May 2008 Release Notes

[Keebler]

Introductions

The air was heavy with smoke and the stench of burned flesh. The smell of slaughter lingered on every blood- and ichor-spattered surface in the underground cavern. A man dressed in gore-encrusted leather armor walked across the cavern floor, which was littered with corpses. A few of the corpses were human, dressed in robes, now sodden with blood and filled with puncture wounds. Most of the corpses were spectacularly inhuman: great tentacled beasts and finned horrors from another realm…

Stepping around one particularly large, tentacled carcass that still stunk of the dark magic that once animated it, the master assassin Oswald found several of his acolytes gathered together around something in a back corner of the cavern. As he grew closer, he could hear a sibilant whispering noise. It seemed his acolytes had managed to capture one alive, after all. He smiled slightly, even as the crowd of acolytes noticed him and parted quickly to reveal their prisoner.

The captive was humanoid in shape, a two-legged, two-armed shambler that walked mostly upright. But its skin was scaly and fouled with slime, and its head was crested with a sharp finned ridge. Goggle-shaped eyes glowered balefully at him, and its wide, fish-like mouth flapped and hissed with pain and rage. Its limbs had been pinned to the ground by the simple expedient of four heavy dirks driven through its flesh and between its major bones. By the creature’s head, one of his acolytes stood by with a blade, ready to dispatch the creature at his command.

Oswald looked up and met the eyes of one of the other acolytes assembled here, a young woman whose cockiness was evident in the set of her arms as she watched her Master approach. “Sabithra,” Oswald said to her, “report now.”

The woman grinned and bowed with exaggerated deference. “We managed to bring this one down alive, Master. As you told us, it is different from the other Moarsmen that we’re most familiar with, but it does seem, in its powers and its inclinations and its… smell… to be similar to the new colonies of these creatures that have appeared on shores around Dereth. First near Ayan Baqur, then Tou-Tou, and – “

Oswald held up a hand. “Enough. I’ve reviewed the scouts’ reports. I know where these things have crawled ashore.” He paused to listen to the noises the creature was making. “Have any of you been able to understand what it’s been saying? Have you been able to divine which of the Matriarchs this one serves?”

Sabithra shook her head. “Unintelligible to all of us, Master. It doesn’t seem to recognize any of the Matriarch names you taught us. At least, it didn’t seem particularly reverent or respectful of any of them. Just seemed to get more and more angry when we repeated those names.”

Oswald nodded. “As I expected. Give me some room.” He made a gesture, and the acolytes all took a step back as their Master approached to squat near the creature. They watched in fascination as their Master looked into the creature’s eyes and muttered something harsh and guttural.

The creature’s eyes, which were beginning to dim from pain and blood loss, snapped back open, alight with surprise and anger. A torrent of gibberish spilled forth from the creature’s mouth, and more blood and ichor spattered on their Master’s armor. A gob of slime hit their master in the face, which he wiped away with calm dignity. He continued to speak to the creature in its own language, and the beast grew even more animated. The acolytes all watched in dumb incomprehension.

Finally, Oswald seemed to ask the creature a question. The creature’s response was a croak of what seemed like malevolent laughter, and a word that sounded like “T’thuun” seemed to issue from its lips several times as it responded to the question.

Sighing, Oswald drew a handkerchief from within his armor and wiped off his hands and face. He stood up and looked back over the rest of the cavern, where more of his acolytes were dutifully dripping lamp oil over the rest of the corpses. He nodded to the acolyte standing ready with the sword, then stepped back. The acolyte nodded and brought the sword down in a smooth arc that severed the creature’s bulbous head from its body. Blood and gore fountained from the neck-hole and showered the sword-wielding acolyte and Sabithra with more pungent ichor. Sabithra cursed and stepped back, flicking pieces of viscera from her armor.


Oswald indulged himself with a small smile at Sabithra’s displeasure before he tossed the handkerchief to her. “Clean your hands off,” he said to her. “Now, are you carrying parchment and a pen like I asked you to?”

Gritting her teeth, Sabithra nodded. “I am, Master.”

Oswald nodded and smiled at her. “Very good. Now, retrieve them from your pack and get ready to take dictation.”

Sabithra almost dropped the handkerchief. “Dictation, Master? I don’t understand.”

“Dictation, my quick-learning acolyte, means I will speak out loud, and you will write my words down on paper. Then, we will roll up the paper, and send it to someone as a letter. Make sure you write neatly. These hoary old nobles do value good penmanship. More to the point, I’m sure that they’re going to want to hear all about recent developments among the Falatacot. Perhaps that old fool will even be able to tell me why these creatures have found something to worship in place of the old Matriarchs. It’s the least he can do, with all the time I’ve spent cleaning up his mess.”

“I…” Sabithra looked into Oswald’s eyes and decided not to push her Master’s patience. “As you say, Master.” She finished wiping her hands off, then retrieved a sheaf of parchment and a quill from her pack. She sat near Oswald, braced the paper on top of her pack, wet the pen in a small bottle of ink, and made ready to take dictation.

“Wonderful,” Oswald said approvingly. “I’ll start the dictation now. ‘To Lord Rytheran of Menilesh…’”

Sabithra tried to contain her own look of surprise as she began to write.