They had said their goodbyes and watched as Tob and Yahim entered the circle with Atreus. It would be four days until they met again at the Aegeir, and that seemed an eternity. They had only known each other for two months, but it felt much, much longer. The bonds they had formed in such a short time only added to the tightness in their chests as they stood there waiting for the spell that would whisk the rogue and the ranger to Freehold. Atreus smiled one last time at Aislinn, then nodded to the magi. The sorcerer's voices softly wove the words to begin the spell. A silvery light filled the room as the tell-tale glow from each magi's right hand shown forth and encompassed them. Moment's later, they were gone, and found themselves suddenly standing in a small chamber in a darkened room.

Tob and Yahim both reached out to each other involuntarily, as the sensation of being teleported left them both a little unsteady on their feet. The feeling passed and they took stock of their surroundings. Atreus was in the room with them and he nodded once they had control of their faculties.

"Alright," he began. "You two stay here until I return. It will take me about an hour to have one of the acolytes prepare the sigils for you to use in the sewers. I will take you to the entrance upon my return in about an hour. Do not leave this room under any circumstances. The fewer that know you are here the better." The priest of Verengaard then left and closed the door behind him.

"There has to be a candle or lantern in here somewhere," Yahim muttered, fumbling in the dimness until his clever hands located a candle. A few strikes of flint and steel onto tinder and flame flared, giving them just enough light to see.

"I need to don my disguise," the small rogue murmured, placing his haversack on a low table to rummage through it. He removed several small, neatly tied bundles from it, then one larger one and a pair of ladies' travelling boots. This alone looked as if it would take up at least half the space available.

"Huh..." Tob mused, looking at the bundles and the boots. "Who will you be tonight?" He had never seen the spy done her disguises, but he did know that the transformation was so complete as to lead Tob to treat Yahim differently from Yasminna.

"An old derelict named Tolvar," the young spy replied, removing yet another large bundle from the pack, this one with Sundaryan riding boots attached to it. "Damn, I should have thought -- oh the hells with it." He muttered another word in Jabalsk then retrieved a third, and shabbier bundle from the pack.

Tob's experienced eye told him there was no way all those items would have fit in a normal haversack. Without a word, Yahim replaced the bundles he didn't need, without any unnecessary heaving, shoving, or cursing. "Older man, his joints pain him. Makes him short-tempered, irascible. A drunkard betimes, medicates the pain. In service to his employer -- never named, of course. Today Tolvar will be looking for Coren the White Bear. His master wishes to employ him to guard his passage south."

Yahim looked up abruptly, and grinned. "Drunken grumpy old men are everywhere, and thus really unnoticeable. Follow the reasoning?"

"Aye, that I know well enough. You're wearing my uncles' skins for the night. Every one of 'em a grumpy old drunkard, and not a one of them noticed until they fall down. All right, Tolvar, impress me." He stood back and watched as though waiting for a juggler or musician to begin a performance.

Yahim laughed and it was an unwholesome sound. Deft fingers loosed and unrolled several lengths of supple hide and unscrewed the lids from porcelain pots. Once placed precisely upon the low table, the spy nodded absently, then began drawing the shabbier clothing of a drunken old man over his own. In fact, everything Yahim donned was put on over the persona he was already wearing. Tattered, stained, disreputable tunic, moth-eaten woolen scarf and ragged burlap pants, all in varying shades of the same brown. What's more, there were lumps and bumps where there hadn't been before, proof that the clothing was subtly padded, making Yahim's body sag and look much heavier than it had moments before. Over his boots he pulled leather covers that looked as if they'd already made a trip or three through raw sewage and had emerged the worse for it, but they made his serviceable boots look much shabbier as a result.

Then he fished a mirror out of his pack and held it out to Tob. "Here. Hold this." Without another word, he began dipping his long fingers into the pots and skins on the table, smearing ash and grease into his hair to turn it ragged grey, then other unguents onto his face to make it look sallow, mottled, unhealthy. From the last tied off bits of waterproof hide he extracted two wads of something that couldn't be identified without closer examination but which smelled like they'd been soaked in some liquor or other for a long time. The strange-looking old man inserted them into his mouth then worked them into his jaws...

...his back bent over slightly, emphasizing a lump there...

....his chin tucked into the scarf, making him look as if he had no neck...

...his eyes squinted, and the smeared unguents gave the creases around the eyes the look of unhealthy old age...

... and he looked up at Tob and half-snarled, half sneered, snatching at the mirror as if exasperated with the taller man's incompetence. Tolvar -- and it couldn't be anyone else but Tolvar -- coughed slightly and croaked:

"Oy, gimme tha', y'oversized baster' afore ye break summat."

"Well done, you old sod," Tob said. He wanted to smile with good nature, but the experience of watching Yahim/ Yasminna become this disgusting old wretch was vaguely unsettling and took some minutes to get used to. The magical nature of the disguises application was wonderful, but the past days in the tower left the effect more astounding than the cause. "'Ere," he said, handing over the mirror.

Tolvar grabbed the mirror, muttering under his breath (on which Tob caught the smell of liquor), replacing it in the pack. He'd replaced all the implements of his trade and had placed the pack inside a grimy bag by the time Atreus returned.

--

Atreus almost laughed when he saw the new disguise, and Tolvar could tell the priest was impressed. He then led them through a hidden panel in the wall and down the steps to a locked gate. Atreus removed a key and unlocked the gate which he then opened. They looked inside and saw more steps leading down.

"These steps will take you into the sewer system. From there you will follow these markings," he said as he indicated the sigils on the paper. "They will lead you through the sewers. Continue to follow them until you see these markings. Take those next until you find the large chamber that has the water-wheel. You will need to go north from that chamber and take the first exit that leads up. That will bring you to the entrance to the Market District and those that you might seek. Enough light filters through once you are down there that you shouldn't need any torches. Seek out the temple and give this to the Knight Protector at the gate when you return. They will bring you to me," he said as he handed them each a special brass coin. "I look for you in three days time. Good luck and may Verengaard light your way."

"Oy. 'old on to this, 'til we come back," the old man grunted, handing over his clean, fair-copy of the map to the catacombs to Atreus. "Wunna do to 'ave 'at on me person, jes' in case, but I'll be back fer it, so don' lose it 'r nuffin'!"

Tob and Tolvar heard the creak and clang as the gate was shut and the grind and click as the lock was reset. With an exhale they each eyed the other then Tob turned and led the way down the steps. The smell was familiar, but not overwhelming. It was apparent that the sewers were inspected and cleaned somewhat regularly.

"Must actually have a guild here for maintenance," Tolvar commented. He also noted how different it was from the last set of sewers Yasminna had been in.

"Whatever their salary, it can't be enough," Tob said. He felt like he was walking through a foreign city's large intestine, which he was, and even in the best of circumstances, it was a disgusting proposition. The cave in Tomiak pass with its bear scat and hibernating bats was a thousand times preferable to this place, to him. The woods where Coren defended the fate of the world with his axe were even more heavily in Tob's mind now, and he wished he was there all the more. Still, this duty called, and done right it would likewise defend the fate of the world. Duty was almost never what one preferred - that was why it was duty and not leisure.

The dripping sounds and algae covered walls were beneficial in masking their movements, especially their footfalls. The stone walls were slick and water flowed down the central channel in all the chambers. The landings on either side were about four feet, and made standing side by side impossible. The channel was six feet across, and there was no idea how deep. Although there were several twists and turns with connections and corridors, the sigils proved invaluable in getting them pair to the chamber with the waterwheel. It was upon their approach that Tolvar reached out and grabbed Tob to halt him. He turned and looked as the rogue held up his finger to his lips. He then tapped his ear to indicate he had heard something coming from the room ahead.

Tob nodded a tiny nod, and with his chin gestured for the spy to go forward. He stepped back toward the sloped wall, careful to avoid the slippery algae. In this place, his swords might be more harm than help. He would have to rely on his capable fists if they turned out to be necessary.

With an equally abrupt nod, Tolvar unsheathed one dagger and crept ahead silently, the deep shadows embracing him like a lover.

The Sundaryan moved down the corridor and hugged the walls to stay shrouded. The algae further helped to mask his footfalls, and he realized he had grown a little careless. If it hadn't been for the soft covering of the wall, the buckle on his trousers would have most certainly scraped the rock and given away his position. As it was, however, the underworld bloom saved him. He was able to get near enough the entrance to thr Waterwheel room and make out two distinct voices.

"Valgard is coming soon, Shuraan. He wishes to know if the the plans are in place.

"Aye, Kuurst," the one called Shuraan replied. "The casks are here, and have been placed on schedule."

"Good. Dragonlord Valgard will be most pleased. Freehold will be ours. Come, we shall share a drink this night at the Axe and Cleaver."

Tolvar waited until their noises indicated they were leaving, then chanced one brief glimpse around the corner to get an idea of what these two traitors looked like or at least what clothes they were wearing. Tolvar moved ahead and looked into the room. There was no one left in the room, and it was also apparent that the casks they were talking about were not there either. Tolvar realized that they must be somewhere else. He then retraced his steps carefully back to Tob, pulling the big man's head down to whisper in his ear, telling him what he'd heard.

"Looks like we got lucky," the gravelly voice concluded. "Follow 'em to 'eir pub and see 'oo joins 'em? Need to find dem casks, eh?"

"Well shit fire and spare the tinder," Tob exclaimed in a whisper. "You're luckier than a six legged rabbit. Aye, the pub and we'll see who needs a little twist to tell us about the casks." He gestured with his chin for Tolvar to go first. It was easy for Tob to see over the small, hunched figure in front of him, and he didn't quite feel comfortable with this particular iteration of Yasminna at his back. That was more a subconscious matter than one at the forefront of his thoughts, but there it was.

With a nod and a shrug, Tolvar crept back toward the chamber, mindful of belt buckles and other odd implements in this larger body-space, this time. Another quick glance told him if it was empty, then after that he looked for exits -- was there more than one? If there was, through which did the two leave?

Tob saw Tolvar motion him forward and thee entered the Waterwheel room together. The room was about 40' x 60' and 20' high. There was a large wheel off to the left side that turned slowly as the water within the channel underneath it pushed against the slats. There were three other openings with corridors that led from this room, and a ladder attached to the north wall led up to and through a hole in the ceiling. Tob began to search around for signs of their departure. He found two sets of tracks that led from this room, and returned to tell Tolvar what he learned.

"They went seperate ways," the ranger whispered to Tolvar. "One, wearing softer boots, went that way through the corridor. The other one went up this ladder to wherever it goes."

The smaller man gazed at both spots, then rubbed his eyes. Tob had been teaching Yahim how to track out of doors, but how the woodsman knew where the two recent occupants had exited exceeded his meager skills entirely. "Eyes like a bloody 'awk, you got," he muttered, squinting at the ladder, then down the indicated corridor. "We 'z tole to go 'at way," he went on, gesturing down the corridor after the soft-booted man. "Nor', 'e said, firs' ladder up. You check it when we fin' it, eh? See if the bugger went up ahead of us...."

Tob paused to listen very carefully, and go over what he thought he had just heard in his head, to make sense of Tolvar's thickly accented speech. "Aye, as you say." He started after the soft boot prints, taking the lead in case they had been spotted.

"Quiet-like," Tolvar hissed, glancing around the waterwheel chamber once more before following. "We know 'e's ahead of us now, eh?"

Tob and Tolvar moved into the corridor where one of the two men had gone. The soft sounds of water dripping rhythmically echoed in sploits and sploops down the corrider which appeared to open up into another small room just ahead. They could see a ladder on the far wall of the small room that looked identical to the one the Waterwheel room, and they knew this must be the exit they were supposed to take up into the Market District. Tob went into the room first and was about 5' in when he headr the startled gasp from above. The man they had been following had climbed up the wall above the entrance and hidden himself, ready to attack. Instead, he had lost his grip and fallen to the ground below, momentarily stunned.

Tolvar blinked, then glanced up at Tob. "Nice of 'im, eh?" He croaked. One booted sole came to rest on the side of the man's neck, threatening to crush his larynx if he so much as twitched funny. "Since you was good enou' to give yerself over like 'at, ye might as well start talkin', pig. Wha' casks, where are dey, and who be involved in betrayin' the city to the Dragonlor's?" He glanced up at Tob again. "Oh, an' if ye be thinking o' lyin' or tryin' t' tough it ou', my friend 'ere 'll prolly rip your man-parts off 'n wear 'em for a necklace."

Tob could not believe the spy's continued good fortune. He knelt on one knee to get closer to the hapless traitor, and took out the small, utilitarian knife he kept in his belt. "Nah. A man's figs'll rot in a day or two, but teeth last forever." He eyed the small dark blade, and shook the small pouch of ogre teeth at his side which rattled a little at his touch. He looked at the dazed captive. "And ye have more of 'em, don't ya? Now tell uncle what he wants to know and you'll get to eat steak instead of soup."

The spy was scared and more than a little confused. His eyes darted back and forth from Tob to Tolvar, and his breathing was labored due to the boot upon his throat. He didn't move otherwise.

"Hellfire," he said finally between clenched teeth and with an air of resignation. "They are hellfire casks."

Tolvar looked to Tob for understanding, as it was not a term the thief knew. The Sundaryan watched some of the color drain from Tob's face and Tolvar could tell this was dire news indeed.

"Bout 150 o' dem scattered tru'out and under da city," the spy said.

Tob rose slowly, a stunned look in his eyes. He back away from the spy and fell against the wall.

"This is bad," the ranger said. "Very bad.

"How long 'til you roast alive down here, pig?" Tob's voice was flat and cold, like iron falling on velvet.

"I dunno," the spy replied. "I didna place 'em, but dey are all over da city. I dunno when dey spose to go off."

Inside Tolvar's tatty clothing and under his mottled skin, Yasminna had grown very, very cold, doubtless from the core of icy fury that had formed at this traitor's words. Had this been Sundarya, you slimy, faithless sewer rat, your naked flesh would be coated with honey before you were staked out upon the desert sands to be torn apart by fire ants... I don't suppose the Northmen are any kinder to such treachery...

"Where'd ye get the casks from, boy?" Tolvar coughed, barely able to keep from snarling. "How'd 'ey get inter the city? Ain't t' kinda thing ye smuggle in yer underdrawers, takes a bit o' arrangin', it do."

The spy looked at them took a breath. "I'll tell ya what I know, but ya gots ta promise to let me go and let me live." He waited for their answer.

"Can't do it," Tob said quietly. "Your life was forfeit when you cast your lot with the wyrms. All I can offer is a painless ending. It all gets worse from there. Quickly now, before I lose patience."

The look in the man's eyes bespoke of much to Tob, He had seen it before as many men faced the realization of their own death. "Then if I am truly to die, I will speak of no more. You will learn nothing of what your uncle wishes to know. Let the Dragonlord's work be done and damn you all."

"My way would have been easier for you," Tob said, frowning at the doomed fool. "Let's get him trussed and I'll take him to the knights of Verengaard," he said to Tolvar. "You go on to the pub, and I'll be there 'fore you know it. Be careful, there'll be enough men broken tonight without adding me to the pile. And keep your foot on his throat while I get his pants."

Tolvar shrugged, coughed, spat. Spittle ran down the traitor's face; unconcerned, the old man pulled out a (nonmagical) dagger and began paring back his nails with it.

With his knife, Tob began to cut the legs off the captured spy's trousers to bind his hands and feet with. As he did so, he worried about separating from Yasminna. He still agonized over her work in Portsdale, and this was doubtless immeasurably more dangerous. But if he didn't, the city would likely explode, quite literally. The choices a soldier had to make were frequently uncomfortable, and this one was both obvious and horrible. If he let her go alone, she might die, and if he didn't, she would almost surely die.

"The way I see it," Tolvar began, with the air of an ignorant street thief mimicking a learned professor, "ye're still breathin', pig. An' as long as yer still breathin', ye got hope. Once you stop tha' -- the breathin' thing -- hope's gone. Ye answer to the Gods fer yer crimes. By my reckonin' there be quite a list of 'em an' I only known ye a few minutes.

"Now," he went on, examining the dagger point with evident interest as Tob continued his task, "If ye keep talkin' with all tha' breathin' yer still doin', I might fin' a reason not to let my boy 'ere 'ave 'is way wif you. Oh, 'e'll get ye to the Knights, a' right. Eventually. But ye'll prolly be beggin' 'em to take ye, by the time 'e gets ye there."

Tob spoke to their captive again. "And then you'll tell them everything you ever knew, shit yourself, cry for your mother, beg for death. They always do. You won't die until they are sure you have no more to tell them. I expect you'll live for several more moons, not that you'll see them."

"And the way I see it is this," the captive replied. "What's the likes o' two o' you doin down here? If'n I am already dead, or knight fodder, no sense makin' things easy on ya. Up to you, then. Lemme up and lemme go for what I know, or send me to hell." He looked Tolvar straight in the eyes, as if he was looking deeper than he should. "And I'll be waitin for ye on the other side."

Tolvar chuckled, a sound like rocks rolling down a dry stream bed. "If I let ye out of my sight with my boy 'ere, ye'll be takin' the scenic route t' the 'ot place, y' rotter. The Knights get their pound o' flesh from ye first. In th' meantime, 'ere be others who'll be knowin' what ye know, an' prob'ly more too. Like yer friend Kurst. Waitin' for ye at the Axe and Cleaver tonight, no doubt."

Shuraan laughed as much as the boot holding him down would allow. "Ah yes, I almost wish I could see you go after Kurst. Scourges are more than capable of taking care of themselves."

"Oh, 'e's a Scourge, is 'e?" Tolvar cackled again. "Funny thing about them Scourges. Their God likes it when they suffer." He flicked the tip of his thumb on his dagger's point. "Kinda work's against 'em, it does. But thanks for tellin' me about that. Ye sure ye don't want to spill some more while ye're at it? They're all gonna know it was you, anyway."

"Awright, I'd want more time before the maggots ate my guts if I were you." Tob tightened the ties binding the man's wrists and clenched the scruff of the man's shirt. "If you struggle, you still wind up with the knight's inquisitor, but you do it with a broken nose and a few less teeth." Over his shoulder he said "You can let him up, they'll get the truth out of him soon enough."

Tolvar said, "Ye may wanner knock th' daylight outta 'im firs', boy. No sense lettin' 'im get in any practice screamin' afore he's put t' the question." His old eyes were penetrating as they looked down at Shurran. "Last chance, slug. Ye can tell me now and takes yer chances on me mercies, or spill it all t' the Knights and trust to theirs. I'm tole they ain't got none with traitors, but I'm sure tha's just an ugly ol' rumor." He cackled some more, amused at his own joke.

"Warned you. Lost my patience," Tob said to the man on the ground, and he drove his fist into the man's stomach, oblivious to the hands he had bound in the way. His broad shoulders swung with the blow, and he leaned his weight into it, like he was aiming for a spot beneath the cobblestones under their feet.

"Now, talk or I'll skin your leg like a rabbit. You can ask Uncle, here, I'm very good at it."

The feral, hungry gleam in the old man's eyes was unmistakable. "Thought ye swore off skinnin' 'em alive? Ain't no matter, have fun, me boy," Tolvar went on in an almost kindly, avuncular tone. "Ye've earned it."

The sound of something scraping against stone caught in Tolvar's ear as Tob began his formal interrogation of the spy on the ground. Tolvar whipped around to see three walking corpses, mostly bone, coming at them through the corridor that led to this room. Slime and muck from the sewers were draped over the exposed limbs and ribs, proving that these creatures crawled up from somewhere in this system. As Tolvar looked at them, he could see there were more shapes moving behind those three, but couldn't get a clear understanding of what lay beyond the three blocking the doorway.

"Uh, never mind boy," Tolvar said urgently, backing toward the ladder. "Leave the pig trussed up fer the corpses -- there's other ways to find out what we want ter know."

"Fff-" Tob's aborted profanity came out as a hiss as he looked at the approaching restless dead. He grabbed the fallen traitor by the collar and shoved him back towards the ladder, leaving him on the ground and out of breath. He drew his long sword and Iyaroneth, and took an offensive position.

"New bargain for you, maggot," Tob said over his shoulder to the doomed man. "Talk and you'll get out of here alive. Now. Keep mum and you'll be amazed how much they can eat without a stomach."

The glint in the man's eyes and grimace of an unholy smile told Tob that the spy was not at all scared. In fact, the man seemed emboldened by the presence of the undead. Tob was getting very tired of this sinking feeling in his stomach, and turned back to face the oncoming monsters.

Iyaroneth felt proper in his hands, but Tob felt a slight humming or vibration along the shaft and hilt. There was something urgent and insistant in the sword's manner. The undead sensed what lay ahead of them, but something forced them forward, as if they were being forced against Tob and his blade.

Tob began to swing Iyaroneth, but the vibration from the sword was so disconcerting that it threw him briefly off balance.

Deep inside Tolvar, Yasminna felt the terror rise, but clamped down on it mercielessly. Throw a dagger...? No, stupid! They're mostly bone, where would it stick? So what then? And what was that behind them?

"I'm checking our exit," Tolvar shouted, clambering up the ladder.

The thief had no trouble clambering to the top of the ladder which went up and through the ceiling of the room. At the top of the ladder there was a grate which was the entrance to the sewer and the exit to the Market Distric. Tolvar peered trhough the slits and could see that it was getting dark. The grate opened up into a quiet alley, but that was as much as he could tell about the area outside the exit. He turned and went hand over foot to land easily behind Tob who was trying to recover from the strange blade and it's behavior.

"They're not dead yet?" The thief said incredulously, readying two magical daggers from their sheaths. "Why aren't they dead yet?"

Tob felt the ancient sword in his hand, felt it desiring something he could not name. He saw the skeletons, not approaching, not behaving as he had been trained to know that they would. Something was driving them to him, or someone. As he jockeyed for position in front of the approaching skeletons, in his mind's eye his captive's placid, eager expression flashed in front of him. Who would eagerly anticipate the arrival of the undead?

In a trice he knew what to do. His eyes widened at the sudden intuitive leap, the certainty that he had been a fool.

"Iyaroneth!" he nearly shouted as Tob ap Huwyll spun on one foot and pushed Iyaroneth into the man's chest.

The words flowed from the ranger's mouth and the blade sprung to life. The forge fire within the magic weapon was released as flames engulfed the blade in blinding, blazing glory. What had a moment before been almost unwieldy and counter to Tob's movements now became one with the ranger's swings and stance. Iyaroneth was truly his until such time as the cycle of life would seperate the two. The hiss of fear was audible from the undead as they discovered the source of their earlier trepidation. The sword sang it's challenge to the creatures that had approached. Iyaroneth hungered for the taste of their bones, but sank easily into the man's chest as Tob pushed the firey sword into him. His life had ended, and the undead began to back up and retreat further into the corridor.

The surge of adrenaline and magic that coursed through Tob were as much of a shock as the sword's sudden eruption into flame and synchronicity with his desire. The natural inclination to throw anything that bursts into flame away from him was checked by the surprise reflex that says grip harder, and the wonder that filled him over what he was holding.

Startled by the display, Tolvar jumped back, eyes wide at the wonder of the blade, and the warrior wielding it.

"Beldram's Balls!" The sword hungered to clean the rot of infection from the world, and he hungered mightily to oblige. Tob charged the line of retreating corpses, Iyaroneth leading the way, mageflame soughing like the growl of a large predator. The other sword, still in his left hand and not forgotten, was ready to finish whatever Iyaroneth chose to start.

Over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, Tob said "Be right there, search him."

"Don't get trapped, ye kill-hungry lout!" He had to say it, and even as the words left his mouth he knew it would do little good. Not happy about being told how to do his job, Tolvar nonetheless put on gloves to go over the body and through the pockets of the corpse, pulling out a scrap of rag to put the smaller belongings on as he worked.

Tob and Iyaroneth lept into the midst of the retreating horrors. The firey blade made quick work of monster. The blade shattered bone and burned eveything it touched upon the unholy and undead. Tob saw the additional three skeletons that were behind the first three, and he continued to weave a path of burning destruction in their midst.

Tolvar's dirty fingers sifted through the clothing of the dead spy. He gasped as he saw the black disc that lay under the shirt and around the neck of the dead man. The grimacing skull was emblazoned upon the surface of the skull, and even Tolvar felt uneasy staring at it. He continued his search and discovered the parchment hidden in the boot of the man. It laid out the general locations in the city where the 150 casks of hellfire should be laid out. While it wasn't a map, it was the best the city could hope for if they were going to minimize the potential disaster. While Tolvar found a few coins, there was little else of matter upon the body,

With a sigh of relief, she whose seeming was an old man wrapped the meager belongings in the cloth, excepting the map. That he tucked into an inner pocket in his tunic. There was simply too much here for the two of them to handle -- they were going to have to recruit help. But whose? Asking the Knights is the obvious answer, but they'll roll like thunder over this city and chase the rest of the cabal to ground....

The eyes that gazed down at the corpse were cold and implacable. Hope you enjoy the meeting with your posionous god, you piece of diseased camel shit. If you spent eternity being buggered by dolfanc, it would be too good for you. Then he clambered up the ladder again to make sure the exit was quiet, waiting for Tob to finish his grisly work.

Tob returned as promised, panting and snorting with exertion and the euphoria of finding one's self alive after combat. There was a small cut on his left cheek, and his grey cloak was torn and stained with long overripe mortal remains. Iyaroneth was sheathed. He put his dirt grey hands on his thighs as he bent over to catch his breath.

"Whew. That was fine," he said, and he turned his head and spat copiously. Looking over the dead man he raised his eyebrows at the black disk.

"Lucky as the lord's taxman in a brothel, you are," Tob called up to Tolvar. "What else you got?"

With an unwholesome grin, Tolvar extracted the "map" from his tunic. "Coulda' saved ourselves some trouble, jus' guttin' an' searchin' 'im. Had a list o' the locations on 'im, 'e did. It don' tell us who else is in on this little caper, but a' least the knights'll be able to control the damage, summat."

Tob looked very clearly relieved. "Let me go feed the crabs right quick and we'll get that map to the knights. Aye?" He lifted the dead man in his arms and turned to go toss the body into the sewer. "Should we take this nasty piece of work 'round his neck?"

Something of the young Sundar woman surfaced in a flash from beneath those layers of disguise, fear and disgust too strongly felt to be contained, then was just as quickly gone. "Naw. I's bad luck, me boy. Very bad luck. Ye don' want t' be muckin' about w' them amulets, leastiwise unless ye wants Traugur hangin' 'round yer neck like one o' them corpses."

"Awright. Back in a quick." When he got to the edge of the sewer, he squatted down and slid the Scourge into the black water without hesitation. He wanted to at least remove the amulet, but he was afraid of it enough to not touch it. He quickly kicked the last of the remaining bones back into the water and walked with haste back to the ladder, hand on Iyaroneth's pommel. Underground was no place for a man to be.

Removing the grate was as simple as sliding it to the side, and Tolvar found himself breathing the relatively cleaner air of the city of Freehold. It was tempting to just revel in the lighter air, but Tolvar didn't dare. They already knew the enemy was at work in this city; his keen ears were spread for the slightest sound, eyes darting into the growing shadows as if they could penetrate them entirely.

Tob quickly ascended the ladder, and joined Tolvar up on the street level, doing his utmost to look like it was perfectly natural for two men to emerge from the sewers.

"Firs' we get to the temple," the old fellow muttered, trusting Tob to hear. "Quick as we can wiffout causin' a fuss. Should be back 'at way," he went on, gesturing with a nod of his grizzled head. "City's s'posed to be safe enou' but keep 'em eyes o' your'n peeled." Matching actions to words, Tolvar limped off back toward the direction of Verengaard's temple, trying to look as if he knew where he was going, since that was the best way to fail to draw attention to oneself in any settlement.

Tob and Tolvar checked the surroundings to make sure no one saw them before they made their way to the Temple of the Sun. The streets were busy enough in the early evening hours, and the pair had no trouble blending in with the locals. The two arrived at the Temple and handed a token to one of the guards who took them inside to a private waiting room.

Atreus was surprised, to say the least, to see the pair so soon. He was even more surprised when Tolvar presented what they discovered both in the sewers and from the Scourge. The news was bad, Atreus agreed. He insisted they make haste with their plans to leave the city on the appointed date. The battle was coming, and with this new information about the plot, it would not be wise for them to get stuck. They must leave for Guardian’s Isle before the attack began.

"This is dire news, but Verengaard be praised at the good fortune you have. To have discovered this news is a blessing. At least we can begin our search. I will notify the commanders immediately."

They agreed to meet again in a few days and the pair left again to head to the Market District, this time via the streets. It was decided that it would be wiser for them to be seen leaving this way, if the entered this way, and so they headed out into the city and back towards the Market District and their ultimate destination, The Axe and Cleaver.

* * * * *

Tolvar went in first, Tob following after a measured count to twenty, as per their arrangement. The inn was smoky and noisy, with the ground floor tap room bustling with activity at this time of the evening. Three women skitted and skirted amongst and around the throng of mercenaries, artisans, workers, and other sorts that filled the room. Fires roared in the massive central hearth and the chill of the outside was quickly banished, as was the quiet. Loud conversations, both bawdy and not, peppered the quieter words spoken in the farther recesses of the room, while a haze of pipe smoke wafted and drifted around the exposed rafters. The smell of mead and meat permeated the room and was even stronger than the smell of the pipe smoke.

He was just another grizzled, grumply, tired old man in a city with its share of them. Tolvar limped a little as he stumped toward the fire, muttering "ale" at the skirt who came by to inquire. Only after Tob entered did Tolvar raise his eyes from the flames to take stock of the room's other inhabitants, searching for the one who looked like the quick glimpse of Kuurst he'd managed to get before the Scourge crawled out of his natural home there in the sewers.

Tob maneuvered through the crowd to a small table and set of chairs, the last ones left vacant, and moved over to take the seat that would make it easiest to watch Tolvar and the door. Talk of the impending attack, the luxurious bosom of that waitress, or the escalating costs of supplies cascaded on his ears once he sat down. Surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long for one of the waitresses to come by.

”What ye want’n,” she asked in broken tradespeak.

"Two tankards of your local mead, darlin,'" Tob replied. He offered a smile that went up no further than his nose, and eyed the crowd to see what and who stuck out.

The barmaid walked off to get the drinks that Tob had ordered, and this afforded the ranger the opportunity to scan the room. The crowd and movements of the crowd around the room was such that neither he nor Tolvar were able to locate the one called Kuurst. He might have been there, but was not visible.

Moments later the drinks arrived, and Tob handed over the coins for the mead. He took one tankard for himself, and set the other on the other, empty side of the table. It was a gesture that invited no one and declared the seat taken. A man Tob's size and demeanor was rarely questioned about such things. It was an inexpensive way to keep a clear field of view. He waited to anyone that looked like a scourge the same way he had waited for deer, dolfanc, and trout. Hunting was mostly patience once you found the deer path.

The room actually became a little more crowded as some time went on. The mead was strong enough to bring a crooked smile to Tob's lips, and he looked for anything that seemed unnatural. The majority of the conversations were loud and boistrous, but there were more than a few tables where quieter discourse was taking place.

There were pairs here and there, and even a group of three men that seemed to be more interested in their own conversation than what might taking place on the floor of the room. The huddled meeting would break apart when one of the maids came by, and it would start again once she left.

Tolvar, sipping the ale just delivered, noticed 3 seperate discussions going on in the common room that caused him to take notice. A gesture here, a tilt of the head there, all pointed to hidden meanings. It didn't appear as though any of the three groups were connected to another's meeting, but Tolvar couldn't tell for certain without getting closer to hear any of the words that went with the somatic presentation.

As patient as Tob, in is own way, Tolvar also waited and watched. He fished a disreputable old pipe from somewhere on his person, and tapped it out on the side of the hearth, coughing and hacking all the while. Blearily, he tamped some tobacco into it (not the nice kind Yahim smoked, but something that smelled entirely wretched) and lit the bowl with an ember, swaying a little as he took in the secretive groups once more.

Then he remembered what Coren said about his friend, Deric the Devourer, and discreetly began scanning the room for someone that fat.

It wasn't hard for Tovar to notice the large figure of Deric the Devourer. The very large man sat at the table with 3 others. There was a mound of food and empty dishes stood stacked to the side like some gastro-trophy from a food-jousting tournament. The four of them were engaged in some of the loudest and baudier of the conversations that were happening in the tavern.

Nodding to himself, Tolvar drew on his pipe and coughed a little on the rugged tobacco -- not entirely fake, it was wretched stuff -- waiting for the serving skirt to pass by again. When she did, he held up another coin though he'd barely touched the ale in his cup. "Oy love, 'at big man over there. Can only be one like 'im in a town. Buy 'im what 'e's drinkin', a round on me. Tell 'im i's from a friend of the white bear, tha's a good girl."

The girl nodded and moved off; the rest of the ritual went as it usually did, the world over. Deric was served his drink, tipped off by the wench as to who'd bought it for him. The two men toasted each other with their cups, and Tolvar waited until he'd drunk deeply of it before approaching his table.

"Oy," the old man grunted, bleary eyes barely able to focus on the big man. "If yer Deric, I got some news for ye 'bout a mutual friend." He leaned in toward Deric's ear, just barely not falling over. "Unfriendly ears in 'ere, though, eh? An' I 'ave trouble 'earin', in all this gabble. Is someplace more quiet-like nearby?"

Deric's toothy grin and food-filled beard stared back at the old man who pulled back after his statement. The large man laughed aloud in a way that was incongruous with the seriousness of Tolvar's revelation.

"Aye, ole man," Deric said. "Let's see how the cards play for ya tonight. Lars, bring a round to the room. Oh and another slab."

Deric then rose and walked towards a door as Tolvar followed, looking as if every step pained him while Tob looked on in horror. His face remained calm, but inside he seethed - how was he to protect Tolvar and look for Scourges now?

Deric and Tolvar went into a small room with a table and two chairs. The man took his seat and waited for Tolvar to do the same. Lars entered and placed the two drinks and a plate of meat and bread upon it as well. He placed some cards on the table and stepped out of the room.

Deric grabbed the cards and started to shuffle them. "Wizards and demons" Deric called out the game as he placed a silver on the table. He then handed the deck to Tolvar.

Tolvar grunted noncommittally and began patting down his tunic, as if in search of coins. "Kinda rich fer an ol' man's blood, eh," he muttered, producing copper pieces one and two at a time in an attempt to meet the ante. "An' I never was very good at cards. Jus' wanted to tell ye abou' yer friend the white bear, an' mebbe see if y'd point me inna direction fer a place t' stay fer the night. Town's packed to the walls, it is. An' not only with good-hearted men, if ye take m' meaning."

Deric dealt the cards and seemed completely at ease in the room. The massive man examined his hand and tossed his first pair of coppers onto the small pile. "Twas never in the Bear's best interest to hunt w'out a young mate ta hunt for." Tolvar caught the telltale flash of fingers that were incongrous with the way the man held his cards. The thief realized he had just been tested. {Does Coren hunt alone?} The meaning sprung clear to the thief's trained eyes and ears. {Or has something happened to he and the girl?}?

Tolvar grunted, fished around a bit for a few more coppers and put them in the pile, raising Deric's bid by one. The weak spot in these personae was always the hands. For most disguises, Yasminna could wear gloves and keep them on as necessary -- Tolvar's were mostly loose, dirty rags wrapped around his hands, in fact -- but when using the thieves' cant the hands were visible, and these hands were not the hands of an old man, no matter how dirty she made them. If Deric was watching at all, he'd notice. The most Tolvar could hope for was that Deric was as reliable as Coren had claimed.

"No bear mates fer life," he finally muttered, but his fingers danced to a different tune. {The girl is with him. They are with friends, but not safe. None of us are safe, with the dark ones on the move.} He paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve. {Do you know who the dark priests are, in Freehold?}

Deric saw the copper, raised 5 coppers, and laid down two barrier cards: a pair of gryphons. Tolvar immediately recognized the bluff that Deric was trying to play out.

"Not true, old man, not true. They say that the great bears of Northreach surrender their hearts to the one that captures them. These days, the pickings are lean and not easily spotted upon the overgrown tundra, however." {Coren is truer than a mastersmith's blade. I cannot say about the dark ones. There are so many coming and going.}

The old man made a husky sound, might have been laughter. "Eh. Why should it be any differ'nt for bears, I reckon. Pickin's are slim everywhere." {Coren names you `friend', that's good enough for me.} He looked at the bid, scratched his head again, sniffled a bit, then fished out coppers to call, following them with a Knight and a Castle. His old eyes peered at the cards he'd just played as if he wasn't sure of them. "'ope I did 'at right," he muttered. {The dark ones plot -- hellfire casks placed about the city. The Knights are in search, but they'll need help to find all 150. Do you know who might help?}

Deric closed one eye and tilted his head as he watched the pair of cards that Tolvar had dropped. There was no way he could lose this hand, he thought. What he didn't know, however, was that Tolvar was a master gambler. The barbarian reached for the top card from the replacement deck. The large man then dropped a Black Songbird and a Red Soldier to complete his barrier attack as he placed another two coppers on the small pile. His left fingers flexed in a rhythmic pattern, and he called.

"It's the same most places, wha' with the upcoming fights."{I'll get word out soon as we're done here.}

"Izzat right," Tolvar grunted. He drew another card. {Coren will be relieved to know the city is safe from treachery from within. I need a place to sleep for tonight for me and a friend. City's overcrowded just now. Got anything?} With a half-hearted shrug, he put down three Dragons -- two reds and a gold -- then discarded the last, a lowly Infantryman. "Unless yer 'oldin' four dragons, it ain't likely yer walkin' away from that," he said, grinning evilly.

Deric dropped his cards upon the table and laughed aloud. "I believe I have been hoodwinked," he said as he laughed again. "Here's the coin, and the rest ya can get from Freda the seamstress. She's 2 blocks down, and she'll pay ya. I'll send word." {Freda will safehouse ya. Tell her Deric sent ya for the coin, and she'll know.}

Tolvar also laughed, though it could barely be heard over Deric's full-bellied roar. "I'll jes' be doin' that. Yer a good opponent ter play a hand wif, Master Deric." His fingers flickered as he tucked the coins away. {Thank you. Has anyone else been asking after Coren since he and the lass left Freehold?}

"Good and broke ya mean. At least no one else is hunting for me gold now," he replied as his fingers moved again. {None have asked for them that I know of.}

With an ugly little cackle, Tolvar finished hiding the coins on various places about his person. "Guess 'at means an old man'd best be careful. Lemme stake ye to a round, friend Deric, then find a Luckbringer's shrine here to pay me due." In that other level of awareness, however, he thought about the fat man's hidden message. It was possible Deric had just lied -- it was impossible to believe that Coren hadn't been spotted in Per, though it was just barely possible that the enemy didn't know who he was, then. Barely. I surely wouldn't wager even one of these coppers on it, he thought, fingers already twitching out a reply.

{If that changes, send word. Coren's life may well depend on it. Other lives too. Many others.}

"I will," he said aloud. "My mates'll be wonderin' bout me. Good luck...old man. {Now you better get back out there 'fore your friend starts to wonder.} Deric then stood up and moved towards the door, leaving Tolvar to wonder how he knew.

Tob scanned the room as he looked for a man who would be looking for another man. The ranger eyed the room to spy some who might be dressed somewhat like the Scourge he killed earlier. Kuurst would be looking for his partner in crime, and not finding him. Tob placed a hand casually and discretely on the pommel of Iyaroneth, to feel if she has any opinions.

Tob looked and looked, but there was no one that screamed Scourge to him. The ranger focused on the blade, but perhaps he had not spent enough time with Iyaroneth There was no indication from the blade as to the whereabouts of the one called Kuurst. The room was crowded, smokey, and noisy, and the serving girl occasionally stopped by to check on the ranger's thirst.

If you can't see the wolf, look where the sheep are frightened. Tob's old lessons came to him as he tried to adapt to this urban hunt. He watched the bar wench, to see if there was any person or group of people she instinctively or intentionally avoided. He looked around at the groups of people to see who looked like they were up to no good and fearful of discovery. Finally, he quietly put his empty mug down on the far side of the table and picked up the full one there.

Tob scanned the room as casually as he could. He looked and looked for any sign of discomfort the maid felt when near a customer, or any customers that seemed more out of place than he. The ranger just couldn't find anything that jumped out to him. With a soundless sigh Tob took another sip.

Tob watched as a door to a back room opened and the large man known as Deric the Devourer stepped out and returned to the table where his friends waited. Tolvar followed in short order and took a quick scan about the room.

As Tolvar emerged from the back room, Tob breathed a quiet sigh of relief, letting go of a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. The relief he felt in seeing that Tolvar and therefore Yasminna was safe was supplemented by renewed hope that Tolvar might be able to find the Scourge they were looking for. Absent that, he was getting ready to take less unobtrusive actions to see what he might find.

The old man stopped a serving wench in her tracks, muttering to her and passing her a tidy pile of coins. With an avuncular (though not entirely wholesome) air, he patted her rump, then drifted over to Tob's table and planted himself in the empty chair, glaring at him as if he'd somehow just been mortally offended. "Ye pegged 'em yet, shorty?" As Tob answered his dark eyes took in the room once more, city senses alive again, looking for the clues that would show him a man waiting for a late arrival, studying the groups he'd earlier noted looked as if they had something to hide.

Tolvar brought his skills and experience to bear as he scanned the room. He watched each group, pair, or solo person to gauge the message their movements were sending. Nothing stood out to him that would possibly indicate anyone in here had anything to do with the meeting mentioned in the sewers under the city. Two more tankards arrived in short order and the maid bounced off to her next table.

"No." Tob's brow was furrowed, and the corners of his mouth were approaching a snarl. He leaned forward to speak in a lower, more obviously conspiratorial tone. "Should we turn ourselves into bait? We could try to sell a cask we don't have. I think the old girl at my side would tell me when trouble was coming."

Tob thought this was likely a terrible idea, but his mission was to find the rest of the scourges and eliminate them. Achieving that was paramount over his own safety, but not Yasminna's. Having suggested it, he was afraid she would take to the idea. She seemed so reckless and unconcerned with her own safety, and here he was suggesting she disguise herself as a target for Traugur's minions. That was exactly what he had been afraid of since they were on shipboard and she'd revealed her true identity. Again his mouth took him blithely to hell.

Tolvar's eyes brightened momentarily, and he settled back in his chair to think that idea through, sipping from his full tankard. After a few moments of watching the crowd in the tavern, he shook his head regretfully.

"Ain't my turf, boy. I could pull a stunt like tha' on my streets, where I know who's who, who's like t' show and who ain't. But we aint been in Freehol' long enough to save up a good piss, leave alone settin' up a scam the likes o' that one."

He belched colorfully, then went on. "The fat man tol' me there's more o' them sick bastiches in this town than ye'd believe anyway. Think we'd best mind our real mission -- to fin' out what's known about our friendss, and what ain't, and be content to move along, eh?"

"Aye." Tob frowned a bit and nodded once, still scanning the crowd for Kuurst. "I hate to lose is all. I'd see them all broke on the wheel, but that's not going to be our war today."

"Ain't lost yet, shorty. Hells, war ain't properly even got started yet."He pulled at his lower lip a bit, then shrugged. "We dealt 'em a gut-blow today, they just don' know it yet."

Tob had another swallow from his tankard, then put it down and pushed it to the middle of the table. He'd been occupying that table long enough for his own comfort. "It's as you say. Lead on, longtooth."

Tolvar grunted, looked as if he tossed off the rest of his ale, then began the apparently painful process of arising from his chair."Found us a place t' sleep too, while ye been takin' yer ease here. Le's be seein' 'bout it while yer still sober enou' to walk, eh?"

OOC: unless you've got something else planned, shall we do a scene fade here? I'll see about getting that side scene started....

GM OOC: Closing this move as you two work on your JP/Side Scene. Very well done.