Session 12: Vampire Arsene
Last time
In Port Maraisa, the party wrapped up their affairs. The journey to Riatavin was quiet under winter skies, but the city brought chaos. While searching for Armitage, Barrick, Gavin, and Kira encountered a burning tavern, a corpse riddled with crossbow bolts, and an ambush by White Tiger mercenaries. The skirmish led them to Amelia, who guided them to Armitage in a hidden sewer refuge, the Grotto.
Wounded but alert, Armitage warned of a power struggle tied to a vampiric alliance through Princess Ottillie’s pending marriage. He urged the group to sabotage the restoration of the Sandstone Palace, the wedding venue, and to seek allies among Tethyr’s younger nobles. A deeper betrayal was also uncovered—a traitor within our circle or close to us betrayed The Pewter Shield—and clues pointed to the Sharpstone Mines. Amelia’s insights and the team’s investigation revealed layers of political intrigue, leading us to seek out Farnar and send a message to Rowan for more information about Farnar.
The Pewter Shield
Riatavin is a city of rain-slicked sandstone and crumbling spires. There used to be over a hundred thousand souls in this place, but now half as many are scrabbling like rats to survive in the tattered remains of broken dreams. The Rhinduan and the Auttencourt are dressing it up for a wedding between Ottillie and Etienne—a gilded mask over a gaunt face. The Rhinduan family will forgive debts and host a feast for citizens throughout the city. The Auttencort will take their meal once the lights die down.
We surfaced from the Grotto, stomachs full and blades ready. We had our eyes set on tracking down the dwarf, Farnar. He’s a tough bastard with ties to Armitage and his schemes. Gavin sent word to Rowan: danger was close. We set course for the husk of The Pewter Shield.
Sunlight stabbed through the storm-clouded sky. Posters plastered every street corner, shouting about the wedding of Ottillie and Etienne Auttencort. Drab streets gave way to dark alleys. Hugh found two symbols stabbed into a wedding announcement. as we walked through the streets.
Outside the Pewter Shield, we picked up a stray—Kincaid. Tall, sharp, and oddly evasive when we asked what he was doing by the ruined tavern. He said he was hunting Francesca Girasole, a one-eyed broker of rare goods. We let him tag along, partly because he seemed harmless, mostly because we had nothing to lose.
Burnt floorboards creaked underfoot as we found our way to the basement of the Shield. A secret room revealed Farnar’s secret life—maps of the undercity, a stash of weapons, coin enough to buy a small city (or burn one), and a ledger of dirty deals. Farnar had been busy—layers of smuggling, cooked books, and payments from the Del Veign and Auttencourt families. Every payment from the Auttencort came soon after one from the Del Veign, and each payment from the Auttencort was larger. Farnar’s been playing both sides and feeding the Auttencort the superior goods. We also found a cipher that decoded the paper we found on the announcement and pointed to dates steeped in blood: 1347, the start of the Tethyrian civil war, and 1501—this year. The next revolution?
Leaving the tavern, we heard whispers on the streets. Guards near exposition allley muttering about a “shitshow” at the Northwest Tower. There was a hanged man on the statue of Zaranda Rhinduan. We followed the stench of blood to the tower.
The Northwest Tower
The Northwest Tower stood like a silent judge in the night. Barrick sweet-talked a guard while Kincaid ghosted past the patrol. A vampiric agent in the guise of a pale, goth woman emerged: Helene. Her eyes glinted as she condemned us without cause and the guards’ eyes glassed over. Words turned to blades.
The fight was brutal. The watch attacked us like puppets on strings while the shadows of vampiric agents flitted between shadows, faster than our eyes could follow. We incapacitated the weak minded guards while taking down the agents. Then Captain Arsene, bald and vile, emerged from the depths to meet us. His power echoed his undead curse. We dealt him heavy blows, but he slipped away from us into the dark city streets—gone, a threat at large within the city.
The shadows of Riatavin’s night hold no more security for us.
Deeper in the tower’s belly, despair reeked from the cells. Among the prisoners were Orazio, an ancient Eladrin, caged and scarred, and Farnar—beaten, bloody, and barely clinging to life. Francesca’s lifeless body lay in a side room, her blood stolen, presumably to slake Arsene’s dark thirst.
Kincaid found scraps of paper in Arsene’s office:
- “The Widow (Francesca Girasole?) - 1”
- “The Dwarf (Farnar) - 2”
- “The Old Man (Orazio) - 8”
As we prepared to interrogate the dwarf and the old man, we heard a clock in the distance chime midnight: Nine days till High Harvest Tide. Nine days to start a revolution.