The Kandron Affair (an IWDII serial) - Part the Third.

Hullo again people!

Hope you enjoy this chapter! I am required, however, to warn you that there are some nasty bits and a lot of strong language.

Chapter 3 – A Vile Koluhmny

"Ahhh, feck this for a pack o' flamingoes!" swore Talyn as, that evening, we were woken for the sixth time by a woman's voice wailing through the wall. "Come on Kandron, let's go sort 'er out, the daft bint."

And so Talyn and I approached the door of her room. Magically Locked. So, pushing aside all semblance of subtlety, I gave the door a hefty kick, splintering it. Magically Locked, but not a magical door. Such an elementary oversight on the part of the designers.

Inside was a very faint female ghost, looking out the window and crying, and not having noticed our forcible entry until we were close.

"What's this?" she sighed. "You're not... him. You're... alive..."

"Yes, well spotted!" I snapped at her. "Now, would you please get your ghostly backside out of this inn before you scare all the customers off?"

Talyn stopped me. "Kandron, ye insensitive eedjit, that's no way ter be talkin’ to a lady."

"I don't care." I snapped back at him. "All I'm after is that we get this dead person removed so we can actually get some sleep, before I lose my temper and redecorate this room in a shade known as Hint of Ectoplasm."

"I... can't..." went on the ghost, "Not until he returns..."

“I have an idea,” averred Talyn.

“What is that?” I asked him

“Now look ‘ere,” went Talyn. “Unless ye’ve all the sense of a rhinoceros’s backsoide, like my brother Hyart for instance, ye’ve no chance o’ removin’ this ‘ere ghost by mere physical farce. Ye gotta be cunnin’ loike. Try gettin’ help from someone who’s used to dealin’ with cadavers.”

I thought this over for a few minutes. “You mean… a NECROMANCER?” I said in disgust. In the Underdark, especially amongst the warrior corps, necromancy was regarded with contempt. They trafficked all day with corpses, so it was rumoured that they did… other things… with corpses as well. Indeed, many cities did not teach Necromancy at all (okay, there was Ust Selin, but they always were considered weird.) so that there was no reason why anyone would be skulking around in the mortuary at night.

“Well,” continued Talyn. “There’s some old priest of Myrkul runnin’ aroynd named Koluhm Bonecutter. He might be able to help. Ye never know…”

I sighed. “Where might I find this Bonecutter veck?”

“Well… we could ask the Iron Collar mercenaries ‘cos he came with them, but oh feckit we killed those sods,” he said, and we both felt more than a little stupid.

“Hmmm,” I mused. “How about we hang out in the mortuary and grab him as he comes in at night. Necromancers often do, you see.”

“Ahh, you mean feck the feck and his feckin’ cowshite corpses.”

I grimaced at the thought of this, a thought made even more colourful by Talyn’s repeated use of darthiir expletives.

“I hate feckin’ cowshite corpses, ye know Kandron,” averred Talyn.

“Well,” I replied, arching my eyebrows in a quizzical manner. “Don’t feck them then.”


We hid out in the mortuary, my coal-black skin fading effortlessly into the shadows behind a large marble column, and Talyn hiding on the roof, aiming his bow down through the open air skylight. All was still, apart from the faint howling of the wolves in the scrubland nearby, and the distant sounds of clanking armour from the palisade as the sentry duties changed. The customary raven cawed in the inky blackness, and in the distance, lantern light was visible in the upper rooms of the few inhabited houses and the inn.

Talyn and I watched the shadows dance in the glow.

“Hey,” Talyn whispered. “That one over there. Looks like loverboy’s in over there... Isn’t elven vision just grand?”

I thought at this image. “Hmmm… yes, it appears he is exerting himself most energetically in there,” I grinned rogueishly. “I wonder what he’d say if he knew we could see him?”

“Ahh feckit,” continued Talyn. “Shall we find out then? ‘Tis better than freezing our buttocks off in this godforsaken shitepit…”

“Well…” I said quietly, still regarding this window, “He’s not doing that right. You need to use both hands. Oh. And it helps if one pushes from one’s thighs. He’ll do himself an injury like that.”

“Heh,” sniggered Talyn. “I pity the table myself. ‘Twasnt built to undergo such motion.”

“Quite!” I confirmed. “And if you use your abdomen as a sort of makeshift pivot, you can be a lot more effective when dealing with things of that size.”

“Ahh, f’karrfff!” swore Talyn quite loudly. “If I want advice on manual handling, I’ll remember where to go.”

“No you won’t!” I half-yelled back at him. “Manual handling, eh? That’s Oberron’s department!”

“No, ye daft eedjit,” sniggered Talyn. “I mean heavy lifting, like.”

The colossal force of Innuendo body slammed me once again.

At this point, a flash of light broke into the mortuary and a gaunt-faced, ashen-haired cleric type staggered in. He was carrying a package wrapped up in a white sheet… and a shovel, with an iron collar round his neck. Evidently he was our man.

We watched in fascination as he decided on a recently dug grave, and unrolled his white sheet onto the ground nearby. Then he began to dig into the grave, and we felt it time to swoop.

“Hold it right there, weaselface,” said Talyn most audibly.

A look of desperation crossed the cleric’s face as he knew he was discovered. He made to run off, but this was foiled by a pair of strong hands forcing his arms behind his back and his wrists together. My hands, to be precise.

Talyn jumped off the roof and landed in front of this veck. “Roight, you. Are you Koluhm Bonecutter?”

The cleric veck stammered and gulped. “N-n-n-no,” he just managed to say. “I’m j-j-just a humble priest of… of Myr – of Helm! Of Helm! Going about m-m-m-m-m-my – “

I hissed into his ear. “Don’t give me that guff. You’re Koluhm Bonecutter aren’t you, rivvil?”

“N-n-n-no!” he stammered, and a sudden smell meant that his laundry bill just doubled.

“Ahhh, f’karrfff!” said Talyn. “There’s no point in tryin’ ter lie to us, y’fat badger. What would a feckin’ priest of Helm be doin’ diggin’ up graves?”

“Oh, alright! Alright! You got me! I’m Koluhm Bonecutter! Just leave me alone! Please! I’ll do anything!” he grovelled. Out of sheer contempt, I shoved him forcefully to the cobbled ground. I never did have any patience for anyone who submitted so easily.

“Really?” I said. “Well, how does sorting out the ghost in the Weeping Widow sound then?”

“Is…. Is that all you wanted?! You could have asked, you know!” he grizzled.

“Oh, of course,” piped up Talyn. “But we thought you weren’t to be trusted enough to do anything on your own, so we thought you might need a spot o’ persuasion.”

“Look!” he said. “I’ll do it! Just let me go!”

How pathetic. Did he honestly think we were going to trust him to do the job? No, chances are he would have run off and stabbed us in the back.

“Do it FIRST.” I stated. “I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.

“Oh, so quite a way then?” gibed Talyn.

I didn’t even dignify it with a response.

Koluhm gulped, but agreed to sort out the ghost. “You need a ghost touched bottle!” he said “And her tear! Yes! You need one of those! Now, let me go!”

“No.” I replied. “I want that bottle.”

Koluhm bawled like he’d dropped forty years. “I’ve not got such a bottle!” he yelled. “I gave it to a wizard who’s left town since! Please!”

An obvious lie.

“Talyn, search him. I’ll hold him still.”

Koluhm whimpered as I knelt on his calves and forced his wrists and ankles into a single bunch, and Talyn went systematically into each pocket of his clothing. Finally, we found a silvery looking bottle with some water sloshing around inside. It looked obviously magical.

“That’s… just a flask of water! Yes! Water!” he yelled out. I said nothing, but, with a sick grin crossing my features, I simply crushed his bunched wrists and ankles between my legs. Having suffered this often enough at the hands of the Lolthite torturers for committing one of a thousand and one minor offences, (and what drow hasn’t?) I knew that this, if properly applied, was excruciatingly painful yet left almost no damage – like any good torture should. And this case was no exception. Koluhm’s face contorted with agony as his bones ground together “ENOUGH!” he shouted. “YES! IT’S A GHOST TOUCHED BOTTLE! NOW LEAVE ME ALONE! PLEASE!!!”

I took the bottle and dropped him. He staggered into a corner and began sobbing. Although I had performed tortures and similar far worse and far more gratuitously than this during my time in the Underdark, which I, to my eternal disgust, enjoyed, on this occasion, the first occasion I had tried it on the surface, I felt filthy after doling out such agony. Utterly filthy.


We took the ill-gotten bottle to Veira in the inn to acquire a tear from it.

“You cannot…” she wailed. “I… do not… perform… on… demand…”

“Look,” I said. “I’m trying to be reasonable. All we want is one of your tears.”

“Not… until you find… my love…” she wailed.

Is it just me, or do I detect yet another meaningless quest approaching?

“He was lost… on this very night… thirty years ago… find something… so that I may… remember him by it…” the spirit wailed yet more.

Great.


“I’m tellin’ ye Kandron! Ye’ll not find feckin’ anything at this rate!” Talyn swore.

We were sloping about the docks, poking underneath all sorts of things, looking for anything that could possibly a memento of Veira’s husband. So far we had an old boot, a rotten plank, an ale flagon (empty), and twenty-five gold pieces on which the markings were worn off almost completely.

“Patience, Talyn… we’ve still the lighthouse to do yet.” I cautioned him

“Ahh, awaity’feck’ya’bam!” he grumbled in reply. “I’m off fer a drink.”

I let him go off. He would only have been an encumbrance if he’d been allowed to continue with his pessimism.


Two hours later, Talyn emerged from the Salty Dog as drunk as an Overseer Handmaiden. He was holding some seemingly random old plank in one hand and a flagon of beer in the other, and spouting some gibberish about how the plank could solve our little spirit problem.

“For Lolth’s sake, man!” I yelled at him. “Speak clearly for once!”

“Ahhh…… gofffeckymthrrrr…. (HIC)” he slurred. “Thissshhhh plank… ishabirrovafeckingrshhbadgggrybinnnnnnigh…. (HIC)…. Beknnnnighted… boat! Feckit!”

“Are you trying to tell me that that plank will allow her to remember her husband by?” I yelled incredulously. “It’s full of woodworm! It’ll wreck the inn!”

“F’kaaarrfff!” he growled back. “Heheheheheheheheh… thasssshagoodun… ahhh… feckit!”

This was going nowhere. “Alright! Give it here, I’ll give it a try… Lolth almighty, never have I come upon such a nest of idiots!”


And so I took the plank up to Veira, with Talyn following like a bad smell, and occasionally cackling out loud and shouting “Ahhhh…. Feckit!” It transpired that it was an authentic bit of her husband’s boat (“Ahhhhtttshhttolldjersshoooo, feckit!” slurred Talyn in reply to this), and she dropped us a single tear in our ghost-touched bottle, and departed. “I… shall… not forget this… my friend…“ she wailed as she foamed away to the spirit planes.

And as she did so, a single salty tear slid out my eye and dripped onto the floor with a flat, dull noise. Talyn was still to drunk to care. Poor Veira. What an afterlife. Stuck in a back room in a seedy inn in the middle of nowhere, forever and ever and ever.

But no sooner was her depature over than the door splintered, and in stormed Koluhm Bonecutter. Still sore from my depredations, he shouted out, “NEITHER SHALL I FORGET THIS!” at me. His hair was wild and his eyes bloodshot.

I composed myself and spoke. “Koluhm. What happened in the mortuary was unfortunate – “

“I’LL SAY IT WAS!” he yelled. “YOU MORTALS ARE SO PATHETIC! PATHETIC! CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE A MAN ALONE TO HIS NECROMANCY?! MY MOTH-EATEN MYRKULIAN ARSE YOU CAN’T!!!” he yelled some more, baring said body part.

“Well,” I said. “If you’re going to behave like that, it’s unfortunate I didn’t damn well KILL you!”

“I’D WELCOME IT!” he yelled some more, as if attempting to raise the alarm and inform the whole town about how his moth-eaten Myrkulian arse was royally kicked by a maniacal drow and a darthiir with a drink problem.

“Fine!” I snapped, and, with my most theatrical of moves, drew my weapons.

“Ahhh, feckit, you pair!” chipped in Talyn. “Why the ffffeck don’tcher lemme buyyerra drinkkkk or ffffive each…”

I glared at Koluhm.

Koluhm glared at me.

We both glared at Talyn.


I remember nothing of the rest of that evening, apart from the fact that the next morning it was as if six Matron Mothers were having an orgy inside my head, there was so much banging going on.

As the room drifted into focus, I was sleeping the wrong way round in my bed. “Never again,” I thought, and then gripped my temples in agony as Oberron dropped his breastplate while polishing it in the next room, the resulting clang reverberating throughout the inn. Then, as other parts of me came online, it started to get odd… there was something cold and wet on a rather intimate part of my anatomy.

I feared the worst. My heart was pounding, and the Damage Limitation sector of my mind was demanding to know who – or what – I had bedded last night. Reaching down, I had an exploratory feel…

…and brought up Veira’s Ghost-Touched bottle.


Okay, that’s all for now. Coming soon – War and spelaeology.

Great chapter