5th Letter Home
General Summary
Mother,
It seems I should find a particular place to begin this letter, but upon reflection I think it best I simply begin.
I stand out. My regal bearing. My unmatched aim. My wings.
My wings.
People under here seem lacking any concept of the feeling of an open sky above and the limitless freedom it offers. The feeling of the cool sea splashing your face as you soar above the waves, wind rippling the feathers from head to talon...I cannot convey to them, no matter the amount of ale...
We had dinner at an interesting restaurant. I left it out of my last letter, as the fiery energy of that battle still seared my veins, and the blood of others soaked my feathers.
The restaurant was particularly interesting because it pretended to be above ground! It was quite a fantastical experience. It was set in a cavern so as to seem limitless above, and as we ate I kept glancing up at the tall ceiling. I could see the top of the chamber, but...still...I wanted to think it was sky. They had some magics to aid the illusion, and I willed my mind to be fooled.
As the party socialized, my gaze wandered, always back to that sky. Was it sky? Could I simply let it be sky? I have been under here for so long.
Being a place of some class, I decided to ask permission, and permission was granted: I soared through that chamber as if hunting near the cliffs of Djoz!
No updraft, no cross breeze, no heat pillar. Just the hard work of my wings.
The other diners became an audience, pointing, laughing, cheering. I dove at them, sending patrons screaming with laughter to scramble into the bushes as if I were hunting them for my dinner. I screamed as I dove and they screamed in return, applauding. It was fulfilling in a way you cannot imagine, I think.
I flew till I could fly no more, diving, soaring, my wingtips singing.
Rarely have I smiled so broadly.
And after that came the battle I wrote of in my last letter.
Retrieving the young brother granted us a discount from the weapon maker, which I immediately used. I now have a very finely crafted longbow. Supple and sleek, light in the arm, easy to draw, but still packing power. I also got some magically flaming arrows, as I imagine they will be handy.
But on the way to doing that, a street urchin running from a merchant bowled into me, hiding behind me. I stood before the merchant, spreading my wings only just so, providing that universally recognized hint of aggression, and he stopped in his tracks. The child was a thief, claimed the merchant, and he claimed to have seen the deed committed with his own eyes.
I queried the child (who looked less like a child on closer inspection, but my protective instincts were already triggered), who said he hadn't stolen anything. The merchant, unwilling to face me down, backed off and went his own way.
I then challenged the purported thief, asking if he had the stolen necklace.
"No."
Did he help someone else steal it?
"No."
Did he pass it to somebody else?
That's when he pointed at my pocket.
There it was: a necklace. In my pocket.
I quickly checked the rest of me to be sure I retained my own possessions in addition to the new one.
And I found a folded piece of paper. A note?
I told the thief to stay out of trouble and find a better use for his skills; he happily left, his mission complete. Then I chased down the merchant, deeply apologized for any consternation I might have caused, and gave him back the necklace.
As the rest of our group jabbered and laughed, I quietly checked the note. I still have it, beautifully folded like a flower, and I'm looking at it right now. It says: "You are in grave danger, only you can see this writing, pretend it isn't here"
I didn't open it till we got to the weapon maker. The rest of the group gathered around the counter, hefting weapons and asking questions. I stood behind and discreetly opened the note.
Being with this diverse group of people has been very enlightening. The 'Baxi is good at killing, but really only if the poor being doesn't know it's being killed. The Hobgoblin seems honestly good, helping others in battle, inspiring us to greater feats. Those Drow, though. I've mentioned them before. If not thrown together, these are not people I would associate with. Nor would you want me to.
In fact...
Anyway, your wishes are always in my thoughts, and I'm sure you would want me to distance myself from these two. The younger one seems to detest the old man, yet they remain closely bound. They are constantly looking about, as a small animal would. They behave as prey.
The furtive nature of the granddaughter...I know not to trust her, though I see potential in her. I don't trust that she will realize that potential.
Yet the note was not about her; it was about him.
The note claimed that one of my companions was an arsonist and murderer, and that there was a reward for his capture.
"his".
Not the 'Baxi, and not the young Drow.
Surely not the Hobgoblin.
To learn more, I was to meet the author at the "above ground" restaurant. Alone.
I knew immediately that I would. But not alone, as it specified. I needed to trust somebody, but trust was in extremely short supply. As much as it goes against instinct...
"My nest, my brother; my flock, my friend."
I invited the 'Baxi and Hobgoblin for drinks, getting away from the two Drow, who had some transparently flimsy excuse to get away anyway. As we chatted, I listened in on the conversations around us, and the main topics were: me. Some of these folk has seen me flying in the restaurant, others had heard about it, and it seemed everybody had heard of our bloody fray by the docks.
I had become a known quantity, a minor celebrity. If nothing else, interesting.
But one man sat alone by the door, nursing a single drink for the entire time, quite discreetly watching us. Watching me.
After sufficient small talk, I passed the note to the 'Baxi. She read it, surprisingly quickly.
It didn't have quite the impact I expected. She seemed rather nonplussed.
I told her I needed her to follow me, but discreetly.
She was skeptical. "How will we be discreet?"
"Well," I said, "You're good at that, aren't you?"
"Of course," she preened, "but you're not."
I looked askance, "I don't have to be: they're expecting me." I told her to leave before me, as they would be watching me, not her, and get there ahead of me.
"What's the destination?" she asked.
Utterly incredulous, "The place it says in the note."
I know the 'Baxi are supposed to be fearsome predators, and perhaps they have great hunting skills despite their lack of intelligence, but I expected at least a minimum of--
"It's blank."
Sudden clarity; it was not a directive, but a statement of fact: only I could read it.
I discreetly read the note to her. Now it was her turn for clarity. After a quick conference, we included the Hobgoblin, and I read him the note, too.
I now had a flock of three.
I devised a plan and off went the 'Baxi, to get in place ahead of us. After waiting some time, the Hobgoblin and I left, with me casually proclaiming our destination as we walked by the spy. I, in a slightly raised voice, then mentioned that he should swing by and meet me there in an hour or so.
I thus ensured that they knew that I was on the way, that I would surely be alone, but that company would arrive shortly, should anything go askew.
We split up.
When I arrived, I met with Aleorman Harrington...mother, all of these people are ugly. I do not judge, and I find it almost endearing...it's not just that their beaks are tiny and soft, or that their mouths are separate from their beaks, which boggles me, or that they can't grab anything with their talons because they have tiny additional but useless hands instead! It's that they're so oblivious to their ugliness that it doesn't even both them. It's as if they don't even know how ugly they are. That makes it somehow palatable for me. That's how it gets endearing.
But this man was ugly. And he had to know it. His scarred face had been in a fire, and that scar dominated his visage.
I ignored it and I learned many things as he talked, some of which I was glad to know, but most of which I wanted nothing to do with.
As I had surmised, the old man was the murderer mentioned in the note, and the arsonist. Likely the same arson that ignited this man's face. In addition, he manufactured drugs. Not just that, but he was the alchemist who formulated Glow . The very substance that so disgusted our party a mere day ago. The drug scourging the weak and susceptible members of this underground community.
He made it. He designed it. He manufactured it.
This man, Aleorman , thought our encounter at the docks had been a hit, orchestrated by the old man to take out a rival as he rebuilt his drug-making organization. That I was a paid thug!
And they want me to help set a trap; to lure the old man into an ambush.
They would pay me, and I could walk away.
"And the granddaughter?" I asked.
Though he couched it in language to absolve himself of the action, he essentially admitted that they would kill her.
This.
Required.
Thought.
If he really was doing what Aleorman says he was doing, I had no problem turning him over. But I had no reason to trust this person. I asked him who he represented, and he was quite cagey, which leads me to believe that he, himself, is on the other side of the law. So why trust him?
Yet...the old man and his granddaughter have been quite cagey themselves, and when the Hobgoblin, 'Baxi, and I were discussing the note, we all agreed that the two of them had been exceedingly suspicious. Trust them?
But maybe this Aleorman was playing on that very mistrust.
In this network of friends and acquaintances, I have zero trust.
I conferred with my little flock and we agreed that a confrontation was in order. So a confrontation was had.
We called the party together, and I shared what I had learned. No retracted talons.
Grandfather's explanation was that he did, indeed, invent Glow. But that it was not his intention, and that when he tried to stop, they did not take kindly. Only he had the formula, and they wanted him to continue. To that end, they killed his daughter and kidnapped his granddaughter. So he produced their drugs for them. She eventually escaped, but they were subsequently caught up in the same dragnet that caught me and the others. And he we are.
They are on the run. The syndicate that operates above ground is called the Night Shades , and that is who Aleorman represents. They want the formula and they want to resume production, but they also want their pound of flesh for the fire. The syndicate that operates below ground is called The Unseen , and they want him to start their own production.
Or so he says. He has yet to earn my trust. And I knew not who to believe.
But I had fought side-by-side with these people, and they had gotten me free of the Sylvans, through the underdark, and to this underground metropolis.
I may have erred, mother, but I decided to give these Drow the benefit of my deep doubt.
I needed to be sure that these were unwilling participants, not willingly flowing pain and pestilence to our cities. I may have been harsh on the old man, but to put my integrity on the line for these people, maybe even my life, I needed to be sure.
I'm not sure that I'm sure, but I decided.
And once I had decided, I knew we had to act fast.
Aleorman had told me that either I helped him, and we did it more easily, or he did it on his own, and that left the possibility of collateral damage. Us. So either we could pick the time, or he would. And I got the impression that the time he picked would be very, very soon.
They wanted to run, and run now. The Lightkeepers had another mission for us, and they wanted to head out immediately. But those Night Shades Shades were even more powerful above ground, and that's where we were headed. Down here they are out of their element if what the old man says is true. They are, in fact, in enemy territory.
And if we ran now, they would simply pursue us. It would not end. Well, it would end, but only after they caught us. So either I departed their company and left them to their fate, or I helped them avoid it. And the only way to avoid it was to take it head on.
No running.
I convinced the group that we should ambush the ambushers. It took some doing, but that granddaughter saw the wisdom of my argument, and as soon as I had her, her grandfather came over. Then the others.
Agreeing that we would now reverse the ambush, I sent word to Aleorman that I tentatively agreed but needed to speak again. I specified the time and place of the meet...back at my favorite restaurant. I needed to sell him on the idea that I was working with him, so I gave him my terms:
1. I had to be the one to lead them to their fate. He had suggested that I simply tell them where he would be, but I told him that my integrity demanded that I betray my acquaintance to his face. That gave me a reasonable reason to be with them, making us a party of three.
2. I had to know their fate. I was unwilling to sentence these people to death. He agreed that he wanted the old man alive (and I knew why), but refused to guarantee the granddaughter's safety, protesting that she would likely fight to the death. I asked if they had a spell-caster and could instead put her to sleep or something, but he said they could not. As you can imagine, I was really just trying to gather intelligence on their capabilities, and he gave me a wonderful and useful tidbit.
3. I wanted more money. I didn't really want more money, but I hoped that tapping into greed, a drive obviously familiar to him, would make my betrayal more believable. And I think he believed it, as we haggled for some time.
I also agreed to be knocked out, so as to maintain deniability. I told him I would pretend to fight back, but would not exert deadly force. I felt this would give me at least a few seconds of unexpected attacks.
All terms satisfied, I then told him the place and time of the ambush: that evening, at the armorer's. The old man was picking up some custom armor, and I could easily accompany them under the pretense of also needing armor. No suspicion would be aroused.
Returning to the group, I explained what had happened, and convinced everybody to act immediately. If I was Aleorman , I would be setting up the ambush right now. So we needed to do the same with our reverse ambush. He would need to gather his forces, but we were already ready. So we could beat him to it. We needed to beat him to it.
The Hobgoblin rented a room near the armorer, and the 'Baxi found a rooftop perch from which to snipe.
At the appointed hour, the other three of us headed down to pick up the armor. And the ambush began.
I felt the person approach me from behind, but they struck me in the back of the head faster than I could react. I at least softened the blow by slightly dodging, and staved off unconsciousness. But the strike was hard. Very hard. I doubted that unconsciousness was the actual goal.
The old man fell down laughing, and I leapt into the air, hovering above the little battlefield and lodging arrows in our attackers.
It turned out that they did, indeed, have a spell-caster. Two, in fact. And they tried to paralyze me mid-flight. I am convinced that they intended to kill me, in order to tie up a loose end. And probably save some gold.
I continued to land arrow after arrow, and our team leaped into action and made surprisingly quick work of our erstwhile ambushers. My new bow felt incredible in my hands, helping every arrow find its mark. Even with the old man incapacitated, our attackers remained standing for a mere few seconds before they turned and fled.
We caught them all. But their leader escaped.
I am sure we will see him again.
But for now, let him lick his wounds, curse my feathers, and try to catch us. We are now off on a new mission, and I leave behind my modicum of fame and renown in this strange underground city.
Report Date
17 Jan 2022
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