.

Then we trudged back to Kroft’s. Finarfin was still in a snit over his apocalyptic vision and insisted on finding him a Healer’s Mask. I’m still not sure why he felt it was important. So we parted ways and he headed to the Heights.

Soon after we ran into old Grau, who was beside himself with worry over his little niece Brianna. She’s the raven-haired sweetheart who runs errands for us when we’re too drunk or lazy to do it ourselves. It was a pitiful sight. She had the plague and was slipping away fast so PJ immediately offered his share of the healing potion. The results were miraculous and she was soon able to sip a little water and tell us haltingly and with great difficulty about the kids in the neighborhood finding silver coins by the river’s edge. We warned them of the danger.

We ran over to Kroft's like good citizens and told her, too. That's where Vencarlo Orisini's messenger caught up and invited us to meet the lucky girl Uncle Jack had liberated the week before from the queen's executioner. He wanted us to spirit her out of town in the morning. I went home and slept so soundly that even the ghosts didn’t bother me although I noticed there were more of them around when I awoke than there had been the night before. The reason for that was plain when I saw the dead piled on every streetcorner. WTF? I thought.

We met outside Bailor’s Retreat. Finarfin was late and showed up smelling like a manure pile but I knew better than to ask him why. It was an easy job and I got to see a little country before we returned to grim reality. Still, it netted us as much as scraping up what was left of the barbarian had. Then we got word that Kroft needed us again. This is getting to be too much like work.

Kroft asked us to fetch one of the priests of Abadar so we tricked our way into the bank, which was surrounded by a frightened mob, and brought him back to the Citadel where a flock of Chelaxian healers were waiting to descend on the city like big black crows. PJ got his nose out of joint over their real interests but for now he's got nothing.

Now Kroft wants us to investigate a rumor that bodies are being dumped at Racker’s Alley—like that’s news! I’m itching to start looting but have to stick with my buds for a spell longer.

Stay safe,
Cordobles

PS
I got your note right before sending this one and think you’re right, that was Finarfin you saw in your doctor’s waiting room. I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to introduce yourself before he threw his hizzy fit and got tossed out the door. I told you about his temper. I just hope he doesn’t go back and kill that gal. Maybe I’ll distract him with a nickel poke of the real mezz.

All love.

Finarfin's Sixth Report

Letter Three

Dear Sneffles,
One thing is for certain, if I live to see the end of this I'm going to have a hell of a story to tell our grandkids someday.

After we captured Trinia Sabor we took her over to Bardar's pad nearby—very bourgeois, paladins say they’re above it all but they like their little comforts. The boys talked about bending her over a chair and fucking her senseless but I think it was just to scare her a little and get her talking. Unfortunately she knew nothing, and when it was announced on the street that the assassin had been apprehended and was to be executed we knew for sure it was a set up. I'm definitely not saying it was the Queen’s idea, which would be treason, but, you know, it reminds me of that time that elf-lord was bumped off by his brother and all those clans kind of exterminated each other as a result. That kind of thing.

We decided to hold onto her while we figured out what to do. Finarfin and I went over to palaver with Kroft. We found her with a Shoanti elder called Thousand Bones. (He had that scent male barbarians have that you say is so sexy and I find so nauseating.) I wanted to ask him if he knew Redcullin but it didn't seem like the right time. Anyway, he had real troubles. His grandson was croaked by a mob in the recent unrest and then the body was hauled off by a necromancer. You can imagine how thrilled I was when Kroft volunteered our services to help retrieve what was left for the old fucker, who was subtle as all hell about what would happen if we failed. Like I care if they burn the whole goddamned city down . . . except for your part, of course.

Once he was gone Finarfin immediately confessed to Kroft—like a little boy caught with his hand in the zong stash—what we'd really done with Sabor. She was pretty amused and not at all surprised. So she’s never believed the Queen, or us for that matter. She gave us the thousand anyway—it must be someone else's money—and sent us off to retrieve the barbarian, or what's left of him. I hoped they hadn’t gnawed on his face. I hate that.

Burns caught us out trying to embezzle the money from Kroft. The guy is scary-sharp about shit like that. Fortunately, he was so proud of himself for catching us that he forgot to take it personal. Being a fellow rogue he probably would have been disappointed if I hadn’t tried.

PJ didn’t look too surprised, either. As clerics go he's an aesthete, meaning he washes both hands after taking a dump. He doesn’t wear a lot of extraneous geegaws—skulls, tokens, and shit like that—that some of them do. His deity, Irori, is the one who looks like he's sucking on a lemon.

We immediately took Sabor over to the East Side and dropped her with some gypsy pals of Bardar's who took her out of the city. I got a little soft-hearted and gave some of her stuff back, figuring she shouldn’t lose everything. She was touchingly grateful and didn’t even ask why I had them in the first place. Then we headed over to Finarfin's favorite dive for some ale. He insisted the women there were the most beautiful in all Varisia and pushed some twins at me and Burns "for a quick four-way" but we both used our stealth skills to get out of there. They were nice enough girls for common streetwalkers, I suppose, although one didn't have all her teeth and the other looked like dried cowhide. Besides, I don't think they are really twins. I wasn't packing my ultrathins with me, either, and didn’t want to borrow Finarfin's because I figured they were probably too small to fit.

We finally headed over for the execution where Kroft had put us on the guest list so we got real good seats. I love the carnival atmosphere at these events. Outside I saw Toby and his master juggling andirons and gave them a hunk of silver. I bought caramel corn and taffy from Blind Sallie, who gave me a wink. We came in at the climax of Stink-in-the-pink Floyd's warm-up set of stretched-lute music. I saw you there, too, sitting across the way with the gentry near the Queen. The old ladies are still scornful I see, but their sons are attentive. I marvel how you've done it, ultra-foxy in your green Silvius gown. Believe me, that old queen was a half-orc on a half-shell compared to you.

You were sitting in the best place to see what happened next. The gal they were displaying looked just like Sabor but I just knew (well, I guess I knew) something was fishy. Just as old Kapt. Konklin was raising his axe, sharp Deathslinger, to finish her off Uncle Jack melodramatically appeared—he calls it the showstopper—and made his little spiel for truth, justice, and the Korvosan way. Like you couldn't see that coming, right? "Never a wrong that can't be righted!" I can remember him saying while dandling us kids on his knee, gods love him. I'm sure he blames society for the way we turned out. Well, so do I.

So the old do-gooder broke the spell and we all saw the real face of the poor girl they were about to execute. Then that idiot Finarfin hit Jack in the balls with a rock. I asked him "What the fuck?" and he said he was just bored and trying to liven things up. The Queen turned four shades of red. running off in a snit while her guard cleaned house. (Who designed their uniforms anyway? I've seen better fashion at a barbarian barbecue.) That was enough excitement for one day, so we retreated, some of my mates to recharge and me for my tincture.

Entrance to the necromancer's lair.

Bright and early the next morning we headed over to the Dead Warrens to find the mausoleum which, of course, was buried deep in the wormy, damp earth. I had the willies big time but forced myself to follow my pals down into that infernal realm and wished I’d worn different shoes. It stunk like week-old garbage and my breakfast started crawling up my gullet. We immediately began bumping into minions of the necromancer, who’s called Rolf, by the way.

Peg the Leg once told me that fucking a necromancer was like rutting with an icicle, only it never melts. Sounds refreshing on a hot day but I don’t think I could stand the smell. As you say, at times I’m much too delicate.

Anyway, the place was lit with some spooky blue goo, there was blood and guts everywhere and huge bonepits. Then the skeletons emerged and all hell broke loose. Thank Desna for Majenko who really earned his keep, taking the point and never complaining. Burns put on a fighting clinic, bouncing around like an acrobat at the carnival and whupping an ogre. Even Finarfin got in on the act. I guess he feels more confident fighting someone his own size and temperament for a change. I didn’t fare too badly, either, but got whacked a couple of times.

We found the barbarian's body chopped in about 16 pieces. I think we got enough for the funeral but they’re going to have to bury him in a bucket. We managed to get some loot along the way, too, and free some hostages, but Rolf was nowhere to be found, which means he'll probably come looking for us someday. I admit we may have quit work early because everyone just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I hope to god I never fall into the hands of necromancers.

Think of me while you’re loving him,
Yrs 4evr,
Cordobles

Finarfin's Fifth Report