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Date: Olarune the 8th, 998 YK

Location: Wroat, Capital of Breland

Dawn broke in the capital city of Breland, not that Matteus knew right away.

He slept with the bandage held firmly in place, with the special dragonshards over each eye, just in case reflex caused his eyes to open in a fit of restless nightmares – and he had many of those, of late. So he did not see the sunrise, but instead heard the deep chime of the distant clocktower, measuring out six notes.

He fumbled around on his dresser for the goggles, found them, and carefully fitted them into place over carefully shut eyes. Once they were secure, he opened his eyes, seeing the world as he always saw it now – filtered through red dragonshards, slightly distorted. Gersi had promised him a better pair to be made shortly – ones that were, in the half-orc's words, more "ergo-gnomic." He was assured that the word did not mean "therefore, gnomes."

He then dressed himself, and shortly after fitting his collar into place, there was a knock at the door – and Matteus knew from the softness of the knock that it was his sister, Mila. Doubtlessly here to help him out with the day's duties – the functions to attend, and the reports to review. "Keeping up appearances," as she said. Telling everyone that everything was normal, even though it would never be again.

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His fingers brushed over his ascot tie. He knew what she’d have for him, and the thought of facing it was daunting. “Keeping up appearances” is just another phrase for “pretending everything is normal”. Nothing was normal, and he didn’t see how it could be better again.

Duty calls. Matteus took a deep breath and forced a smile. Opening the door, he greeted his sister with a warm, “Good morning, little sister.”

She scowled at him and swatted his arm. “Calling me little when I’m the size of a horse?” She rested her hand on the swell of her belly; her third child was due soon.

“You’ll always be little to me, even when you are the size of a horse.” He laughed as she tried to to hit him again, but he evaded her. “Did you bring breakfast?”

“No, I can barely carry myself.” She sat down heavily on one of his chairs, rubbing her back and grimacing. She’d moved into the house and put herself into confinement for the duration of her pregnancy. While her husband was fine with it, Matteus still felt guilty. She should have been in her own house, unhindered by his problems. “I’ll send something up when I go back downstairs.”

“Mila, I can get my own food.” He was getting a little tired of being coddled but he smiled anyway. “So let us discuss business so I can eat.”

She made a face at him but relented. “First, there is a request for you to hunt a man who is killing factory workers. I assume you’ll want me to decline?”

Matteus hesitated. He wanted to go out, badly. He wanted the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of justice. What if the goggles slip? What if they’re broken? The risk was too great. “Yes, please give them my regrets. What else is there?”

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"There's a message from your half-orc friend – "

"I'll do it."

Both Matteus and Mila turned to regard the man in the doorway – their brother Saal. He seemed in good spirits, but Matteus knew his brother well, and knew that he was keeping the lid on a cauldron of emotions as he spoke.

"Saal…?"

"I'll handle the man killing the factory workers. I'll do it." Saal coughed. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You've never…"

"Been interested? I'm interested now. I can handle it. The problem gets solved, the family saves face, no one has to know about Matteus."

Matteus carefully studied his brother. Hiding behind his words was an eagerness – eager to help his brother, or perhaps, eager to upstage him? And then there was that anger, that burnt inside of him more and more – but Matteus wasn't sure if it was directed at him, or more at how much the family's situation had changed.

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“It’s not like sitting in Parliament for Father,” Matteus said, feeling envy and bitterness eat at him. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve read the same books as you,” Saal retorted, his calm veneer cracking a touch at the verbal challenge. “You were once as I am: knowledgeable but without the practical abilities. So do me the credit of being allowed to learn, especially as I only seek to uphold the family’s reputation.”

“It’s more than that,” Matteus protested, his stomach turning to lead. “It’s instinct.”

“Which you happen to have, and I do not?” His brother all-but sneered at him. “Will you grant me the opportunity to show whether I have it. Besides, we are losing face because you will not provide a service that the kingdom has come to rely on, Teus. Would you deny me the chance to repair that loss, all because of your pride?”

Matteus took a deep breath. “I think our family would lose even more esteem if you were to fail.”

“Better than to not try at all!” Saal hissed. “To hide in a room and cower at what might be!”

“What might be is a gout of hellfire! People dead, and by carelessness or accident, I will not have it on my hands!” Matteus shouted. He gestured at his goggle-covered eyes. “Do you think I wear these from want? Or do you refuse to believe because I have not lit you afire? Tell me, Saal, do you truly think me a coward for refusing to risk harm to innocents?

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Saal opened his mouth, and held up a finger, but wisely bit his tongue, long enough for Mila to hold up her palms. "Peace, please, both of you. You're like stags locking horns."

"To answer your question," said Saal, keeping his voice level. "No. You are no coward. Everyone knows how brave you are, how you ventured into a nest of cultists to some hellish plane and paid a heavy price. They all know of Matteus the Brave. All I wish to do, is demonstrate my own."

"And to save the factory workers," added Mila.

"Yes. And to save the factory workers. Of course." Saal's voice was stung by the reminder that his pride had stepped in front of his perspective. "Matteus, I want to do this. Beyond saving face, beyond pride, beyond proving myself: the job needs doing, does it not?"

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Yes, it needs doing, and it should be me doing it! Matteus knew he was being selfish but for his adult life, thief-taking had been what had separated him from his brother. Saal had been first born -- the one destined for politics, for the family title, for the heirs and the settled life. Teus had never consciously envied him any of that, but his job had been his way to pave his own path. Now, fate had taken the path from him.

“Yes, it needs to be done,” Mila agreed as he tried to find the right words to say. “Are you sure you’re prepared for this, Saal?”

“I am,” he said sincerely, and Matteus knew he’d lost the argument when Mila turned to him. She wore her “peacemaker” smile, the same expression she’d used on the brothers whenever she felt they were being unreasonable. Normally, Matteus could agree with her, but not this time. It felt as if Saal were stealing the one thing that had been his alone. 

“Teus, he’s right.” His sister rubbed her stomach again, making a face at some hidden ache or pain. “The factory workers need someone to step in for them.”

Her unspoken words were, And you’re not going to. She was right, too, and that was the worst part. He couldn’t bear it if he hurt someone. He still couldn’t bring himself to give a blessing. “If you insist on doing this, Saal, then do it.”

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"Thank you, brother." Saal's good cheer returned. "I'll ride forth immediately. You won't regret this." He half-walked, half-ran out of the room.

Mila sighed. "So… before I was interrupted, there is a message from your half-orc friend, Gersi Morrus. She says that she's finished the refinement of the goggles. If you want to chat, she'll be in her workshop all day. Or, if you're not up for travel, you can have her summoned here and she'll be here as quickly as she can be."

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”You won’t regret this.” Matteus doubted that sincerely. Whichever way it went, he lost: either his brother took away the one thing that was his, or the workers would continue to be plagued by the monster hunting them. Rage at his own impetus knotted his hands into fists.

“I believe I can manage a carriage ride.” His anger at the situation turned his words hard, and Mila raised a brow at him. Matteus forced himself to soften. “I’m sorry. The situation, it is what vexes me, not you, dear sister.”

“I know, and thank you for the courtesy of remembering that, dear brother.” Her smile became impish. “And you misspoke: it is not the situation that turns your vision red.”

He stiffened and her smile fled. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I forgot.”

“No, Mila, it is a common saying, no more.” He wouldn’t slight her twice for things beyond her control. Crossing his room, he picked his satchel up from his desk, feeling the weight of the books inside it. One was a gift for Gersi; the other two were his to read when bored. He also gathered his hat and cane. “I shall get breakfast and go see her.”

“It’ll be good for you to get out,” his sister said gently. “I’ll tell Edwan to prepare the carriage.”

“No, let me.” His pride had been wounded enough today; he could do this much for himself.

Mila was wise enough to not remark on that, instead walking with him back to the ground floor. There she went to the solarium to work on her stitching, while he went to the kitchens and secured an apple and a hunk of cheese as a quick meal to break his fast.

“I can make you something more, sir,” the cook said, but Matteus shook his head.

“I’m in a hurry, I’m afraid,” he said, ducking out into the stables, food in hand.

He found their faithful stablehand polishing the carriage. “Edwan, if you would saddle Nostro for me.”

The war veteran looked surprised before he hid it. “Very well, sir.” He made quick work getting the high stepping gray gelding out of his stall and into his tack. Then he stood by his head, holding him as Matteus swung into the saddle.

Muscles unused to be mounted twinged uncomfortably, but Matteus enjoyed being in the saddle. With a click of his tongue, he sent Nostro off at a sharp trot.

It was the first time he’d been outside in a while, and he was aware of the stares. Not from the common folk; he was just another man of substance, riding through the streets. No, it was his peers who stared. He ignored them as best he could, keeping his attention on whether his goggles were staying in place.

Gersi’s residence was near the University, just over the Howling River. By the time he stopped in front of her house, his thighs ached from the physical labor. If I’m this sore from riding a horse, I am likely twice as unused to riding a woman. That was another thing he should probably attempt soon, but he had no heart for the chase anymore.

Leading Nostro around the back of the building, he found Gersi in her small stable. She didn’t keep animals here; Matteus’ gelding was likely the first horse to step foot inside since she started leasing it. Instead, she used it as a workshop. He tied Nostro to a hitching post and sauntered inside. “When are you going to get a pot belly stove in here?” he asked, eying the lack of creature comforts. “I warn you, you’ll be thankful for the heat come winter.”

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“Whale fat on the extremities goes far, and leaving the heat sink off of the bench takes care of the rest. Still, I wouldn’t mind one of those fancy Ghallanda hearths they sell to the rich. Matteus, my friend. Good to see you.” Small alchemical ashes and burns gave Gersi’s normally grey skin a blueish pall, from the color of residium and the dragonshards used in her work. “Good to see you out and about, too. I worry. So…”

Gersi brushed a few things off of her bench to reveal an expensive lacquered box. “Here we go.” She opened the box, and took out a finely wrought pair of goggles, with carefully designed filigree around the edges of the red lenses. Then she grabbed her hammer off the bench and slammed it down, hard, on the goggles – then held them up to demonstrated how they weren’t even chipped.

“They are as close to shatterproof as a magewright can make without actually delving into the fully forbidden magics as opposed to the merely-a-bad-idea ones. Carefully curated leather padding that shouldn’t get sweaty or irritate the skin, and a design that fits in with all of the latest fashions in and around Wroat. Who knows, you might even start a fashion trend. Can’t be any worse than those damned collars. How you humans even stand those things, I’ll never know.”

Her jovial tone lowered, and she got slightly more serious. “And one more thing, in the event of an absolute emergency…” She pressed her finger to the side of the goggles and slid a switch back, then with her middle finger, pressed a button.

With a sound like unfolding clockwork, the lenses retracted. She released her fingers, and with the same sound, they slid back into place. “Slide-lock then release. Safety feature.”

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“There is no emergency dire enough for this,” he said, taking the new goggles and sitting on a bench. “Would you please assist me?” he asked nervously.

“Of course.” She stepped behind him and he closed his eyes. He could smell the chemicals from her work as her roughened fingers unbuckled and removed the old set. He tensed as he was blinded; even voluntarily, the knowledge that he couldn’t see right now was frightening.

Then her fingers brushed over his hair again and he felt the weight of the new goggles. They were lighter and felt different but he kept his eyes firmly shut. “There,” she said.

“What is in front of me?” he asked.

“The empty space between my stable and house.”

He risked opening his eyes for a fraction of a second, listening for the screaming roar of the unholy flames. When it was all silent he dared to open them fully. The world was red-tinted again, but he felt somewhat better knowing that his skull would break before the goggles were he to be attacked. “Thank you, Gersi,” he said, turning to her. “Consider that Ghallanda hearth purchased.”

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"I should befriend cursed rich men more often then, if designing a safeguard from scratch brings such fortune." She winked.

Then her tone turned serious. "Matteus: of course, I am not you. I have familiarized myself with your condition but I don't have to live with it. But what I do know, is the ways of my people. The orcs of the Eldeen Reaches have a saying that's older than the Five Nations themselves: 'Orurok ten' fin, chak. Orurok chak, ten' fin.'

"It loosely translates as 'that with warms, burns; that which burns, warms.' It means that which can be put to beneficial use can be made nefarious, and the inverse is true. These goggles would seem beneficial, and they are. They're as beneficial as your curse is nefarious. I've done all that I can to build a firebreak between you and the rest of the world, but I worry this firebreak may leave you cold where it need not.

I have already seen a change in you, as you've become withdrawn and cautious. I wonder about the man you may become, if you act like that for long. And I wonder, if this happens, if that is not letting the curse defeat you by another means."

She handed him the storage box. "I've done all I can to let you go on living, but I can't do your living for you. Don't let this curse – and your fear of it – define you, because then you are a pawn of forces outside of the natural world, and no longer a man."

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“I find your words very interesting, as they describe exactly what I have become,” he told her, stiff and formal after the gentle lecture. “A pawn of greater forces than I, reduced to hiding.” He bowed. “I’ll always be grateful to you, Gersi, for what you have done for me.” The tips of his gloved fingers brushed over his new goggles. “You have given me peace of mind.”

Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. It was grossly over familiar, but for the moment, he didn’t care. Turning from the shocked half-orc, he hastily mounted Nostro and turned for home.

The streets were filling with more people as the day warmed. Matteus raised his face to the sun, trusting the horse to pick his way through the streets. The goggles left a cold space over his eyes, but the rest was divinely warm.

At the bridge, he stopped his horse and considered going home or not. The ‘or not’ was new for him. He dropped the reins to the horse’s neck and gave him his head, to see where fate -- or the horse -- would take him.

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The first decision the horse made, was to poop.

Having made this decision, it decided to idly trot through the city of Wroat, making its way towards the central market where the apple stalls would be set up. Along the way, Matteus saw all the signs of life in the city - children playing stickwicket, a few runners delivering messages for House Sivis, and an unusual sight, those weird elves from Aerenal who revered their still-attendant ancestors, wearing makeup and dress that Matteus had never seen before. And not far from them, Matteus saw a familiar sight: a wounded war veteran, reduced to begging in the streets, constantly snickering with a laugh that never reached his eyes. His sign said CURSED WITH CACKLE FEVER - THIS IS NO JOKE - PLEASE HELP.

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“You’re not very helpful,” Matteus told the horse irritability, picking up the reins to prevent Nostro from snatching an apple off a vendor’s table. The gelding whickered in annoyance, stomping his feet as the rider took a look around. When his eyes fell on the veteran, he frowned as he read the sign.

A cure could be costly, unless this was an affliction of the spirit and not the body. “Come, follow me,” Matteus said, feeling generous. Turning the horse’s head, he led the man toward House Jorasco. “I am no healer,” he assured the sadly giggling veteran, “but hopefully House Jorasco can help you.”

Matteus might be able to bear the cost of the treatment, depending on what that treatment involved.

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"Aheh. Heheheh. Heh. Tried. Veteran affairs, heheheh, they, heh, they got me looked at. Heh. Said no fever. Heh. Said it's all up heeeeeeeeere." The veteran tapped his head twice, slowly.

"Watched, heheh, half my unit wiped out by those clankers, haha. No souls. You can tell, haha, you can tell if you fight enough. Ha. Just swipe clank chunk, haha. All over us. Haha, had to cut one's limbs off. Haha. It kept coming. Ha. One of them was a wizard too. Did you know clankers could be wizard? Haha, if that's not just, hahaha. What will they, hahah, they think of next. Haha. So it's clanker magic. Hahah. Fucking warforged." He spat on the street, in between giggles.

"Just want to, hahaha, just want to get drunk enough to, hahahahahaaaaa, to fall asleep without laahahahahahahaha – "

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“Come with me to House Jorasco anyway,” Matteus told the man. “I can buy you a sleeping draught, something kinder than alcohol that will give you a night’s peace.” While they were there, he could the healers what could be done if it was a mental imbalance. Matteus wasn’t sure there was any permanent peace for the man, but he could buy him a night of solace.

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The giggling man was escorted to House Jorasco, who were finally getting a break from many years of caring for the actively wounded and had settled into long-term care.

Matteus’ talks with a local halfling suggested that Matteus was right and that it was psychological, not mystical – so a sleeping draught would help, but long-term psychological care would be necessary. Assuming it would work, and in any event, intensive counseling would be outside of the healing specialties of the House. Still, they had some psychologists on hand and could help him somewhat.

“Thank you for bringing him to us,” said the nurse who saw to the veteran’s care. “There’s so many, but… we do what we can.”

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“Whatever peace you can grant him will be appreciated.” Matteus paid him for three draughts, then left the veteran in their care. He supposed he should feel proud for having helped his fellow man, but in truth, he saw six more begging in the street on the way back to the house. His effort with the man -- whom Matteus had never even asked for his name -- couldn’t even be called a drop in the bucket.

Back at his home, he turned the gelding over to the stable hand and headed into the house. He didn’t know what to do, so he went to the library, found a book, and began to read. Perhaps he could wile away the rest of the day in pointless recreation.

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As the day wore on, Matteus found himself almost forgetting that his goggles were there, they fit so comfortably. That hearth couldn’t come soon enough for Gersi’s house. He took to reading a best-of-the-collection from the Korranberg Chronicle, dated last year, with a thorough breakdown of the negotiations behind the Treaty of Thronehold, a story about how Korranberg’s masked vigilante has to be a myth, and a story about how faith in the Sovereign Host, the Dark Six and the Silver Flame were at an all-time low due to the horrors of war. It seemed there was no escape from the Last War.

He conferred with Mila, asking how the child was coming, and signed a few bits of paperwork before retiring. He fitted his sleeping mask into place, and fell asleep.

He was woken by frantic shouting. One of the house servants pounded on his door, and he could hear Mila’s reminder that Matteus couldn’t answer without putting his goggles on.

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She smiled at him, her lithe body’s beauty overwhelmed by the horror of her demonic visage. “Matteus,” she purred, “I will be all you see.” She beckoned him to come, laughing as the world burst into fire.

He knew he was dreaming; it hadn’t happened that way. He couldn’t free himself from it until the pounding on his door woke him. Had he not been left fumbling for his goggles, he would have welcomed the reprieve from his nightmares.

“Just a moment!” Matteus roared irritably, feeling around on his nightstand with his eyes pinched shut. Even with the sleeping mask on, he couldn’t risk hurting someone.

“Sir, please hurry!” The voice was muffled by the door, but Matteus thought it was Edwin, one of the cleaning staff.

“I’m coming,” he snapped, his fingers brushing unfamiliar brass. He felt with the other hand and confirmed that it was his new glasses. He exchanged mask for goggles, then carefully peeked to be sure it was safe. Only when he was positive that he wasn’t about to set someone on fire or burn down his ancestral home did he grab his dressing robe.

“What is it?” he growled as he opened the door.

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The servant looked beside himself, and Mila took over – looking haggard and distraught, and Matteus immediately feared the loss of her child, but no, she still was standing up.

“Matteus. It’s Saal. The bandits captured him.”

Standing behind them was someone familiar to Matteus – one of the soldiers sometimes used to back him up, a towering woman of six feet, clad in scale mail. She nodded. “M’lord. We were ambushed. They knew we were coming and they attacked and killed two of us. The other four were uninjured – they used some kind of sleep magic on us, I’m ashamed to say. They took Saal alive. We don’t know why…”

“Sali, tell him everything.” Mila’s voice was firm and even, with a glint of steel in it.

“M’lady. One of them seemed to change shape, once it seemed to have defeated us, and I suppose it wanted to cover its tracks. But it wasn’t a changeling. It were holding a sword, and I swear, by my brother’s grave, it was holding it backwards.”

“Upside down?” said Matteus, inquisitively.

“M’lord, no. I mean: its hands were backwards.

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“Backwards?” That was like nothing that Matteus had ever heard before. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they had his brother. “Nevermind. Saddle my horse. Sali, please come attend me. I need help with armor.”

“Sir?” the woman asked, her eyes wide.

He was already stripping off his robe. “Just put the padding over my nightclothes. I need help to get it all on in less than twenty minutes.”

“I could help,” Mila said softly.

“Some of the pieces are heavy,” Sali said, moving into the room.

“Thank you,” Matteus said. Waking his personal servant would only take more time. In grim silence, Sali helped him into the armor. Thoughts and fears of what might happen were in his head, but more than that was a rising certainty that this was his fault.

“Is my horse ready?” he asked as he strapped his sword around his waist and grabbed his shield.

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“Yes, your horse is prepared. There’s supplied and food for the journey. It’s a half-day’s hard ride to the northeast.” Sali indicated the location on a map. “I counted five of them, including the man with the disquieting hands. And one more thing. The factory the workers who were killed worked at is a refinement site for Khyber dragonshards, the ones found deep underground, refined away from the city to minimize mishaps. One of them mentioned the factory by name and it seems like the only place they took workers from. I don’t know what it means, but it has to mean something. Sir, I stand ready to ride with you and so do the others, if you need our swords.”

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“Dragonshards.” Matteus wasn’t surprised. They were valued across the realms for a variety of purposes, his goggles being one of the most personal. “I’m sure it does have relevance, Sali.”

He grabbed his travel bag, startled to find that someone had repacked it for him. It might have just been habit: he’d always insisted that his manservant immediately clean and ready the bag for his next trip. The feel of old familiarity enclosed him as he led the rush down the stairs to the courtyard.

Nostro was saddled and ready, stomping his hooves at being roused from his stall in the middle of the night. Matteus secured the saddlebags and mounted up, correcting the gelding when he tried to sidestep into a stone fence. “Stop it, you hairy miscreant,” he growled, spurring him out of the yard and toward the group in the street.

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Matteus rode hard against the setting sun, and against the cold air of a Wroat winter loosening its grasp, and rode over Nostro’s protests, and and eventually, in the middle of the night, he came across the ambush point that Sali had mentioned.

He examined the tracks, and the signs of battle.

Give me either an Investigation roll or a Perception roll. Your choice.

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Sali’s report seemed to broadly match what Matteus found. Five men, with a stray crossbow bolt indicating that one of them was armed thusly. It was pinned to a bloodless scrap of Saal’s favorite jacket. Saal’s sword was also here, lying on the ground.

Matteus determined the direction they took was to the east, and a quick check of the map indicated some caves in that direction. No known links to the Underdark were specified on the map, but the map was only current as of five years prior. In any event, it would be an ideal hiding spot. The chief problem being how to approach without being seen – there was sparse forest, and the moonlight wasn’t that bright, so he could theoretically approach the cave unseen if he and Sali were careful…

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They took a few moments to stop and stuff the crevices of their armor with rags. It wouldn’t completely mask the sounds of their approach, but Matteus would take any help he could get. The night was unsettling when viewed through hues of red, and the young noble resisted the urge to shiver.

Long experience in the field aided them in moving together as one. The two soldiers crept forward from shadow to shadow, avoiding the open areas. It took quite a while for them to move the relatively short distance.

Their approach slowed further as they got closer, their movements becoming more precise. To his surprise, Matteus could feel that old thrill of hunting -- not hunting a dumb animal for sport, but tracking a monster for the betterment of society. In this case, the monster wore a humanoid visage and was free to walk the streets of Wroat hidden. He was going to change that, and he had missed this so very much.

Once they were close, he signaled to Sali, Do you hear or see anything?

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No – wait. Sali pointed, and after a moment, Matteus saw. There was a guard outside the cave, scanning the horizon. He was within striking distance.

Sali loaded an arrow into her bow, then looked to Matteus, signaling back. Should I take the shot, or do you want to? She paused, the added m’lord, out of deference to his rank.

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Both. Ready on my mark. Matteus was not amused by these bandit scum, and he carefully loaded his crossbow. He had no interest in going light on the men in the cave. Part of him wondered if he’d feel so strongly were it not Saal inside.

It is guilt, he told himself quietly, feeling the burden of ignoring his calling. He’d done it for all the right reasons, yet it had put his brother in mortal danger.

He shoved those feelings away for later, clearing his mind and peering through the red-shards to the target. Matteus pressed the butt of the crossbow to his shoulder and aimed; beside him, Sali did the same.

“Now,” he whispered softly, and fired.

Spoiler

Ranged Attack - Carver *rolls* 1d20: 19+2: 21

Crossbow Damage: +3

 

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That’s a hit, and since he’s a minion, down he goes.

The bolt hit the guard square in the head, and he crumpled, as Sali’s arrow sailed past.

Working quickly, the two of them pulled the body out of visual range of the cave, then scuffed out the bloodstain as best as they could. Then they proceeded deeper into the cave.

It was a surprisingly well-maintained bandit hideout, and Matteus felt his suspicions grow. There were sunrods and eternal torches keeping things well-lit, so relying on the shadows was not going to be possible. There were well-organized crates of what seemed to be random odds and ends – bat guano, pieces of string, silver coins – and Matteus realized that a collection of objects this eclectic had to be spell components, common wizard foci and the like.

There were no signs of those captive, and Matteus and Sali found themselves having exhausted the top level of the cave before taking note of a well-carved staircase leading further underground – carved expertly, with artisian tools.

They hadn’t run into any other guards, but their luck couldn’t hold out long.

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I don’t like this. Matteus peered into the stairwell, frowning. He grabbed a small sunrod and wrapped it in rags until its glow was shrouded. He tucked it in a pouch for now. He might have need of light later, as he and Sali were not blessed with night vision.

Gripping his sword and shield more tightly, he started to creep down the stairs.

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Sali and Matteus descended the stairs, discovering - strangely - that the lair was better lit down below. Then they emerged into the chamber below, and saw why.

A combination of a field hospital and a full-fledged artifice forge had been set up in this section of the cave, well-lit and with few shadows to hide in. Matteus could see the factor workers lining the walls, shackled and unconscious but groaning softly in their sleep. Hooked to their veins were thin tubes, draining blood slowly and feeding it into a central reservoir. The reservoir was massive, solidly constructed, and decorated with the runes that Matteus had a secondhand knowledge of from spending all that time with Gersei.

Matteus could see the blood, and more than that, he could see small flecks of light dancing within the blood.

From a nearby antechamber emerged a couple of guards, and both of them saw Matteus and Sali a second after Matteus and Sali saw them. Matteus could see that Sali was already going for her sword...

Matteus has surprise, so he may attack if he wishes.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Guard Toughness Save (DC 21): 1D20+4 = [19]+4 = 23

A full success, so the guard’s armor stops it.

By sheer luck, Matteus’ sword glanced off the boiled leather of the guard’s shoulder guard. The guard struggled to get his weapon ready in time…

Guard Initiative Check: 1D20+2 = [13]+2 = 15

 

Matteus Initiative Check: 1D20+10 = [13]+10 = 23

Matteus beats the guard’s initiative, so Matteus may make another attack.

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Guard toughness save (DC21): 1D20+4 = [6]+4 = 10


He's essentially a minion, so that's enough to drop him.

The sword didn't glance off the guard this time - it found purchase, and the guard sank, defeated. Matteus looked over at Sali, who was busy putting a second crossbow shot into the other guard's head, to make sure.

"Matteus, I... what is this place? What are they doing? ... what should we do?"

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The noble took another long look at the reservoir and the captured factory workers. “I don’t know, but I know what to do: stop them.” Fury filled his voice as he hastily cleaned and sheathed his sword. “Watch the doors while I free them.”

Moving to the closest, he attempted to pull the tube out of the woman’s arm as gently as he could.

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The tube came out with little effort, and a quick bandage plugged the hole. As Matteus moved to the next, however, Sali called out. "Guard here! I have him - "

There was the thump of a crossbow, then a pause, then Sali spoke, hesitantly. "That's - he didn't - "

Matteus turned around to see Sali batted across the room by the newest occupant in the chamber, dressed in a suitcoat and bearing the practiced demeanor of disdain that Matteus was familiar with from many other nobles... though they all paled before this man, who was completely unhurt despite having been shot at point blank range with a crossbow bolt. He radiated raw, utter contempt, for Matteus, for the victims bound up in the room, for everything.

He smiled as he drew his sword, holding it in one backwards-bending hand. "Well, well. What have we here."

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Matteus drew himself up and lifted his weapons to the ready once more. “I am Matteus ir’Starn, and in the name of His Majesty, King Boranel ir'Wynarn, I arrest you on charges of kidnapping, wrongful imprisonment, and breaking and entering. More charges may be added as His Majesty’s pleasure. Come peacefully, and the court will show mercy. Fight me, and you will be charged with resisting lawful arrest. Drop your weapons, and place your hands behind your back.”

There was no way in all the Hells that this creature would surrender, but Matteus was bound to follow the rules of Breland. He braced for the mocking rejection and began to consider his strategy.

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