Downtime: Jeren's Deadend

Jeren impatiently tapped his pencil against the side of his pad. He looked down at what he'd gleaned so far. It just had the name of Clifton Veleris written in several different ways followed by the words disturbed neighbours and black shroud.
"I'm sorry Mr Veleris but I'm not entirely clear how you ended up tied to the chair screaming covered in your own urine. You mention some sort of mystical black shroud and nothing more. It's almost like you are reluctant to talk?"

Jeren looked at his colleague with a disapproving stare as he struck a match and shoved it into his pipe. Jeren hated smoking and in Bluecoats most of all. It gave the citizens the impression the Bluecoats were a slovenly bunch. Sadly that impression was mostly true despite Jeren's best efforts to prove them otherwise. His colleague detecting the disapproval shrugged and stepped into the kitchen to speak with Clifton's wife. Jeren turned back to Clifton.

Clifton was pale, his eyes were sunken and his expression solemn. The clank of the cup against the saucer was audible, as his shaky hand drew the tea to his mouth.

"Honestly officer there's nothing much to tell..."

"..and I said he can send his stinking Iruvian self back on the next ship..." 

The two cabbies laughed approvingly as Clifton said his goodbye's and lead his goats down the alley to their pen. 

"Steady girls steady... " He stroked them reassuringly for a moment before forcing them into their coal shed sized pen and walking up to the back of the house. The door gently clacked against the frame, Clifton pulled out Delila his trusty cosh as he stepped through the open doorway.

With a swish and a thud Clifton was on his back with a black sack over his head. He blindly and impotently flailed on the floor hoping to strike his assailant.

"Time is catching up with you Clifton" The Cabbie froze, instantly he knew, instantly his bladder knew too.

The Cabbie was lifted into a chair and bound to it. 

"Now you're going to tell me what you know and keep my little visit to yourself or it wont just be your bladder control you'll lose" 

He could hear the unrolling of something onto the table and the glint of surgical steel through the black hood.

"What do you want from me?" He screamed

Booted footsteps approached. He could feel the cold metal of a pistol pressed against his cheek, her  alluring spicy scent and the warmth of her breath against his ear....

"Everything...."

Well, Jeren sighed, if you do think of something Clifton here's my card. Jeren slid it across the table as Clifton continued to stare into his empty tea cup.
"Let's go!" He shouted to his colleague
The officer disrespectfully knocked his pipe out on the door frame and gently tickled Clifton's wife under the chin with a black feather he had found in the kitchen
"See you tonight then" He whispered, winking he handed her the feather.

Downtime: The Waker of Sleeping Souls II

Tertius collected the assortment of papers and alchemical ephemera scattered across the room - instruments of what had transpired to have been a four day revery of his senses - and the room beginning to take on some form of normalcy. As he did, so too did his thoughts become ordered, settled, he found a composure of sorts, and he is voice was again steady; the slight exertion acting as if a refreshing tonic.

“A man of my means and station can not afford the niceties that tenure brings.” He said, placing a bruised copy of Velak’s guide to Toxiferous Lepidoptera of Tycheros upon the desk. The book bulging and distend by paper markers, signposts to what would reveal his journey these past few days.

“You asked for my assistance, and I have provided.” He gestured to papers that Malista held, still seated upon the bed, upon the raft that had borne him on those dark waters these past four days. “And, I may add, I have not asked anything of you, despite what you had proffered.”

Malista looked up as she idly thumbed the papers in her hands. She smiled, an innocent disarming expression, as if slightly bemused with a child.  

“Between us, these things are a trifling matter. They are for a friend who can ill afford…” She paused, searching for the words “Association with questionable activities. Activities that could sully her good name.”  She placed the papers beside her and moved across the room towards Tertius.

“I will not feign understanding of the scope and nature of your work, but my... friend... is well placed to understand the value of your learning.” She stopped before him, lightly resting her hand upon his chest, before gently lifting a finger to his downturned chin. She slowly raised his gaze back to hers. Ordinarily an act he would have found too forward, too familiar  had it not been for the demure smile she now paid him.

“You will never regain the life you have lost, but perhaps my friend might provide you with some semblance of that life. A new purpose?” her smile grew wider, and now beamed. His return, a weaker one.

“You should not involve yourself with this, it is unseemly.” He said, the weak smile collapsing under the seriousness of his tone. “I have little to lose. But you...” He paused, uncertain if he rested on a statement. “Even those half formed ideas would bring ruin upon you.” His words pulled him down, and he slumped upon the chair. She guided his head towards her, into the soft folds of her linen dress, stroking his hair as she did. The fabric was soft and cool against his cheek, her sweet scent filled him.

“You should rest, you’re still weak.” She said, crouching down before him, again looking up at his downcast eyes. "You should not be afraid to show me what quiets your mind. "

Downtime: The Waker of Sleeping Souls I

The voices in the room were soft and indiscernible, on the periphery of Tertius’s awareness, the vestiges of the last soporific he’d ingested still gripping his senses. As if cast adrift at sea, he fought for purchase onto the voices as if flotsam, tumbling in the waves of consciousness as he struggled up from the heavy waters of sleep. His clothes, his dreams weighing him down and back under away from wakefulness. With one last kick, he pushed himself up breaking the surface of sleep, back into the dimly lit room somewhere in Silkshore.


He struggled to right himself on the bed, clothes slick with perspiration, shielding his eyes from the weak candle light that lit the room. Eyes now too sensitive after many an indulgent and impatient experiment. How many hours had it been since he’d ingested the lotus seeds? 6, 12 hours, a day?

“You’re awake?”

He recognised the voice that came from the figure seated beside the desk. She turned, curtly nodding towards the doorway, and a shadow turned, gently closing the door behind it. The slight figure of the girl stood slowly, pulling her simple, but fine white dress up as she walked towards the bed, lightly tiptoeing her way through the papers and books strewn across the floor. The candle she held out as if to help find her way through the maze of detritus Tertius could not fully recall having created. He winced as the candle light fell upon him.


“I thought you had learnt to temper your proclivities for…” She said, her words trailing off as she cast her eyes across the room, finding a space to sit at the end of the bed.

“Malista, your low opinion of me is misplaced, I’ve...this is, the, the necessities of study, not of pleasure” He said, his voice dull and parched as he pulled himself up to face her.

They held each other’s gaze momentarily. He took in that piquant and familiar face that oft reminded him of his mother. The long black hair that hung loose across her shoulders, sharp nose, framing large inquisitive, at times playful blue eyes… eyes that belied the strength of will behind them. Malista studied him in turn, his eyes, those two shining points of light that burned bright in the weak light, lustrous despite his recent return to consciousness from whatever substances he had drowned his senses in.

He does have have our look She thought. The slight features of his mother and her hair, he could easily pass, should easily pass for... despite those eyes... what else marks you Tertius?

“You mistake admonishment for concern my dear Tertius.”  She adjust herself, and reached out a hand to push back the damp hair clinging to his brow, smiling as she did.

“Whatever the causes of your present circumstances, I was glad that we found each other again. I’ve always been concerned for your health, I think fondly of you dear cousin.” She noticed his eyes sharpen slightly at the word cousin.

As abruptly as Tertius had entered her life, he had left it. Those few short years after he had arrived from Tycheros, rife with rumour and innuendo, turning quickly to accusation had lead him away from a comfortable existence ensconced within the family home, and away from his place in the academy. Though the trouble he had so readily embraced at the academy, propelling him into his current predicament, were orchestrated through a fastidiousness that clearly earned him the right to the family name.

To think in this past year her life had changed so radically too, and a fire now burned in her mind. And Tertius, who nearly found himself as kindling for that blaze, was going to help that fire of the mind, a fire that burned and consumed completely.

“Now cousin, please do enlighten me” She said.

Shrike's Story: Sensitive Documents

Dear Diary,

Some lady was watching me and Adric in Fitzroy's, so I snuck off while Adric and the others were giving Fitz a hard time over those bluecoats that stopped by. I just went right up to her and asked her what her problem was. She said she recognised me from somewhere, and I got the feeling she knew more about me than she was letting on. She told me her name was Grace, and asked for my name. I knew it would be bad to use my real name, so I took a cue from Adric and the others and told her I was called 'Shrike', and that I was named after the bird that impales its prey. I was trying to come across as tough, but she just laughed at me. She applauded me for hiding my true name, as it might be unfortunate if people knew who my brother and I were. That was definitely a threat. She said she'd be seeing me again, and then left. I really didn't like her.

-

I got in over my head a bit tonight. Three creeps tried to mug me during my latest jaunt into the city. I managed to beat the crap out of two of them, but it took a lot of me, and the third guy would have got me for sure if not for this cloaked woman coming up behind him and stabbing him in the heart. That was pretty gross, but who knows what he was planning to do if she hadn't shown up, so I was very grateful. She called herself 'Mercy', which I think Adric would call irony? Anyway, she seemed impressed with me, and offered to train me how to take care of myself better. I was wary, but I agreed. She seems pretty badass, and I could use whatever she can teach me to watch out for Adric.

-

So I guess I'm with a crew now. I ran into them during my patrols of the city, while they were in the middle of a getaway. They got jumped by a feral ghost, which was about to possess one of them when I grabbed it and tore it loose, then I stabbed it and freed it from its torment. They were impressed with my abilities and they told me how to get in touch if I was looking for work. Well, since I know Adric would have a fit if I even asked to help out with the Feathers, I figured this would be a good way to put the skills I've been learning from Mercy to the test.

The old guy, Paving, is the one in charge. He's got a big old grey beard and ink-stained fingers. They've got a Leech called Hammer, a Tycherosi guy with bluish skin and instead of hair his skin just seems to form long spikey bits that kind of look like hair. They've also got a Lurk called Maralie; I think she's a woman, but she's got that whole maybe, maybe-not look going on, like what's-their-name. Alex? Yeah, a bit like that.

-

First job with the new crew today. The Bluecoats were transporting a shipment of evidence for some kind of court case. The bluecoat in charge of organising it is Jeren, who Paving has some sort of history with, so he wanted to make him look bad by messing up the shipment. I figured I might also find some evidence in there that could help me get Grace off my case.

The plan was that Hammer would pose as one of the Bluecoats guarding the carriage, while Paving and I staged an accident along the carriage route, halfway between the station house and the courthouse. Hammer would suggest an alternate route of our choosing, and then we'd ambush them in a side street out of public view. I don't know where Maralie was for this; maybe Paving had her waiting as part of a backup plan? He's a crafty old coot, so I'm sure he had some sort of plan B ready.

The plan started off about as we hoped, with Hammer riding along with the carriage, but he wasn't the only one. Some bluecoat officer guy hopped on to hitch a ride as well. We went ahead with the plan anyway. Paving and I rolling a cabbage cart into the street, tipping it over as it collided with a chicken stall, blocking the road. The chickens flew out and went crazy, some of them gobbling up the cabbages, the others flying in peoples faces and causing a ruckus. It was hilarious.

Hammer suggested his route, but it seemed like the officer guy argued against it and they went a different way. I got worried, but Paving said he'd planned for this, and sure enough, when we took our positions near the planned ambush spot, the carriage showed up and Hammer started passing out some cigarettes to the driver, the other outside guard and the officer. He must have put something in them, because they all clutched their heads in pain and fell over. Then he dropped a smoke bomb into the sealed carriage to flush out the guard riding in there. It was pretty cool.

The last guard came out, coughing badly, with a gun in his hand. That's where I came in. He was so disoriented he didn't see me come up beside him, and I kicked him in the back of the knee, bringing him down to the ground, then cracked him in the head with a nightstick I got from one of the other bluecoats to knock him out.

Once all the bluecoats were down, we took the carriage to an old warehouse and unloaded the documents onto a gondola before setting the goats off to drag the carriage back in the direction we came from. I got a coin's worth of pay from what little valuables were among the confiscated evidence, and Paving says we should each get another coin's worth once he's put the evidence to use in some blackmail. Feels a bit dirty, but that's just the way things are in Duskwall, I guess.

-

Met Mercy again, and she asked if I was ready to start training. Of course I was, but at first I thought she was messing with me, because her 'training' seemed a lot like playing hide and seek. But what she was really teaching me was how to blend in with my surroundings, stalk people from the shadows, move without being seen or heard. She said I was strong, and that was good, but that sometimes its not enough because there will always be somebody stronger. To defeat a stronger foe, she said, I would need to learn stealth and cunning, so that's what she's teaching me for now. It was pretty cool.

- Mara Penderyn Shrike

NPC: Roethe Kinclaith of the Red Sashes

Downtime, Indulging Vice: Life's Lessons

Mother Narya hurriedly rounded the corridor of the bunkhouse and almost lost her footing. She'd heard that Nightingale was back and their services were required. Mother Narya tolerated Nightingale's presence, more than welcomed it. She was a kindly old matron, who cared for the welfare of those in her care above all else. She was ignorant of what Nightingale offered to ease the burden of those in her care, but if it helped, she'd let it go on until it no longer did.

"There you are! Javik's been asking for you. He doesn't have much time before the bells ring and word is spreading about how you've helped others here."

"I'll go at once Mother, and rest assured there's nothing underhand going on, cross my heart. Those facing the black just need to have someone listen to them. No one wants to die on their own and folk who end up here alone and scared, just want to be remembered by someone, doesn't really matter who."

Suspicion lingered in Mother Narya's eyes, but she nodded and pointed down the corridor to where Javik lay dying in his narrow bunk.

Nightingale could smell the rot as they entered the room. Javik had been placed in the Garden, a chamber filled with scented flowers and pine cones. The place served a number of functions; giving the nearly departed a modicum of privacy, whilst keeping them away from the other 'residents' of the Arms of the Weeping Lady. The scent of the flowers was said to be a calming influence to those facing death, but in reality, they were present to help stave off the stink. A concealed door was nestled at the rear of the room, leading directly to the streets below. This served to allow the Spirit Wardens to enter the bunkhouse discreetly to perform their civic duties when the bells inevitably chimed.

Nightingale had duties of their own. It was time to hear Javik's tales and help lift the burden of a life filled with treachery and deceit. Nightingale could learn a lesson or two from a man like Javik, a man who had murdered his way to the top of a crew, only to be betrayed when his usefulness ran dry. With each telling they consumed and for every drawing they rendered, Nightingale's empty vessel filled a morsel. It would never be enough to repair their shattered existence, but it was something.

In the distance the bells rang, a signal for Nightingale to Leave the Arms of the Weeping Lady and let the Wardens take their shift. Javik lay dead in his cot a faint smile touching his thin lips, it wouldn't be long before his spirit rose if left unattended.

Nightingale turned to leave the room, but hesitated for a brief moment. They could have sworn they saw something by the window. Nothing. Must have been a trick of the light generated by the electroplasmic lamps outside. Yes, just a trick of the light.

NPC: Nyryx, A Sly Friend

Nyryx was beautiful, skin like alabaster and hair as black as the inky sea. Noblemen who employed her services would parade her around like an exotic bird, whilst genteel women looked on in quiet judgement. Nightingale had seen her from time to time on the arm of a Lady; those who were too wealthy to have their reputation tarnished, or those who courted scandal.


Nightingale quietly studied Nyryx as she undressed, then sprawled naked across the shabby mattress in the room they rented in one of the crumbling apartments off Comber Way. It was a refuge away from the Nest and crew, who were now part of Nightingale's everyday. They had accepted the others in a time of need and their once secluded retreat, hidden beneath the streets of the Night Market, had become a somewhat overcrowded base of operations for the Night's Feathers.

"Chin a little higher darling. Perfect. Now hold that for a moment."

Nightingale's fingers worked the charcoal into the paper and the simple lines began to take on form. Tone and texture transformed the simple sketch into something vital, her very essence captured in monochromatic hues. It was curious for Nightingale to get such gratification from sketching a model as spirited as Nyryx. Their usual appetite was for those of a more fragile disposition.

"It's unnaturally warm tonight Alexandre, why don't you take off your coat. You know you can trust that I would never tell a soul that you're really a..."

Nightingale rose quickly and Nyryx fell silent. They avoided eye contact as they hastily went about packing away charcoals and paper. As Nightingale made to exist the room, they felt a hand rest on their forearm and tensed.

"I meant no offence Alexandre. A woman in my line of business has seen all one can of humanity and it's ghastly. You're very good at hiding what you are from the world and you had me guessing for months, but we've spent over a year meeting like this and I'm convinced that you want me to know who you are. You're as tired of wearing these masks as I am, no?"

Nightingale's slate grey eyes met Nyryx's dark pools, eager for acknowledgement.

"Secrets are there to keep others safe darling, I won't have you end up like that poor Wraith. They're no friends of ours, I grant you, but to be left in that manner for all to see is truly barbaric. I have opposition who would see me and mine come to a grizzly end and you mean something to me Nyryx..."

"...And you mean something to me too Alex" She cut in. "You can't keep pretending you're someone else to everyone, that's just not healthy. Now please, put your things down and come sit with me a while. We can be ourselves with one another no?"

Nightingale did as they were asked. Perhaps Nyryx was right, perhaps they wanted her to know the truth about them. One could only keep secrets for so long in a place like Doskvol and the truth was, they were tired of keeping them.

Downtime: Adric's First Spirit Finish

Adric drew his cloak tight around himself as the gondola drifted along the canal, not because of any chill wind, but a discomfort arising from how out of place he was in the area. The gondolier cast the occasional doubtful glance back at his young passenger, and Adric affected an unconcerned smile whenever he felt the man's eyes upon him. This wasn't his first visit to Silkshore, but he hadn't quite learned to be at ease with the place. Perhaps that was for the best, given its reputation. Certainly, he noted as he passed by on the gondola, both residents and other visitors cast wary glances about themselves every now and then.

Before too long, the gondola slowed as it approached the Ridgewater Jetty, and Adric sat a little straighter as he prepared to disembark. The gondolier gave him one more worried glance as he tethered the vessel. Adric just gave him his most charming smile again, paying the fare for the journey as he stood up, then stepped off. He scanned the rooftops with his eyes and picked out the distinctively patterned silk hanging that indicated his destination before making his way for that building.

Climbing the exterior steps to the rooftop, he found the marketplace and wove his way through the crowd, keeping his eyes peeled for Ojak's stand. The vendor wasn't hard to pick out; Tycherosi were a minority in Duskvol, and many had a distinctive feature which indicated their rumored demonic heritage. In Ojak’s case, his skin was red and he had purple eyes. Adric would have found him unsettling even without those unusual traits. The man was unshaven, with a pointy face and goatee beard, and he was always scratching himself and sniffing, eyes darting constantly as if he were always on edge.

“Ah, uh, Wren, my boy!” Ojak greeted Adric in his usual nervous manner.

Adric tried to hide the twitch of irritation he felt at being called ‘boy’ as he stepped up to the vendor’s stall. Instead, he sighed and forced himself to smile pleasantly, “Hello Ojak.”

“What, uh, do you seek today?”

“Well, I could use another vial of electro or two for starters.”

“Of course, of course.” Ojak nodded, pulling out a couple vials from his stocks and slipping them onto the stall counter just out of reach and keeping them hidden within his palm. Adric slid what he knew to be the expected amount of slugs onto the counter, and Ojak slid the vials within reach, before making the silver slugs vanish in one fluid motion. Adric grabbed and pocketed the vials, then turned his attention to what was on display at the stall.

“And what else do you desire? Perhaps knowledge? Yes, knowledge is good for one in your trade, no?”

Adric sighed again. This was the other thing that irritated him about Ojak. He always had in mind something particular he wanted to sell, always some musty old book or other in which Adric had no real interest. Even as he scanned the stall’s wares, he could spy the vendor out the corner of his eye, pulling a tome out and setting it on the counter with a pointed thud. Instead of rising to the bait, Adric traced a finger along the bottles on display, stopping and backtracking as he caught sight of a label that interested him. He smiled, this time in true satisfaction at finding something of interest.

“Yes. Knowledge is good.” Adric agreed, tapping the bottle. “How much for this?”

“Hmm?” Ojak glanced up, scratching himself distractedly as he peered round at what Adric was indicating. Then he immediately shook his head in disinterest, “Oh no. No no no. That is no way to learn, boy. Better to do the work yourself, yes?” He thumped the cover of the book for emphasis. Adric continued to ignore the tome.

“Not everything that can be learned can be learned by reading, Ojak. How much?”

The vendor let out an explosive sigh, sullenly rattling off the price for the bottle. Adric had to haggle a bit, and he was sure the vendor hiked the price to make it less attractive than the book, for which he offered what he promised was a ‘tiny’ sum for such a rare and valuable volume. Adric eventually humoured the vendor by bothering to look at the title on the front page: ‘Bindings, Releases, and Eldritch Bondage.’

Adric suppressed a shudder of disquiet as he closed the cover and gave a tight smile, “I think I’ll just take the Spirit Finish, Ojak. Thanks.”

The vendor glared at him and drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter, scratching himself with the other hand before throwing up his arms melodramatically in defeat, “Fine, I will sell the Finish at a discount, if you promise to come back for this next time.”

Adric narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Ojak’s insistence. Eventually, he shrugged. Even if he bought the book, that didn’t mean he had to read it. “Okay, deal.”

Upon returning to the lair, Adric ducked into the alcove that contained his sleeping space, and pulled shut the curtain around himself before setting his satchel down on the floor. He opened it up and pulled out the bottle he had eventually managed to acquire from Ojak. The label read, ‘Spirit Finish: Essence of Combat Prowess’.

Spirit Finish was a product Adric had learned of recently, and when he saw it in Ojak’s stall he knew he had to try it. It was a form of spirit essence, the distilled memories and experiences of a captured spirit. This particular brand was specifically intended to allow the user to gain the skills of the deceased by imparting their life experiences. Although Adric had no desire to kill anyone again if he could help it, he knew he needed to learn how to defend himself, and perhaps if he were more skilled he would even be able to do so without killing. But he wasn’t learning fast enough through normal training. He needed a little something extra, and this seemed like just the thing.

Adric sat down and stared down at the bottle in his hand for a moment, hesitating. Whose experiences might these be? What might it cost him, to take another being’s experiences into himself? He scowled, shoving these thoughts aside. It didn’t matter. Dr Erdrad would find him and Mara eventually, and he needed whatever edge he could get to keep himself and his sister safe. He didn’t care what it cost him.

He popped the cork and a wisp of misty light curled from the top. He put his lips to the bottletop and inhaled before he could hesitate further. The essence rushed through him, finding its way to his nervous system and he fell backwards in his cot, spasming as if he were being electrocuted, which, in a strange way, he was…

He had infiltrated the manor on the upper floor, and made his way into the study. One guard was patrolling along the bannister overlooking the lower level of the study, and he heard another coughing below. He crept up behind the one near the bannister, kicked his feet out from under him and drove the point of his blade straight through the man’s eye and into his brain, killing him instantly.

As the other guard raced up the stairs, the assassin stood his ground and held his sword ready. The guard rounded the corner and, weapon already drawn, lashed out towards him…

Adric parried his sister’s swing clumsily, his body not yet able to match the experience his mind had absorbed from the essence of the dead assassin. In one of the many visions he’d had of that man’s exploits, the guard had been staggered long enough for a killing blow. But in this instance, Adric himself was the one staggered, and his sister capitalised with a swing that drew just shy of his own neck. She was slightly shorter than him, but as always she managed to make it seem like she were the one looking down. Despite this, she smirked and nodded approvingly, “Well, I s’pose you did okay this time.”

“Thanks.” Adric smiled back.

His sister gave him a stern look, “Don’t get cocky, you still got a way to go.”

Adric sighed, “I know.”

Her expression softened and she shook her head, “Whatever it is you and these ‘Night Feathers’ get up to, you can’t afford to hold back. Not out there.”

Adric winced as his mind drifted back into the recent past...

Alex had dropped the vial of trance powder down the stairs, but it proved a poor delivery method. One of the Lampblacks was stunned, but the other still charged towards them. Adric brought up his lightning hook in a moment of panic and slammed it into the man's chest. There was a pop, a flash of light, and a smell of burnt ozone and flesh as the man flew back down the stairs…

Adric recalled the empty staring eyes of the man's face and shook his head to banish the image. It wouldn't go away.

“I… uh… I need to go… work on something.” He said, turning away and leaving his sister, who watched his retreat with a look of concerned confusion.

Adric sat down in the workshop and got out his journal. He considered continuing his research into Erdrad’s ritual and the Eternal Maw, but his stomach revolted at the notion for some reason.

He had been such an idiot. The death on his own hands was quite enough to haunt his dreams, and now he had given himself the memories of a murderer as well. Not to mention the nightmares of that… thing he encountered in the ghost field.

Still, the Spirit Finish seemed to have worked. His body didn't have the training yet to match what he'd gained from the assassin’s spiritual essence, but the instincts were there now, somewhere deep within in his mind. And, as unsettling as the method was, he did find himself morbidly intrigued and wondering about how it worked.

Obviously a spirit with the proper background and skillset was necessary. It also seemed logical that the spirit should be freshly released from its body, since a spirit's sense of self erodes over time as it is slowly consumed by madness.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, Adric took up a pen and started to scribble down notes in his journal. As he became lost in his observations and theories about how the Spirit Finish might be developed, he was able to forget his fears, if only for a short while.

The Leviathan's Issue I

Locations: Mother Narya's Bunkhouse

Arms of the Weeping Lady.  This grand building, formerly an opera house, is now a soup-kitchen and bunkhouse for the destitute, run by the charity of the Weeping Lady. Locals use this landmark as the demarcation between the districts of Charterhall and Six Towers.


*Except from Blades in the Dark by John Harper