The characters in this session were:
- Alabastor Quan, a gnome rogue-turned-warlock and failed circus ringmaster; wielder of a cursed dagger and member of the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild.
- Armand Percival Reginald Francois Eustace de la Marche III, a suspiciously pale, apparently human noble and sorcerer, and certainly not a ghoul (how dare such a thing be suggested).
- Caulis, a homunculus warlock liberated from its master; has made a pact with certain Faerie Powers.
- Comet the Unlucky, waspkin ranger, a dreamer and an idealist, longing for the restoration of the Elder Trees and the liberation of his people. Loathes the Harvester’s Guild, parasites and destroyers.
- Garvin Otherwise, a human rogue and burglar of the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild, with a very, very peculiar past and a zoog pet, Lenore.
- An ancient and enigmatic Lengian cleric of the Mother of Spiders, name unknown. She wears bulky ecclesiastical garments covering an uncertain number of limbs and goes by “Sister.”
- Yam, an eccentric gnome illusionist and local graduate student at Umbral University. Yam cares little for money. Yam is curious. Yam is Yam.
XP Awarded: 1500 XP
The party had discovered fell news indeed – that the spectral city of Penumbra, returned out of the mists of the Ethereal Plane to haunt its destroyers, had manifested on the slopes of Mount Shudder, and had been the force behind the evil winter that had wracked Hex earlier in the year, and the attempt to barrage Hex with tidal waves by disrupting the sleep of Genial Jack. Having thwarted these attempts – and the efforts of Penumbra to obtain the Book of Ghosts from the Catacombs beneath the Gilded Graveyard – the party took a breath, seeing to other matters that had gone unattended.
First, the party allocated the funds obtained by the auction of magic items in Jackburg, providing these funds to Cogswright & Associates in Mainspring so that they could begin construction of a vessel in order to sail amidst the Outer Spheres in the Luminiferous Aether.
The gnomish illusionist Yam, meanwhile, was noting the bizarre permutations the Book of Chaos was wreaking upon their apartment. Alabastor – currently a ghost, possessing his own corpse – had learned to summona new familiar, an owl named “Owlistair CrOwley.” An odd name… but there were many odd things in Faerie, from whence the owl appeared, a servant of the mischievous Queen Mab, with whom Alabastor had forged an eldritch contract. Sister passed some time with Parethena Quell in Jackburg, admiring the Coral Fortress. Caulis, having put Hargrym’s soul to rest, enjoyed a few moments’ peace, its tower no longer haunted. Armand, meanwhile, busied himself with more of his strange botanical experiments in his greenhouse, concocting antitoxins and exploring the possibility of vivimancy, much as his counterpart had in the alternate universe he had briefly visited. Garvin was pondering his own mysteries, looking into the suspicious activities of the Horned League of Behemoth Bend, the cambion thieves’ guild of western Hex who, he believed, might have been observing the party’s behaviour…
It is to Comet, however – Comet the Unlucky, magister-cursed to suffer a headache in the presence of Sap from the Elder Trees, Comet the impassioned and stout-hearted – that we turn our attention. Comet, having been harangued out of his home by Crowsbeak enforcers, had settled in the Feypark, sleeping rough among the trees and animals of that place. Due to the park’s vicinity to Faerie, the animals of the park had acquired the ability to speak, and many had their own secret villages and outposts. Comet was busy introducing some of the waspkin from the Thirteenth Queen’s Hive to his animal-friends when a squirrel approached him, hopping along the ground at great speed. He was clad in elaborate livery and wore a plumed helmet and a sword at his waist.
“Comet!” the squirrel declared. “Protector of the woodland. Champion of the under-trodden. Friend of the forest. The Princess Elaine Longtail begs an audience with you, on a matter of greatest urgency!”
“An audience with me?” Comet said. He had been telling the forest-creatures tales of the party’s adventures for some time. “I’m sure I’m happy to meet with her. What seems to be the problem?”
“We cannot speak of it here!” the squirrel declared. “Too many ears may be listening… but please, bring your friends, the great heroes you have spoken of so many times! We have great need of your aid!”
Comet’s waspkin friends at the Hive, at his request, flitted out throughout the city with messages to members of the Variegated Company, gathering them to the Feypark. A short time later they approached the glade where Comet was living.
The squirrel herald led thr group down a winding path and into the depths of the Feypark. Asthey moved closer to the park’s center, the manicured lawns and flower-beds became increasingly overgrown, giving way to rambling woodland. Soft music seemed to play from somewhere distant, and the trees rustled with a too-intelligent susurrus.
Presently, they came to a wild clearing next to an iridescent pool. A massive old tree stump mouldered near the water’s edge; as they drew close, they saw it was encrusted with miniature fortifications, squirrel-sized. Approaching, the party was met with a sudden, bristling mass of squirrels on the battlements, longbows and slings at the ready, tiny arrows and pebbles nocked.
“Lower your arms!” the herald cried. “I come with friends from beyond the park!”
Presently, the gates of the fortress opened, and another squirrel emerged, dressed in a fine gown and bearing a sceptre.
“May I present Her Royal Highness, Princess Elaine Longtail!” the herald proclaimed, while troubadours blew a fanfare from tiny trumpets.
The party politely introduced themselves. Yam was rapt with delight.
“They’re SQUIRRELS!” they said.
“Your Highness,” Comet said. “My companions and I are here to aid you. How can we be of assistance?”
“We came here to help… squirrels?” Armand muttered to Garvin.
“This seems interesting,” the thief replied. “Give them a chance to say what this is about.”
“Word has reached me of your deeds,” the Princess squeaked. “I humbly beseech thee on behalf of my people for your aid in a matter of great urgency.”
“What ails you, your Highness?” Sister asked.
“The Royal Seat of Knothole Manor has been seized by the forces of the salamander-warlord Urdox the Slimy and his wicked fairy allies,” Princess Longtail said. “With foul enchantments and an army of vicious insects, lizards, mercenary sewer-rats, and other vile creatures, Urdox assailed the Manor and took my father, Grand Duke Richard Longtail, hostage and prisoner. I was able to flee with what remains of our forces, but many good beasts were slaughtered in the battle. I believe that the salamander lord is in league with the evil Faerie Lord Arawn, who seeks the destruction and decay of the park and all living things within it. Noble Comet, I beg your assistance in cleansing Knothole Manor of Urdox and his minions. Should you perform this deed, it will be necessary for you to assume a form suitable for entering the Manor – for if Urdox were to see you approach in your current form, my father’s life might well be forfeit. A drink from yonder pool shall render you and any boon companions into the shape of beasts, able to enter Knothole Manor stealthily.
“As reward for this deed, apart from the gratitude of my people, my father will grant you lands and titles commensurate with your valour, for many noble-beasts were slain in the battle, leaving their lands lordless.”
After some discussion, the party agreed to help Princess Longtail to rescue her father and defeat the loathsome Urdox. One by one, the group drank of the magical pool, and one by one they assumed new shapes.
Alabastor became a rat, a bit tattered but dapper all the same; he remained undead, a cadaverous vermin. His new owl familiar hooted in surprise at the sight of his master transformed into such a tasty treat. Armand became a hawk, imperious and regal, sharp of eye and talon; Comet transformed into mole-form. Sister expected to become a spider, but instead found herself transformed into a rabbit; it was Garvin, instead, who assumed a spider’s shape. Yam blinked huge eyes, having transformed into a bush baby, while Caulis transformed into a bristling hedgehog. Eleyin was delighted to be larger than her master, capable now of bearing Caulis into battle.
Shrunk down – their garments and equipment sprinkled with water from the pool to similarly diminish them, temporarily – the party conferred in the squirrel fortress, debating an approach to Knothole Manor via air or underground tunnel. They They settled on a subterannean approach, mole sappers having dug into the roots of the great tree. They reviewed a map of the Manor:
The plan would be to enter via the dungeons amidst the roots of the manor, then work their way upwards through the Barbican and into the upper levels if needed. Sister prepared a portal in the squirrel fortress using the Portal Chalk, so that later they could let the squirrel forces in, and a signal would be given via magical fireworks to coordinate an attack from the air. So agreed, the party traveled through the dank underground passage dug by the mole. Comet himself breached the final layer of dirt with his newly-acquired mole-talons.
The tunnel opened into a dark, dripping cave with walls of earth. Roots protruding from the ceiling sipped from a dank, stagnant puddle that occupied most of the floor, fed by a leaking storm-drain that bisected the cavern. At the far end, a series of carved steps led up to a stout, round door. Scum covered the surface of the stagnant pond.
Comet examined the pond carefully. “There’s something moving down there,” he whispered to his companions. “Be careful in getting across.”
“I have an idea,” Armand said. “Yam, you know Ray of Frost, yes?”
“Mhm. I see where you’re going with this.”
Together, the two mages began freezing the surface of the pond to create an ice-bridge. Yam conjured a pair of skates and began skating down the bridge, humming to themselves.
For a moment, the graceful Yam seemed poised to elegantly skate the length of the ice-bridge – until a spear hurtled from the gloom, knocking the gnome of their feet and into the filthy water! Three toads burst from the water, sentinels dispatched to guard the lower levels, and a fierce fight ensued, spells and spears flying. One toad leaped on its powerful legs and swallowed Sister whole. The beleagured rabbit cast Inflict Wounds and burst out from the toad in a shower of gore and necrotized tissue. Meanwhile, Alabastor’s familiar slew another, and the last was felled with a Cloud of Daggers that reduced it to shreds before it could raise the alarm.
The lower-level guards dispatched, the party caught their breath and healed their wounds, collecting a brass key from one of the toads. The party climbed a flight of stairs, up towards the dungeons of Thornwall Barbican. First they discovered some a chamber filled with crates and chests – stores and supplies for Knothole Manor, as well as the castle’s archives. They pressed on and discovered the dungeon itself, the walls made of roch to prevent burrowing animals from escaping. A dozen cells with bars fashioned from nails or other metal oddments lined the rough-hewn corridor. Within the cells were animals – mice, squirrels, voles, and the odd rabbit. There were perhaps twenty of them all in all.
“Ah! Were you sent by the Princess?” one of the squirrels said.
“Yes!” Comet replied. “We’re here to help retake the fortress. We’ve got a key – hold on.”
The brass key taken from the toads proved efficacious, and the captured castle guards and servants were freed. They would need to be equipped with weapons to be truly useful, but at least the party now had a proper force inside Knothole Manor.
Alabastor and Garvin scouted stealthily ahead, aided by shadows woven about them by Sister. They crept through the winding dungeon halls, roots protruding from the walls and ceiling, and discovered the gaolor: a fat, glossy centipede, a key-ring hooked round one of its many limbs, coiled up and sleeping. Garvin fired a Bolt of Silence to plunge the room into silence, and he and Alabastor assailed it, battering the vermin badly. It initially fought back, snapping its poisonous chelicerae, but eventually put up its numerous arms in surrender. The pair confiscated its keys and stuck it in one of the newly-emptied cells.
“Where is the Grand Duke being held?” Garvin asked, his hand crossbow trained on the creature.
“In the Greenkeep!” the centipede hissed, suitably intimidated. “Up in the highest tower, under guard by Keenfang the serpent.”
The Variegated Company continued their ascent, moving stealthily through its tunnels. They entered a dank chamber with roots curling from the ceiling, blocking advancement to the upper levels of Knothole Manor. A pair of lizards with halberds fashioned from pen-knife blades guarded a portcullis, its crank to one side. Comet, undetected, loosed an arrow, dispatching one lizard instantly as it struck him in the throat and pinned him to the wall. The other, pelted by spells and crossbow bolts, was beaten unconscious and tied up in a corner.
Sister scrawled a portal using the Portal Chalk, opening a door back to the squirrel outpost, telling the troops gathered there to await the order and to prepare weapons to arm the freed prisoners.
The party continued through the dungeons. They found a cellar, wooden kegs and barrels stacked along its walls, along with other receptacles – including several human-sized bottles and similar containers, stolen or scavenged from the world above. Along one wall an entire bottle of champagne was still stoppered. Three drunken lizard guards had tapped a bottle of Sarcophagus Pale Ale from Bier Brewing in Shambleside. In their intoxicated state they were easily dispatched and taken prisoner.
Garvin used his Gloves of Thief’s Sight to investigate a nearby chamber. He discovered a barracks in some disarray – bunks and tables scattered about or tipped over, bloodstains still spattering the floor. Weapons and armour were heaped in piles around the chamber, many made from penknives, nails, and other oddments. Lizards and amphibians filled it, sharpening weapons and coraking to one another. He crept to the next room, discovering three mangy-furred sewer-rats wielding tridents fashioned from dining forks lounging about a table playing cards here, betting using tiny shards of glass and miniscule gold coins. Their leader joined them at the head of the table: a towering rat whose ears were adorned with rings and whose pink eyes glowed in the gloom. Leaning against one wall was her weapon – a kitchen knife, which she uses as a greatsword.
The thief described the towering rat to the captives.
“That’ll be Julia,” a rabbit said. “Julia Bloodwhisker. Head of the Stormrats – mercenaries Urdox hired. They live in the sewers under the Feypark.”
“I have an idea,” Alabastor said. “Are there any other leaders in the Manor? Factions within Urdox’s forces?”
“There’s Tatterwing,” the rabbit said. “A pseudodragon, sent by Arawn. And Mugwort, a sprite in Urdox’s services. And, I suppose, Duskjaw, the monitor lizard, a foreign warrior. He claims to be from the desert of the distant south, but he’s probably just escaped from some magician’s menagerie.”
“That’ll work,” Alabastor said. “You take up a position in the cellars. I’m going to try and lure them down.”
Alabastor entered the chamber; as a rat, he reasoned, he would not be immediately suspicious.
“Brought some rations,” he said, putting several cursed plums supplied by Armand’s greenhouse. “Oh and, ah, Tatterwing wants to see you,” he added, lacing the words with a hint of magical Suggestion.
“Hmph, the bat wants to see me, he can come down himself,” Julia hissed. “What regiment are you with, anyway?”
“Uh… I…” Alabastor stumbled. He pushed out mentally, trying to possess the rat-mercenary, but her mind repelled him; his body had crumpled to the ground, and the rats clustered around it in confusion. Flitting back to his cadaverous form, Alabastor drew a deep breath, sitting up, his eyes ablaze, his Fey Presence giving him a look of macabre gravitas. “I am a servant of the Faerie King of Death, Arawn!” he proclaimed. “Flee before me!”
“Ugh,” Julia said. “One of Mugwort’s stupid pranks. That foolish fairy will rue the day… I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.” He stomped off upwards, heading for Mugwort.
Alabastor, meanwhile, glanced slyly at the remaining guards. “Hey,” he said. “Now that your boss is gone, you boys fancy a drink? We broached a cask down in the cellar.”
The rat-mercenaries looked from one to the other, waiting for Julia’s footsteps to recede, then followed Alabastor into the cellar…
…where the party and their animal soldiers awaited, the champagne bottle aimed at the door. With a deafening pop the cork flew across the cellar, breaking the neck of the first of the Stormrats!
The rest of the mercenaries were swiftly dispatched by the assembled forces. While the forces loyal to the Princess and Grand Duke Richard Longtail got into position to fully take the Barbican, the Variegated Company ascended to Heartwood Hall.
The party entered a vast hall near the heart of the tree, illuminated by occasional window and phosphorescent fungi, stretching upward. At its centre, the core of the tree – the heartwood – was still intact. Stairs wound up the ornately carved wooden walls, leading to workshops along the sides of the hall, including a smithy and carpenter’s shop. The stair continued to climb up to a hole in the ceiling, leading to the Squirrel Cotts above. Marring the heartwood itself was a dark stain, spreading slowly from a wound in its side.
Caulis investigated the stain. It appeared to be fungal rot, seeping into the wood, tendrils of disease winding up the tree.
“I don’t like this…” Caulis said.
“Let me see what I can do,” Sister said, ministering to the tree carefully. She cast a healing spell, and some of the stain retreated, restoring some of the tree’s health.
Above them, flitting to and fro through Heartwood Hall were several mosquitoes, some bearing spears or crossbows – apparently drawn by the sound of the spell being cast. The party stealthily made their way into a nearby carpenter’s workshop off the main hall to avoid detection. Here they found a mess of tools and loose wood, thoroughly ransacked.
“Hmm,” Garvin said, eyeing the far wall. “There’s something odd about this shelf…” With a spidery limb, he pushed the shelf inwards, and it revolved – a secret door, leading to a stairway that wound up through the tree! The party hastened upwards, managing to avoid the mosquito guards of Heartwood Hall and the forces stationed in the Squirrrel Cotts, as the stair brought them all the way up to the Rotten Tower.
The passage opened into a small chamber behind a rotten arras. This the party dilsodged, finding themselves within a large chamber carved into the interior of the tree, which looked to have once been a resplendent hall of tapestries depicting the history of Knothole Manor and its inhabitants – the forging of treaties with local beasts, the hosting of Seelie fairies in the great hall, battles with rats from the sewers. One scene portrayed the Manor’s squirrel warriors defeating a human looking for a cheap meal, trussing him up with vines. However, fungal infestation had destroyed these beautiful hand-woven images, leaving them mottled and twisted, threads fraying and discoloured. Gigantic pink puffballs of mould protruded in bulbous clusters from the walls and ceiling, while fat red toadstools emerged from the floor.
Armand – fascinated as always by all things botanical – took a sample from one of the puffballs. Despite his care, the sorcerer caused the puffball to explode in a cloud of poisonous spores, causing the party to rapidly retreat. Several of the fungal puffballs were trembling strangely, as if they too would soon explode.
They entered a domed room which might once have been a ballroom or a dining chamber; teeming orange growths now utterly consumed it, eating away at the floor and walls. The ceiling and upper walls were covered in mucilaginous clusters of glossy white eggs. The bones of squirrels, mice, and other animals carpeted the floor of the room. Comet, in mole form, burrowed into the wall of the room, hoping to excavate a clearer path. The party followed, and the improvised passage brought them to an ornate mechanical elevator extending from this section of Knothole Manor upwards. However, vines and fungal growths had clotted the machinery, and the elevator was stuck in the shaft.
Yam, thinking quickly, rubbed some Salve of Sentience into the vines, awakening them to life.
“Hey, vines,” Yam said. “Uh, you mind moving out of the way?”
“Begone intruders!” The rustling, newly-sentient vines hissed. “Befoul Knothole Manor no more.”
“We’re in the service of Princess Longtail,” Yam said with great solemnity. “Please, we must ascend, if we are to cleanse the Manor of evil.”
The vines rustled to themselves, then, seemingly convinced, began to withdraw, allowing the elevator free acess to the upper levels. The party packed themselves inside and began their ascent.
The elevator came to a halt and the party stepped out from it and into an ancient-looknig structured. Moss had infiltrated the resplendent chapel of Knothole Manor – a shrine dedicated to the tree itself, whose image was carved our of the far wall. Small niches honoured other figures important to the Manor’s inhabitants, such as Titania, the Faerie Queen, and Oberon, her sometimes-husband and Lord of the Hunt; the Green Man, a nature god popular among the woodwoses in the Tangle, was here reproduced as a Green Mouse, fur transformed into moss and leaves. The pews here were totally overgrown with lichen.
Vines along the walls of the chapel had born succulent-looking berries of two types: orange and purple. Of these, Armand took careful samples.
The party set about exploring the other chamber of the Moss-Chapel. They soon discovered a chamber containing an ornate reliquary , overgrown with vines and lichen that seemed to spill out from the carved wood of the box. Several rotting corpses were snared in the vines – two sewer-rats and a lizard. Visible on the lizard’s body was a ring of keys. Carved on the wall was what looked like a series of musical notes. After several touch-and-go attempts, Garvin obtained the keys – a key with an acorn bow, another with a leaf bow, and a third with a mushroom bow – avoiding the grasping stranglevines that tried to snatch him.
Caulis, attempting an unusual tactic, distracting the stranglevines by disguising itself as a sensuous dryad, dancing lasciviously to attract the vines’ attention. The vines twitched, moving towards the alluring illusion, allowing Alabastor to swiftly open the box, plucking a simple wooden flute from within.
“Aha!” Caulis said, inspecting the instrument. “A Flute of the Forest – and this must be one of the tunes for it.” The homunculus gestured to the notes on the wall. “Play them, let’s see what they do!”
Alabastor played a brief tune, discovering that the Flute allowed him to Speak with Plants – though the vines were currently whispering “sweet nothings” to the illusion, to his mixed amusement and disgust.
The party also discovered a belfry with ornate stained glass windows depicting what looked like an army of trees, unrooting themselves from the ground and marching, animals held within their branches as they war with an enemy army of evil fairies. Hanging from the ceiling of the belfry was an ornate bell of copper hue, a crack running down it. A vine served as a bell-rope.
“I’ve heard of these,” Comet said. “A Verdurous Bell. They awaken the trees… best not to ring it save as a last resort.”
Searching the belfry, Alabastor turned up a few more notes for the Flute of the Forest – a different song.
The Company pressed on, discovering a guard-chamber with a stair leading up into the Greenkeep, sealed behind a portcullis. The gate guard was a towering monitor lizard – clearly not native to Hex – and his scorpion pet, infested with some sort of crimson fungus sprouting from its arachnid head. Theysurmised this was the brutish Duskjaw, mentioned by some of the prisoners.
Alabastor’s ghost discarded his body temporarily and possessed the scorpion, striking at Duskjaw. Yam, Armand, and Sister struck with spells, while Garvin and Comet sniped from the back. Duskjaw managed to strike several vicious blows, one sending Comet flying, but was overwhelmed before he could raise the alarm. The massive creature toppled and fell to the floor with a thud; they confiscated the Crown Key it bore. The party proceeded to the Greenkeep, stealthily creeping in shadows conjured by Sister’s shadowy spiders to avoid detection from Keenfang the serpent.
Two lizard guards with halberds were positioned at the door of the tallest tower. Alabastor – back in his rat-shape – distracted these by telling them that wine had been opened back in the guard barracks, and that he would cover for them. The deception accomplished, the remaining party members crept from the foliage and opened the door with the Crown Key, ascending a flight of spiral steps to the tower-top.
Within a cell at the very top of the tower, a bedraggled, aging squirrel with grey fur and an august mien sat on the edge of a small cot, clad in tattered garments unbefitting his noble bearing. This was obviously none other than Duke Richard Longtail himself, kept as a hostage.
“Your Grace,” Sister said with a bow. “Your daughter sent us to rescue you. Her forces await our signal to retake Knothole Manor.”
The squirrel duke stirred from his meditation, fire in his eyes. “Then by all means, give it! We shall fight the scaly bastards off yet!”
Yam proceeded to ignite magical fireworks from the tower-top, while Sister, sketching a chalk portal, gave the signal to attack.
Fierce battle was joined, the freed prisoners in Thornwall Barbican battling with the Stormrats and other mercenaries below, while a crack force of squirrel commandos poured into the Greenkeep through the portal, supported by robin cavalry. The tree of Knothole Manor shook as swords and spears struck shields. The squeaks and croaks of battle echoed through its hollow halls, the blood of toads, lizards, rats, squirrels, voles, and rabbits mingling. Insects swarmed, directed by the sinister Mugwort, though when the battle was finished, the strange fairy creature was nowhere to be found. Vines – directed by Alabastor’s Flute – strangled many foes in the Moss-Chapel.
Eventually, the battle brought the Company and a ragtag band of animal warriors to the centre of the Greenkeep. The remains of the Grand Hall dripped with slime, the tapestries on the walls sloughing into putridity, stagnant water pooling on the floor. Presiding over this decay was a massive crimson salamander, clad in rusted plate armour that looked like it might have been made for a particularly elaborate Hexian puppet. He was accompanied by two bodyguards: a lean, albino rabbit with pink eyes and a massive slingshot, and a malignant, hulking fey – though less than two feet in height, at this scale the insect-winged brute was a towering presence. A massive map of the Feypark, marked with stones to indicate armies, occupied the middle of the Grand Hal, while a force of lizards and sewer-rats bristled with weapons, the last of Urdox’s troops.
“FOR THE FOREST!” Comet cried, swinging his hammer, Chainbreaker and cracking skulls, his dancing rapier skewering troops to either side.
“Arawn take you!” the salamander cursed, drawing a small magical dagger – at this scale, the size of a gigantic claymore – and wading into battle, immediately decapitating a squirrel warrior rushing towards him.
Yam filled the mind of the hare with visions of torment, and the creature quite literally “bounced” – dropping its weapon and fleeing.
Sister and Alabastor waded in with spells. Conjured spiders burst from swelling buboes everywhere the spider-cleric touched. Blasts of eldritch force tore enemies apart, blood spilling across the map of the Feypark. Armand seared and electrocuted, reducing Stormrats to ash.
Garvin, lurking in the shadows, fired a poisoned bolt, wounding Urdox badly under the arm.
Caulis, seeing the sprite attacking Yam, conjured illusory vines; the sprite believed itself entangled and thrashed, unable to escape the grasp of the tendrils in his mind.
Comet, meanwhile, closed in for the kill. He hammered at Urdox repeatedly, Chainbreaker uttering revolutionary slogans, Comet cursing the salamander tyrant. Urdox landed a terrible blow, nearly severing one of the ranger’s limbs. Another caught him in the torso, drawing blood. Undeterred, Comet darted round the side of the towering salamander, while Madame Sanguinaire, his dancing sword liberated from the armoury of Delirium Castle, fenced with Urdox, keeping him occupied long enough for Comet to launch himself at full speed, Chainbreaker swinging. With a mighty blow, the hammer shattered the knee of the salamander, bringing him to his knees. A second block cracked his skull, dashing his brains across the floor.
When the dust cleared, Urdox and his forces were dead, fled, or vanquished. As Grand Duke Longtail’s forces secured Knothole Manor once again, Caulis studied the map with some consternation. It seemed to show other trees in other parts of the Feypark, marked with a mysterious black mark – the sigil of Arawn.
“I fear this may not be the only tree assailed by Arawn,” Caulis muttered.
“Arawn?” Comet said.
“An Unseelie King. One of the four rulers of Faerie, along with Mab, Oberon, and Titania.”
“Hmm. A fight for another day, perhaps.”
In the meantime, however, rewards were in order. The Grand Duke had ordained that, given that several prominent nobles had been slain in the battles with Urdox, the party would be granted their vacant titles.
Yam was made Earl of the Pellucid Gazebo, a delicate structure made of glass deep in the Feypark, watched over by robins and other birds sworn to the Grand Duke.
Armand was made Earl of the Orchidarium, a large orchid garden nearby, tended by many voles.
Alabastor was made Baron of the Rosepatch, a rose garden home to many mice and shrews.
Sister was made Baroness of of the Viridian Maze, a hedge maze not far from Knothole Manor, home to numerous rabbits and moles.
Garvin was made Baron of Lilypad Isle, a tiny island in a pond nearby, with frog villages about its periphery.
Caulis was given a special title – Archbishop of the Manor, sworn to keep the realm protected from spiritual forces of darkness and decay.
Finally, Comet, hero of the day, would be made the Marquis of Westbridge: a small footbridge over a stream in the park to the west, encrusted with the structures of the squirrel-kingdom.
These rewards bestowed, their bellies full from the victory banquet, the Variegated Company departed the now-happy halls of Knothole Manor and returned to their previous forms and sizes, perhaps with a certain wistfulness. This chivalric romance in the Feypark was over. Penumbra, remnant of a dead empire, still menaced the spires of Hex.
The Company began walking through the forest paths, back into the city.
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They announced themselves at the gates of the Council to the gigantic golems that stood guard, insisting that their business was both pressing and secret. After a bit of persuasion – assisted by Alabastor’s silver tongue – the guards relented, and the group entered the Hexad Council chamber, interrupting what seemed an intense argument over repairs to the docklands following the small tidal waves caused by Genial Jack’s nightmares.
“If a conspiracy is afoot, it may well be that some foreign power is behind it. Hex has many enemies. It may be wise to dispatch the Warders to begin seeking them out. Perhaps a Committee for Hexian Security should be formed, to defend us against these insidious forces.”
“I must admit to having my doubts as to your capabilities. But it seems as if disaster has been neatly averted, with the blessing of the Navigators. This Council’s trust in you was not misplaced. I am disturbed, however, by your description of this Lengian, a worshipper of Icelus. Hex values freedom of belief, but the powers of this order openly violate another freedom – freedom from psychic violation. The mind is sacrosanct.”
“I agree with my colleagues that these reports are disturbing, and I share their concern for the city’s well-being. However, I am concerned that if we involve the Warders directly in further investigations, the conspirators may be alerted and slip free before we can find them. I suggest we consult with the Institute of Omens, and the Soothsayers of Saint Monstrum’s Cathedral. They may be able to use divination to produce some clue as to the identity of the conspirators. In the meantime, I suggest we entrust the Variegated Company with further inquiries, and grant them acting Special Investigator status, reporting strictly to this Council.”
Barnabas – plump, intelligent, appraising – fidgeted in his seat.
“The Night Queen has always seen Genial Jack as an equal,” Parthenia put in. “Unless her thinking has altered in some fundamental way, I cannot imagine her wishing him ill.”
“Yes, this ritual!” Valentina said, having been silent the whole meeting. “Where did you find it?”
“I’ll send Eleyin to take a closer look,” Caulis said, sending the psuedodragon familiar to spy on the strange pair. One was a short, fat figure, in a black frock coat with a huge slouch hat shadowing their features, the other, tall and thin, a grey gown swathing her skeletal frame. The little figure walked with a walking stick topped by a cat’s skull. The homunculus reported back what it had seen through the familiar’s eyes.
“Why, Monsieur Gobble, we catch them in a trap,” Slake declared. Her grin began to widen, and suddenly proboscii juddered from her palms like obscene knives, a pair of mosquito wings sprouting from her back. Monsieur Gobble doffed his cap, revealing a grotesque second mouth gaping at the top of his skull, an obscene tongue tasting the air, scenting for prey…
Battle was joined, vicious and swift. Spells flew, Miri firing with two wands, Caulis and Alabastor slinging blasts of puissance, the homunculus entangling the newly spawned imps with magical vines, the gnome distracting Gobble with illusions. Comet wove through the carnage, blood spattering his magical hammer, while Armand and Sister cast from the sidelines and Garvin, flitting magically to a high balcony, continued to snipe with his crossbow.
“Special Investigators.” Illustration by 
Comet tried his hand at several cage-fights, winning several and surprising the crowd greatly; Sister won a round of Leper’s Dice, coming away with an extra pincered limb, won from a karkinoi gambler. The group then turned to the exciting shark-races, held in tubes of sea-water winding through the Coils. They placed bets on sharks like Gnasher, Beauty Queen, Mister Smush, Blue Lightning, Bloodlord, and Her Eminence – as well as a mysterious shark, “Carl,” entered by Yam, in fact a subtle illusion the mischievous gnome wizard was conjuring. Bets made, a tiny automated submersible was placed in the tube, leaking blood; the sharks, gnashing their teeth, were off. Yam’s illusory shark won the race handily, earning the gnome an impressive number of dubloons, Jackburg’s currency. The race-attendants began inspecting this mysterious new shark, but the party was saved by a sudden tremor, the “ground shaking,” glasses shattering, cards and chips flying from tables. It was as if all of Jack were quaking, an a monstrous groan was audible, the whale himself crying out in the night.
his twisted left arm, and his slug-like lower body, mutations caused by the alchemical poisons Hex introduced to the water of that city during one of its many wars – sold a variety of salves and oils, including medicinal tinctures; Yam purchased some “salve of sentience,” which animated any object it was rubbed upon, like furniture polish.
Miri, the Sage, recognized the memory instantly – the Great Fire of Inner Jackburg, a conflagration caused by the release of a clutch of wyrmlings, accidentally hatched in the marketplace. The wyrmlings were eventually charmed by a group of visiting enchanters from Tetractys, but the death toll was in the hundreds. She quickly explained this to the party, even as swooping shapes flitted through the fire and smoke – the wyrmlings, recreated in Jack’s dream, spreading fire everywhere.
The party leapt into action, Sister flapping her wings and taking to the air in search of the assassin firing at the enchanters. The wyrmlings hurled fire, scorching Miri, who counterattacked with magic missiles. Yam, as the Demiurge, manifested a chain around one of the wyrmlings as it swept by, andmanaged to subdue it; Caulis cast a spell to charm one of the beasts, while Alabastor used a phantasmal force to subdue another.
They touched down on Chelicerae street and hurried to door 13; Alabastor picked the lock, then ducked a poisoned crossbow-bolt rigged to hit whoever opened the door.