Lukan the Witless
March 9, 1885
The Inn at Shrouded Hills, After Dark
Can you believe it? Virgil and I have found another ghost to investigate! Tomorrow morning we are making an expedition down into the local mine to search for the spirit that is said to haunt it.
It all began this morning with a conversation I had with Mr. Gurloes, the local blacksmith. I didn't really have any business to conduct with Mr. Gurloes, but I make it a point to chat with him whenever I have the opportunity. It is always refreshing to have a conversation with someone that doesn't start along the lines of, “Get lost, half-breed, you're not wanted here.”
So we were talking about his business, and he was telling me how hard-pressed he is because he cannot find any pure ore to work with. Indeed, he's so desperate that he offered to make a fine steel dagger for me if I should ever return with some pure ore for him from my travels. I asked him why it was so difficult to find good ore, and that's when he told me about the Bessie Toone.
The Bessie Toone is an old silver mine northwest of the town. The silver was exhausted years ago, and the iron ore that comes out of it now is all sour. Mr. Gurloes opined that no good ore would come out of that mine as long as the spirit of Bessie Toone was wandering through it. That last piqued my interest. After all, by now I am quite the expert in handling ghosts, and I immediately thought of offering my services to Percival Toone, the current owner of the mine. I found out where Percival lives from the constable, and Virgil and I immediately went to pay him a visit.
We found his the cabin easily, not far from the mine. I knocked on the door and called out, “Mr. Toone, my name is Clarisse Vorak. May I speak with you, please?”
From inside a suspicious voice called out, “What do you want?”
“I’m here to talk with you about the mine, Mr. Toone.”
There was a pause. Then he said, “Alright, come in! But don’t make any sudden moves and keep your hands where I can see them!”
Virgil gave an urgent tug at my shoulder, silently suggesting we should leave. If I had had any sense in my head I would have listened, but my curiosity was piqued and I could not just walk away.
As I opened the door and entered, I saw that Mr.Toone had a gun aimed at me. Not that he needed such a crude weapon. Behind him was his bodyguard, a half-ogre. Smaller perhaps than Sog Mead Mug, but I was sure the brute would have no trouble tearing Virgil and me into pieces if Percival Toone gave the order. I spread my fingers, kept my hands where Percival could see them, and tried to speak calmly. “Really Mr. Toone, is this necessary?”
He ignored my question. “Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here?”
“We’re travelers, Mr. Toone. I was just speaking with Mr. Gurloes. He told me there was a spirit haunting the Bessie Toone mine. Now, I’ve had some experience speaking with ghosts, well, a ghost anyway. I thought perhaps we could offer you our services. Of course if you’re not interested, we’ll leave immediately.”
Percival Toone blinked, looking visibly deflated. “You’re not here to kill me?” he asked.
“No! Certainly not!” I replied. “Who would want to kill you?”
To my immense relief, Percival lowered the gun and sat down in his chair. He poured himself a shot of hard liquor from a bottle on his desk and downed it in one gulp. He must have been well off to be able to afford a bodyguard, I thought to myself. But he was unshaved and unkempt. There were bags under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept for a while.
“I was forced to sell the mines to a rather unscrupulous ‘businessman,’” Percival said. “He is very upset that the ore in the mines has gone sour. I thought he must have sent you. Maybe you can help me. I need to free my mother’s spirit. It’s her ghost that is ruining the ore, somehow.”
“Tell me more about how the mines came to be haunted,” I said.
Percival shook his head sadly. “My poor mother, she killed herself, you know. When the silver dried up, we were forced to sell the mine. She went around the bend, soon after. Went up to the mine, she did, fired all the workers and did herself in.”
“Perhaps I can help,” I said. “I’ve dealt with a ghost before.”
“Really?” he said, looking at me surprised. “Well, I guess there’s no harm in you trying. If you really could do that, I would be very grateful. It would mean a monetary reward of 500 coins as well.”
That was a substantial sum. “With your permission, sir, we’ll investigate the mines first thing tomorrow.”
I hope Bessie Toone turns out to be as easy to handle as Charles Brehgo was. We can certainly use the money right about now.
In the meantime, my experiments in therapeutics are proceeding nicely, and I hope to have something to show for them very soon. Jongle Dunne has allowed me to set up my miniature lab in a room in the back of his shop, so long as I stay out of sight of any customers. I think he's still hoping I'll sabotage that steam engine for him.
I told Gaylin about my plans to use the elixir of persuasion against the thieves blocking the bridge, and to my surprise, she offered to help. As I mentioned before, she is exceptionally skilled in therapeutics, and her assistance has been invaluable, especially given the loss of my medical texts. She's still rude to me, though. Whenever I enter her shop, she has to say something like, "What do you want now, half-orc, can't you see I'm busy?" But then when I ask her questions about my experiments, she softens and starts to help me. I can't quite put the two things together. I guess if you can get someone to talk with you about something they love, something they are deeply skilled in, they may forget your racial differences, if only temporarily.
I did ask Gaylin if she might have some odd jobs for me, as it looks like we will be staying in town for at least a couple more days. She replied, “The town is small, my needs are few. There is nothing I need an outsider to do for me.” Then she paused, staring into space. In a far away voice she continued, "You appear a traveler. Tell me, do you wander far?”
I was rather taken aback. There was something almost hypnotizing in her words. I felt myself drawn in to whatever spell had overtaken the elf, and I heard myself replying, “I do not know, my lady. I have only begun my journeys, and do not know how far they will take me.”
“Well then,” she continued, still with that distant look in her eyes, “If in your wanderings, you happen to encounter an elven amulet engraved with the name of N'Tala on its face, I would ask that you return it to me. It is an old family heirloom stolen a generation ago.”
“Where do you think it may be?” I asked.
The spell was broken. The far away look in Gaylin’s eyes vanished, and she seemed bemused that she had spoken. “I have not the slightest inkling of its whereabouts. I cannot fathom why I have even told you of it. Perhaps these many years have confused my mind. Well, no matter. If you do happen upon it, I would reward you handsomely.”
“Many years,” I thought to myself. What could that mean to an elf? I felt a sudden chill down my spine as it occurred to me that the heirloom she was looking for might well have been lost centuries ago.
March 10, 1885
Just Outside the Bessie Toone, Late Morning
We have just come out of the mines, and I have insisted to Virgil that we stop and rest in the sun and fresh air for a while before we make the trip back to town.
The mines have been abandoned for some time. They were over-run with rats and other vermin, and we did not dare venture deeper into them than we needed to. Fortunately, we didn't have to go very deep to find the ghost of Bessie Toone.
Both of us could see the spirit this time. She was completely oblivious to us as she paced back and forth. She glowed softly in the dark, and I did not need my lantern to see her features. Her face was drawn and haggard, and she had the most ghastly look in her eyes. I'm not sure why, but I was more afraid of her than I ever was of Brehgo. In a mournful voice, she kept saying, "Sarah, my dear Sarah..." over and over again. I couldn't get out of there quickly enough.
Who is Sarah? Percival never mentioned anyone named Sarah.
March 10, 1885
The Inn at Shrouded Hills, Noon
“Sarah!” spat Percival Toone. “That is my sister. A hateful person, really. She deserted us, left here to go to that dilapidated kingdom Dernholm. What an affront to our family!”
“Why did she leave?” I asked.
"Who can say? She was always so irritable and unkind to me. It broke my mother's heart when she left.”
“Where in Dernholm does she live?”
“Why, why would you want to know that?” asked Percival nervously. “You’re not thinking of speaking with her, are you? She can be of no help, of that I can assure you.”
“Well, I need something to go on.”
“No! I mean, uh, I don't rightly know if she is still living in Dernholm. Actually, now that I think about it, I believe she no longer lives there. I suppose you'll have to find your answers elsewhere.”
“Alright,” I said. “Perhaps I should speak with the man who owns the mine now?”
“Him? Uh, well, he doesn't live around here. He's in Tarant. I don't think he would be helpful either. In fact, it would be dangerous for you to speak with him. Rather an unsavory type, you understand.”
“Just the same, if you could tell me where in Tarant to find him...”
“Tarant...well, you understand, I've, uh, never actually been there, and as I said, you wouldn't want to meet with this fellow at any rate.”
I guess Percival no longer trusts me. He won't tell me where to find Sarah. He won't tell me where to find the current owners of the mine. He won't tell me anything that might help to us to investigate this matter further. It's a dead end.
I did get Ristezze to tell me about P. Schuyler and Sons. Ristezze had mentioned earlier that he wanted an article, any article, that had belonged to Bessie Toone. I gave him a boot of hers that we had found in the mines. I felt queasy about doing it, but it was just an old boot, and we needed that information. So it turns out P. Schuyler and Sons is a well respected jewelry company in Tarant. "A strange family," said Ristezze, "but they always do good business." Great. I could have found them without his help.
March 10, 1885
The Inn at Shrouded Hills, Evening
This afternoon, Virgil and I made a short expedition into what used to be a local Panarii temple. It was abandoned years ago. The constable has put the town's steam engine inside it, and the building is filled with noise and stink and vermin. I wonder why it was abandoned?
March 10, 1885
Jongle Dunne's Shop, After Dark
Tonight I synthesized three doses of the elixir of persuasion and took a test dose. I think it's working. I feel relaxed, a little dizzy, almost giddy. Like being drunk, except I still feel I have my wits. I must wait 16 hours before I can safely take another dose. Then we shall test it in the field.
March 11, 1885
The Inn at Shrouded Hills, Evening
Late this afternoon, we made our foray against the thieves blocking the bridge. There were three of them: a human flanked by two huge half-ogres. Half-ogres are reputed to be none-to-bright; that meant I could focus my energy on the human, who was obviously the leader. I took a deep breath, swallowed the elixir, and together Virgil and I approached him.
He called himself Lukan the Witless. No, I am not making that up. He had the most extraordinary command of the language, and thought that "witless" was a compliment. You know, "without wit", "without humor," "serious." He thought himself a most erudite rogue, but he was constantly misusing words or making up new ones, and at first it was all I could do not to dissolve into laughter.
I began by flattering him, telling him how I had long admired him, begging him to tell me of his exploits. My patronizing seemed painfully obvious to me, but he ate it up. He quickly forgave me for being a half-orc and began regaling us with tales of his adventures as I listened with rapt attention and feigned awe.
As the elixir of persuasion took hold, I had the weird sensation of being separated from my body. I seemed to look down at myself from a distance, first in fascination, then in growing horror as my lips moved on their own and the most fanciful inventions started to come out of them.
"I can't tell you how long I've admired you, Lukan. I dream of someday being half the thief you are."
"That's right. We share a common bond, you and I. I'm a thief myself."
"The clothes? Oh, we're, uh, working undercover. Virgil here makes a pretty convincing monk, don't you think?"
"Yes, we're operatives actually. For the guild, you understand. The thieves' guild of Tarant."
"Why are we here? We're here for a very good reason. We're here because, because, .... All right Lukan, I can't lie to you. I'm not supposed to tell you this, but we're here because of you. The guild has heard about your activities here they and sent us to investigate. It's a territorial matter, Lukan. Do you understand me? A territorial matter."
"That's right, Shrouded Hills is guild territory. You've stepped on some toes, Lukan, some mighty big toes.”
“Of course I know it was a mistake. I know the thief I've idolized all these years would never knowingly cross the guild. But I don't make the rules, and believe me, Lukan, the guild won't be so understanding when they hear my report. We have a situation here, Lukan, and I need you to tell me, what are you going to do about it?"
Lukan grew quiet, and I could not guess what he was thinking. I waited patiently, fully expecting to be pounded into jelly by the half-ogres staring down at me from just a few feet away.
Lukan was horrified. His lifelong ambition to be the most famous and admired of thieves in Arcanum was in mortal danger. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend the Tarantian thieves' guild. He offered to withdraw immediately. He offered to make reparations. I decided to go easy on him. After all, he was my hero, and it was obviously all an innocent mistake. I assured him I could convince the guild to overlook his transgression if he disappeared immediately and never came back, and 200 coins would do much to insure against any remaining ill feelings. He was most grateful for my patience and understanding in the matter.
The funny thing is I had never heard of the thieves' guild of Tarant before today. But I was listening intently to everything Lukan said, and under the influence of the drug I found myself picking up on subtle emotional cues. His fears and desires were laid bare before me, and it became possible, even easy, to manipulate him through them. It was Lukan who told me of the Tarantian thieves' guild, though I'm sure he doesn't remember doing so. I have heard of sham fortunetellers who use these techniques to convince people they can read minds, but I never imagined I would be doing such a thing myself.
Lukan and his half-ogres were franticly packing as we walked back down the road to Shrouded Hills.
March 11, 1885
The Inn at Shrouded Hills, Late at Night
I cannot sleep. Did it really work? They were such obvious lies. I keep expecting a half-ogre to burst through my door and for Lukan to appear demanding his gold back. Surely the truth will dawn on him, and we will be back where we started. We shall see if they are still there in the morning.
March 12, 1885
The Inn at Shrouded Hills, Late Morning
They are gone. Virgil and I went to the bridge this morning. There is no sign of Lukan the Witless or his band. I guess it never occurred to Lukan that a half-orc might have had the intelligence to outwit him. Honestly, I think a cricket might have had the intelligence to outwit Lukan. No man was ever more worthy of his sobriquet.
I have packed my dress and put on pilgrim's robes we found in the abandoned Panarii temple. You can hardly see my features with the hood drawn about my face. Hopefully, any assassins or bandits will mistake us for a pair of penniless monks traveling through the woods.
Sog Mead Mug, alas, is still not interested in traveling with us. I'm afraid it's just Virgil and me. We are packed. I have said my goodbyes. At last, it's on to Tarant!
March 12, 1885
Somewhere in the Wilderness, Afternoon
“The IFS Zephyr has crashed just outside Shrouded Hills. Kill ‘Radcliffe’ if he’s still alive. As we don't know who he’s spoken to, kill any other survivors.
G.L”
--found on the body of the gnome who called himself "William Radcliffe," after I killed him
The gnome who called himself William Radcliffe was waiting for us as just outside Shrouded Hills. He demanded that I give him the ring. I refused. He pulled out a knife and attacked us. I was terrified, of course, but he was no match for the two of us. As he fended off a blow from Virgil's staff, I caught him in the belly with my dagger and he quickly bled to death.
I’m afraid I was sobbing uncontrollably afterwards. I’m still a bit of a wreck. I've never killed anyone before. I’ve never even wounded anyone before. Virgil, who seemed to know what one does in this sort of situation, quickly took charge. We hid the gnome's body in the woods, and Virgil assured me there was nothing to worry about. Even if the constable finds the body, he will not care about a suspicious outsider who has been murdered; he will assume that Lukan was to blame, and leave it at that.
We found a note on the body of the gnome, and I have copied it above. If I had any lingering doubt before, none remains. Preston Radcliffe was not delirious. He really did escape from somewhere, and there really was a conspiracy to kill him. Him and anyone who talked to him. I have been desperately wracking my brain, trying to remember what he said to me before he died. Something about building something? "Almost finished." I think he said, "almost finished." What else? I have looked back to the very first entry of my diary...
"Find the boy, he'll know what to do."
"He forced us to do it."
“The work is almost finished.”
“He’s coming back to destroy everything and everyone.”
Around the neck of the dead gnome we found another amulet engraved with an eye inside a hexagram.
