Wall walkers of Adjepbar

Scribe Notes

Summary

Adventure: Wall walkers of Adjepbar
GM: Jonathan Bean
Season: TBC
Night: 3
Level: TBC

Party

• Lizette - Party Leader, Human - played by Dylan
• Keshah - Mil Sci, Elf - played by Michael
• Aurora - Starting Character, Wood Elf - played by Keith Smith

Employer

TBC

Mission

TBC

Pay

TBC

The Wall Walkers of Adjepbar After a night of bardic tales, scented baths, and sweet offerings in a noble Alphinae household, the Wall Walkers step into a city humming with political unrest and strange omens. What begins as language lessons, philosophical debates on equality, and charitable healing rounds among the poor quickly spirals into a turf war waged by articulate rats, gossiping cats, and rival criminal Stacks. Goat-skeleton cultists parade through the streets while an ancient festival promises kisses beneath massive octopuses. By nightfall the party carries a massive, unnaturally heavy skeleton—possibly the bones of a saintly first Earl—unwittingly accelerating a conflict that could topple the delicate balance of power in the city.

Scribe Notes

Night 1

Chapter 1: The Merchant's Shadowed Commission

Keshah hires the Wall Walkers in the glowing halls of Adjepbar

Keshah hires the Wall Walkers in the glowing halls of Adjepbar

Within a high-ceilinged chamber whose walls shimmered with faint inner light, the merchant lord of one of Adjepbar's oldest trading families regarded the three adventurers seated before him. The air carried the scent of ledger ink, spiced wine, and the distant clamor of the market below. Keshah spoke without preamble, his voice low and measured.

"We believe someone is spying on our merchant business," he said. "Our rivals have been improbably lucky for the past year. They anticipate our caravans, undercut our prices, and steal our buyers before ink dries on the contracts. We do not wish to alarm the rest of the house. You will investigate discreetly. Report only to me."

The black-haired mage with striking green eyes inclined his head. "You'll learn about us soon enough," he replied. "What precautions would you suggest?"

Keshah outlined the web of alliances his house maintained with seven other families, the importance of heraldry, and the sprawling compounds where secrets multiplied like mold in the cellars. An internal probe had yielded nothing; outsiders were required. Payment would be generous if results came within four weeks. Equipment would be provided, but the Wall Walkers must remain unconnected to the family should anything go wrong.

"Thirty tons of leather," one of the adventurers noted, steering the talk toward practical matters. "Two barns, bound for the Five Sisters Way. We can arrange watchers and a caravan if needed."

Keshah nodded. A young man entered quietly, offering additional details on the shipment before withdrawing. The merchant's expression remained guarded. "If you remain untroubled and successful, further contracts will follow. There are ancient ruins in the north that may hold answers, but that is for later."

Conversation drifted toward the city's unwritten laws. One of the Wall Walkers murmured the words of a subtle social charm, its effect like oil smoothing troubled waters. Keshah answered their careful questions with visible reluctance.

"Under Lord Bray's precedents, the death of a woman is often not counted a crime," he said flatly. "Kidnapping and ransom of commoners draws little notice. Honor matters more when dealing with the powerful. Champion the wrong house and you place yourself outside all protection. Challenge a lady or accept one, and the rules of engagement are merciless. Lose face and you may lose far more."

The mage absorbed the warning, fingers tapping the table. Rumors of double agents and an elemental that had seized a distant throne were mentioned in passing, along with the possibility of bodyguards who could allow armor to remain hidden. When the meeting concluded, handshakes were exchanged and quiet thanks offered.

"Good luck," Keshah said as they rose. "You will need it in these houses."

The Wall Walkers stepped from the cool chamber into the sunlit streets of Adjepbar, where the glowing walls seemed to watch their every move. Their first commission had begun: walk the delicate line between merchant houses, expose the spy, and survive the customs of a city that rewarded cunning far more than mercy.

Chapter 2: The Glowing Walls of Adjepbar

The Wall Walkers arrive at the luminous market of Adjepbar

The Wall Walkers arrive at the luminous market of Adjepbar

The discussion turned practical as weariness settled over the group. Terella offered her healing arts, restoring strength where fatigue had accumulated from their earlier exertions. With refreshed resolve, they consulted their map and activated the dimensional artifacts. The world folded around them, and in the space of two swift jumps they stood amid the crumbling stones of an abandoned ruin high on a windswept plateau. Beneath them the desert stretched away in silvered darkness, while green hills rolled northward under starlight.

Night still held the land when they descended toward the city. Its outer wall emitted a steady bluish radiance, casting ethereal light across the sands. Aurora remained just beyond the glow, watchful, while the others approached the northern gate. The streets within revealed a wonder: flat-roofed buildings whose terraces overflowed with rooftop gardens, lush greenery defying the arid climate. Ground floors showed few windows, most shuttered or barred, but higher levels opened to the air.

They followed the map to a busy intersection where the night market thrived despite the hour. Hundreds of locals moved among stalls, trading cloth and linen, steel tools, spices, and hot food that scented the warm air. Most traveled in small groups of three or four; guards patrolled discreetly. Children darted between adults while merchants called their wares beneath strings of lanterns.

Keshah stayed close as the party observed the flow of commerce. One among them, seeking not to blend but to command respect, approached a clothier’s stall. The merchant, an amiable man with quick eyes, listened to the request for garments befitting a representative of an important trading house.

"Gold," the merchant advised with a knowing smile. "Gold proclaims wealth and influence here. Red can serve, but gold… gold draws the eye of those who matter." He spoke of the coming festival on Friday, when the city would celebrate with special trade and pageantry. Samples were brought forth—fine linens, richly dyed silks, a tailored jacket with flowing sleeves in the local style. The chosen ensemble was measured and fitted while the group sampled warm bread and kept watch on the surrounding crowds.

By the time the transaction finished, the sky had begun to pale toward morning. Eight o’clock brought a pleasant eighteen degrees and clear air. The Wall Walkers, now attired as prosperous emissaries, moved deeper into the glowing city with purpose, the weight of their covert errand for the Adjepbar merchant house resting lightly on their shoulders.

Night 2

Chapter 1: A Haven Overlooking the Port

Arrival at Lady Summers' courtyard haven in Adjepbar

Arrival at Lady Summers' courtyard haven in Adjepbar

The streets of Adjepbar's merchant district thronged with well-to-do traders, most of them human, their footsteps echoing off sturdy stone façades. For the last hour the companions had moved through the flow of commerce, drawing glances that lingered especially on Aurora. Young men watched her with open admiration, though she dismissed any thought of buying a hat to blunt the attention.

"We should find somewhere reputable," one of them said, scanning the storefronts. Talk turned briefly to disguises and the wisdom of not casting spells in the middle of a crowded street; no one wanted to be the fool loosing lightning bolts among the merchants.

They pressed on toward the port, sacks of goods slung over shoulders, until they reached a handsome building set behind a low wall. A small garden lay beyond, graced with two large reflecting pools and riotous flower beds. A dwarf and a hobbit sat chatting in the shade while a woman moved among the blooms. She looked up as the party entered.

"Lady Summers," Aurora greeted her.

The woman smiled, brushing pollen from her hands. "You are from up north, yes? A bit further than the port district, I think." She studied them a moment, then nodded. "We have rooms. Excellent ones for you and your two daughters."

After a brief confusion over identities, Lady Summers led them up a flight of stairs to a spacious chamber on the first floor. High windows shaped like elongated pods looked out over the harbor, letting in salt air and the cries of gulls. A balcony overlooked the inner courtyard, and the room itself was airy and well-appointed, bright with colorful hangings and clever wooden screens. Two smaller bedrooms opened off it.

"The balcony faces the courtyard," Lady Summers explained. "You may come down and play dice if you wish. We have a fur trader, a ship captain, and others who gather in the evenings."

While servants brought cool water and fresh linens, a boy of about eight appeared in a miniature captain's uniform, bubbling with excitement. His older sister, Marian, followed more sedately. She appeared to be fifteen or sixteen, not quite human, with an easy grace.

"I can help you learn Adjepbaran," Marian offered, "if you wish. An hour each morning, perhaps? Just enough to speak with other merchants."

"That is a very good idea," Aurora replied. "We'll be doing it."

Marian's face brightened. She spoke of the Tournier, an organization that had spent the last decade fighting drought and the expansion of the drow, striving to change things for the better in the city. The companions exchanged glances; the name was new to them, but clearly important.

Later, Aurora emerged from her room transformed, wrapped in a light blue silk cape that shimmered like sky at dawn. Lady Summers clapped her hands in delight. "The Lady of Dawn!" she exclaimed. "Holy Andrew himself would approve."

Talk turned to the length of their stay—three or four weeks at first, perhaps longer—and to meals and guides. The boy tugged at the elf's sleeve. "Are you good with a sword? Will you come to the martial yards and meet the others?"

"Maybe," the elf answered with a smile, "but not today."

"I will arrange a guide for you in the morning," Lady Summers promised.

As the sun dipped lower, a tray of delicate pastries appeared, each topped with a thin layer of candied lemon. Marian's mother, it seemed, was an exceptional baker, though she guarded her recipes closely. The companions sampled them gratefully, speaking of Eastern Creek and the possibility of growing the same fruit there.

Before anyone could finish their tea, a group of twelve people entered below, accompanied by guards. Two men led the way up the stairs, their voices carrying clearly through the open windows. Whatever business had brought them to Lady Summers' door, it carried the unmistakable weight of importance.

Chapter 2: Merchants, Magic, and Moonlit Baths

Negotiating lodgings and secrets in the merchant house garden

Negotiating lodgings and secrets in the merchant house garden

In the shaded garden of the merchant house, where pod-like windows overlooked beds of fragrant herbs, the companions found themselves greeted by a courteous attendant and a pair of watchful guards. The man bowed politely, explaining that his lord and lady were resting upstairs. "If you require any assistance," he offered, "my lord employs many fine guards. We would be happy to help."

The trio introduced themselves as representatives of a northern merchant company seeking trading contacts, their story centering on shipments of fine leather from the Western Kingdoms. Lady Summers produced a small notepad, jotting details as the conversation turned to geography. "We are on the east coast," the attendant confirmed, smiling at their momentary confusion about the western lands. He spoke knowledgeably of the uncharted territories beyond, where sea-grass prairies stretched toward Sierra Grassa and hostile tribes made commerce perilous.

When talk shifted to their length of stay, the attendant's eyes brightened. "Three weeks, you say? That can be arranged, with a modest discount for such valued guests." They settled on full board—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—plus the use of the common areas. The host grew more serious when the subject turned to security. "We wish to avoid any unnatural troubles," he said carefully. "Elementals, devils, or the Fair Folk bring nothing but complications."

"We understand completely," Lady Dawn replied. "If we encounter any such problems, you will be the first to know." To ensure their privacy, they requested permission to raise a simple ward against scrying. The attendant agreed, provided it harmed no mortals, and soon a subtle veil of magic shimmered around their quarters.

As evening approached, conversation grew lighter. The attendant invited them to the night market and the coming festival. "The day after tomorrow is Friday by the old Elven calendar—derived, they say, from the Hobbit reckoning." Over glasses of cool wine, he described the other guests: a noble party from the country whose presence had heightened security. "Their captain informed me of your arrival," he added. "They have enemies in the city."

One of the companions, more open about his talents, admitted he worked with the magic of the air. "I fly often," he confessed. "Though I know some places shoot down anything that takes to the sky." The attendant took this in stride, then arranged for a guard named Marian to have a bedroll in the outer chamber, ensuring the ladies would be protected.

Later, the group descended a narrow spiral stair into the cool earth beneath the courtyard. Dripping water echoed softly thirty feet below ground. Here lay the baths: one pool steamed with medium heat, while the other remained magically chilled, its waters crystalline and refreshing. The air smelled of minerals and herbs. As they lingered, the captain of the upstairs guard approached with polite but pointed questions about the timing of their arrival and the nature of the two ladies' work.

Lady Summers met his gaze evenly. "We have no interest in causing trouble," she assured him. "Nor in entanglements of any sort." A shadow of old heartbreak flickered behind her words, but she dismissed it with a small smile. The captain seemed satisfied, and the companions returned to their rooms, the weight of their dual identities—merchants on the surface, Wall Walkers beneath—settling more comfortably around them in the warm Adjepbar night.

Chapter 3: Aspects of the Sun and Secrets in the Garden

Exploring the fortified gardens of Adjepbar

Exploring the fortified gardens of Adjepbar

The conversation drifted comfortably in the lamplit common room. "First breakfast will be served after eight," their host said. "You're welcome to join us. Sunrise comes around five thirty in these parts."

Aurora smiled. "That suits me perfectly. Ever since I was a little girl I've woken with the sun. I believe it has something to do with my Solar aspect."

"Solar," the host repeated, clearly intrigued. Another companion spoke quietly of their own troubled aspect, the result of a magical accident years before. Sympathy flickered across the host's face before the talk turned to practicalities.

Meetings would be best held in public places over the coming weeks, the group agreed. Some would use enchanted items to search the premises for hidden portals or structural weaknesses, while others planned a lengthy preparatory ritual to ensure safer travel later. One vessel in particular earned admiration: a pitcher that kept itself filled and perfectly cool. "I like that," Aurora said. "Where can I get one?"

"How about the baths first?" someone suggested. The idea met with quick approval. Temperature was debated lightly; Aurora, protected by her resistance to cold, cared little whether the water ran hot or cool. Plans for the next day took shape around them. Their recent acquaintance clearly meant to monopolize their time, beginning with the first festival tomorrow evening and continuing the day after. Still, there would be moments for their own pursuits.

"I want a proper look around the room and grounds," one of the Wall Walkers declared. "I'd rather we went together." The others concurred. Some could dress down and mute their more obvious traits, an elf among them and a northerner besides. They would wander the city, consult private maps, and begin gathering information on their target merchant. Street inquiries or a quiet word with the local magistrate might prove safer than magical spying; their quarry was almost certainly warded against such intrusions.

They stepped out into the evening air. Before they even reached the elevated terrace, guards could be seen at the head of the staircase. Small wind-up birds, delicate mechanical constructs, flitted among the foliage. The garden itself was breathtaking, almost excessively so, with living roofs of overlapping leaves and artful pod-like windows catching the last light. "Somebody has gone rather over the top," one adventurer murmured, half admiring, half amused.

The grounds were lovely but not undefended. Shards of broken crockery lined the tops of the walls, enough to discourage casual climbers. A shimmering field of spikes was called into being across a vulnerable stretch of ground, its magic glimmering faintly through the floorboards of the rooms above. It would hold for half an hour, more than long enough.

As the group stood among the fragrant beds, discussing the distance to the upper floors and the strength of the house's wards, a young Netta girl stepped out from the main building. She wore the simple livery of the household, her expression curious as she approached the unusual guests.

Chapter 4: Candlelight and Careful Words

Dinner among merchants and mysterious guests

Dinner among merchants and mysterious guests

The afternoon light had already begun to fade when the companions settled on their approach. Posing as merchants offered the clearest path to move freely within the organization and the household itself. Jonathan adjusted the subtle glamour that made him appear more approachable, a working trader rather than an outsider, while the others prepared their own roles. Aurora showed no outward concern when Captain O’Gara’s name arose; she simply reminded the group, with a small smile, that it was not a date and never would be.

When the bell rang downstairs, they shut away their preparatory spells and made their way to the dining hall. A long trestle table had been laid with crisp linens and flickering candles. Five new faces waited among the family: a burly bodyguard whose watchful eyes missed nothing, three women whose quiet conversation suggested both status and caution, and a handful of others. A merchant and two physicians sat beside several family members, including a dwarf and a hobbit who tutored the children in mathematics and arcane theory.

Conversation flowed easily at first. One of the merchants produced a small wooden case and offered samples of sugar-salted dried oranges, bright with flavor. Jonathan leaned in, genuinely interested. “How long have you been trading these?” he asked. The man explained the difficulties of export to the kingdom versus the empire, and soon they were speaking of olives, figs, and the ingenious underground barrels in which the household grew much of its produce. The talk drifted to mutual acquaintances and older adventures; one guest remarked that Jonathan looked familiar from a cleanup operation years before. “I was hired on for that one,” he admitted, and the table nodded with approval.

The fourth son of the house, permitted to visit the city because of his place in the line of succession, proved an eager conversationalist. He spoke freely with both Jonathan and Lizette, who had chosen a simpler, more practical outfit reminiscent of the household staff. Captain Gendel Hammersong, a powerfully built man introduced as one of the legendary figures from Superstition Mountain, eventually turned the discussion toward more serious matters. “I understand you were involved last night,” he said carefully. “I hope you lost no one who did not deserve it.”

The table quieted. Talk turned to the uncontrolled summoning that had complicated everything: a creature that slipped its bonds, a general left furious, and the lingering question of whether a doppelganger had orchestrated the chaos. Speculation passed back and forth—whether the summoner had been replaced, how one might banish such a being, or whether anyone still owed favors that could open doors on other planes. Hammersong listened closely, offering that further investigation might prove useful to all parties. “If you learn more,” he said, “we would be interested in employing your talents.”

The meal continued with careful attention to the dishes: flavorful creations ranging from delicate to boldly spiced, though everyone avoided the vivid red garnishes that tasted distinctly alien. When the last plates were cleared, the companions retired upstairs. A young servant girl informed them that Mr. Tumblewall would join them for breakfast at eight, and that language lessons could be arranged if desired. As they climbed the stairs, conversation turned to practical wards and the limits of certain magics, but the night air carried the sense that alliances were quietly forming beneath the candlelight.

Night 3

Chapter 1: Steam and Sweet Offerings

A soothing soak in the inn's misty baths

A soothing soak in the inn's misty baths

The common room had settled into the comfortable rhythm of evening, the bard's voice rising and falling like distant waves as he recounted an epic of dwarfish campaigns against the Dark Circle. Lizette lingered a quarter-hour longer than her companions, content to let the story wash over her, but the rest of the party soon slipped away. They had already decided against splitting up; wherever one went, the others followed, especially when the promise of hot water beckoned from below.

The stairs to the baths were narrow and built for smaller folk, forcing the taller members of the group to descend sideways, one shoulder forward. Mist curled thick in the underground chamber, carrying the pleasant scent of minerals and warmth. Two pools lay side by side, separated by a low dividing wall that rose only a few inches above the waterline. One steamed invitingly hot; the other offered a gentler, cooler embrace.

Lizette eased into the hotter pool with a sigh of pleasure, while Keshah and the others chose the milder waters. "Quite pleasant actually," one remarked, sinking deeper. Conversation drifted lazily between them: comparisons to the tiered baths of the Lunar Empire, jokes about the pool's nine-foot depth, and whether even a titan could have fit down the stairs. Laughter echoed softly off the stone as they moved between temperatures, letting the day's travels melt from weary muscles. By the time they climbed out, skin flushed and minds clear, the experience had lived up to the inn's reputation.

Returning to their chamber, they found it transformed. The room had been tidied with care; fresh towels lay neatly stacked, shutters drawn against the night. Outside their door waited a tray bearing a small bowl in which orchids and jasmine blossoms floated like a miniature lily pond. Beneath the covers lay an assortment of delicate sweets that filled the air with fragrant sweetness.

They had scarcely settled when a soft tap sounded at the door. The young male servant stood outside, eyes bright and manner polite. "Um, hello, Mistress," he said. "Is there anything you need before turning in for the night?"

After checking with the others, the answer was no. The conversation turned to practicalities. "What time for these language lessons?" they asked. The lad replied that he had arranged them for two hours after dawn. Breakfast could be brought up or taken downstairs; after brief discussion and a humorous detour into second breakfasts and the merits of hobbit-like appetites, it was decided the meal would arrive in their room. The young man nodded wisely at the tale of a distant shaman who had once claimed one of them carried more than a little hobbit in their soul, then bid them good night.

The companions closed the door, the faint scent of jasmine lingering in the air, and prepared for well-earned rest before the new day's studies began.

Chapter 2: The Lady Cat's Vendetta

Aurora negotiates with the imperious lady cat

Aurora negotiates with the imperious lady cat

The conversation with the servant concluded pleasantly. The Wall Walkers would receive their language tutor after breakfast; the offer was accepted with polite gratitude. Once the man had withdrawn, Kish moved to the doorway and windows, setting small runestones in place. The runes were tuned with care so they would ignore the ordinary traffic of the corridor and the presence of the party themselves, stirring only if unknown living things approached.

Night passed without incident. The early risers stirred while the city still lay in darkness. Aurora rose at four to begin her rites, and the others followed as dawn neared, each performing their purifications and preparatory spells. The usual chorus of birds was muted here; the upper districts of Alphinae offered little countryside, only rooftops and the distant murmur of the poor quarter below. They spoke quietly of the stones and the precise nature of the wards while the household began to stir.

At half past six a discreet tap sounded at the door. Aurora answered it. Marion, the flour-dusted daughter of the house, stood outside with a laden tray. "I have brought you breakfast," she said, stepping past her guest to set the meal on a side table. A sleek cat followed at her heels, tail high, and promptly began weaving between ankles.

Aurora knelt at once, reaching to stroke the visitor. With a soft invocation of the animal speech she had retained from her fairy days, she greeted the cat. The feline's golden eyes fixed on her with sudden interest.

"I am fine," it replied, "but I smell bacon."

The exchange that followed was as imperious as it was amusing. The cat introduced herself as the true mistress of these chambers and promptly denounced one Tommy, a rival who had been trespassing on her territory for far too long. "That motherfucker has been treating on my turf," she declared. "I want you to kill him."

Aurora laughed despite herself. "Tommy? I take it he's another cat."

"Of course he's another fucking cat. What are you, stupid?"

She assured the feline she was merely confirming details, then scratched behind its ears as requested. The cat demanded milk, more bacon, and continued scratches, all while eyeing the rest of the party with aristocratic disdain. When her gaze fell on the elf she paused.

"Does that dumb one over there understand me? Only if I translate," Aurora said.

The cat considered him. "Tell the elf to feed me. He looks funny. Actually, yeah… elf. You look nice. He looks dumb."

The elf in question refused to relay the insult, remarking that he would not be wounded by the opinion of a cat. Meanwhile the creature rolled onto her back, demanding belly rubs. Aurora could not resist. As she obliged, the cat purred and continued her list of grievances, clearly accustomed to ruling the household from the tops of cupboards and the laps of nobles. Breakfast grew slightly colder while the Wall Walkers listened, translated, and tried not to laugh too loudly at the small tyrant now holding court in their room.

Chapter 3: Cats, Courtiers, and the Tongue of Five Sisters

Aurora communes with the household cat as Mr. Tudor arrives for the morning lesson.

Aurora communes with the household cat as Mr. Tudor arrives for the morning lesson.

Sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the guest chambers, catching on the delicate arrangements of flowers that had been left for their comfort. Aurora stood near the casement, head tilted as she listened to the calls drifting from the courtyard. "I heard them this morning," she said. "I should speak with them too, and see whether they've brought any news."

Her companions exchanged glances. One leaned forward, voice low. "I think they are the eyes and ears of creatures not of this place. Spy birds, if you take my meaning."

Aurora smiled with recognition. "I've done that sort of thing myself in the past." She described the metal birds she had seen in the courtyard, unmoving and unnaturally sturdy. Their conversation was interrupted by the imperious arrival of the household cat, who made its demands plain. Marian, the young servant attending them, was promptly sent for more milk.

When she returned, Marian looked apologetic. "I'm terribly sorry about that," she said, referring to the aggressive lady cat she had carried out by the scruff. Aurora only chuckled, listening to the exiled feline's indignant complaints fading beyond the door. "It's a lovely cat," she remarked, "though it seems Tommy prefers belly rubs, milk, and bacon above all else. You know what cats are like."

Lizette looked astonished. "You speak to all animals?"

"Yes," Aurora admitted. "It comes from when I used to be a fairy. I've retained some of the old magics, including plant empathy. I can tell when a growing thing isn't well." She gestured to the flowers on the sideboard. "These aren't complete plants. It's hard to explain, but sometimes it's nicer to have one still rooted in a pot."

Marian's brow furrowed in polite confusion, but she recovered quickly. "We can organize that. Half a dozen, perhaps? Roses or lilies?" Aurora thanked her, and the servant promised to see it done before asking whether she needed to dress for the tutor's arrival.

Aurora glanced down at her casual attire and agreed it was time to change. She managed the unfamiliar garments with surprising speed, though Marian still stepped in to help. "You've got it over the wrong shoulder today," the servant noted gently. After a brief adjustment that tightened the cattan in all the proper places, Aurora felt presentable once more.

"I'm still trying to get the hang of it," she confessed. "I rather like this style. I might wear it back home." When asked what she normally wore in the Western Kingdoms, Aurora described the finer courtier dress required for audiences with the king. "I spend much of my time at court as a diplomat. It can be taxing, but I have a few friends there, and my own estate besides."

The others debated their own attire. "Are we supposed to be wearing our festival clothing today?" one asked. Marian shook her head. "No, the octopus-raising festival is tomorrow."

A soft knock sounded at the door. The young male servant bowed politely. "Good morning. Your tutor is here."

Mr. Tudor entered with quiet dignity, an elderly man wearing a floppy hat. He bowed low, then straightened and greeted them in fluent Volkspart. "I understand you are from the Western Kingdoms," he said. Aurora confirmed it, complimenting his own command of the tongue. Tudor smiled. "I hailed from there for some time. I am only rank four, but I get by."

He settled himself, eyes bright with purpose. "We have much to discuss. I will bring you up to speed on the terrible goings-on within the city. But first, I shall introduce you to the beautiful, delicate tongue of the Five Sisters." He broke at once into the liquid, intricate language.

One of the companions admitted quietly that he already spoke it, though he had wondered whether it was a tongue reserved for halflings or the ruling class. Tudor waved the concern away. "Tutoring is not necessary for you, then. Perhaps instead you might bring hot water and some light refreshments?"

Aurora brightened. "I've just put a jug on for tea. And Five Sisters too, of course."

The morning, it seemed, would be equal parts conversation and careful study.

Chapter 4: Blessings of the Five Sisters

Breakfast at the noble house in Alphinae

Breakfast at the noble house in Alphinae

In the sunlit upper rooms of the noble house, Master Tudor adjusted his robes and regarded his pupils with a scholar's gravity. "Please have a seat," he intoned, before turning a critical eye on Lizette. "Who says your tongue is perfect? You have no need for lessons. You are dismissed." Lizette retreated gracefully, though not before the elves exchanged a few light-hearted remarks about their own halting command of local tongues.

The tutor puffed up like an indignant pigeon when further interruptions followed. "Interrupt me again, young lady, and you will be punished. I am conducting serious lessons here." Yet once order was restored he settled into his work, weaving ritual words that drew visible strands of mana into the air. For nearly an hour the elves listened as the magic coalesced, until at last Tudor rose.

"Now I will prepare magic for you which will last for today and enhance your ability to understand the languages of the five systems. We will continue the lesson tomorrow at the same time. In the meantime, let my blessings be upon you." With a few precise gestures he cast the enchantment over them both. Their ears and tongues tingled; suddenly the rolling vowels and subtle cadences of the city felt far more natural. When they thanked him in the newly clarified speech, Tudor beamed. "Their oral fixation will be magnificent," he declared with theatrical flair before bowing and taking his leave.

A polite tap at the door announced that breakfast awaited. The companions descended to find the long table alive with nearly twenty members of the household. The Mistress of the House moved among them, her arms and nose dusted white with flour and a faint kiss-mark still visible on one flour-streaked cheek. Servants had packed six generous lunch cases with sandwiches, meat pies, and delicacies for the day's expedition. The dwarves were already eating heartily, and the rest of the staff greeted the guests with warm familiarity.

A bard had claimed the far end of the table and was regaling the company with colorful tales of the visitors' exploits. Some details were flattering, others clearly fanciful. The noble mother watched her son with visible displeasure as the young man hung on every word about the elves. "There were mostly flattering tales," she remarked dryly, "about you sending your human servant in your place to protect your virtue." The elves laughed it off, insisting their servants ran their distant Axtdorf estate far better than they ever could.

Conversation soon turned to the coming festival. "I would like to stay for it," one of the party admitted. The mother nodded. "A lot of the young men of the great houses will be wheeling statues up and down the street in carts. The first saints who arrived here were set upon by tasks; the hobbits told them that to settle they must carry burdens from the docks all the way to the fortress walls. That endurance is what we celebrate today." The elves listened with genuine interest, sensing that witnessing the procession might reveal more about the city's layered history than any formal tour. All the while the packed lunches waited, a promise of further adventures once breakfast and gossip had run their course.

Chapter 5: Debates of Equality and Olives

A spirited debate on taxes, elves, and olives in the lord's hall

A spirited debate on taxes, elves, and olives in the lord's hall

The lord leaned back in his chair, a faint dusting of flour still clinging to his sleeves from the morning's kitchen oversight. "If you were aware of any skulduggery, I'm sure you would put a stop to it," he said with a knowing smile, recalling the thief they had once driven from the lands with thrown stones.

Sir Edmund returned the grin. "Lightning bolts," he declared, eyes twinkling. "And I say that with a smile. It would be rather shocking."

Their host chuckled before turning to Lizette. "Miss Summers, do you heal the poor and afflicted?"

"I try to heal everyone if I can," she replied earnestly.

The lord nodded. "Then you will have your work cut out for you east along the docks, in the poor quarter. Many there are suffering. The elvish enclave fights against such poverty as well, though their methods..." He trailed off with a disapproving wave.

Lizette glanced at her companions. "If we have time today, it wouldn't hurt to go down there. I suspect I won't have the endurance to help them all, but perhaps I can ease a few burdens. We should all go together—and disguised, lest we be mobbed."

"A wise precaution," Edmund agreed. He explained again, to the lord's visible confusion, that he and Lizette held equal status, with her perhaps ranking slightly higher by background. The nobleman blinked, clearly unaccustomed to such notions.

When the conversation turned to the elves, the lord's expression soured. "They spread dangerous ideas of equality and claim the nobility should pay taxes to the town. They've been teaching the poor trades and skills far above their station."

"And what is wrong with that?" Edmund asked. "Knowledge benefits everyone."

"Where we come from, it is normal for nobles to pay taxes," Lizette added. "An educated populace can earn more, buy more, and strengthen the entire city."

The lord looked genuinely horrified. "Our lords, the hobbits, only tax the merchants. We own our own lands. If just anyone could afford our olives, it would be tragic. Our goods are precious; they must remain so. Besides, there will always be the poor. My own great-great-grandfather spoke of such reforms in riddles and nonsense. It came to nothing."

Lady Dawn listened with quiet amusement as the economic debate circled olives, oil, and limited supply. The lord remained adamant that expanding the market would cheapen their legacy.

Eventually the talk drifted from philosophy to more personal matters. One of the adventurers confessed to being an exile from Alphinae itself, though it had been many years since they last walked its streets. Plans for the day diverged: some would visit the upper city, while others expressed keen interest in the docks and the seaside. Pearl diving sounded thrilling, though Edmund warned of ruffians.

"They wear very little, leap from the piers into deep water," he explained. "It actually sounds rather fun."

The exile smiled. "I learned to swim not long ago. I've holidayed on magical islands and planes of water—beautiful places, though reaching them requires knowing the right paths."

"You could guide others there," Edmund suggested.

"I prefer to remain a visitor," came the reply, "enjoying the sights like any tourist. Perhaps the dwarves would be interested, though they've rather suddenly departed."

The lord listened to these tales of distant realms with a mixture of fascination and skepticism as the morning light shifted across the hall, hinting at the adventures that lay ahead in Alphinae's divided streets.

Chapter 6: Bones, Cats, and Goat Skeletons

The goat-skeleton cultists parade past as a curious cat approaches the Wall Walkers.

The goat-skeleton cultists parade past as a curious cat approaches the Wall Walkers.

The master of the house rose from the breakfast table, gave his flour-dusted wife a fond peck on the cheek, and gathered his packed lunch. "Good luck in your travels today," he told the guests. "Try not to get lost, and keep your servants from running too far out of control." With that, he departed with his small entourage, leaving the room suddenly quieter.

Vesper exhaled, glad to drop the polite smile he had worn all morning. "We'll head off as well," he said. Keisha nodded, already thinking ahead. "We're free until the festival tomorrow night. We could walk down to the poor quarter. I can see to the sick while we gather what news we can."

They stepped from the cool interior into the bright, noisy streets of Alphinae. Porters streamed in both directions, voices rose and fell, and at least fifty souls seemed to fill the thoroughfare at any moment. Vesper kept one ear tuned to the local dialect, quietly matching half-heard phrases to those he had learned and tucking the rest away in memory. Keisha adjusted the mask at her belt, and the trio debated whether their packed lunches would suffice or if they should buy extra food for the destitute. The suggestion of a bakery near the docks won out; better to purchase a hundred plain loaves than anything sweet.

The main road widened. Ahead came the steady thump of drums and the brazen clang of gongs. A procession wound toward them: robed figures with long, plaited hair carrying the bleached skeletons of goats mounted on poles like banners. Citizens made way without complaint. Vesper watched the macabre parade with open curiosity.

Before he could ask questions, a large tabby cat sauntered up, sniffed once at his boots, and looked him in the eye. Vesper murmured the familiar words that opened his mind to the speech of beasts. The cat's voice arrived crisp and disdainful.

"You've been fraternizing with that fat fool Tommy from the big house. I am called elsewhere, but you will do. The rats are smuggling the bones of the Earl into the city. Tell them to stop their games."

Amused and intrigued, Vesper followed the cat down a narrow alley. Halfway along the left wall lay a heavy iron grate set into the stone. With a grunt of effort he hauled it aside. Several pairs of beady eyes gleamed from the darkness below.

"Oi, rat!" Vesper called down. "Message for you. From Tommy. He knows about the bones and the Earl."

A chorus of vulgar curses rose in reply. Their apparent leader, a grizzled specimen missing half an ear, spat, "Who the fuck are you and how the fuck do you speak our tongue?" The exchange grew no more polite. Once the warning had been delivered, Vesper let the magic fade, replaced the grate, and walked away. The cat followed for a few steps, meowing indignantly.

Keisha arched an eyebrow when he rejoined them. "What was all that about?"

"The cat thinks the rats are smuggling the bones of some long-dead Earl," Vesper explained. "The rats have mouths like dockside mercenaries. It feels as though we've stumbled into something larger than simple vermin squabbles."

Keisha frowned. "I agree. This city keeps its secrets close."

They had not gone far when a young man was shoved directly into their path by the retreating edge of the cultist parade. He stumbled, caught himself, and stared up at the elves and the striking woman before him. Rather than bolt, he offered a sheepish grin.

"Sorry, honored folk. Didn't mean to run into you. Those goat-bone cultists always clear the street."

"Who are they exactly?" Vesper asked.

The youth shrugged. "They watch for signs. When the goat skeletons rise and walk on their own, they take it as a command to attack Ashurasur, one of the Five Sisters. The city was sacked forty years ago. Pirates, skeletal wights, and worse things live there now. Not many follow the cult, but some of the middle families quietly support them. Everyone wants the old cities reclaimed."

Vesper exchanged a thoughtful glance with his companions as the drums faded into the distance. The streets of Alphinae, it seemed, held more than bread and gossip.

Chapter 7: Blue Sands and Sunken Minds

Traversing the blue quarter of Alphinae

Traversing the blue quarter of Alphinae

The young servant spoke with quiet conviction about the displaced citizens of the fallen city. They had scrimped and saved for years, he explained, and in two years' time they meant to hire mercenaries and reclaim their homes. "When the goat-skeleton animates," he added darkly, "foreigners will be blamed for raising the bones. It will go badly for the cats."

One of the companions murmured agreement. The servant then asked whether they had any connection to the elven citadel. Learning they intended to visit the enclave, he offered to escort them; he himself was due for sword lessons. The party accepted, and the group set off through the winding streets.

As they walked, the servant glanced at the two elven women with open curiosity. "Your wives seem remarkably articulate in the local tongue," he observed. There followed an awkward but good-natured clarification: the elves were independent merchants under escort, not spouses. The servant himself was married, a fact that seemed to amuse him once the misunderstanding was cleared. "I see," he said at last. "Well, you are all clearly well looked after in our city."

Several blocks later the walls around them deepened into vivid cerulean. The servant gestured upward to a painted high-water line at the level of the first floor. "This is the blue district," he announced. "Power of observation." When asked why the color dominated, he described the substance sold only after dark: blue sand. Refined by desert cultists from crystals unearthed by the shifting dunes, the powder brought on pleasant hallucinations. Those who partook felt their minds fill with cool, crystalline water in which they could swim; the experience was trippy rather than distressing. Sunlight destroyed the drug instantly, which was why it could never be sold by day.

The adventurers pressed him on its nature. Was it addictive? Did users suffer cravings after a single dose? The servant admitted uncertainty; some perhaps did, though he believed most did not. One companion wondered whether healers could cure any dependency that took root. The answer was a simple no. Still, the possibility of acquiring a sample for study lingered in the air as they continued onward.

Conversation drifted to older sorrows. One of the party recited the grim history of Kirkle, southernmost of the Five Sisters. Sacked first by Ivenian longships, then again by the Dark Circle in 805, the city now stood empty. Its former people traded from offshore islands or had resettled elsewhere; only rumors remained—undead herds, evil cults, and the occasional ill-fated expedition by church knights. The servant listened with open admiration. "Your knowledge is extensive," he said.

The scholar among them shrugged modestly. "There is a great deal in our library. When I am not otherwise occupied, I read." She mentioned the Sea Gate Guild's past involvement and noted an intriguing reference to the Blue Morning Fog of 810. One of her companions speculated that the fog might be the very same substance burning away at dawn. "Just a theory," she added with a smile. The scholar nodded, already planning further research upon their return home.

As the elven enclave drew nearer, talk turned to practicalities. The dwarves might find the blue sand fascinating, one adventurer mused, but the others counselled caution. They were conducting an investigation; becoming entangled with too many powers would only complicate matters. The slums, after all, were not their concern. With that quiet resolution they pressed on, the blue walls slowly giving way to the green heights of the citadel ahead.

Chapter 8: The Elven Enclave

Keshah demonstrates the hand-and-a-half sword to the students of the Elven enclave

Keshah demonstrates the hand-and-a-half sword to the students of the Elven enclave

The conversation had turned serious as the group considered venturing alone into the slums. "If we go down there, things could get out of hand," one companion warned. "We don't want to hurt anyone, but if a mob sets on us our choices become limited." Another shrugged off the concern with grim indifference. "I don't give a damn if a whole bunch of humans want to kill themselves attacking me." Yet compassion tempered their words; the thought of rampant disease in the squalor weighed on them. "It would be good to help," one admitted. "Cure a few illnesses, prevent the spread. And perhaps, in speaking with enough of them, we might learn something useful."

In the end they chose caution and followed their guide out of the blue-sanded quarter. The streets soon changed. Fountains glittered between carefully planted beds of greenery, and the air itself seemed lighter. "This is nice," someone murmured. Their escort led them to a grand building that claimed most of a city block. Broad steps flanked by columns rose to an entrance that opened, after a short climb and descent, onto a vast courtyard.

More than a hundred fighters moved across the sanded floor, wooden weapons clacking in disciplined patterns. Most were human, though dozens of elves moved among them, correcting stances and demonstrating forms. The air rang with the rattle of practice blades.

An elf of obvious rank noticed the newcomers. He crossed the courtyard with measured grace and addressed Aurora and Keshah in fluid Elvish. "If I am not mistaken, it is Aurora of the Western Court and Keshah of the Adventurers' Guild." He inclined his head. "I am a friend of the ambassador to the Western King. What fine humans have you brought to us, and why?"

The conversation flowed easily in the elven tongue. The visitors learned that this enclave sought to extend Elfhame's influence against the drow, who had begun pressing naval forces toward the Five Sisters. Remarks were made about the brevity of human lives; Lizette, the healer accompanying them, drew polite approval when her talents were mentioned. "A healer," their host noted with genuine pleasure. "Very good."

The elf clapped his hands sharply. The courtyard fell silent as students formed neat ranks. In a voice that carried to every corner he announced the honored guests: Lady Dawn of the Western Kingdom and the esteemed warrior Keshah. Then he turned to the swordsman. "Kishor has offered to give us a few pointers. Which weapon would you prefer?"

"My best is the hand-and-a-half," Keshah replied.

A practice blade of appropriate size was brought forward. Keshah took it with easy familiarity and began to speak, explaining how the weapon earned its name by being equally effective in one hand or two. The students listened with rapt attention, even Aurora watching closely. With smooth, unhurried movements Keshah demonstrated simple forms, showing how the grip changed, how balance shifted, how the same blade could cut or thrust with lethal grace depending on the wielder's stance. The elf instructor smiled. "Are you willing to give us a display fight?"

Keshah glanced at his companions. "We'll just do a demonstration," he decided. The instructor nodded, clearly pleased, and prepared to cooperate. The courtyard waited, expectant, as the renowned visitor readied himself to show what a true master could do with steel.

Chapter 9: Demonstrations and Stacks

Lunchtime debates at the elvish enclave

Lunchtime debates at the elvish enclave

In the sunlit training yard of the elvish enclave, the Wall Walker stepped forward. "I'll slow it right down," they said, "so everyone can follow." With the effortless control granted by long mastery, the figure moved through the sequence: precise cuts flowing into held poses that somehow looked both lethal and serene. The mixed company of fisherfolk, fourth sons of merchants, and bakers' boys watched in attentive silence. When the final stance was released they offered quiet applause. The style was clearly foreign to them, yet they remained courteous and thoughtful.

Practice blades clacked across the yard for a time longer before the trainers called the midday break. Benches were drawn up and simple fare laid out. Once the clash of weapons ceased, the broad local accents softened into the common speech of the Five Sisters, even among the elves. Conversation turned first to the purpose of their school.

"We educate people," an instructor explained, "and create disciplined fighters. A folk who can defend themselves are harder to oppress." One of the Wall Walkers nodded. "Which is why the nobles dislike it. No one wants armed peasants answering back." The elves conceded the point but noted that all here were free folk. The brown-booted dwarves of the city guard, they added, were pleased; muggings and street violence had fallen sharply since the training began. A few fatalities seemed an acceptable price for safer docks and alleys.

Talk drifted to the goat-skeleton cultists who had lately left the city. "The Skellieweds took a caravan back toward the sacked city," an elf said. "They mean to prepare the ground and reclaim it in a year or two, once the worst of the undead are cleared. They brought adventurers with them; there was some trouble with a minotaur cult and pirates, but that was long ago." The Wall Walkers exchanged glances, quietly marking the place for a possible visit on their return journey.

Lizette found herself surrounded by a knot of teenage lads who puffed their chests and traded mock insults. She smiled at their boasting. "I'm older than I look," she told them. "A great deal of prolonged life has gone into this face." The elves nearby chuckled, confirming that judging an elf's true age was notoriously difficult.

More serious matters soon surfaced. The enclave trainers spoke of fresh trouble between the three major Stacks: northern, southern, and western. "Trade disputes, as always," one said with a sigh. "Rumors claim certain houses have hired extra swords, and at least one party travels with a great healer. We do not yet know who." They warned that the coming octopus-raising festival might see 'accidents' as old scores were settled. Without strong authority in the city, the merchant Stacks had moved to fill the vacuum, and jealousy could turn deadly.

The elves admitted they felt a measure of responsibility for the region. Their long trade in myrrh with the hobbits had helped shape the city's fortunes, and they continued to teach the poor so they would not be so easily victimized. Still, they doubted the lessons would overturn the social order.

As the meal drew to a close, news from Alphinae was shared: debates over skirt lengths had reached new heights of absurdity, with the enclave elves proudly claiming to be more forward-thinking than their kin in the upper city. Far graver was word that agents of the Drow were working within Adjepbar, seeking to open direct trade between the city and the Elvish Isles.

"Of special interest to them are the sands of the Blue Quarter," an instructor noted. When asked whether the blue sand was addictive, the elf gave a solemn nod. "Very much so. Yet in the fogs of the Alvis Isles it lets the user see the creatures that swim through the air. A useful gift, if one can survive the cost." The Wall Walkers listened closely, aware that gifts from such quarters often carried hidden poison.

Chapter 10: Visions of the Deep and the Saint's Bones

Conversations of powder, wererats, and the festival of statues

Conversations of powder, wererats, and the festival of statues

In the quiet halls of the elvish enclave, the conversation had drifted from language lessons to more curious matters. Their host leaned back, describing the effects of the crystalline powder the adventurers had inquired about. "It makes you regenerate," he explained. "It also makes you fiercely hungry and increases one's libido. Your heart rate rises, and the regeneration is quicker."

One of the party members tilted his head. "So what other effects does it have besides changing the vision?"

"Underwater visions," the host replied. "While giving you visions of underwater realms. It isn't truly addictive, though some grow fond of it, like a very strong cup of coffee. It may have some medicinal value, though I'm not certain it would be useful for true healing."

Lady Lizette and the others exchanged thoughtful glances. The prospect of a substance that could speed recovery while inducing strange oceanic hallucinations was intriguing indeed. Their host then changed the subject. "I understand from the young lads that you're planning on visiting the poor quarter this afternoon."

"That was the plan," one adventurer confirmed. "We were going down to the coast, and Lady Lizette wanted to offer healing to the poor and sick."

The host nodded gravely. "As a healer, then. Some people down there will need it." He produced pen and paper, quickly scratching down several names and addresses. "If you could swing by these places and ask for these people in particular, that would be good. There are many others you should politely overlook. If you make it well known that you're giving away healing for free, especially at high ranks, you will get mobbed and cause chaos. The people on this list will keep their mouths shut. We can send some guards with you—they know the area and command respect."

When asked about conditions in the slums, the host's expression darkened. "On the edges, not too bad. In the center, however, there's a strange cult of wererats which has inflicted some of the poor quarter with their shape-changing curse. They keep to themselves and have set up an enclave. They are human-sized rats, living above ground."

The adventurer gifted with the ability to speak with animals straightened. "Speaking of rats, you haven't heard anything about the bones of earls being smuggled into the city by a bunch of rats? I have the ability to talk to animals, and a cat gave me a message to pass on to the rats. They confirmed it."

Their host looked momentarily confused, then intrigued. "From a cat? Well, I hadn't heard that particular rumor, but it is of great interest. There's an old legend of a saint who was the first Earl of the city. They could return, and whoever returns with his bones to the center of the city can take power. I hadn't heard it for a good forty years. No one believes it these days, but you should investigate while you're in the poor quarter. The dwarves put down a similar rat problem a couple of years ago, though they're distracted at the moment."

The talk turned at last to lighter matters. "The festival tonight is to do with some fish in the harbor," their host said. "Tomorrow night's festival involves escorting the statues—all the statues—up to the Hobbit Wolds. The captain of the guard, normally a dwarf, will receive them. The younger sons of all the great houses and stacks, dressed in loincloths and oil, will carry these Adonis-like marble statues from the lowest city to the highest under torchlight, with much chanting and singing. It is a display of manly virtue."

"Do the statues ever get dropped?" asked one of the party.

"They're heavy. It is seen as bad luck, but accidents occur. Seven are being represented this year by alliances of houses, minor stacks, and merchant guilds flexing their muscle. We were invited but have no interest. You should go along. You will probably find handsome young men flexing their oiled muscles under torchlight and cloths."

Chapter 11: Festival of the Fishes

The docks of Alphinae prepare for the Festival of the Fishes

The docks of Alphinae prepare for the Festival of the Fishes

The conversation turned, as such talks often do, to the spectacle awaiting them the following night. "It'll be a spectacle," their host assured them between bites. The companions leaned in, weighing the customs of this strange city. One asked whether the rival houses were likely to sabotage one another. The answer came with a wry smile: of course they would. Tricks and traps were expected, wheels removed, ground made slippery, yet outright violence was forbidden. A brawl between stacks would end in a duel, and duels, their host noted dryly, were regrettably hit-or-miss affairs.

They learned that only three or four of the great statues usually reached the top intact. The largest were hauled by teams of thirty or more from the extended families known as stacks, some numbering hundreds of souls. It was not strictly a race; prestige lay in the size of the statue and the dignity with which it arrived. Injuries were inevitable on the steep, narrow streets, but families could call upon reserves during the long pauses along the route. Healing an injured rival, however, would be seen as declaring allegiance, and a healer who switched sides too freely would soon be branded a turncoat.

Satisfied, the group thanked their host for lunch and made their way down to the docks. The waterfront had transformed. Nearly five hundred souls crowded the wharves in a swirl of purposeful chaos. Long, pale octopuses were being lifted on tall poles, their tentacles arranged like living banners above the throng. Fishermen practiced raising and lowering the creatures, turning the eerie forms into swaying puppets that drew laughter and applause. Nearby, open fires roared beneath iron plates where fish sizzled and seafood delicacies bubbled. Young women with skirts hitched high stomped inside wide barrels, crushing fish heads into a pungent tomato-colored mash that their guide identified as garam, the strong fish sauce favored throughout the region.

Keisha moved among them like a jewel dropped into rough gravel; her finery alone seemed to account for half the wealth on the docks. The others blended more easily, threading past musicians and puppet shows on one side and the serious industry of gutting, cooking, and barrel-stomping on the other. Hundreds of fishing boats bobbed alongside the quay, their crews adding to the din.

Curious about the octopus ritual, one of the companions sought out a local and asked its meaning. The man grinned, showing teeth stained by years at sea. "If you can do it the best," he explained, "no girl can refuse your kisses." When pressed whether the custom belonged only to men, he laughed. "Or to girls who like girls. Everyone knows you're always allowed to kiss underneath an octopus." He went on to tell the tale of the pearl diver, generations ago, who had somehow managed the feat and afterward could breathe underwater, or so the story claimed. The listeners exchanged glances, half-amused, half-intrigued, while the octopuses swayed overhead like pale ghosts against the evening sky and the smell of garam and grilled fish wrapped the docks in the promise of a long and lively night.

Chapter 12: Kisses Beneath the Octopus

The rare rat addresses the Wall Walkers amid the bones of contention

The rare rat addresses the Wall Walkers amid the bones of contention

The docks of Alphinae thrummed with life as the Festival of the Octopus spilled across the wharves. Lanterns swayed above stalls heavy with coral carvings and the day's glistening catch. Locals paraded with live octopuses draped across their arms, and the air itself seemed salted with anticipation.

A friendly vendor explained the custom to the three striking outsiders. "It ended in tragedy, the old tales say. The creatures slowly lost their ability to breathe air once they left the water. Kisses keep the badness away. So no one refuses a kiss beneath an octopus." She winked. "It's considered very bad form."

Dawn, Keshah, and Lizette could not help but notice the attention they drew. The crowd seemed enchanted by them in particular; even among the port's own pretty faces, the adventurers stood out like visitors from some brighter realm. Keshah in particular drew appreciative glances, though the octopus-bearers appeared most interested in the women.

As they moved through the throng, their eyes fell on delicate coral statues prepared for the next day's procession to the hobbits high above the city. "Carry one up on foot and leave it with them," they were told, "and trade will smile on you all year." Keshah pressed a few silvers into a vendor's hand and selected a pair, slipping them safely into his pack. The afternoon was wearing on; the true festivities would begin in roughly five hours.

There was work to do first. The elf's list of addresses led them into the poor quarter. At the first home, a cramped two-room sandal shop, a young girl showed them inside. Seven people lived here in pinched circumstances. The mother limped on a knee that had mended crooked after a bad break. Her husband sat motionless on one side, the legacy of a stroke that had stolen the use of his left arm and leg.

Keshah let his empathetic senses brush across them, confirming the nature of the damage. While Lizette worked on the wife's leg with focused care, Dawn invoked her special healing rites. Between them they coaxed damaged nerves to life again, restoring strength and sensation. The couple's gratitude was quiet but profound; color returned to their faces as years of pain began to ebb.

The next call took them closer to the water. A dock laborer lay wheezing on a pallet, her breathing ragged and wet. Her young daughter coughed with the same hollow sound. This was no ordinary illness. The lungs were scarred, poisoned by the blue sand that sometimes drifted from the desert crystals. After neutralizing the lingering toxin, the healers turned their arts to regeneration. Fresh tissue knit together while the family watched in stunned silence. The mother managed a weak smile. "The fish we handle... some of them carry strange dust," she whispered. The adventurers warned her to keep clear of the blue drifts in future.

Twilight was nearing as they left the docks. In the distance, the grotesque parade of goat-skeleton cultists still capered through the middle town. The trio gave the main festival a wide berth and turned toward their lodgings. That was when the cat found them.

A sleek, battle-scarred tom bounded from the shadows. "What have you done?" it demanded, voice sharp with indignation. "You started a turf war. Go down there and tell them they will be driven out, that their tails will fall off if they don't get rid of those bones at once!"

Exchanging glances, the Wall Walkers followed. The cat led them around a corner where a couple was stealing kisses in a narrow alley. Beyond them lay an astonishing sight: forty or fifty pounds of carefully arranged bones. The remains appeared to be those of a minotaur or perhaps an ogre; the skull was missing. Tiny tooth marks showed the rats had transported every piece.

Keshah stepped forward. One rat in particular stood atop the pile, larger than its fellows and unnaturally bold. It rose on its hind legs and squeaked, yet the sound carried meaning. "We have summoned you. You will obey us, rat speaker."

Lizette extended her senses, reading the currents of magic that clung to the creature. "A rare rat," she murmured. The animal was clearly under some form of compulsion, a spell woven to grant it authority over its kin. The party felt an odd, artificial friendliness toward the rodent, yet the enchantment's edges were unmistakable. Whatever game the rats and cats played over these bones, it had just become far more interesting than a simple turf war.

Chapter 13: The Promised Land

The Wall Walkers receive their grim errand from the rat speaker

The Wall Walkers receive their grim errand from the rat speaker

The cat regarded the party with yellow eyes that gleamed like chipped citrine. "Take these bones and be gone," it urged, voice sharp with feline disdain, "quick, quick, before the rats do terrible things to you."

One of the Wall Walkers adjusted the mask that let them speak with such creatures. "You're wearing your mask?" another asked. The cat only flicked an ear. The bones proved far heavier than expected when lifted; what should have been dry and brittle felt dense as lead, carrying an unnatural weight that made every skull and femur a burden. "Not bone," one muttered after close inspection, though whether this was observation or intuition none could say.

They worked quickly, feeding the remains into a magical satchel that swallowed the impossible load without complaint. "We can't walk into the inn carrying an entire skeleton," one observed. "There might be questions asked."

"You could claim it's for any number of festivals," their companion replied with a shrug. "The octopus-raising is coming up. You're always allowed to kiss underneath an octopus, after all."

From the shadows came the rustle of many small bodies. The rat speaker stepped forward, whiskers twitching with self-importance. "Thank you, mister," it chittered. "Just carry them safely to the promised lands."

Aurora glanced at her companions, then addressed the rat directly. "What are you trying to achieve here? Where is this promised land?"

The rat drew itself up. "You are under my control," it declared with surprising gravity. "Take the bones to the promised land—the warehouse in the Blue Street districts. Down to the one in the center."

The warrior gave an theatrical bow. "I obey, great rat. I obey my master." Behind the performance his eyes met the cat's in mutual disdain; the cat returned the look with aristocratic contempt.

With the last of the bones secured and the rats' instructions memorized, the Wall Walkers withdrew from the stacks. They crossed back through the poor quarter under starlit skies, the city gates clanging shut behind them as they reached their inn. The hour was late. Inside, the common room stood quiet, and one by one they retired, the weight of their strange cargo and stranger errands lingering in the dark.

People and Places

• TBC - Review linked characters, factions, and locations.

Lore and Clues

• TBC - Review clues, prophecies, promises, and discovered facts.

Buffs & Mil Sci

Long Term (assumed always on)

Magic	Caster / NPC	Rk	Base Chance	Range	Duration	FT	Target	Effects
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Short Term

Magic	Caster / NPC	Rk	Base Chance	Range	Duration	FT	Target	Effects
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Misc

• TBC - Review daily rituals, consumables, protective auras, meals, rings, shells, and other recurring resources.

Watch Order

1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	11	12
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Marching Order

Default

TBC

Double File

TBC

Single File

TBC

Astrology

• TBC - Review lucky numbers, readings, auspicious days, and party-wide astrological effects.

Loot

• TBC - Review payment, treasure, potions, invested items, services, destroyed items, and unresolved claims.

Calendar

Seasonal Overview

TBC - Populate from NPC Forge weather timeline when date range is known.

Icon Legend

[sun] clear, [sun/cloud] mixed, [cloud] cloudy, [rain] rain, [storm] storm, [fog] fog, [warning] severe, [wind] wind, [new moon]/[crescent]/[full moon] moon phase.

Date	Day	Weather	Temperature	Rain	Wind	Dawn	Sunset	Moon	Notes
TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC	TBC

Winter
	Moonday		Duesday		W'ansday		Th'rsday		Frysday		Reapsday		Sunday
	Samhain
Frost (7)
			1	Guild Meeting	2		3		4		5		6
	7		8		9		10		11		12		13
	14		15		16		17		18		19		20
	21		22		23		24		25		26		27
	28		29		30
Snow (8)
							1		2		3		4
	5		6		7		8		9		10		11
	12		13		14		15	Solstice	16		17	The Duke of Carzala's Winter Ball	18	Yuletide
	19	Days of Chaos	20	DoC 2	21	DoC 3	22	DoC 4	23	DoC 5	24	DoC 6	25	DoC 7
	26	DoC 8	27	DoC 9	28	DoC 10	29	DoC 11	30	Twelfth Night
Ice (9)
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GM Review Notes

• Reader-style draft generated from the safe Roleplaying/Reader Mode stream.
• Review names, links, operational sections, and chapter emphasis before moving this text to a permanent campaign page.