Ghost Rage, Episode 15a- Vote Now!

Results: A tie, so a coin toss chose “Speak with Morlaine.”

You guide Lucan up the stairs, to the balcony.

Morlaine sits sprawled across a couch in the corner, a goblet in his hands. He does not look at all healthy. His eyes are hollow and feverish, his black magus’s robe hangs open to reveal a sunken, bony chest, and he smells as if he has not bathed for a considerable time.

He blinks as you approach.

“Ah,” he breathes. “So lovely a vision. I must be a hallucinating again.” He looks at Moresti. “Though why I would hallucinate such an ugly man, I’ve no idea. So perhaps you are real after all.”

You lean forward, speaking softly.

“The Ghost Countess,” you say, “sent me with questions for you.”

Morlaine blinks, and for a moment something like lucidity comes into his glassy eyes – lucidity, and fear. “No. No. It’s not safe to talk about…her. The First Magus himself wants her dead. I don’t dare.”

You nod to Lucan, and he produces a pouch of gold coins.

“But the Ghost Countess pays for answers,” you say.

Morlaine stares at the pouch, and in the end greed – and perhaps his addictions – overcome him. He takes the pouch and makes it disappear into his rumpled robe.

“What do you want to know?” he says.

“Septimus Rhazion,” you say. “Tell me about him.”

Morlaine laughs. “The beloved preceptor of our chapterhouse? He won’t be preceptor for much longer. The First Magus ordered him to kill the Ghost Countess. It seems your mistress offended the First Magus once too often, and he wants her dead.” He takes a drink from his vile-smelling goblet and shivers. “But Rhazion is dragging his feet. If he doesn’t kill Countess Caina soon, we’ll have a new preceptor.”

You blink in surprise. Rhazion is a magus – why wouldn’t he want you dead? “Why?”

“Don’t know,” said Morlaine, his words slurring a bit at the substance in the goblet takes effect. “Won’t say. But I think…I think he’s afraid of the Ghosts. That he’s got some secret he doesn’t want to the First Magus or the Ghosts to learn.” He takes another sip and titters. “But I think I know what his secret is.”

You gesture for him to continue.

“A week ago,” says Morlaine, his limbs starting to tremble. “Rhazion rents a room in the basement of the Black Rose. Keeps it quiet. He’s got the door locked, and he’s got a guard keeping watch on the door. Don’t know what he’s got down there, but it’s something he doesn’t want to the Ghosts or the First Magus to know about.”

You think this through.

A week ago, Rhazion rents a secret room in the Black Rose, and Julian Trimogena announces his betrothal to Chrysana Karbonos – breaking his engagement with Rhazion’s daughter. Then the mavrokh kills Julian and almost kills Chrysana. And Rhazion was once posted in Varia Province, the only place where mavrokh can be found.

Needless to say, you need to see what Rhazion’s got locked in that secret room of his.

“Rhazion’s daughter, Amania,” you say, wondering the mavrokh killed her as well. “Is she dead?”

“No,” says Morlaine. “But she should be.” He snorts. “Poor little dear caught bloodburn fever in Varia Province. That’s always fatal. But she recovered, somehow.”

You thank Morlaine, who ignores you and resumes drugging himself to an early grave.

“We need to see what Rhazion has stashed in that room,” you say.

“Obviously,” says Lucan.

“You two keep watch,” you say, heading through the clouds of drug-scented smoke to the stairs. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Of course,” says Lucan, “you’re not going down there alone.”

You sigh, but you doubt you can convince Lucan otherwise. Besides, he can move just as quietly as you can.

With Moresti keeping watch on the stairs, you descend into the Black Rose’s basement, a gloomy warren of narrow corridors. The occasional groan and scream echoes through the corridors, and you feel the crawling presence of sorcery – the Black Rose’s proprietors rent the basement rooms to any magi with tastes too exotic even for the main room.

You have no trouble finding the room Rhazion rented, since it’s the only one with a guard outside, a man in leather armor with sword and dagger at his belt, a crossbow loaded and ready in his arms.
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