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