Just Deserts- Return to Old Korvosa

Two men crouched in the shadows of a fetid alley. One held a candle while the other worked on the lock of a door.

“Are you almost done?” asked the candle bearer.

“I would be, if you’d hold that damn light steady, D’Vaul. Why don’t you magic the door open?” He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“You’re the ‘box man,’ Vancaskerkin. By your own admission you’re better at this than I am, so I’ll save my spells for dire need. Carry on,” he replied with a grin.

“Yer still a pain in my ass. Why’d you volunteer, knowing where you’d end up and who you’d be partnered with?”

“For a feather in my hat of this magnitude, I’ll endure another visit to Korvosa and the tedium of your company.”

“Great,” muttered Alvan Vancaskerkin. The lock clicked open. “There.”  He turned the handle and eased the door open a crack.

Orrin D’Vaul stood, using the sharp vision inherited by from his elven father to peer into the gloom. Then he motioned for Vancaskerkin to proceed. The thief slipped inside. D’Vaul followed.

The two infiltrators stood in a great warehouse, a single room two stories high and piled with crates. A staircase to their left led up to a manager’s office. Soft light glowed from the windows overlooking the warehouse floor.

“My turn,” D’Vaul said. He murmured a few sing-song words and spiraled a hand up and forward, releasing a pinch of sand into the air, towards the window. A moment later there was a thump, followed by a second.

“I’ll go tidy up. You find our prize,” he said, handing the candle to Vancaskerkin.
D’Vaul’s long legs took the steps two at a time with nary a creak from the aged wood. Inside—as he’d expected—two watchmen slumped over a small table, felled by his sleep spell. He glanced at the cards still clutched by one of the snoring brutes.

“A shame too, that was a good hand.” He bound and gagged the slumbering men before returning to the warehouse floor. A few turns through the maze of crates, he found Vancaskerkin standing at an intersection, looking frustrated. He sauntered over.

“Whatever is the matter, partner?”

“I don’t think it’s here. None of these crates are tall enough to hold it.”
D’Vaul‘s gaze searched the stacks. He wandered a few rows before he found what he was looking for. He caught Vancaskerkin’s attention with a hiss and a wave.

“Alvan, here’s a question: Let’s say you bought a fine new cabinet. You get it home and discover it is too tall to fit through the door. What do you do?”
Vancaskerkin made a rude noise. “That’s easy. Carry it through on its side.”
D’Vaul waited, smiling.

“What does that have to do with…? Oh. Oh!”

D’Vaul pointed to a stack. Its base consisted of a single crate, about fifteen feet long. Vancaskerkin frowned.

“Calistria’s teats! It’ll take us all night to move these.”

“Don’t take her name in vain,” hissed D’Vaul. “Her eyes may be on us. Leave it to me.”
D’Vaul drew a handful of soil from a pouch at his belt, spreading it across the floor and intoning more arcane syllables. A rumble, then planks splintered as the earth rose through the floor, forming a rough humanoid shape some ten feet tall. D’Vaul growled at the elemental in a strange tongue, gesturing at the crates. It began pulling them down and stacking them elsewhere.

“There, that wasn’t so hard.” D’Vaul turned back to his partner with a grin. Vancaskerkin did not return it.

“This where you tell me how I’d never succeed without your big brain and fancy magic?” At this, the half-elf’s face became serious. He laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Not at all. You located the warehouse, avoided watch patrols, scouted the place and knew where the guards were positioned. Your participation was integral to our success.” The thief looked puzzled.

“Wait. Why are you being so nice? I know you don’t like me, and you haven’t forgiven me for abandoning you to the guards last time we were here.”

“Simply redressing a grievance. I give you too little credit for your abilities. We’re not friends, but we should not be enemies.”

“Yeah, I guess yer right, Orrin. Thanks.”

“Don’t get sentimental. You’re still a lackluster companion. Speaking of, our friend has finished.”

The elemental, task completed, loomed over them. Vancaskerkin produced a crowbar and levered the lid open. Nails screeched as they worked loose, and then the screeching became a loud, bell-like clanging.

“Magical alarm! Quickly, get it open!” D’Vaul yelled over the clangor.

Alvan pried the lid off. Peering in, the two Pathfinders saw their prize: a grim construction of bloodstained wood and steel. Its great steel blade was affixed to a base carved to look like a snarling demon. How it got to Korvosa was unknown. Yet here lay one of the Final Blades, the dread, soul-eating engines of execution so feared by the people of Galt, and all who dared tread that land of sanguine revolution. Somehow it had found its way into the hands of a madman, the self-proclaimed emperor of the island of Old Korvosa, quarantined during the blood veil plague. It was theirs for the taking, unless the alarm brought any nearby patrols.

D’Vaul turned to the elemental, grumbling commands. It took the lid, placed it back on the crate, and then hefted the box. Stepping into the hole from whence it came, the elemental slid out of sight, the alarm muffled by soil.

“The summoning will last long enough for it to reach our ship on the river,” Orrin explained. “Now we need to find a route that keeps us off the streets. Wasn’t there a sewer grate further up the alley?”

“Yeah,” Alvan replied. “But do we have to? I mean, we don’t have the goods on us. If we just act casual—“

“I’ve no desire to run into the guards, empty-handed or not. You’ll recall things didn’t go so well for me the last time. It’d be my luck that we run into someone that recognizes me.”

Alvan relented, running a hand over his pock-marked face, a reminder of his own time in Korvosa, thanks to the blood veil.

“All right, let’s take the sewer.”

“I used them as an escape route the first time,” D’Vaul replied, moving out to the alleyway. I’m not thrilled to go down there again, but it should provide us a direct path to the river.”

As Vancaskerkin pried up the grate, D’Vaul rooted through his pack, producing a sunrod and struck it against the cobbles. He handed it to Vancaskerkin and they descended. The tunnel beneath was broad, arching eight feet overhead. Down the center flowed a trench of rancid water. They began walking. Two hundred yards later they paused at an intersection.

“We should continue forward,” D’Vaul murmured, “and bear left when we can.”

“Are you sure?” asked Vancaskerkin, his voice echoing.

“Quiet!” D’Vaul hissed. “We’re not alone. These sewers are crawling with wererats. And worse....” As if summoned by the thought, a grumbling echo carried through the tunnels, then clarified into a recognizable sound.

“YUUUUMMMM!”

The two men locked gazes, eyes wide. They spoke as one. “Run!”
They fled through the tunnel, spurred on by the splashing too close behind them. At the next intersection, D’Vaul jagged left, crossing the sewer trench in an agile leap. Vancaskerkin stumbled, splashing through the noxious water and scrambling onto the ledge opposite. From close behind, a refrain continued to echo through the tunnels.

“YUM, YUM, YUM, YUMMM!”

Alvan looked back, sunrod raised.

Surging after them was a mountain of lumpy flesh, galloping at an awkward gait on three trunk-like legs. A great, toothy maw dominated its body. Bloodshot eyes stacked on a flexible stalk atop the body fixed upon him as a pair of barbed tentacles groped forward. Alvan ran on, shrieking.

D’Vaul’s longer stride gave him a lead. He was already at the top of the next ladder, pulling himself through to the street above when Vancaskerkin hit the bottom rungs and began to climb. Halfway up, a tentacle snaked out of the dark, grabbing his left leg. Panicked, Alvan dropped the sunrod, clutching the rungs with both hands.

“D’Vaul, help me!”

“I think not. I told you Calistria’s eyes might be upon us tonight. Consider this retribution, and a fitting end to our second outing in Korvosa.” The voice issued with cold calm from D’Vaul’s silhouette above.

“By all the gods, D’Vaul, please!” he begged. Then he was yanked from the ladder, screaming.

“Goodbye, Alvan Vancaskerkin.” D’Vaul slid the manhole cover back in place.

                                      ***

Orrin D’Vaul stood in the street, listening to the muffled screams. When they faded, he pried up the manhole cover again. A hysterical whimpering echoed up from below. Smiling, he climbed down.

The otyugh stood a short distance from the ladder. It held Vancaskerkin aloft by his ankles as ran its enormous purple-black tongue along the length of his body, from his now-soaked black hair to the soles of his boots. Alvan gibbered. The creature used its other tentacle to pluck off his boots, stuck both his bare feet into its great maw and began to gently suck on them—as gently as an otyugh could, anyway. Vancaskerkin’s response was a keening squeal, more animal than human.

“I told you those feet would be to your liking,” D’Vaul said. “If they taste anything like they smell, any otyugh should consider them a great delicacy.”

The monster’s eyestalk swung to regard the half-elf. It popped the feet out of its mouth to reply.

“HEY, LITTLE GUY! ME DO GOOD, YES? JUST LIKE YOU SAID. NO EATING, ONLY TASTING.”

“Yes, big guy, you did very well. Now be a good fellow and put poor Alvan down so we can fetch your reward and be on our way.”

The otyugh turned him right side up and deposited him next to D’Vaul. It even fetched his boots for him. Alvan stood there, dripping with saliva and shaking with fear. He turned wide eyes on D’Vaul.

“Oh come now, Alvan. You didn’t expect retribution? What I said about my escape was true. I used the sewers to avoid detection after I escaped my cell. Along the way, I ran into Big Guy, here. Turns out they’re fairly intelligent things and can be reasoned with. We actually became friends of a sort.”

“FRIENDS!” The otyugh bellowed in agreement.

“I decided he could help me avenge myself in a fitting manner. I worked out the details while you did the legwork on the warehouse and the guards. Consider us even,” D’Vaul said. He fixed his gaze on the other man. “Cross me again, and you will be repaid in kind. Understood?”

Alvan simply nodded.

“Excellent! I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. There’s a wheelbarrow full of horse manure above I want you to dump down here for the big guy. Then we’re off to the ship and on our way to Absalom. All’s well, and everyone receives their just deserts.”