Mists over the Musarde, Chapter Eleven

[Adam]

"Alright, I think we're safe here." Benn says. "Let's go see what we heard coming from Mirabulos' house."

[JMaytr]

As the rain begins to fall, Johnathan pushes the horse to travel faster.

[ewancummins]

In the house of Professor Mirabolus-

Mirabulos opens the front door as Benn and any of the party who follow him come up on the porch.

The thin man holds a lantern aloft. His face is gray.

''The beast...John....the pact!"


Jonathon Maytr-

On you ride, into the rainstorm...

[Le Noir Faineant]

Dofur, slow and as unnoticeable as if he hadn't even been there for a while, tries to movie silently behind Ben...

[VAN]

Karim has followed Ben as well and when Mirabulos opens the door and told them about John asks:

"Is it here? The cry we heard was from it?"

Looking around nervously says:

"Any idea how to deal with it?"

[Adam]

"Very carefully," Benn absentmindedly returns, walking through the home to try and find the source of the noise.

"Keep your weapon at the ready, Dorgio. Cold iron is supposed to be effective against some fiends."

[Lord Skybolt]

On hearing the noise Alain opens his eyes and takes out coin to have source of light . Which he makes by casting a spell on it for some illumination in the darkness . Then he slowly gets up to see what the ruckus is about .

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

"Keep your weapon at the ready, Dorgio. Cold iron is supposed to be effective against some fiends."

He nods grimly and readies the spear, a gift from Sancerre. He remembers a time when he made Maytr press his hand onto the cold iron. The priest had wanted to test his suspicion that Jon was a Night Changer, but to no avail. The iron had failed him then, but perhaps this time, perhaps this time...


"Mirabulos, what are you knowing of this fiend? Is there any way we can be sending it back to its abyss?"

[ewancummins]

In the house of Professor Mirabulos-parlor

"Mirabulos, what are you knowing of this fiend? Is there any way we can be sending it back to its abyss?"

''The scroll did not contain a true name, but referred to a 'Black Dog of the Barren Field' and ' the Pursuer of Lost Souls.' John said that the fiend told him to call it 'Hunger'- but surely that is not the thing's proper name. You have star-metal with you? Good! Cold iron may work, yes. I cannot be certain without a test against the beast's unnatural flesh. And for that...
I fear that John Strange has encountered and attacked the fiend, alone and unaided. I heard him railing against it, and that is why I left my meditation chamber. Let us hope that he was fighting only the phantasms of his fevered brain!''

While Mirabulos speaks with Dorgio, the others search the house.

kitchen and pantry areas

Alain notices a dirty red smear on the kitchen floor, running to the large pantry closet. He sees that the door is ever so slightly ajar.
Inside the closet, Alain finds John Strange slumped in against the left hand wall, amid spilled provisions and the wreckage of a busted shelf. One good look shows the man to be dead; his neck is ripped, mangled, and bent at an unnatural angle.

[ewancummins]

In the parlor- Dorgio, Karim, Mirabulos-

Karim has followed Ben as well and when Mirabulos opens the door and told them about John asks:

"Is it here? The cry we heard was from it?"

Looking around nervously says:

"Any idea how to deal with it?"

Mirabulos looks away from Dorgio and towards Karim.

''I think that sound was John screaming, but it's possible the fiend has breached my wards and entered the house. If John has indeed attacked the creature, and I hope that he has not, then the pact is broken and the thing may be free to return home. I...''

Just then, your conversation is interrupted by a monstrous growling that seems to come from the cold fireplace. A cloud of ash and cinders erupts from the chimney to choke and blind Dorgio, Karim, and the Professor.

You all hear the growling, bestial voice that speaks from the dark space of the chimney-

“Free to go home? Betrayers! Liars! Cheats! The way is shut! I go now, but do not doubt that we will meet again. Until then, know that I will be thinking of you each time that I consume the flesh and soul of one of your kind.”

The ashy cloud is quite suddenly sucked back up the chimney. You are all left standing standing in the parlor, coughing and with tears in your eyes from the flying cinders.

[Brock Marsh Runoff]

Dorgio clutches his throat and coughs violently. He brandishes his spear before him in a warding gesture. The smoke and flame are too great for him, and he cannot summon the strength to retort as the fiend taunts them.

"Begone from this place fiend!" Dorgio finally shouts, too late, after the beast has fled. He doubles over in another fit of coughing. Only when he catches his breath does he understand...

"John!"

[ewancummins]

Mirabulos curses.


''The fool must indeed have attacked the fiend, thus freeing it from the original pact.''

[ewancummins]

As the rain begins to fall, Johnathan pushes the horse to travel faster.

Jonathon Maytr-

The stone road gives way, bit by bit, to a long dirt track. Hard rain falls all about you, lashing the earth, threatening to create an impassable quagmire. Several times your horse halts or stumbles in the muck. Still, you continue westwards as best you can, mindful of the agents of justice who even now may be hot on your trail.

You are soaked to the bone and shivering from the chill when the downpour finally ends. Surprisingly enough, the sun is rising, although you would never have guessed that so much time had passed. The country round about is like the prettier parts of Richemulot: all rolling hills dotted with stands of hardwood trees, crossed by little silver streams- but you see no familiar landmarks. Looking back, the road vanishes into a thick wood through which you do not recall having passed.

Your horse is too tired to carry you now.

You hear hoof beats echo in the hollows and hills about you, and very soon you find yourself surrounded by armed men on horseback. None of them draw their swords. Something about these riders seems familiar- they resemble illustrations in an old book that your mother used to read to you.

One of the mail-clad riders nudges his big roan stallion a little closer to you. He removes his helmet and bows his head.

‘’My lord, please forgive us for losing you in the storm. I trust that you have suffered no great harm? ‘’


THE END

[ewancummins]

Mists over the Musarde: Epilogue

The upper Musarde River
Jan 1st, 759

The Briar-Rose steams up the river, belching smoke from its chimbley-tower. The great paddlewheel at the stern churns the cold, brown waters, sending ripples streaming out in the wake of the big boat's passage.
On the open foredeck two silent, lean figures stand apart from the crew and other passengers. The slender couple are swaddled in heavy gray cloaks, and the taller of the two leans a little on his shorter companion.

A dusky skinned man in a frayed coat and patched woolen trousers approaches the pair, a thinly-steaming wooden mug held in either hand. In the cold air, his breath makes almost as much vapor as does the stuff in the mugs. His navy blue cap with its little embroidered thorny red rose marks him as a crewman of some sort.
After pausing for a curious look at the roughly hewn bow slung over the tall one's back, the man clears his throat and says-

''Good folks, the cap'n sent me to tell you we are gwine to be in Elf-Country real soon. Here, now, I brought you some hot cider, if you like it.''


Pont-a-Museau
Almost eight months after the murder of Evangeline Sancerre-
August 7th, 759 Barovian Calendar-




Alain’s office, formerly headquarters of Norzak Darkender & Company
‘’...and that was how I recovered your property from the thieves- without risking damage to it. ’’


The fat, well-dressed burgher bobs his meaty head in approval even as he counts out coins on the desktop.

‘’Yes, masterfully done, Monsieur Smythe. Here you are, paid in full. It has been a pleasure doing business with a true professional.’’


The Lorelei

‘’Madam, I brought a sample of both sorts, as you wished.’’

The girl holds up two swatches of burgundy brocade, one rectangle of fabric a smidgen darker than the other.

The Lorelei’s new mistress looks over both before choosing the darker cloth.

‘’Yes, this will look best for the curtains in my office. Don’t you agree, Clothilde?”

The buck-toothed, freckled girl nods enthusiastically.

‘’You may go now. Wait, child….take this. If you are wise you’ll not waste it on frivolities- a girl in our profession had better lay something aside for the day when men will no longer pay for her favors.’’

The lovely dark-haired woman in the green silk dress tosses a bright silver coin, which the girl catches in her apron.

‘’Thank you very much, Madam Sophie!”’

Clothilde dips an awkward curtsey towards her employer before rushing out of the room.






The Marble Faun
Mattheo Barozi is engaged in an eye-straining attempt to decipher a faded passage in Old Kartakan when a feminine voice suddenly breaks his concentration.

‘’Excuse me, monsieur, but have you a copy of The Woman-Killer? The other sellers we’ve asked are out of stock.”

The middle-aged bookseller looks up from his work, half-startled and dimly wondering how he missed the door bell. He blinks hard upon seeing not one, but two very lovely and very similar looking young ladies standing in his shop. They differ chiefly in the manner of their dress: one is clad in a fashionable gown, and the other wears riding clothes more suitable for a fox hunt than a salon.

Mattheo smiles at the twin beauties and says-

‘’Ah, yes, you lovely signoras are in luck today! I happen to be a friend of a friend of the author, you see, so I have extra copies. “


Benn’s shop-
Benn looks over the creamy scroll marked with bold black ink, a letter he had received just this morning-

Esteemed Sir,

The Academy of Richemulot cordially invites you to attend our Autumnal Conclave, which is set to commence on the Tenth of October. This year, we not gather in Pont-a-Museau. Rather, we will meet at the Delapore estate, an old and honorable clan with deep roots in the westerly region colloquially known as the House of Sages.

If you would be so kind as to prepare some remarks on your recent studies or other notes of interest, we will afford you the opportunity to give a lecture to our assembled students and scholars.

You may, of course, bring to the conclave servants or personal guests. Please make arrangements with our factor, following the instructions given below…

‘’Waaaaaaahhhhaaaaa!’’

Bennedict becomes distracted for a moment by his infant son’s caterwauling. From the back of the shop, he hears Charlotte fussing about, and presently she begins to sing a lullaby. Soon, the boy’s crying ceases.



The churchyard of the Cathedral of our Lady of the Mists
Jean the sexton walks his afternoon rounds through the churchyard, enjoying the pleasant warmth of the day. He pauses in the shade of a silver oak, fingering through a little leather-bound folio of Invidian poetry. The old man reads a few verses before replacing the book in his pocket and resuming his languid patrol.

Jean notices that someone has placed fresh flowers on the Sancerre girl's grave, white roses. Looking about, he isn't much surprised to find the scruffy looking Gundar-man curled up on a nearby stone bench, asleep. The sleeping man wears battered scale armor and clutches a short iron-tipped spear, and his dusty boots are still on his feet.

The gray-bearded sexton casts a pitying glance over the sleeper, and very softly he murmurs-

“Oh, you poor soul… No sleep last night, again? Tsk...tsk....you'll wear yourself out with such a life, gallivanting around the streets at night like some mad hero of the poets’ fancy. The ladies in peril, they cry out to you waking and dreaming, do they not? You mustn't be so hard on yourself, my brave chevalier”