City of Rhun

The Stranger
We all have a face that we hide away forever...

The Faceless leaned back on the rotting chair’s back legs. The sagging floorboards creeked beneath him. It was one of his old haunts. He had been forced to clear out some squatters but it was otherwise just as he had left it. The bodies of the beggars lay bloated and sagging in one corner. Not far from them stood an easel and a half finished painting. The canvas showed the pile of bodies lying if you looked at it straight on, but this was only the first image. In the flickering candle light the true picture became clear. Standing in front of the bodies was the indistinct form of a man draped in a leather apron. His head was still missing.

On the table before the Faceless lay the grinning masks of his first five victims. They were bloody and ragged at the edges and nowhere near his usual work. Workmanship didn’t matter in this particular case, only his last victim, the thirteenth, would matter. He would have to wear that mask for the rest of his life. But the rewards would be more than worth it.

Perfect lips turned down into a frown. Shame that the detective hadn’t spotted him. If all of this happened with no fan fare, with no challenge of the chase it would seem… hollow. But there was time. Those little strumpets wouldn’t live for much longer without help, which encouraged the fools to return. Perhaps he would take one more life before they returned, or maybe two.

The Old Witch
Deals, deals, deals.

Shamakani dipped his long neck down low so that his headdress wouldn’t catch on the door frame. His green tongue shot out tasting the odors of rotting meat, fetid water, and distilled pain. These weren’t uncommon scents in this swampy region but within the confines it was concentrated to an almost unbearable level. The chieftain closed his second eye-lid to block out the smoke and pushed bast the skull beads forming the door.

The room beyond was filled with twisted and leaning shelving. Large jars of things that turned even Shamakani’s stomach rested on them. In the center of the room was a massive cauldron formed from dented shields. Shamakani recognized several of the crests still visible on them. The woman standing over the cauldron had long white hair, blue skin, pointed ears, and was dressed in rough leathers and bone fragments. To another mammal she may have been fair but the lizardman knew it was just her Seeming at work. He blinked the third eyelid closed. Where the tall young woman had been was a lanky, sharp toothed, green haired, crone with glowing orange eyes. He slid the third lens back. It was easier to look at her glaumor than the truth.

“Shamakani, War Chief of the Grey Scale Zealots. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice was tinged with poison.

The lizardman growled low in his throat. “You know full well why I have come to you, hag.” A lesser being would have felt the distinct instinctual chill run down their spine at his tone. He wasn’t that far removed from the ancient lizards that once tracked the mammals across the jungles for sport.

“You wish to return to Kanobauk once more.” The chieftain nodded. “Then you know my price.”

The chieftain pushed the curtain aside. Standing in the quagmire outside Namu’Sobiya’s hut were seven young girls. Shamakani had procured them from a small village near the closest natural gate from the Faerie to Akallia. Namu only took female humanoids in payment and the chieftain despite his cold heart preffered not to think of their fates. He was a warrior for the Unseelie first and foremost. He was not a torturer, and he didn’t deal in souls when it could be helped, but he need a direct link to Kanobauk if his plan was to succeed. He need the blood of the Progenitor if he was to win the coming fights. His life and his clan depended on it.

A Day at the Spa
A Devil's Due

Niccolo leaned back resting his massive arms on the lip of the bath. The fetid water lapped about his massive stomach as he settled in. Severed heads bobbed amongst the corpse flowers. Using one red nailed hand he picked up the closest and look at it. How the might had fallen. The fiend popped it into his mouth and popped it like a grape.

By the time that the mirror shimmered the fiend was fully relaxed with fluted crystal glass held between two pudgy fingers. He had been studying himself and considering when to make his next move when Igan appeared before him. Niccolo sat his drink down. “Igan, my favorite mortal. How is business?”

Igan was sitting at his desk with his feet propped on its top. Despite the relaxed posture the good side of his face did not look pleased. His one good eye gazed through the mirror across the infinite multiverse at his partner. No Igan did not fool himself. He stared at his master. He was a favored servant but still a servant in the great scheme of things. “Well enough. I assume you planned for Strigoi to escape.”

Niccolo kept his smile perfectly plastered. He hadn’t but there was no need for Igan to know that. It changed the game, but perhaps that was for the best. “Has he remained in the city?”

Igan lowered his feet. “If the recent reports of rabid dogs eating people are any sign, Yes.” Crossing his arms the flesh merchant frowned. “I’m sure it was a calculated gamble but if the nobles come down on my head then I can’t exactly bring you anymore souls.” He said nobles as if it were a curse.

Niccolo tapped his perfectly manicured claws on the basalt flooring. He didn’t like loose ends but one barghest, even Strigoi was nothing more than an acceptable variation. “They think he is just a mindless beast. You cannot be held responsible for a mindless beast now can you. They need you for their blood sport. It is an acceptable if regrettable cost.” Igan nodded.

The primordial fiend picked his drink back up. “There are other plans in the works that should distract them from the peasants’ problems. A contract I had thought void has just been reactivated.” Niccolo pushed himself out of the water. “Now if there is nothing else we have business to attend to.” Igan nodded and the mirror returned to being just that. Niccolo turned and looked at himself. He had lost weight, never a good sign.

Sea Devil's Doom
A Son's Return Home

Rahvin sat at his usual place on the wall. House Fairlaen guards stood a respectful distance away while their master held his vigil. It had been nearly three weeks sense he had received any message from the fleet. It was supposed to have been a routine inspection. Despite what he told the Court every session the pirates were little threat to Rhun. They needed the Port as much as the ships they fleeced. Far bellow him was the bobbing shape of the Scarlet Squid. Docked to it was the distinctive white dingy of the scarlet corsair Aeria Bane. For most the post part the “Pirate Queen” kept them in check and for that Rahvin was grateful.

From somewhere to his left was a scuffle. He could hear his guards stiffen. It had been almost a year now sense Belal’s death and things had been quiet. Rahvin turned to see a messenger struggling with a wall guard. “Let me go you bloody idiot. I have an urgent message for Lord Fairlaen. no I won’t tell you what. I was instructed to deliver it directly to him.”

Rahvin passed between his guards without a word. They fell in behind him. He stopped before the struggling pair. The guard looked up, looked up again, and promptly dropped the youth to salute. the messenger dusted him self off and glared at Rahvin. “You wanted to see me now deliver you message.” From his pocket the youth withdrew a now crumbled envelope and handed it to Rahvin. “You,’ the gaurd stiffened, “escort him the Great Arch.”

Smooth out the paper and the crenelation the ship-born noble saw that it bore no official mark. Strange, what would have been so urgent besides official business. Before he could open it the head of his personal guard tapped him on the shoulder. Rahvin glared at him. “Apologies my Lord but I think you may want to see this.” The veteran was point out at the horizon. There outlined against the gray-blue skies were ships. Each bore the distinctive outline of the Rhun Fleet. The Sea Drake was returning home at last. Couldn’t be a moment sooner. Things are stirring and I want my preventer at my side.

More Paper Work
Who will watch...

Gareth inhaled the steam coming from his cup of tea. It was imported from the Eastern kingdoms and was his one indulgence while on the job. “What do we have today Margette?” The rotund woman sitting behind the battered desk gave him a sly smile. She had worked side by side with him ever sense he had been elevated from to Detective. “That bad is it?” He asked as she handed him the latest reports.

Sitting back in the chair she crossed her arms over her massive breasts. She looked more like a matron with twelve children than a Watch officer. “The usual batch of drunken stabbings and falling off the pier.” She checked the small room as if she expected to find someone listening in. Lower her voice she whispered. “We found another one of the Face murders. I know you want to keep this from the Up Towners but we need to release something to the criers. That makes the fourth one in the last week.”

“Let me look over this one more time before we do anything. Have you compiled the list of people best suited to handle this little situation?”

Margette shook her head. “The killer chose one. There is a note there for Detective Vaughn. I caught it before it could be delivered only by chance. The courier was trying to get in to see him directly.”

Gareth frowned. “I’ll deliver it to him when I tell him about our visitor.” He turned to enter his office and start the days work.

“Cheif, one last thing. Tigo says he’ll be by after things cool down with the Watch’s cut.” There was no disgust or outrage in her voice. Margette had been in this game too long. She knew that much of the peace that the watch maintained was with the help of the Goodseller’s enforcers. If the Up Towners would give us more funds we wouldn’t need him but they are too caught up in their own games.

Sitting behind his desk Gareth carefully pried the wax of the note. The message inside was a simple one.

Catch me if you can Detective Vaughn. Best regards, The Faceless

Gareth let out a long sigh and sipped his tea. He didn’t need another killer in his city. Between the nobility and the pirates he had had more than enough death for three lifetimes. The Watch Chief didn’t bother trying to seal the note back. It wouldn’t matter. The bigger issue was the man they had chained up in the basement. He was a bottom string gladiator named Artam and the only living attacker from the ambush in the Low Market last week. Gareth had debated on whither or not tell Vaughn that he had been found. Personal vendetta’s could twist man. Gareth didn’t want to see his best detective go down that road.

Enter Stage Left
Time to pay the piper

Landra sat staring into her mirror. Things were going from bad to worse. Not only did that little rat Tigo have something to hold over her, but Tattia probably realized what had happened as well. She slammed her fist shaking the perfume bottles of the table. A myriad of smells assaulted her nose while the liquid pooled around her feet. The door opened as a servant peeked inside. “Leave me be.” The door quickly closed.

The noble matron shook the perfume from her slippered foot. Reaching into her drawer for a handkerchief she found it empty. Fools, she would have someones job for this. In her furry she rummaged around the others drawers. Her head was already starting to ache from the conflicting scents. In her bottom drawer amongst several old journals she found a ragged swatch of blue silk. As she pressed it to her nose she was transported back nearly twenty years.

The night had been cool. The stone of the Great Arch had been slick with rain and blood. Rahvin had been so much more passionate in those days, and was it any wonder, he had been fighting for her love. His perfect quaff of hair had hung down around his face. His breathing was ragged as the cut down his arm. The Captain’s Swordwas pointed across the bridge at his opponent. Her first love… She could still remember the fist time they had met. He had descended the stairs, their eyes had locked and she knew she had to have him. The way he had danced that night. If she had only known his little secret. If she had only known what he did when he sneaked out the window ever evening. The monster hiding beneath that mask of civility.

Landra could feel a stirring in her stomach. She pushed the feeling aside. She hated that she had always loved Him more than Rahvin. Despite everything that he had done, despite the fact that he had threatened her life. Her one true love. The answer to all her problems struck her like the lightning outside. She picked up the little silver bell from the floor and shook it.

One of the servants, who had obviously been standing outside stepped in. He was obviously resisting the urge to hold his nose. “You called my lady.”

“Fetch my carriage. I wish to inspect my husbands holding at the prisons. I fear the guards may have become lax with in my husbands absence.” She wasn’t looking at him. She was moving dresses and robes aside in her wardrobe. Who knew she had so many that were out of fashion. She would have to do something about that.

Even without looking Landra could feel the servant stiffen slightly. “If I may ask lady, is this an official visit?”

Landra turned back to him holding a leather hat box. She blew the dust off of it. “This is a surprise inspection,” she said using a phrase of her husbands, “no one is to know of my coming or going, not even ,my dear husband.”

The man bowed low and backed out.


When the carriage door opened the driver, a soaking wet man in a long coat, stood ready with a parasol. Lanndra stepped out onto the filthy cobble stones and proceeded at a lady like pace into the prison proper. The building was designed with two layers. The outer walls held cells in which the minor criminals were housed, damned souls forced to work off their debts in the mines and the Necropolis. The inner tower held only the most dangerous of criminals. Men and women of noble blood and political influence, insane cultists, and of course defeated opponents to who death would be a mercy.

Landra took the parasol from the man and proceeded towards the gates of the tower. Under her arm was the hat box. She wanted no one with her for this. Two guards within the tower quickly raised the portcullis as she approached. They quickly came to aid her but she dismissed them. The central stares were tight and winding. Doors were half open and from them came raving screams of torched souls. The handkerchief was at her nose, the parasol having been left with the guards. The scent, His scent, was enough to block out all the pain around her.

The top level of the tower held only the most dangerous and reviled men. A white gloved hand pushed the hatch open. The three guards on duty quickly stood from their card game. All six eyes widened as Landra stepped into view. She scanned the room ignoring them. Their were nine cells her, each door was heavy iron with only a small hatch at heir base to push food in. Each bore intricate symbols and wards at the center of which was an image by which to identify the occupant.

Just beyond the three men was the one she wanted. On it was inscribed a performers mask on a set of crossed brushes. “Which one of you has the keys.” None of the men spoke. “Has my husband had your tongues removed? Answer me.” Her tone was stern but laved with the seductive air of a woman who got what she wanted. On of them gulped and pointed up. Hanging from a long chain in the ceiling was a ring of keys. Each was unique, none were actual keys, just random objects. “Wait on the stares. No on gets in or out until I call for you.” On of them actually began to open his mouth but a look silenced him. If she died it was their heads. If she was displeased it was their heads. They filed out in silence.

Landra carefully took the ring down. The items on it included such objects as a finger bone, an effigy of a worm, and other she wasn’t sure what were. The one she wanted a miniature flute. Holding her breath she placed it against the door. Nothing happened. She reached her hand out again and her hand found only rancid air. The cell was barely big enough for a man to stand comfortably. And indeed a man dressed in tatters lunged out at her. His face was rapped in bandages so crusted with blood and sweat as to form a mask. His lips connected with hers and for a moment she forgot where she was.

He pulled back. “To what do I owe the pleasure my little harlot.” Despite the anger in his voice, despite the ruin of his body, his voice was the rich music she remembered. “Has your husband sent you to torment me?” He was hanging as far out as the wrist iron would allow.

A single tear ran down Landra’s cheek. To think that her love hated her so. But this wasn’t about love was it. She steeled her nerve and put authority into her voice. She was of noble blood after all and this was no different than the political maneuverings of court. “No. Rahvin doesn’t know I am here. I came on my own with a proposition.”

The prisoner gave a deep stage laugh like man who had been struck mad. Maybe he had been. “And this comedy takes a darker tone. How the critics would rave. The loving wife, our wilting flower returns to her deposed bow for help. It is a joke worthy of the Trickster himself.”

Landra put her nose in the air. “If you would prefer to rot then by all means keep talking. But if you want to see what I’ve brought you then be silent for once in your life.” Had he always been this way. Yes, she knew deep down he had. In those days the derision hadn’t been directed at her.

Her love pantomimed stitching his lips shut. Then crossed his arms wrapping himself in chains. She took the hat box from the card table and opened it so that he could see the contents. He lunged again. Even with the bandages on his face she could see the lust in his eyes. “Oh, my sweet you return to me after so long. How I have longed to see you. I knew he hadn’t destroyed you. Come to me.” Inside the box sat a white porcelain mask with only holes for eyes. Sitting next to it was a small well of paint and two brushes. He was talking to the mask not Landra. She put the lid back on. He looked at her like a man possessed. “Anything.”

Lady Fairlaen gave the briefest of smiles. She had him. “I’ll grant your freedom and your babies but you must take care of some people for me.”

He gave that stage laugh again. “Free little old me for just a few murders isn’t that a dramatic use of overkill.”

She slapped him and then on impulse kissed the spot before pulling back. “You’ll kill more. I know you will. You can’t help yourself. I’m counting on that.” She opened the box again. “Do we have a deal?”

His wrists were staring to bleed. “Anything. Anything. Just give her to me.”

“Then the Troubadour will take the stage again. Meet me at our old spot.” She sat the box between his legs. When she stepped back the door reappeared. If nothing else about the encounter did the way that it seemed to know when to closed disturbed her. Men she understood, magic not so much.

The carriage pulled away from the prison without a single alarm or bell raised. No one noticed the missing hat box. What a noble woman did was her business and far be it from them to question her.

A Death in the Families
I hate jury duty.



Alexi stood. “This High Court will be called to order.” Before he can finish there is a scuffle outside. The doors burst open and in stride four halflings. Their leader is dressed in a royal purple cloak and hat. The other three are dressed in matching armor with a glowing diadem in the center of their foreheads. “Tigo what is the meaning of this?”

Tigo points. “The meaning of this is that you have once again tried to exclude me from a Court proceeding that I have a right to be in. Just because a noble got murdered in the gardens doesn’t mean I, a humble merchant, lose my position in this court.”

Alexi is once again cut off but this time by Lady Myrr. “Let him stay Alexi.” The other members of the Court stare at her. “This will require a go between with these commoners, who better than Tigo. He has a place on this council and he works amongst their kind every day. Surely they will be able to speak freely to him.”

Alexi is gritting his teeth. “As I was saying, this High Court will be called to order. Each of you,” he points at you, “has been summoned because of ancient compact between the nobility. If an impartial decision cannot be made by this Court then, a populous will be pulled to discover the facts and decide. Should you fail then you shall be put to death. If you run, you shall be found and put to death. Should you succeed, you will be properly compensated, and be allowed to return to your lives.”

The Details

Last night Logan Ddwyer was brutally murdered in the Park of Lions. His body was found by grounds keepers. He had been slashed to ribbons with what appears to have been a large blade. There was no note or marking found on his corpse.

Their Job

Find the killer and any accomplices and bring them before the Court—dead or alive.

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.


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