Whispered Secrets

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
A blog for your campaign

Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

First Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Not completely sure how to begin these things… not that it matters much, its probably going to be classified beyond all reach and put in a vault somewhere for the rats to read. Just figured it’d be worth writing down. And Inquisitor Lemarre, if your reading this, that wasn’t treason, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the bureacratic system… in fact I think it was you who told me that’s where most of these things go, so what am I apologising for?

Anyway, the report.
For the most part my journey aboard Tarsus’ Pride was fairly uneventful, and given the vague nature of the orders recieved I sort of found my self just whittling the time away until we dropped without warning out of the warp, redirected our course completely and I was dragged halfway across the ship by a servo-skull to meet our little gang.
They seem nice enough. Titus is a little quiet, but he can drive boats apparently… I’ll have to keep that in mind. Ravia’s a little more chatty, and I think she’s the less bookish of the two (judging from the hunting rifle). What’s the word… eccentric, I’d call them. That’s a polite way to say void born brand strange, right?
The Lieutenant delivered his message, including the rosette, and all those lovely toys our dear benefactor sent us. And we got the gist of our mission. Murder. Quite a lot of very bad, rather graphic murder possibly committed by something throwing super human strength around. And now we’ve been dropped down into Sinophia Magna, because if we don’t figure out who pulled the heads off these nobles then the whole planet could descend into anarchy. Which is bad, according to the briefing.
Anyway, after two weeks spent preparing for our mission by consuming grain liquor and playing mind-focusing card games, we made the drop, and I’m proud to say I didn’t even throw up a little bit. A new personal best! But we landed, and after a brief run in with the local bureacracy we boarded a motor skiff and were on our way to meet the Arbite who summoned us.

Things were going swimmingly, until we ran into some piratical types a little way down the canal.
They were originally looting someone elses boat, but when they saw us I guess they just couldnt resist. In the firefight that followed, Titus blew a guy’s kneecaps off, I caused a spectacular boatcrash by removing the drivers face with my autogun, and Ravia proved that she is much better at keeping out of the way of gunfire than I am. I got shot in the leg a little bit. But thanks to this sleek new bodyglove, it seems to be more a horrible painful bruise than an actual gaping bleeding hole. But as the saying goes, worst day in a gunfight is better than the best day buried alive in chemical sludge being eaten by mutant water rats.
Now I was going to work the surviving pirates over… for evidence obviously… and apparently Ravia wanted their teeth…but the local enforcers have arrived. I’ll record the details when I get the chance.
Signing off for a (hopefully) brief intermission,
Nache de la Mer Chemical_

Second Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Well, we’re not dead. I imagine that was implied by the fact that this thing is getting written, but you know. We’ve also not been arrested, which is also a very good thing. Although I can tell you it got a little close there.

So, as I said last time, we’d just blasted a bunch of aqua-bandits out of the water, but on climbing the bank to investigate (and commit a certain amount of dental larceny, I think) the local legal goons arrived and stopped us, saying that vigilantism was illegal, we weren’t allowed to shoot hydro-mooks, etc, etc, then shot the hydro-mooks! And what really rubs me the wrong way is I had no chance to take their stuff. Bullets don’t grow on trees, I think we had the right to a couple of stolen clips for all the ammo we expended cleaning up this canal…
Anyway, this enforcer guy comes up to us and asks us for ID, and of course we don’t have any which I imagine is a bit of a faux pa in this place. So after a bit of verbal toing and froing, I arranged for hm to radio our friend Constantine, and he came back looking like he’d seen a ghost. A ghost that had somehow coerced him into giving us a lift.

So, the records say that we are currently being detained and interrogated at the new Arbites base at Haarlock’s Folly (apparently their last one got blasted by some Logikins. Is that like a ramikin?). In the mean time we’ve been investigating.

We met Constantine when we arrived and, well…he certainly seems to like the rooting and purging side of his job. I know, Inquisitor, pluralism is a crime and there are no shades of grey in the battle for survival. But seriously, could you have got us a better contact? I’m worried this guy’s going to give himself a heart attack with all the rooting and purging…

So the good Arbitrator took us down to a recent crime scene (there was another murder by the way. Just thought you’d like to know). Bloke by the name of Bal Grey, found him with a large piece of his head where his heart should be, the place mildly ransacked, and a freakout worthy stash of Ghostfire Extract. So, things are heavy. And I haven’t got to the really worrying bit yet.

Of the blokes sent to do him in, he filled a particular one of them with enough shotgun rounds to bring down the Holy Obese Mum of Him on Terra. But the bastard had the wherewithal to wander out into an alley, and die quietly without bleeding on anything. Not even on his clothes, and its not like he was wearing armour, this guy caught it in the guts. Ravia had a dig around is neck, but I just couldn’t help thinking about crepes. We didn’t find anything, and the mangling this guy had copped didn’t match any of teh cults Titus knew about, but as you can imagine this is all slightly disconcerting.

We’re going to rifle through what the residents saw, I’ll get back to you when I have more to say.

Yours, with creepy non-flowy corpse blood all over his nice gloves,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

Third Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Why is it that, when I think I’ve got the whole situation in hand and everything can be solved with a nice orderly chat, somebody starts shooting at people? Is the whole galaxy like this, or is it just a problem that seems to follow me around? I don’t know…

Anyway, I left off at the investigation, so that’s where I’ll pick up. While I was out in the rain looking at bloody ugly corpses, Ravia did a damn fine job of interviewing the hab’s pseudo-security guy, with the assistance of Titus’ stinging insults, and we learned some facts about Grey’s assailants. They were big, there were two or more of them, and they had a penchant for ruddy grey robes and punching people’s heads off. He also saw one of them take a shotgun blast at short range, and assumed he was wearing armour and legged it, as instead of tottering over and dying like any decent type the robed gentleman kept moving around. Now… the robed room invader was riddled with shotgun slugs… and the unbleedy dead guy in the alley was riddled with shotgun shells… I can’t help but think there was a connection.

And the short story is, there was. Ravia once again turned up the charm, and the hab residents were extremely cooperative, due to either her courtesy and good manners or the string of teeth around her neck, I really have no idea. But we found some old guy who’d seen the perpetrators leave, and one of them stagger into the alley and keel over.
He also told us that Grey had been a “Rag King”, a local gang kingpin, and told us about another one by the name of Juvinal, with whom Grey had held a mixed relationship (sometimes slicey, sometimes gifty), who had sent Grey a mysterious package not long before he was pulped to death. So we decided to ditch our Arbite escort and go somewhere seedy.

We commandeered Constantine’s car, giving Titus a chance to show off his driving skills (something I never managed to pick up, though it might be worthwhile if you keep sending me places with rain… no offense Inquisitor, just saying…) which facilitated us showing off our skills of having no idea where anything is in Sinophia Magna. So we pulled over and asked an algae merchant for information. He was a little cagey at first, but opened up a little when he realised I would probably have put ten bullets in him if he didn’t. So off we went to Fishguts Wharf (I think that’s what it was called…) apparently a hideout of the Rag King.

It was around this point that Titus became quiet and withdrawn. More so than usual. Which was a problem, because as we were driving we didn’t notice that we were about to be blindsided by an industrial cargo hauler, and we got blindsided by an industrial cargo hauler.
For one, it ruined the car. For two, we were then jumped by six guys in capes trying to blast us with shotguns. However, it was at this point that Ravia showed off the best party trick I have ever seen.
She aimed her rifle, shot an oncoming mook in the face, blew his head right off, then knocked the guy behind him unconscious WITH THE SAME BULLET!!! You should have seen their faces… well, the face of the guy who was still standing up. Titus made a good show of capping anybody he clapped his sights on, and I remember one moment when he dropped one guy with a gut shot, only for Ravia to take his head off a second later. Now half the goons had tried to run for it, I’d used the psychological power of bullets see, which doesn’t really make much sense in hindsight as you can’t really outrun a hunting rifle round… and I think they figured that out, because they turned around once they got over the hill. Didn’t help ‘em much. Titus and Ravia got one, and I used my… special skills to jump through a hail of gunfire and drop the last one.

So… yeah, big day. We’re going to see what we can get out of the guy we didn’t kill. Get back to you soon.
Oh yeah, news. Ravia has fresh teeth, Titus hates his late parents, and they may have figured out that I’m a psyker.
Signing off,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

Fourth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Where did I leave off last time?
Oh yeah. We were standing knee deep in corpses. Luckily for us, those corpses had been fairly inept shots in life, and that’s why they were corpses and we weren’t. Luckily for us, in the interest of finding out why people had tried to kill us, one of them had caught Ravia’s bullet in part of his brain that he wasn’t using at the time, and thus was a potential source of information.
Ravia’s questioning style (the old “shake him by the collar until he talks” maneuvre this time) proved effective once again, doing like a “bad cop, worse cop” routine with Titus. While not engaged in this wholesome activity, Titus and I placed bets on the wounded fellows answers.

Turns out he and his late buddies were smalltime. Brul, as our new friend was called, had apparently done odd jobs for a few different Rag Barons, but not Juvinal, who apprently has something of an unsavoury reputation around here. Who’d have thought it? But, I think the situation is pretty bad, given even our poor, brain damaged Brul has noticed that Rag Barons are getting themselves “dissapeared”…

Now, I was all for keeping him, but for some reason the others thought that was a bad idea. We did take him with us though, and once we did manage to flag down a skiff at the site of our little bloodbath (maybe we should have hidden the bodies, but you know, hindsight is 20/20), we headed down to Fishguts Wharf. We found the place easily enough, though the fishy, gutty smell had attracted all manner of avian life, including some bionic ones who seemed to have gone feral. After some discussion of how to get past a locked gate (I was mildy worried that the first one who entered would have a decent portion of them sprayed back out again before you could say “watch that gunfire”)Ravia pulled out her groovy acrobatic skills and just jumped over the fence, opening the gate from the inside to Titus’ constant protestations that he was “too old for this”.

And do you know what we found?
Give a pint to the guy who said more corpses. If none of you good readers said more corpses, then your all losers (no offense intended, Inquisitor Lemarre).
Because as we did a quick search of the building, we found its occupants had been turned into corpses, one of which Brul tentatively identified as Juvinal. Now this guy’d been broken in about every angle that you can break somebody… apparently his lucky charms (were they evil after all Titus?) weren’t all that lucky. And just when I was convinced that I was right on the cusp of a fantastic revelation, we found ourselves held at gunpoint again.

His name was Georg, and he seemed nice enough. And… we’ve been invited to some sort of thing by the Rag Queen Hesul! I’m not sure what, exactly… but I imagine there will be refreshments. Then he left, taking his gun toting goons with him.

Constantine gave us a call… I accidentally address him as “Arbitrator” within earshot of Brul, but I think I managed to convince him that its just a term of endearment… I’ve never heard it used as one, but hell, its a big galaxy. Anyway, long story short, we’re headed back to Haarlock’s Folly for some more info and briefing and things. We left Brul on the pier with money for a skiff ride home… or at least I think we gave him money for a skiff ride home… or maybe I dreamed that bit…

Signing off,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

Fifth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

The meeting with Constantine was highly productive. He gave each of us a nice dataslate summing up exactly what the situation is, including a rather more cynical interpretation of things from one of his colleagues. As things are, I’ve kept my copy… just in case anyone needs to glance at it… But yes, apparently the autopsy of our bullet riddled friend had been delayed by a particularly meticulous Biologis Adept… more on this later…
So declining Constantine’s kind offer of accommodation we snuck off to the Turning Hand, where I was finally able to tape up my rather sore thigh, drink imported recaf (!!!), and make a general run of local dives. Though I’ve found nobody to buy our delicious, connoisseur, definitely-not-nicked-from-a-dead-guy’s-flat Ghostfire stimm, I did collect some nice rumours from local barkeeps. They are summarised below.
“The Enforcers are trying to crack the Undertow: there have been two attempts in the last week by kill squads to eliminate two prominent Rag-Kings.”
“The Enforcer General has secretly taken Psykers into the Mandato; they are going to know what we are thinking!”
“Three people have died in the last week in horrible circumstances that defy imagination. Apparently the Adeptus Arbites are trying to cover it up.”

Hmm… juicy stuff. So, the lower classes believe that the Enforcers (in the direct employ of the nobility) are stirring up trouble. Might be worth following up.

Anyway, as we continued our little investigation, we visited the only nobleman who was willing to talk to us. So, we got to play Noble Tea Party! Which went reasonably well, this fellow seemed fairly intent on nerve gassing the Undertow and not nearly so intent on nerve gassing us, which I take to mean that the deception was swallowed hook, line and tranquilizer pellet.
He didn’t really have much “information” as such, he had a few theories. Well, one theory. Which, in this case, was
“The Lower Classes did it!”
Which doesn’t really bring us any closer to the culprits… but he did say that he’d give us an introduction to the deceased nobles’ households, which may be of some use.

We headed off, fully intending to make good on our other invitation, and attend the Rag Court. However, we soon realised that we were being followed by some fairly heavily armed… followers. Immediately taking evasive action, Titus turned into a dead end and we were cornered. However, using that old noodle for which he comes so highly recommended, he backed out over one of the motorcyclists. Not over him, really, just through him. We didn’t mean any harm by it, but we deduced soon after that they weren’t friendlies when one of them tried to shoot Ravia in the face.

Now, I can understand that there may have been a bit of a miscommunication, that maybe these people were just reacting violently because they’d misinterpreted the motivation behind our running their friend off the road. We tried to reason with them, we really did. But I figured I’d just save time and fill their car’s fuel tank with buckshot. Ravia left the lass who appeared to be leading the gang with a message made of hot lead in her ribs, then Titus got us the hell out of there with only me having been shot (again). One guy tried to follow us and shot out one of our tires, but he gave up fairly soon. Ravia was all for going back to take their teeth, but having just used the dashboard as an operating theatre truth be told I wasn’t all that keen. As we drove heroically into the cloud covered sunset, Titus regaled us with stories of his hard drinking, librarian shagging, book mobile racing youth. And now we’ll hopefully make it to see the Rag Court without getting shot at again.

Staying alive,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

Sixth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Ah, what a day… having dug a bullet out of my shoulder and successfully mended the hole in my jacket, I felt that I was ready for anything. We approached Fishguts Wharf in Constantine’s increasingly beat-up car (although in light of recent events, I’m not sure I mind so much that we’ve trashed it…), and soon encountered Georg and his cronies. The latter we trusted enough to leave with the car, though I suppose if we do return to find it resting on cinder blocks we’ll have a reasonable idea whodunnit… but Georg gave us a ride in his lovely little boat to a charming abandoned theatre.
It certainly was atmosphric, though I think I’ll only give it three stars, owing to poor food and service (just don’t tell that to the Rag Court…)

And about the Rag Court, they were much less impressive than I expected. When people were referring to it as a Rag Court I was assumoing a big echoey room filled with… well, more than three criminal kingpin. But apparently things have gotten a little dire in the underworld of late, and we were introduced to their Rag Highnesses Hesul, Scorn and Tiber.

The discussion seemed to centre around what each of our parties knew, and what we didn’t know. What we both seemed to have gotten our heads around was that people were getting themselves dead… mysteriously. But no mystery is impossible to crack if you’ve got a gang of hardbitten ne’er do wells to help you, and a little while and a few rambling tangents later we had ourselves a clue.

All the recently deceased seem to have possessed a shard of a mirror, one of many shards originally discovered under Haarlock’s Folly. Apparently the Judiciar (the leader of this planet, who we’d probably prefer to keep alive…)also owns a couple of those shards, so we’d best get over to his place soonish. So the muscle bound antihaemophiliacs we’ve encountered indirectly so far appear to be gathering these pieces of mirror, and the recalcitrance we’ve recieved from the Folly so far alongside the stories we’ve heard seem to hang a big red sign over Constantine’s office that reads “BAD THINGS!!!”

And apparently everyone in the city os having us followed. Hoorah.

At least we seem to have the Undertow on side… they’ve taken a shine to us, and with their help we’ve shifted our Ghostfire and now we’re rich!

And Inquisitor Lemarre, if you’re reading this… we never found any Ghostfire.

Signing off,
Nache de la Mer Chemical

Seventh Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

To begin this report, I am going to employ a bit of non-linear storytelling, as I believe a few things need to be made clear.
I have just successfully concluded sewing my own face back together. Ravia shot me. In the face.

Alright, so I’ll start from the begining. After we concluded our meeting with the Undertow leaders, we decided to follow up on another lead that they’d given us. Doing so we located a crazy guy and a massacre that seemed to corroborate the suspicions we already had. The crazy guy had witnessed our burly, bullet-resistant suspects at their gory work. They targeted a guy in a bar this time, right in front of dozens of (now deceased) witnesses, and took some trinket (mirror?) that he had from his cold dead hands. After that we took a look at the “scene of the crime” as it were, and it turns out he was right; everybody was dead. Apparently nobody had thought to clean up (or close the door so the crows couldn’t get in). No real clues, but we did find a hidy-hole with some cash. It’s always sad when a well respected drinking establishment closes under such ill circumstances. Pubs smeared with patron guts are something that the community can really do without.

Anyway, we headed back to the hotel, where we were roundly jumped by a pointy faced tall bastard surrounded by many smaller bastards. Now the first thing that the former bastard did was to weaken the barrier between reality and the Warp, then cause Ravia a seizure. Which was unfortunate, as she’d been posing rather dramatically with her rifle barrel more or less aimed at my face. She fell down, and I got a new hole between my top lip and my ear that wasn’t there before. Titus, concerned for my safety, rushed to the car to effect a getaway, but my implant (who had not been cooperating thus far; I’m not saying he’s doing a bad job, Inquisitor Lemarre, I’m sure he has his reasons, but when I come in next could you have a quiet word with him and maybe arrange for him to be less of a snarky twat? Or not… its really your call, no prssure, or anything…) suddenly decided that full force was neccesary, and I chameleoned to safety.
Ravia then made up for her bullet/face faux par by surgically removing the tall bastard’s arm with her second bullet. He screamed, thrashed around a bit, tehn fell down dead, and the otehr guys legged it under my covering fire. And what do you know? Some kind of Warpthing. Squeaked for a little while, then melted, but I got the impression that it was tied to somebody, who would probably be in a world of pain right this second. Pesky shapeshifting bastards.
Ravia also tried to shoot one of the bastards in the leg for questioning… but unfortunately the leg came off.
We then returned to the Hotel room, where I stitched my face hole shut and we all had cocoa. Tomorrow we’re going shopping on the black market.

Eighth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

Maybe this is the seven and a halfth report… I’m not sure. Anyway, I don’t really like fractions. So I’m gonna call this one eighth.

It has not been the restful day I hoped for as I was suturing my face. Titus and Ravia decided to go about business of their own in the morning, so I visited Constantine and watched the autopsy of he-who-was-resistant-to-shotguns. And guess what they found?


There was nothing even remotely strange about the guy. Well, that’s not strictly true. His organs had begun to rot, and somehow he was still walking around. Which to me, made no sense, because no weird tech implants or xeno grafts were located. No drugs in his system, no organs that shouldn’t be there. A perfectly normal walking bullet resistant carcass. Did have a bit of a strange smell to his Warpshadow, but I couldn’t quite place it.

Also, the Noble Chorum wants to see us for some insult we caused. Though I claimed it was my evil doppleganger, Nache van der Kroken, Constantine still advised that we go see them.

But, as I was leaving the building, I was hit with an epiphany. A curious scar on the cadaver’s chest had been puzzling me, and as usual, it was not until I left that I realised its importance. This was not the slab residing gent’s first autopsy.
So I went to fetch Ravia, and we nipped back down to the operating theatre with the aim of having some stern words with Adept Tallanis, their Adeptus Mechanicus Coroner. He refused to admit anything, and even when it was made clear that we were Inquisitorial Agents, the stern words soon spiralled out of all proportion and he tried to kill us. And not just kill us… he tried the “by crikey what’s that?” trick and everything! So there we were in a dingy basement, under attack by a mad bonesaw wielding techhead and three syringe fingered servitors. Things were looking bad, so we did what any reasonable person would do in such a situation.

We killed all four of them. Into small pieces.

Luckily for us, they were substantially less bullet resistant than teh guy they were operating on, amd four deft sword strokes and half a clip later we were alone in the theatre. Giving it a quick going over, we found Tallanis’ cogitator, which will hopefully be able to tell us stuff that his bullet riddled corpse is now unable to. I considered taking his head (in case he’d hidden anything useful in there) but figured it’d take to long to get through his poissibly reinforced neck with a bonesaw.
I also proved my inability to administer first aid to anyone other than myself anywhere other than a car dashboard. Sorry Ravia…

From deep in the earth… this is Nache signing off.

Ninth Report
by Nache de la Mer Chemical

It has been an eventful weekend. It feels as if it has gone on for months. But the excitement just doesn’t let up here in Sinophia Magna.
Ravia and I left you deep underground, where we had just committed what would be, in the eyes of more scrupulous individuals, the murder of a fairly well placed Adept in the basement of this planets very best supercops. For us, however, it really was just a terrible misunderstanding in the basement of this planet’s best supercops. In either sense, after intense deliberation our best option was concluded as the following:


After a moment’s investigation, and a peak at our older corpse friend’s thoroughly scrubbed Warp shadow, we heard the elevator coming down to our floor. Sensing trouble, I smashed the lights and got ready for a bloody all or nothing fight to the exit, having raised Titus to recruit some hired help from among the local murder enthusiasts. At which point, Ravia stole my thunder by finding an exit. My consolation is that I believe she now wishes she hadn’t.
As the crowd of probably very misguided (cries of “shoot on sight” were heard) Arbites exited the elevator, we took the chance to make our dramatic escape through a centuries old tunnel full of waist deep sewerage. We get all the classy jobs, see. So we’re carefully picking our way along in the dark, when wouldn’t you know, we get jumped.
Now, its not like we were unprepared. We could have handled giant rats, sewer workers or even some sort of highly aggressive fungus, but er… this was something else. One look at this thing (which I can only describe as a shrouded rotting bastard, or SRB for short) and I froze. Ravia had the sense to leg it after it stabbed her, which I admit I didn’t appreciate so much at the time.
But after a moment’s hesitation, I shook of the shock and reached forward into the multitude strands of possibility, looking for the one route that would deliver the two of us from the sewer of death. Ironically, it was my miscalculating the local Warp tides that provided it, creating a minor squall that knocked our SRB face first into the muck. Suffice to say, we did not hang around to see if it would extract itself. We found a door to the surface, vandalised it, and made our escape onto what turned out to be Celestine Wharf.
So there we were, covered in aeon poo, when Titus arrives looking right at home in his pimp mobile with a fair swathe of the criminal fraternity at his beck and call. Not wanting to waste the opportunity this offered, but also not wanting to answer to the angry SRB, we arranged an informal chat with Arbitrator Constantine in the heart of District XIII.
Though I menaced him, very effectively I think, with a tank of promethium and a shotgun, he still seems in the dark as to the source of the creatures, mirrors and murder. We’re going to meet his boss tomorrow at a swanky gala at the Clockwork Court, possibly after a shower. The evening was not wasted though, as Ravia made a startling discovery in one of the windows of the surrounding buildings; a gang of very familiar mooks.

Having a good bead on their position, we launched a coordinated attack. Titus commanded his flock of brigands, Ravia provided sniper support, and I smiled and was charming. After a hilariously brief fire-fight and a near perfect rifle round through the knee, we had captured and interviewed Lira. A lovely lass, in the employ of that noble prick and nerve gas enthusiast who I remember insulting but can’t recall the name of. Ravia remains convinced that Lira tried to shoot her in the face. She KNOWS, she KNOWS. And God Emperor knows I’m not one to question the tooth puller. Anyway, turns out the senile old fool has been having us followed, actually thinking I was a noble (never realised I was so convincing… but what can I say). So we returned his pet mercenary to the terribly obliging butler Amadeus, with the implicit message of “have us followed and we will kill 90% of your goons, and return the other 10% in less than working order”. That’ll learn him, with luck.
So after that, we rather fancied some kip. Ravia asked around, and we found a charming little place under a charming little bar, and the barman offered a last drink to anyone who felt like it. Titus slammed his like a demigod, but I was rather put off by the paint thinner smell. So Ravia and Titus settled in for the night, and I fixed my makeup and pondered exactly why there would be a drain in the corner of a commercial hotel. I was considering this over my shotgun breach when some heavily armed men rounded the corner.
I looked at them. And they looked at me. I looked at them, and said something confrontational, and then they had a lot more trouble looking at me because I’d decided now was a good time not to be seen. I relied on my first shotgun volley to alert my comrades that all was not well.
In a blink, Ravia was on her feet, and we had collectively reduced our assailants from five to one, with the spilling of copious amounts of blood and further ruination of my carefully cultivated appearance. It did explain what the drain was for, admittedly, but I don’t think it was really worth the trouble. On chasing down and interrogating the group’s leader (not giving a thought as to why Titus wasn’t chasing with us, I just figured the old bloke would catch up in his own time), we found that we’d had our first encounter with the Mandato, and sent their remaining envoy, Ishta, back to HQ with the message that we are not their problem.

We then returned to the room, wondering if the alcohol had finally taken effect on Titus, and found him lying very still under the bed trying to avoid his leg falling off. Though I did my best to patch him up, things were pretty bad, and we decided that staying here was perhaps not such a great idea. So we headed out on the town, found a nice little chapel with a very understanding priest with a keen eye for donations. With luck, this time nobody will try to kill us in our beds.

Thoroughly dishevelled, this is Nache de la Mer Chemical signing off.


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