Game Session: 3/11/2012
Being early in the morning, the tavern was quiet and empty of patrons. Behind the bar the brunette from the night before was cleaning, near her was the large man they called Garand. Moresight said nothing as he strutted to Garand and slapped him across the face, striking him hard and square.
Surprised, Garand looked at Moresight with widen eyes as he filled with anger. He struck Moresight back while screaming, “Fuck! Whad’ya do that for?”
“You will not talk to us like you did last night ever again, sir.” Moresight stated before slapping Garand a second time, this time nearly knocking the man down.
“Fine! Fine. Whatever you say,” he grumbled. Garand saw the rest of the adventurers behind him, “Beldet? Is that you? I heard you won the joust yesterday, but I didn’t think it was really you.”
Beldet looked the man over carefully and recognized him as being from one of the nearby hamlets of Witheridge. He remembered him as being one of the men who would fight in the tournaments. Beldet greeted, “Ah yes, Garand. I remember you. Do you still participate in the tournaments?”
He scoffed, “Nay, no longer. I not had the skills as you had.”
“I was the one who won the melee, sir,” Moresight interjected proudly.
Garand looked up at Moresight, “Aye, I can believe that. My apologies for the way I spoke to you and your friends last night.” He chuckled, “We run a tight ship here.”
Moresight eyed him down, “Don’t let it happen again.”
Still being filled with the need to blow off steam, Moresight went upstairs to see if there was any other trouble he could uncover, the party accompanied him. The room was barren – not even an unlucky sailor passed out from a night of stale ales. Mad went to the door with all the paintings.
Suddenly a strange feeling washed over them like an unseen wave, a dizzying sensation – not unlike the one they had felt in the Cave of Rebirth. A painting they had not noticed before hung on the wooden wall; it was framed by dark wood and carved with selcouth symbols. The painting depicted a terrible stormy sea, raging with white capped waves and lightning forked in the skies – in the center was a shadowy figure with bright red eyes that almost seemed to look at them all.
With a quiet whisper, the shadow slid out of the painting and floated before them in the tavern. It sucked all of the light out of the room slowly and everything grew dim, but the shadow was still visible with its great evil eyes.
“My followers, Anitawa has returned,” the shadow hissed. “It is time that I collect on the debt that is owed to me from you.”
Showing no fear, Elora spoke first and asked, “And what is it that you want us to do?”
A long shadowy arm reached out towards them, within the wispy hand was a small, bizarre statue. “This figurine, all you have to do is make sure that whomever takes over the Cult of Zsaalolek has possession of it. It does not matter who gives the figure to them. Whomever completes this task will have one less debt of the three owed to me.”
The figurine was a hideous thing – a creature squatting, with large teeth, a grotesque snout and serpentine eyes. It looked very similar to the face on the hilt of the Sword of Anitawa and the large tattoos marked across the chests of Madmorsight and Kyrs.
Anitawa waited to see whom would take the statuette from his shadowy grasp.
Kyrs took the figure, and the shadow evaporated away; the light returned to normal.