Letter Six

Dear Sneffles,

The ghosts are getting quite bold as the Blood Veil swells their rank. My apartment has become something of a way station as they prepare to transit to the afterlife. Here’s a picture of one who calls himself Stone Head. He has a hard time admitting he is gone. I finally ensorcelled a closet with a spell PJ taught me and got a little shut eye.

The next morning I met the boys at Bailor’s for eggs poached in beer, flapjacks, and biscuits & gravy. Surprisingly, Burns was absent. I know he’s been hitting the herbal Viagra™ pretty hard lately so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

Just then Grau showed up trailing a girl called Deyanira Mirukova, who tearfully asked our help finding her brother, one of those music academy types. You know I’m a sucker for a pretty girl. Finarfin was drooling all over her but she seemed too upset to notice. Her brother, Ruan, earns a little pin money playing a lute at social events and was recently hired to play at a south side “apocalypso” (Carowyn’s, maybe you know him?) three days before and had not returned. Hearing rumors she investigated herself but the place was as silent as a tomb and locked. Frightened she’d sought out Grau and fortunately he was sober/drunk enough to bring her to us. Being a student, she had no money, but we took the job anyway, me thinking that at the very least we should be able to loot the joint. I believe the royal banker calls this tactic “the Internet economy.”

It was a beautiful house on the South Shore. I tried the lock but it had magically-enhanced tumblers, so I failed my very first shot at subbing for Burns. We crept around back in the unearthly silence. There was a stink in the air and it wasn’t coming from the stables. During my second chance to substitute for Burns I fell on my ass. I was so embarrassed I put on my new boots of striding and jumped the hell up there.

Inside it stunk worse than the sewer I wallowed in with the boys yesterday. Bodies were strewn everywhere—it was a rich, young crowd—and for the first time I feared that you might be among them.

About this time we noticed zombies admiring the expensive looking art on the walls. I didn’t know that zombies appreciated the finer things—at least until they got the smell of us. Then it was the same old story, ‘Eat brains!’ We set to knock them off but Finarfin somehow misfired, covering himself in scalding acid. He shrieked like a whipped stepchild, and I don’t blame him. For myself I stayed well back and picked at them with my bow. They were stubborn suckers but eventually we beat them down.

Zombies love The Death of Seneca by Jacques Louis David

For the next hour we wandered that disgusting place, dispatching sad zombies and patching up Finarfin every time one of his spells misfired. I’ve never seen such a run of bad luck. I tried to buck him up but he thought I was being condescending and I guess I was but the little snot deserves his comeuppance. It was just too bad Burns wasn’t there to see it.

The most macabre scene was one of several zombie couples dancing their death dance together. It made me feel sad, especially because of my fear for you. Most of the female corpses I could tell right away were not your graceful and shapely self but one especially gave me a fright, as she was wearing a dress much like you would wear and the muscles along her back were well refined like yours. PJ turned her over and was immediately attacked by the Blood Veil, but I barely noticed his frantic effort to wave his wand of cure disease due to my relief that the face of that poor damaged lass was not your own.

The disease has somehow become much deadlier, taking these people in the midst of their revels. We even found a few gathered around ye olde glory hole. They’d died without time to even cover their shame.

Inside a bedchamber we found the zombie mistress of the house being attended by her zombie servant. It broke my heart to watch them performing her daily ablutions. It’s the rituals of life that make us human.

We killed them too.

Fortunately, we hit pay dirt there, finding jewelry worth a queen’s ransom. I’m including a small blue chalcedony—the color of your eyes—that I was able to slip away when no one was looking.

We continued looking for the girl’s brother, but found nothing. That’s when we heard laughter and discovered an elf maiden tormenting a square of zombies. She was as nutty as Aunt Edna but fortunately Finarfin had regained his composure and used his wand of charm person to bend her will to his, the way Fetters used to do with the young virgins he recruited.

Her name is Jolistina Susperio and she admitted that she and that cocksucker Rolf had brewed up the Blood Veil for our unholy ruler, the Queen! You know, I never did  begrudge her offing the King—that’s politics. This is mass murder.

Susperio tried to get away but we hogtied her to take back to Kroft and emptied her purse. I got another upgrade to my armor but I admit that I have no idea how she managed to pack that thing into her flimsy little handbag.

Finally we found a little room where heir Carowyn was hiding, lucky man. We coerced 1000g out of the cheapskate but I regret we didn’t leave him in there cowering while we looted the joint. Then again, Pappy Labas used to say, “Only a greedy thief gets caught.”

We never did find Ruan. I hope he got away.

Gotta run,
Your ’Dobles



Dear Cordobles,
Your adventures with your companions fill me with much amusement, especially your description of the vane Halfling—or hornyling, as you call him, but I fear for you nonetheless. You never did have much sense, which I regret to say is one of the reasons I love you.

I was indeed invited to the tragic party whose aftermath you witnessed but I don't go out much these days. Some think the gods sent the Blood Veil to cleanse our city and, in this case at least, I would I agree.

Have pity on my feelings and take care of yourself,
Love Sneffles

Finarfin's Eighth Report