Calling All Adventurers: S2 E5 - Sharp Dressed Man

Intro & News

Calling all adventures, I repeat, calling all adventurers.

You know, I heard the most interesting rumour. That poor Lord Fenrick, the gentleman from last week, has suffered an injury most foul. Legs broken in several places, crushed by multiple carriage wheels repeatedly.

Now, we at The Tower Array wish Fenrick a speedy recovery, but word through the wire is that he has a long road ahead of him. They say he won't be able to walk ever again, let alone sit atop a carriage box.

The tides of fate, the ebb and flow of luck are such a fickle things. Aren't they, Fenrick?

Anyway, enough about him.

We've got a news story.

EMERGENCY PLAGUE SUPPLY FAILURE

Outrage is spreading across the kingdom after Sir Alaric Dunwell, a distant cousin to His Majesty, secured a no-bid royal contract to produce protective gear for healers battling the Redlung Plague. Within days of the shipment arriving, it was discovered that the boxes of curative droughts turned out to be lightly perfumed river water. The Royal Treasury called the matter "a regrettable misunderstanding."

The Crown organised a practice of public applause for healers, but some consider it an empty gesture as it happens amid record budget cuts for hospitals and clinics.

If any healers are listening, it may be worth seeing if the capital can use your services.

Right, that's all for now. Let us continue with our tale.

Story Start

The rain was letting up, moonlight filtered through the rapidly dissipating clouds above but the morning had only just begun. We had about five hours until sunlight, and we knew to complete our work before then.

We searched for the hideout, and were fortunate to find it quickly. Thankfully, the location was somewhat predictable. Out of the way but easily accessible, in a quieter part of the district. The best part was that they'd left up the old hanging sign at the entrance of a stone paved alleyway.

Eage's Prints, crossed out by a streak of blue paint.

The old print shop stood there, hidden amongst derelict buildings and it bore a similar appearance. But if your eyes lingered for too long, you'd see what it hid within.

We had found COBALT's lair. It's like they weren't even trying.

The giveaway? The door.

While others were boarded up, rusted and woodchipped, theirs was dirty, in a bid to blend in, but the door's strength was clear. Thick oak with no door handle or keyhole, but instead with an iron sliding peephole.

I gave Val a look that she returned, confirming our agreement that it was the right place, then we kept walking.

We hung around at the far end of the alley, shrouded in darkness.

Host: "What's the plan?"

Val: "We don't know how many people are in there. We don't know how well-armed they are. We don't know how long we have until others come back from hunting for you. So, I'm not really sure."

Host: "I'm getting a bit sick of not knowing stuff."

Val: "Preach."

Host: "Could just kick the door in and go wild with it. I've been running on pure instinct for most of this night and it's been working. Maybe stay on the trend?"

Val eyed my bloody clothes and healing wounds in contemptuous disbelief.

Host: "I didn't say it was working well. Just that it is."

Val: "Well, I don’t want to get shot, so I'll take the lead."

She turned and began walking toward the door.

Host: "Wait, how are you going to get them to open up?"

Val: "With the oldest trick in the book. Mask on and come along."

What in the hells was she planning?

She marched up to the door, pulling her notebook out from her satchel, and knocked loudly on the front. She took me by the shoulders and positioned me out of view from the peephole.

She took a step away from the door, and a few moments later a voice came through from the other side.

Commander Wymark: "Password?"

Val: "No password. I got a delivery I was told to hand straight over."

Val held up her notebook, blocking her face from view.

There was another pause as the inhabitant considered his next move.

Commander Wymark: "Who sent you?"

Oh, shit. We didn't have a relevant name, and dropping Helar's felt like it could create more problems than it would solve. What could she say?

Val: "You know who sent me. Are you going to take it or am I going to tell him you weren't interested?"

What? That's her gamble? For a brief moment, I thought she'd bollocksed it…then I heard his response.

Commander Wymark: "Alright,"

[SFX peephole sliding open]

Commander Wymark: "hand it over and get."

What?! How in the heavens did she know that'd work?

Val held up the notebook as though to slot it through the peephole, but didn't.

She waited a beat, then pulled it away by a few centimetres. When I saw the inhabitant's fingers reach out from the peephole, I realised she was coaxing him out.

She glanced at me and I reached up, snapping my hand closed and crushing his fingers in a vice-like grip.

[Man yells in pain]

Val: "Ooh, looks painful. If you want to keep those fingers, open up."

Commander Wymark: (Pained) "Argh! I can't open the door with one hand."

Val: "Do your best."

I began crushing his hand with such force, I felt the ligaments in his fingers separate.

Commander Wymark: "Ah! Please."

Host: "Open up and the pain stops."

Finally, I heard the furious rattling of a keyring followed by the panicked unlocking of the door. It swung open and he was dragged along with it by his hand through the peephole. Val moved inside, I released my grip on the man and followed her in while he collapsed to the floor.

Host: "How'd you know that would work?"

Val: "I said what I said and his brain filled in the rest. His fear summoned to mind the very person he wouldn't want to disappoint. No name need be spoken."

That was actually a solid statement to make. Playing on people's fears to manipulate them seemed a pretty strong tactic in this line of work.

The old print shop had been turned into a garrison and command centre: weapon racks, armour stands, map tables, desks covered with loose notes and missives, and shelves filled with books. It was an impressive operation.

Val: "What a lovely establishment. I hope you're taking guests at this time."

Commander Wymark: "Please, I'm begging you!"

This COBALT was an older human, maybe in his late 40s with mousy brown hair that greyed near the temples. He was clearly not a fighter like the rest, his physique had no definition and he fell apart quickly in the face of danger.

My right hand wrapped around the back of his neck and my fingers dug to grip the bones within.

[Commander Wymark whimpers]

Host: "Well, would you feel that? I guess you DO have a spine."

I dragged him to the middle of the room and propped him up to his knees in front of Val.

Val: "Who else is here?"

Commander Wymark: "N-no one. They're all out looking for- Oh, Aueus, it's you!"

Host: "Don't bother calling to a god, they can't save you from me."

Commander Wymark: "What do you want from me?"

Val: "We have questions. First of all, what's your name?"

Commander Wymark: "Wh-What?"

Host: "Name."

Commander Wymark: "Ah, Wymark! My name is Wymark!"

Val: "And what position do you hold in this organisation?"

Commander Wymark: "I'm a nobody."

Val: "You're a Commander. Aren't you? I can tell by your very posture and the weakness in your eyes. You've never swung a sword in your life. That tells me you're an officer. Hence why you're in here and your friends are out fighting the good fight, right?"

He couldn't refute it, Val had identified him at a glance. Instead, his eyes lowered to the floor.

Val: "Well, Wymark, we've had a hellish time trying to navigate this city thanks to you and yours. Who put the bounty on us?"

Commander Wymark: "We did. You interfered with the train job. We had to take you out of commission for it."

Val: "Speaking of the train job, who put you up to that? And don't feed me the spiel about getting back at the Elarian government, it’s a bad lie and it's only going to get you hurt if you repeat it."

Commander Wymark: "Our benefactor, Councilman Lockridge."

A tension filled the air; you could have heard a pin drop before Val spoke up again. What the fuck was he talking about?

Val: "Your political enemy, Councilman Lockridge?"

Commander Wymark: "Only publicly. He's one of our biggest donors. He gives us money, keeps the guards off us, and in exchange, we complete jobs for him."

Commander Wymark pointed limply to a wall partially obscured by thick curtains.

Val moved over, pulled on a drawstring, and the curtains parted, revealing a makeshift strategic operation board. Detailed drawings of different humans of varying ages, renditions of buildings and other locations, and a selection of leaflets and missives, all connected in a haphazard spider's web of blue strings.

Val inspected the wall's contents as I held Wymark down and peered over her shoulder.

Host: "They look like world domination plans."

Val: "Could be. Everybody has those."

It looked like a mess of information to me, but it was clear Val had seen patterns in the madness. Her head tilted left and right as she looked around, stroking her jawline with a gloved hand.

Val: "He's telling the truth."

Host: "What do you see?"

Val: "We were right about the nature of COBALTs later work, but it was never about Helar. Councilman Lockridge has been funding them and pitting them against his own political rivals, while simultaneously levying them as a Baubus to support his own campaign for office."

Baubus, a folk legend told to children who don't adhere to mother's demands. Do as your told or the Baubus will get you. The creature may or may not be real, but it's solid leverage against the ill-informed nonetheless.

Lockridge had riled the people up into a frenzy against an enemy he created, and was riding the wave of fear into political power.

Host: "What a fool."

Val: "Indeed. I expect COBALT would have been dust years ago if Lockridge hadn't contracted them for his own means. He's systematically removed, killed, and blackmailed anyone who has ever run against him in any race. Give this guy an egg and a spoon and watch him devastate a community event."

Val inspected the bottom corner of the wall. She turned back to Wymark and pointed at it.

Val: "You've a missive here that says you've been instructed to dispose of Colinsworth Mulbrand. It's dated three days ago. Did you do it?"

Commander Wymark: "No. Not yet. We haven't had the chance. We've been too busy with the train job and then with you. He's downstairs."

She whipped her head around looking for a staircase.

Val: "Where?"

This time, Wymark pointed limply to a large cabinet. Val marched over to it.

Commander Wymark: "Th-the leftmost blue book."

She quickly identified and pulled on a velum book a vibrant shade of blue. An audible click was heard as the entire cabinet released from the wall on a hinge.

She started moving downstairs and I followed, dragging our new friend along with me.

At the bottom of a stone staircase was a dark room, illuminated by wall sconces. It must have once been a supply room, but it had since been turned into a makeshift jail.

The cell was a corner of the basement room that someone with a sense for usefulness, but an utter disregard for legality, had claimed. Thick, uneven bars bolted into the mortar in an ugly but structurally sound fashion.

The cell was meagre. A wooden cot sat near the back, with a thin ragged wool blanket tossed over the foetal figure scrunched atop it.

Val: "Colinsworth? Are you still alive?"

The figure stirred, throwing off the blanket, turning and standing up from the cot. He swayed in the dark, clearly exhausted.

Colinsworth: "What do you want this time? Haven't you taken enough?"

Val: "Actually, we're here to give you something; your freedom. But if you don't want it I'm sure I can tell your brother you're busy.

With fleeting energy, he rushed toward the bars of the cage and gripped them with thin hands and waning strength. He was shorter than Harrington, with dirty blonde hair contrasting his brother's dark, near black. But the family resemblance was clear just from the eyes; the same shade of brown. His noble attire was tattered and dirty. It was clear COBALT hadn't been treating their guest kindly.

Colinsworth: "My brother sent you? Who are you?"

He looked from Valuin to me and visibly flinched from the sight of my mask before glancing back to Val.

Val: "We're hired help. He's been worried sick since you disappeared from Grand Station. I assume these fools had something to do with it all."

Colinsworth: "They are working with a Councilman by the name of Lockridge. He's the one who hired me originally."

Val: "We already know about that, but why did he hire you?"

Colinsworth: "He wanted me to fix his books, to find loopholes for missing money and more. I'm not even the first accountant he's had. The others all got disappeared like I nearly was."

My grip tightened around Wymark's neck and I leant down to face him.

Host: "So, trains and stations full of innocents alongside countless political rivals isn't enough for you? You've been killing off business majors to satisfy your client's greed."

Val took a key from the wall and unlocked Colinsworth's cell. He stepped out and I threw Commander Wymark inside in his place, before closing and locking the door.

Val's gaze lingered a little too long at the now caged Wymark. I could feel her disdain for him and his kind radiating off her.

Colinsworth: "We have to go to Councilman Lockridge's home before he knows I've escaped. His ledgers hold evidence of this whole conspiracy. They're locked up in a safe behind a painting in his home office. If COBALT report that I've gone, he'll destroy it and get away with it all without issue. We can't let him."

Colinsworth attempted to step forward with shaky legs, but they gave out on him. It was clear he was starved and exhausted. Val caught him before he hit the floor.

Val: "We'll sort out Lockridge, but you're not going."

Colinsworth: "What? But I can help."

Val: "You have helped more than enough. We now know exactly where to look, and with the evidence, we can nail the bastard for everything he's done. But we have to get you back to your brother, it's the job."

I could see Colinsworth attempt a protest, but when his legs wouldn't let him stand quickly, he gave in.

Colinsworth: "I would very much like to see my brother again."

Val slung his arm over her shoulders and helped hoist him to his feet. Shuffling him over to the vacant jailer's chair next to a desk, she sat him down before turning back to me.

Val: "We've got to get to Lockridge's ledgers before anyone knows there's a problem. Can you get there and secure them while I get Colinsworth back to his brother?"

Host: "I expect so."

Colinsworth: "May I borrow your notebook and pen? Thank you. Here's the address, it's in the upper district north of here. His home office is on the top floor. Here's the safe combination. Please, hurry. We cannot lose this chance."

I took the paper from Colinsworth's shaking hands and nodded to him and Val. I dropped my bag and took off.

Break

I've got a notice for you all. Any solos out there seeking a team, someone is requesting applicants to form a reliable party for an expedition of moderate peril but considerable profit. What is needed? Err, a healer and a spell slinger. Client says it would be preferable if those were two separate people.

If you're interested, ask for Marshall at the, oh hey, at The Golden Stag in Greywall. Such memories.

Alright, let's get back to work.

Story Resume

Following Colinsworth's directions, I reached the upper districts quickly. Lockridge's mansion was still one of substantial size alongside many others, but showed clear architectural distinctions that denoted him as a man of means and taste.

The mansion sat a few meters back from the cobblestone streets, recessed behind a stone and wrought-iron fence that didn't make a show of keeping anyone out. Its façade was stone, pale and clean but not of ostentatious carving.

There were no statues, gargoyles, heraldic beasts or gilded friezes; just symmetry, proportion and restraint.

It stood out in its purposeful attempt to be unassuming.

Lockridge was using that house to lie to me. Its bare form protested a meagreness that Val and I had already learned to be false.

Well, it wasn't the time to stare at the man's house, I needed to get busy ruining his life.

I scrambled over the walls and dropped into the gardens, away from sight on a gravel pathway.

A small fountain with a simple spout trickled water gently into a stone basin. The whole garden felt tended, not tightly manicured.

To my left, on the first floor, I saw a modest balcony jutting outward. Climbing up looked like it would give me clear access to the house through a pair of leaded glass doors.

Slowly and methodically, I climbed a drainpipe. Careful to keep pace, but not to pull too much and rip it out of the wall by accident. I slipped over the wrought iron railing and relaxed with my feet on solid ground again.

Peering through the door, I twisted the handle and pulled gently.

Locked.

Of course.

I could have smashed the window, but not only would that have made a lot of noise, I'd heard multiple stories of severed arteries from a bad punch.

I pulled on the doorhandle again, but harder. The lock broke and the door popped open. I waited for someone to respond.

Nothing.

The gaslights were on, so someone was likely home. But if I was careful, I figured I could avoid the occupants in a house that big.

I entered what must have been the master bedroom. Against the far wall was a neatly made walnut bed decorated with soft linen sheets and far too many pillows to use comfortably.

I moved toward the door on the far side. It let out into a hallway. For every tip-toed step I took, I stopped and listened to make sure the coast was clear, then kept moving.

The hallway stretched long and straight. Heavy drapes enveloped the long beams that supported the high ceiling, muffling the sound of footfalls. Along the walls, hung at measured intervals, were relics from bygone ages. Between them, in alcoves on raised plinths, were a number of other artefacts. Below each artefact, plaques provided names and descriptions.

A helmet with inscribed runes marked as the Helm of Waland. Allowed the user to perform a telekinetic blast. One use.

An urn traced with silver filigree identified as an Arkasian Soul Urn. Contained one disembodied soul. Currently empty.

Through a cutout in the wall, I could see down into a large entrance hall which housed cabinets and displays for much larger items. The largest was a huge spherical skull with a vast mouth full of pointed teeth, a single enormous eye socket, and a few other holes in the skull that I didn't know the purpose of. I'd never even heard of a creature that looked like that but, if the skeleton was anything to go by, I was glad it was dead.

It was clear Lockridge was a collector of some interesting items. They didn't mean much to me as I had no eye for antiques, but I figured they were all worth a substantial sum.

I climbed the stairs, and at the top of the flight I saw another long hallway with a door at its end. I peeked through the keyhole and listened intently. I couldn't see any movement and it didn't sound like anyone was inside.

With a deep breath, I pushed through and entered the office.

A heavy dark wood desk dominated the room, its surface crowded with stacks of papers that ranged from letters to requisition orders. At a glance, none of it seemed suspicious or unnatural.

On the far wall hung a large painting of a family, rendered with care: three figures stood together in muted tones with warm expressions. A legacy painting, meant as a testament to their family unit. I figured Lockridge must have been the father, beside his wife and child. He gave off a calm confidence that suggested strength and discipline. Once dark hair had gone silver at the temples, worn neatly combed back. His clothes were tailored but restrained like his house, wools of deep muted colours and fine linen shirts. Many rings adorned his hands.

I thought it a hypocritical painting. I wondered how many families like his own he had devastated over his ambitious career. Then I remembered that stupidity is inherent to evil.

I marched straight toward the painting and pulled on the heavy frame. It swung loose from the wall on a hinge, revealing a large cast iron safe with a rotary combination lock.

Good. I was in the right place.

I entered the code from the parchment from Colinsworth. I tugged on the handle but it didn't turn.

Not good.

The combination had clearly been changed already. I suppose it had been a few days since Colinsworth was scheduled to be gotten rid of, so Lockridge had plenty of time to do so. That said, if he was worried about the combination, it meant that the contents were likely still inside.

I began searching through the drawers and books, but I stopped quickly when I realised that there was just too much to search. That was even if he'd hidden the solution in his office. It was a pointless gesture so I had to find another way to get into that safe. But I couldn't do it there.

I began walking back to the exit. Maybe one of those artefacts he kept held the solution.

I opened the door, and was greeted by the sharp dressed man from the painting.

Host: "Now, let's not do anything rash."

Lockridge threw his hand up in a fist and bolt of lightning erupted from a ring on his finger, catching me square in the chest.

He'd sent me flying. My chest stung something fierce, but I was still alive. Quickly, I scrambled to my feet to see Lockridge sprinting down the hallway. I gave chase.

Host: "Open the safe, Lockridge. Face your crimes. Don't run away!"

He rushed down the stairs, and I was hot on his heels but my wounds weren't healed fully so I couldn't give it my all without winding myself.

As I reached the last step of the flight, I watched him duck into the bedroom. I couldn't let him get out the window.

Approaching the door, I pulled on the handle but it didn't budge. He'd locked it.

Glancing left and right, my eye was caught by one of the artefact plinths close to me. It was empty.

"Helm of Waland."

My gaze flicked back to the door.

Host: "Oh, shit."

[SFX magic blast followed by so much smashing]

The solid oak door tore apart like parchment in a hurricane from the power of the blast directed out of the helmet. It hit me centre mass and threw me back with such force I crashed through the wall behind me.

Strange weightless held me for a moment before pain wracked my body as I careened through a display case and collided with the hardwood floor of the estate's entrance hall.

I'd been thrown at least 60 feet. I got my bearings, which seemed to be easier than all the previous times. Maybe I was acclimating.

I looked up at the hole in the wall. Lockridge appeared to step out as though he'd fall but some unseen hand caught him and he floated through the air into the middle of the room.

Lockridge: "Running away? Who's running away?"

On all fours, I darted forward to take cover behind a display cabinet.

Lockridge: "You tell me not to be rash after you've broken into my home and started making such hurtful accusations. I'll have to teach you some manners."

Another bolt of lightning crashed into the case behind me, blowing it to pieces. I lunged out of the way and took cover beside the next.

Host: "You've committed crimes, Lockridge! You need to stop this."

Lockridge: "Such insolence. You'll learn to respect your betters."

An ancient sword burst forth from a display and swung at me, getting stuck in the ground between my legs.

[SFX crash and sword swing]

Lightning, levitation, and now telekinesis. How many more tricks did Lockridge have up his sleeve? I was wildly unprepared for a confrontation like that. I'd never thrown down against a mage before and I wasn't sure about the tactics behind the task.

I had to push the offensive.

But as I went to draw my sword, another lightning bolt made contact with the ancient blade between my legs. The wooden floorboards exploded under me, throwing me to the side against some steps leading to a raised platform.

I hit the hardwood stairs and my strength faltered. I was exhausted again. I thought I'd learned my lesson after the Shallowlands, but I once again found myself in a dire situation.

It didn't feel right. From what I knew about Val, she could cast spells but would often need to recite a chant to do so. The shorter the chant, the poorer the prep, but this guy was firing them off without a word.

Then I remembered: his rings. They must have been enchanted like some of the antiques.

I had no way of knowing how long he'd be able to keep it up.

Lockridge descended slightly.

Host: "You can still surrender. It doesn't have to end this way."

Lockridge: "Humour in such a moment is admirable. But a joke won’t stop what's happening. I'm inclined to ask you what you were thinking by coming here, but I really don't care."

Host: "I wish you'd be more understanding. I haven't killed any of your guys."

Lockridge: "Do you want a medal? I've had plenty of people killed for transgressions far lesser than yours."

He raised a fist, pointing his rings at me.

Both of our heads whipped to look toward the front lobby.

Val: "And the hero arrives in the nick of time."

Val emerged from the hallway. What a sight for sore eyes.

Lockridge: "And who is this now?"

Val ran and jumped forward, and the invisible hand caught her too. Sailing through the air, streaks of flame emerged from her fingertips and she lashed them at Lockridge.

A mage battle was officially underway.

Val's use of anti-gravity was far superior to Lockridge's. As he attempted to keep upright, Val spun in mid-air, planting her feet on the ceiling and leaping to the side, away from another lightning strike.

This unnatural dexterity made her too fast for him. At first I thought she'd black out from magic exhaustion but I realised she had actually only cast two spells. She was just making full use of them.

I pushed up off the stairs with newfound strength and drew my sword.

I ran to the left as weapons and lightning bolts flew in every direction. Lockridge was quickly losing his cool as the odds tipped away from his favour.

Running through the displays, I dove head first through a glass case, grabbing onto the shield within and rolling out of it on the other side. I threw it with everything I had, and watched it intercept lightning.

Val reached out and grabbed the shield with magic, changing its direction until it swept around and hit Lockridge in the back with astonishing force.

[SFX crash and squelch]

He dropped from the air, smashing into the large skull in the centre of the room.

Suddenly, there was silence.

Val lowered from the ceiling and I carefully approached the skull to find Lockridge had been impaled on one of the creature's teeth. It had hit something serious in his chest, with the amount of blood coming out.

Lockridge: "H-help me."

Val: "Looking pretty banged up there, Lockridge. Give me a good reason."

Host: "Hey, no, Val. We can't just let him die like this."

Val: "I appreciate your heart. But you can't really be attempting to save this guy. He was a hairsbreadth away from cooking you alive."

Host: "I know that. But we have to try and be better than them. Don't we?"

Val: "If we help him survive, he won’t see a day in jail. You know that."

She made a good point. What was to stop him from just…doing it all again? From continuing this crusade against… puppet terrorists in a bid for power?

It was very doubtful that he'd change his ways after this close call. But I couldn't let it go in good conscience.

Host: "Even so. We're adventurers, not executioners."

That was the first time I'd used the word adventurer around Val in relation to us. She'd made it clear that we were hired blades and sorcery, not idealistic heroes of a bygone age. But something about the reference must have appealed to her.

Val: "Fine. You win. I won't kill him. I have a medical kit in my bag. Go and grab it from outside. It's around the corner in a narrow alley."

I turned and ran.

Outside, into the street, and around the corner. It took me a moment to find them behind a water butte, but I snatched up both of our bags and made my way back to the mansion.

I was only gone for maybe two minutes.

So, it was a bit surprising when I re-entered the hall and saw that Lockridge was dead.

Val wasn't in the room anymore.

I checked his body. No additional markings or damage. He must have bled out. It was clear Val hadn't attempted any life saving measures as his body remained completely undisturbed from when I left.

I slumped down, dropping the bags to the floor.

I wasn't even mad. I wanted to be. I wanted all the moral outrage I could muster but none filled my heart.

This monster had killed so many, and his position would ensure he'd never see the inside of a courtroom, let alone a jail cell.

Host: "Rest in peace, Lockridge. I hope those you wronged can find a way to forgive you, wherever you go next, you stupid, selfish bastard."

Picking up our stuff, I went where I assumed Val had gone. The office.

I found her standing by the portrait inside, next to the open safe, ledger in hand.

Host: "I thought we weren't letting him die."

Val: "No, I said I wouldn't kill him. Though that's a moot point given our actions led directly to his death. But, in the same breath, if he wasn't a greedy piece of shit, would we have even come here? Anyway, look at this. World domination plans. I told you."

She held up a notebook that did appear to showcase his plans for a meteoric rise through politics that would make him one of the most powerful men in the western world. I guess he hadn't planned for us.

Host: "And what of the ledgers?"

Val: "He was in bed with Helar for sure. Doesn't use his name but there's a lot matching what was in Tranter's diary. They're nearly identical but these numbers are bigger, likely due to different operation size. It also appears that Helar was the one who suggested Colinsworth Mulbrand to Lockridge."

Host: "How can you be sure?"

Val: "He kept the correspondence between them. It says here 'I know someone who has recently employed a mathematical genius. I'll put you in touch.' Unfortunately for criminals, they are always expecting their cohorts to betray them. Thus, they keep evidence of wrongdoings and conspiracies as blackmail, likely threatening mutually assured destruction should anyone flip. It works, but it always leaves a trail. See? The U.H. signed at the bottom."

Host: "His web appears to be vast."

Val: "Indeed. With Lockridge out of the way and no longer backing them, COBALT will fall into disarray soon. Colinsworth will quickly be the least of their concerns. I expect this whole ordeal is more or less sorted. Well, save for the Helar part."

Val tore out a few pages.

Host: "What are you doing?"

Val: "Call it collateral. Call it blackmail. If Lockridge had any co-conspirators, I don't want them getting any ideas. They'll know evidence has been taken and they'd be smart to stay out of our way lest it come to light."

Host: "Are we not handing it over to the authorities?"

Val: "Usually, I would. However—"

Val closed the safe and then put the painting back in place before gesturing to it.

Val: "There's the issue of Lady Lockridge. I doubt she was unaware of her husband's more nefarious business and I don’t want her getting any ideas either. If we keep evidence but leave the estate intact, she won't have lost everything.

She can still give their young son a good life and they'll continue to enjoy wealth and undeserved luxury. If she's got a modicum of sense, that'll be enough for her. As I now hold power over his co-conspirators, I also hold power over what's left of this family."

A brutally calculated plan. She didn't seem at all bothered that we'd made a widower that evening.

Again, I wasn't particularly mad about it either. I knew it would be a horrid ordeal for the family, but the price of cruelty is ruin and Lockridge brought it unto his own house.

Val: "Alright, we've got all we need. Let's get out of here."

With haste, we left the Lockridge mansion. Val seemed calm about the possible consequences of all this. Although we hadn't meant to, we'd killed someone powerful, but she was convinced nothing more would come of it.

We walked along the wet cobblestones away from the mansion in the early hours of the morning, resolved to keep moving and board an early train to Sistia. While we waited for it, no one came for us. No COBALT. No guards. No Vampires.

I thought it strange until a familiar face greeted us at the station. Harrington Mulbrand appeared in all his nobility with newspaper in hand.

Harrington: "Here, fresh off the presses."

Val: "Oh, that's quite a headline."

Host: "What?"

Val: "'Councilman Lockridge passes away following long struggle with illness.' What a terrible shame."

Val handed me the paper with smug satisfaction.

Host: "'Councilman Hamish Lockridge passed away in the early hours of the morning from his battle with a lifelong illness. Despite keeping knowledge of his severe malady a secret, Lockridge remained a dedicated public servant of his community. His steady leadership and vision will leave a lasting mark on the city of Solumm. Lockridge's contributions shaped Solumm into the thriving haven of progress that it is today.' Blah blah blah 'He is survived by his wife and son.'"

Val: "Told you not to worry. They've made him a martyr. Damn near named him the patron saint of hard work. It serves the narrative better than the idea that the rich are all criminals and can be killed by the poor."

Harrington: "The founding principle of our society is that its structure is immutable. Can't have the layfolk realizing they hold all the power. Every rich person is either corrupt or the result of previous corruption. I am no different."

Val: "Bold of you to admit in present company."

Harrington: "Careful with your moral indignation, Valuin. Some of us remember the noble Emmaris family."

Val: "Ah, you got me."

Host: "So, what happens now?"

Val: "Nothing. The status quo remains and we bid Solumm farewell for greener pastures."

Host: "Okay. And what about you, Harry?"

Harrington: "I'll be accompanying you. I am most pleased you've returned my brother to me safely, but he is in need of minor medical attention and significant rest. He'll be escorted home by a trusted associate soon, while I will head to Sistia to tie up loose ends amongst other things. I am most interested in discovering who offered my brother up to Lockridge as a lackey without my knowing."

Glancing at Val, I waited for her to tell him what we'd learned. But she stayed quiet. Perhaps she needed more ironclad proof before sending Harrington to Helar's doorstep.

Harrington: "Speaking of which. Here."

Harrington retrieved two pieces of parchment from his bag and handed one to each of us.

Val: "Promissory notes?"

Host: "What-issory notes?"

Val: "A legally binding promise that Lord Mulbrand will pay us the amount agreed upon. Signed by himself and redeemable at any Bank of Elarial. Basically, Harrington doesn't have the coin to cover the deal on hand but has allowed us to withdraw it from the account ourselves."

Harrington: "Just so."

Conductor: "Train bound for Sistia, boarding at Platform 3."

Val: "Very well, this is satisfactory. Shall we be off?"

Harrington: "Indeed."

We boarded the train together, and enjoyed the benefits of first class thanks to Harrington footing the tickets.

Another day done. Another near death experience. Although my time in Solumm was difficult, it felt way more manageable than the Shallowlands. Maybe I was acclimating to the lifestyle.

I rubbed my chest where Lockridge's lightning made contact. A hit like that should have killed me, so why wasn't I dead? I couldn’t tell if it had been luck or if I was getting stronger.

The true answer would unfortunately not be revealed for quite some time.

I didn't know what Sistia would be like, but if it was anything like Solumm, it was going to be tough to navigate.

How little I knew that whatever wild shenanigans I could have conjured up in my mind on that train, would not be anywhere near as creative as the ordeal actually turned out to be.

Outro

That's right, folks. Technically, I killed Hamish Lockridge. Or more accurately, we killed him…by accident. Though still illegal, and there's no statute of limitations on manslaughter.

I'd tell the authorities to come get me, but we know they won't.

Lockridge's crimes recently came to light anyway when his great grandson discovered the criminal ledgers his great grandmother had still been keeping hold of. He gave up the entire fortune because he knew it was built on foundations of blood. They even pulled down that gaudy statue of his grandaddy in the city gardens for it.

Now, that kid has real nobility. If you’re hearing this and are ever looking to become an adventurer, Lockridge boy, come on by The Tower and we'll see what we can do with you.

Otherwise, it's time for everyone else to pack it in.

Keep those fires bright.

Rest well and good hunting.

Credits

Calling all Adventurers is a production of The Tower Array, written and directed by Gray Smith.

The Host is played by Gray Smith.

Valuin Emmaris is played by Ivy Smith.

Commander Wymark and Hamish Lockridge are played by Connor Bushoven.

Colinsworth Mulbrand and Harrington Mulbrand are played by Carl Bonebright.

You can find out more about the show at thetowerarray.com