Ghost Rage, Episode 16a- Vote Now!

You reach into your skirt, slip a throwing knife into your hand, and step forward.

The guard looks up in surprise, frowning, but by then it’s too late for him. You’ve spent a lot of time throwing knives, and you know what you’re doing. Your arm swings back, and then hurtles forward, your entire body snapping like a bowstring. The blade spins from your fingers and buries itself in the guard’s exposed throat. The man falls, gagging, dropping his crossbow as his hands go to his throat.

Excellent. You managed to get his jugular and his voice both in one throw.

You cross to the fallen guard, finish him off, and examine the door.

“Why did you kill him?” says Lucan. He sounds angry.

“It was the easiest way to get to the door,” you say, probing the lock.

“There was no reason to kill him. You could have knocked him out just as easily; I’ve seen you do it before.” He shakes his head. “You kill far too casually, Countess.”

“You’ve killed any number of magi yourself,” you say, but it is a hollow excuse, and you know it. The guard wasn’t a child-murdering magus like Korthion, or a corrupt lord selling commoners into slavery – he was just in the way. As little as five years ago, killing the guard would have filled you with guilt. But a lot has happened to you since then, most of it bad, and now you don’t feel much at all. You’ve gotten harder, and colder.

Perhaps Lucan is right.

But you can think about it later, when you’re not in a brothel full of hostile magi.

It is only a moment’s work to pick the lock on the door, and you and Lucan step into the room beyond, weapons ready.

Right away your skin crawls with the sudden presence of intense sorcery.

Dozens of symbols have been painted in red paint on the black walls, over and over again – the warding symbol against the mavrokh, the same symbol Moresti has on his tattoo. The room is empty except for a single wooden chair, and a young woman has been tied to the chair, her clothing disheveled.

She looks at you in fear.

“Do…do you work for my father?” she says.

“Your father?” you say.

“Rhazion,” she says. “Septmius Rhazion, preceptor of the chapterhouse.”

“No,” you say. Then this must be Amania, Rhazion’s daughter.

“Oh, gods!” says Amania, and she starts to weep all at once. “My father’s gone mad! He’s kept me locked down here ever since Julian left me, says I might hurt myself. But that’s not it! He keeps casting spells on me, over and over again. And the spells make me have nightmares…horrible nightmares. Please, please get me out of here. I think he’s going to kill me. Or the nightmares will drive me insane.”

You make a decision.

“Cut her loose,” you say to Lucan. “We’re taking her and leaving.” Obviously Rhazion is somehow summoning or controlling the mavrokh. If you can talk to Amania at length, Lucan should be able to use his knowledge of sorcery to puzzle out what spells Rhazion is using…and how to stop them.

However, the basement of the Black Rose is not the best place for the conversation.

Lucan cuts Amania free from her ropes and helps her up.

“Did…did Julian send you?” she asks. “He did, didn’t he? I knew he still loved me. I had a horrible dream where he was killed, ripped apart…but it was just a dream. I knew he still loved me, that he didn’t really care for that horrible Chrysana woman.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her the truth, just yet.

You start to open the door and freeze. You can hear footsteps coming down the stairs, and the sound of two men arguing.

“I don’t care,” says the first voice, a familiar voice. “I’m going to see what he’s got hidden down here, like it or not. Perhaps it’s something I can use to discredit the fool before the First Magus.”

Korthion.

As soon as he reaches the basement, he’s going to see the dead guard and realize that something is amiss.

Sorry, there are no polls available at the moment.