Montresor 12 Year 888 (New Imperial Calendar)

(Note – I suddenly became annoyed by the inventory and list at the end every post and moved those to their own page. For anyone who cares.)

After watching the elder statesmen (and one stateswoman and one statesrat) of a cult dedicated to sexual deviancy, human sacrifice, and cannibalism be devoured by a massive death worm I was tempted to spend a few days with the Halflings of the Shoddy Hills – seeing that kind of thing with your very own eyes makes you want to rest and relax for a while.  You know how it is.

But as they say, no rest for the gorgeous.  I didn’t get terribly familiar with the philosophy (is that the right word?) of the goat cult people while they were busy trying to kill me but as I understand it they believe they can live outside of the natural cycle by emulating the Dark Mother who is her own food and her own parent – some manner of cyclical self-cannibalism and incestuous restitution.  So maybe for them being eaten by a giant worm is not that bad of a way to go.  Best not to speculate on the motivations of such people.   

The Halflings shook their head in sorrowful reproof of my haste to leave.  One of the shirriff’s commented that we overly large folk are “Always in a big hurry to get from something foolish to nothing at all”.  Once again they’re not wrong, but revenge is a stern mistress.  And not the fun kind with leather clothing.  I asked them if they could lead me through worm-tunnels to Eree and they looked at me like I was insane.  They’re the ones that were snuggling up to a beast the Kostelos call “the Clan Eater” like it was a tame petting goat and somehow I’m the crazy one?  Typical.  They did lead me back through the hills on worm-safe paths and sent me off with several rucksacks full of sweetened dried fruit, aged sausage, hard sharp cheese, honey cakes, and a mixture of roasted grains, nuts, and molasses.  They believe that a full belly strengths your resolve – there’s a lot to like about these little folk.

Once the Halfling ballyhoo was ballyhooed I headed south towards Tybhurst, as was the plan before I got diverted by all this nonsense.  Sometimes I really do think that some God or Gods is taking measures to keep from ever making progress on my goals.  Mostly though I think Gods have better things to do.  What those things might be I can’t imagine, but they have to have them.  Right?  As I traveled I saw an owlbear prowling around at the edge of the hills but I stayed well away from it.  I have no desire to be ripped to shreds by one of those things.  How is it that replacing the head of a bear with that of a tiny bird somehow resulted in a creature that is stronger and more vicious?  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – magic is crazy.

I never found the road so I must not be heading the right away, or I’m misremembering the topography of this area, but despite that fact I still somehow managed to encounter a large gathering of people.  I must be drawn to them unconsciously by the longing in my soul for civilized areas.  The reason for this gathering in the middle of nowhere was odd, although I guess there isn’t a reason for a gathering in the middle of nowhere that would be normal. 

Dueling is illegal is most jurisdictions although enforcement is spotty at best – people love watching two rich guys hack each other to bits.  Those duelists that are concerned about getting in trouble with the law simply meet outside the city limits to carve each other into bloody chunks, unless a forest warden happens along who’s going to arrest you?  Two fellows from Caeptil who should be old enough to know better decided upon a duel on account of one of them cheated the other in a deal or some kind and then someone’s wife was dishonored and this and that and so on.  Word got around, as it does, and the mayor put his foot down – they would be no dueling in or AROUND the city.  In order to bypass this the rare show of law enforcement the aggrieved parties decided to head south of the Shoddy Hills to spill blood.

A lot of people had no intention of missing this duel so they also made arrangements so travel south of the city to watch it go down.  A group of wandering players heard about this and they decided they would turn up and put on a performance beforehand.  Then a traveling circus heard about it and joined in and next thing you know you’ve got yourself a festival going.  Usually they don’t end with two gentlemen stabbing at each other, but there’s a first time for everything.  Except things that never happen.  There’s not a first time for those things.

Normally these festivals are crawling with low class types but this was an upscale affair – after all it’s not like your average person can afford to go haring off at the drop of a hat to watch a duel.  The crowd was mostly compromised of merchants and the retinues of the two dueling lords – who did their part to support their lieges by giving each other dirty looks and stepping on each other’s boots as they waited in line for candied apples.  One such merchant was more than happy to let me borrow his fine pavilion and actual bed for the night while he slept under a tarp with his manservant.  I’ve gotten so skillful at talking people into acting against their own best interest it’s almost not even fun anymore.  Almost.  It was a delightful surprise to get the sleep in a fine bed in a decent pavilion rather than on the ground like a filthy mole. 

After securing my lodgings for the night I wandered the merchant stalls and other perused the offerings of the opportunist and then headed to the “grand concourse” to watch the players mount a decent effort at the first act of Dawnflower’s Gold and laugh internally at a singer that couldn’t hold a handle to me.  She was pretty, very pretty, but she couldn’t sing worth a damn.  I was leaving when I spotted a face from the past – one Jonah Hillless.

Jonah is cursed with one of those babyfaces, last time I saw him he was eighteen and looked like he was eleven.  Now all these years later he looks like he might be all of seventeen.  He was a pawn in the tradition of fostering that nobles sometimes like to do – the ritual exchange of hostages dressed up all fancy like to be something else.  Some lords take their duties as surrogate father very seriously.  Others play more into the hostage aspect and treat their wards little better than prisoners.  The Duke couldn’t be bothered to care about Jonah.  He was basically left on his on (sound familiar?) and was usually so meek an unassuming that people forgot he was there at all.  He probably would have starved to death if the kitchen staff and the servants in general didn’t adopt him as a mascot of sorts. 

He was wearing those same cheap spectacles that the girls used to tease him about.  He’s slightly cross-eyed without them but I don’t understand why he doesn’t buy a better pair.  His family has plenty of money.  He was one of the only nobles at court that was truly devoted to his faith – attending Adariel’s services religiously (pun) which served to make him all the more liked by the lower class types.  He was kind and generous and totally out place in the Duke’s court.  It’s a good thing he was so inconspicuous, if anyone took notice if him he probably would have ended up a pawn in someone’s game and then ended up dead shortly thereafter.   Even though his face was still that of a boy he had grown tall and athletic where once he was soft and weedy.  As he was heading back to a tent of his own I fell into step beside him.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

When he looked over her literally tripped over his own feet in surprise, but managed to avoid falling just barely “Ela?”

I held my arms wide like a magician revealing a trick “The very same.”

He was incredulous “But . . . how . . . everyone said that you were dead.”

“Oh I am, can’t you tell by the decay ravaging my body?  I’m a revenant you see, back from the grave for revenge.  Come kiss these rotting lips.” He blushed furiously at the very idea and took an involuntary step backwards.  I laughed good-naturedly. “Good to see you haven’t changed.  What are you doing all the way out here?  The Jonah I knew isn’t the kind to be interested enough in a little bloodshed to travel all this way.”

“Well, duty calls.”

“You’re not in service to one of these fools are you Jonah?”

“Not in the way you mean.  I’m here as the proxy for Lord Hovecraft.”

I was almost as surprised by that as he was to see me “You’re joking.”

He shook his head “I’m afraid not My Lady.  My family has fallen on . . . hard times.  The only asset we have at this point is my skill at battle.”

I put my hand on his arm “Don’t take this the wrong way Jonah, but I don’t remember you having much in the way of skill at battle.  Didn’t one of the kitchen boys beat you senseless with a broom one time?”

He winced “I’ve gotten . . . better . . . since then . . . somewhat.  My father’s sword is very powerful . . .” he shrugged helplessly “It’s all I can do.  Things . . . are . . . not going well.”

“Good Gods Jonah, how is you getting killed going to help your family?  If you have this great sword and you need money why not sell it?  I’ve learned that people pay a lot for that sort of thing.”

He gasped as if I asked him to sell his mother’s virtue on the street corner – even Jonah isn’t immune to the stupidity of the aristocracy.  Better to hang onto a family heirloom than your life.  I bet if I offered him money he wouldn’t take it either, because of “honor”.  What a bunch of crap.  These are the people we’re putting in charge of the world? 

He turned to enter his tent “It’s good to see you Ela, but I really need to rest up for tomorrow.”

I grabbed his shoulder “Wait a minute Jonah, is Lord Brandymoore fighting himself or does he have a proxy too?”

He gulped “Elkin Brevoy is fighting for Lord Brandymoore.”

“Wow, he must have learned how to fight with his left hand.  Good for him.”

Jonah looked confused “How did you know about his hand?”

“I’m the one who fucking took it!”

His confusion only deepened “What are you talking about?  After defeating Fenrir the Fearless Brevoy cut off his own hand because no one could match him and he wanted a challenge.”

“Ha!  Talk about spitting shit onto gold eh Jonah?  I tell you plainly that I bit off his hand and ate it.  It’s a whole story.” I put my arm around him and walked him into his tent “I’ll tell you all about it while we discuss the plan for the duel.”

Mantelderith 26 Year 888 (New Imperial Calendar) Part 4

My first order of business after my glorious battle victory was slurping down a healing potion (thanks to my fabulous new coat!) on account of I had been slashed to ribbons with (by?) that stupid looking sword.  Like all healing potions ever brewed (concocted?) it made me feel better but its actual healing effect was maybe twenty percent of my actual physical wounds.  Kind of like a narcotic drug now that I think about it.  Whoever makes these things is a real sadistic bastard because they never work even halfway.  The current state of healing potion economics is probably some global conspiracy that has to do with a shadow dimension of pain-worshipping demons that have infiltrated all religions from the beginning of human history.  What a yawn right?  The second order to business was a little light looting, but there wasn’t much to be looted.  The fox monsterman had some kind of magicky looking bracelets on its wrists but they looked unwholesome so I didn’t touch them.  That’s the problem with cult smashing as a line of work – all their stuff is horrible tainted with the screaming souls of their victims or some shit like that. 

You ever have one of those days that feels like it’s going to go on forever?  I feel like this day is never going to end.  It’s barely even noon and already I’ve already had to deal with a murderous wizard cult.  And I’m sure when I get back to the caravan it’s going to have been taken hostage by dark elfs or hill giants or some other damn thing and it’s going to be up to me to do something about it.  I have to do everything myself.  It never ends!  When do I get one solitary moment of peace and quiet?  Never that’s when, because the whole world and everyone in it is plotting against me.  And yet, despite overwhelming odds I bravely carry on like the big damn hero that I am.  It’s quite inspiring it is – feel free to be inspired in your own life by my renowned determination and grit, I don’t mind.

Timora was insistent that we chase after the masked people that ran away.  I told her that since the jackal demon (sorry, not demon, evil spirit) was dead it didn’t matter anymore, and also that I didn’t care anyway.   She had a real bug up her ass about murderers being loose in her village though.  You just can’t reason with some people.  I think it’s something in their upbringing, they were never taught how to debate the right way and think about problems logically.  It would be sad if it wasn’t so annoying.  I guess it’s still a little funny.  Since she was so adamant about finding them I explained to her that we didn’t need to run after them with our feet like morons – since she’s the mayor she can just have everyone turn out in the town square and the three people that are wounded?  Those are the ones you’re looking for.

“They aren’t going to show up if I do that, they know I’m looking for them” she said stupidly.

“Then the people who are missing are the one’s you’re looking for.  This isn’t that big of a village, it won’t be hard to root them out.” I explained intelligently.

And it wasn’t.  We didn’t even have to look for them because we saw them trying to flee with Tarloon as hostage. They weren’t even trying to be subtle about it, trusting that the knife to the throat of the boy would see them through.  One of the ones I killed the melee (actually I think she died of her wounds later) had been a woman, as were two of these ones trying to flee.  That’s surprisingly egalitarian for a cult in my experience.  From what I’ve seen there’s usually a clear division of labor by gender in murder cults – men do the sacrificing and women are the ones being sacrificed.  That makes for a real tough pitch when it comes to recruiting women into your organization.  I suppose that’s the benefit of having a spirit monster as your cult leader – they don’t discriminate because to them all humans are verminous pawns.  There’s a lesson there for sure. 

Timora seemed to think that this hostage situation was quiet a thorny issues to resolve but the answer was simple – I walked up to them with sword in hand.  When they threatened to kill the hostage I ignored them.  Once it became apparent to them that I wasn’t interested in the fate of their hostage they turned him loose and prepared for a dramatic last stand.  I explained to them that everyone understood that the hyena creature had enchanted them and if they gave up their weapons and their wicked ways they wouldn’t face any undue punishment or retribution but rather they would receive the love and support they needed to overcome this ordeal.  It might even be true.  Timora seems like a soft touch, I’m sure she’ll try to redeem them and make them productive members of the community once more instead of hanging and burning them like she should.  Not my problem either way. The cultists were desperate for an out so they threw down their weapons/farm tools and then themselves on the mercy of the mayor-witch.  Once that was all wrapped up I found Timora in her garden gathering up the pieces of her still-animated scarecrow butler.

She looked up as I approached “I have a confession to make.”

“You aren’t going to make me a magic flask are you?”

“If you knew that why did you help?”

“Oh, I was already here so why not?  Plus I assumed would were going to give me some kind of reward for saving your entire village and everyone in it even if it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s what you did exactly but you’re right, you deserve something for your efforts.  I don’t really have much that would be useful to someone who doesn’t use magic though.”

“You clearly have some kind of dream spells.  There’s this old queen – and by that I mean a female ruler not a gay dude – that’s like a dream ghost or a living dream that’s been harassing me.  Can you do something about that?  She wants me to help her reestablish her kingdom.  Or maybe she wants me to find her a body to inhabit?  Or something.  I’m not sure exactly what she wants but she keeps coming around and annoying me.”

She nodded “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Another thing I want, that hostage kid – I would ask that you take him and raise him as your own.  He needs some parental guidance, he’s heading down the wrong path and he needs the love and attention of a good woman to put him back on the right.”

She was reluctant at first to take on this monumental life-changing task, but after that initial resistance she caved in remarkable quickly in my opinion.  She didn’t break down in tears and confess that this what she always secretly wanted, but I could tell that there was something there – maybe she can’t have kids herself or just never did for some reason, but I underneath I think this was something of a godsend in her mind.  And hey, maybe she will straighten out that little asshole.  Unless he runs away at the first chance he gets, which seems likely – he wasn’t happy about being left behind.

By the time I got back to the caravan the day was pretty much spent – not the day day but the caravan day you know?  With all the animals to corral and things to buckle and strap down and firepits and latrines to dig they usually grind to a halt several hours before sundown.  Everyone was very concerned about Tarloon but I told them that he was traumatized by his kidnapping experience and that I had found a nice young couple to take him in and give him the family he always wanted.  This brought out the joyful weeping from several people – that kid must really be good at worming his way into people’s hearts.  In honor of this wonderful turn of events for their beloved Tarloon someone brought out the good booze.  Relatively speaking.  Martialla found us a couple folding camp chairs and we sat back to watch the carvaneers celebrate with a jug of their finest corn squeeze.

“What no one ever tells you is how hard cult-busting is on the old feet.  How about a foot rub?”

“It’s hard to imagine a scenario where I would rub your feet.  I’m not saying that there isn’t one, I just can’t think of it.”

“Why would you say that?  My feet are delightful.”

“They’re still feet.  I don’t love touching my own feet, why would I ever touch yours?”

“You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had.”

“Well yeah, I’m the only friend you’ve ever had, so.  So what really happened to the kid?  Did you push him down a well or did you cut his throat?  Or did you cut his throat and then push him down a well?”

“No, actually what happened is pretty close to what I said.  Plus you shouldn’t push people in wells – when they die that contaminates the entire water supply with their rotting flesh.  Think Martialla.  You need to consider the big picture.”

“My mistake.  I’ll be sure to be more careful in the future.”

“See that you do!”

That night I slept with my Necklace to see if I would be visited by the dream-empress and if so what the witch-mayor would do about it.  I was not, instead it was just the “typical” nightmare assault from beyond the mortal realm.  So I got a shitty night of sleep and accomplished nothing.  Thanks for nothing witch-mayor!  “I’ll see what I can do” my sweet ass.


Funds: 47,040 platinum, 25,750 gold

XP: 1,161,951  14400

Inventory: Hat of Effortless Style, Tankard of the Drunken Hero, Ela’s Dazzling Garment, Belt of Physical Might +4, Ring of Urban Grace, Black Marketers’ Bag (5), Tidy Trunk, Whiterock Family Ring (Ring of Binding), Ela’s Elegant Boots, Ela’s Extravagant Necklace, Brooch of Shielding, Headband of Subtle Misdirection, Antiquarian’s Monocle, +1 Glorious Undead Bane Short Sword, Ela’s Stately Greatcoat

Noble’s outfit (5) collegium ring,  pocketed scarf, wrist sheath, signet ring (2) assortment of fake signet rings, silver chain set with moonstones, gold and emerald ring (2), garnets (700), gold necklace with jade pendant, ivory combs, tax collector’s badge, gold bracelet with ivory inlays, silver necklace set with rubies, gold earrings with jade inlays, silver and gold brooch, silver necklace with ruby pendant, disguise kit, covenant ring, tiny diamonds (26), Saryah Phidaner gown, masterwork thieves’ tools, onyx (55) personal signet ring, tiara, masterwork red and black long greatcoat, Turnbill blade of first forging (one of three), darkwood and platinum music box, silver bracelet set with bloodstones, platinum ring set with fire opal, silver and moonstone bracelet, holy symbol of Kozilek, dwarf journal

Revenge List: Duke Eaglevane, Piltis Swine, Rince Electrum, watchman Gridley, White-Muzzle the worg, Percy Ringle the butler, Alice Kinsey , “Patch”, Heroes of the Lost Sword, Claire Conrad, Erist priest of Strider, Riselda owner of the Sage Mirror, Eedraxis,  Skin-Taker tribe, Kartak, Królewna & Bonifacja Trading Company, Hurmont Family, Androni Titus, Greasy dreadlocks woman, Lodestone Security, Kellgale Nickoslander, Beltian Kruin the Splithog Pauper, The King of Spiders, Auraluna Domiel, mother Hurk, Mazzmus Parmalee,  Helgan van Tankerstrum, Lightdancer, Bonder Greysmith, Pegwhistle Proudfoot, Lumbfoot Sheepskin, Lumber Consortium of Three Rivers, Hellerhad the Wizard, Forsaken Kin, Law Offices of Office of Glilcus and Stolo, Jey Rora, Colonel Tarl Ciarán, Mayor Baras Haldmeer, Rindol the Sage, Essa, eyeless hag, Baron Saltwheel, Baron Harmenkar, Colonel Tarl Ciarán’s wizard soldier, Victor, Beharri, Cebuano, Mayor Eryn, Chimera Trading Company

Mathanaya 23 Year 888 (New Imperial Calendar)

After Fynwar’s grand proclamation about my death and damnation I was given a concoction to drink and taken to an even smaller windowless room about the size of a closet where I was bound hand and foot and left in the darkness.  I managed to vomit up some of the concoction by sticking my tongue down my throat.  It’s a risky move since you can easily choke as well but since I was destined for the chopping block anyway it seemed like a risk worth taking.  Even so I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep for a few hours.  Upon waking I activated my tattoo for lion jaws.  Do you know how easy it is to gnaw through a rope with lion teeth?  I do now.  Once my hands were free I switched to lion night vision and untied my feet.  As you all know I’m not a fan of “body art” at least not for someone like me – if you’re already ugly why not cover yourselves up, but my glory shouldn’t be altered by mortal hands. 

However I can’t deny that the runes the dwarfs put on me have been a life saver more than once.  I’m loath to entertain the idea but it would probably be a good idea to get some more magical tattoos for occasions just like this – it’s critical to have assets that can’t be taken away from you.  Well, I’m sure they can but if your captors are willing to scrape your flesh off you’re probably in trouble you can’t get out of anyway.  One other thing they can’t take away is my secret pocket, actually I’m sure there is some way that magic can do just that but you know what I mean.  I’m no good with locks but I’m just fine with a crowbar – it took some work but I got the door open.  Exploring I found that I was in a very narrow townhome that didn’t appear to be inhabited – must just be for secret occult rituals.  I found my gear in a creepy room full of discarded clothing and other items and exited the building, taking on the guise of Fynwar himself in case there were guards or secret watchers. 

I got back to the inn just as the sun was rising and took on Martialla’s form to head up to our room – which confused the early morning staff to no end.  As I came into the room I heard Martialla’s lethargic voice from under a pile of blankets.

“What happened to you?”

“I was beaten, poisoned, drugged, threatened with death.  The usual. The good news is that I managed to escape.  The bad news is I don’t think Fynwar is going to hold up his end of the deal.  Oh, and I think I managed to pick up another curse.”

“That’s too bad, Thrice-Cursed has a nice ring to it.  Quice-Cursed isn’t nearly as good.”

“Quice isn’t a word.”

“Sure it is, I said it and you knew what I meant, that’s how words work.”

“No.  But that makes me think, if we’re going to be traveling together we should probably some up with our own secret language that only we know.  That would really be helpful.”

“Sure because no one gets suspicious when you intentionally start talking in a language they don’t understand.  We’ll start with quice.”

I’m can’t explain why but instead of crawling into bed I sat on the floor against the wall to rest up a bit from my beating, poisoning, drugging (the bad kind), and death threatening until Martialla got up.  When she did so she was shocked by my ragged appearance.

“God Gods, you look like you were beaten by four men with clubs.”

“Luckily for me they only hit me in the face and upper torso.  And also the lower torso and legs and the middle part.”

She nodded “Very lucky.  Let’s get some breakfast.”

After breakfast I was in an alley puking my guts out – if you’re going to drug someone you could at least have the courtesy to use something that won’t upset their stomach.  It was pretty bad, I felt like I didn’t have any liquid left in my body by the time the whole thing was done.  After the marathon vomiting (maravomiting ?) we returned to the temple of Odobenine and found the second in command – an austere woman in an awful white and orange dress whose hair looked like she washed it with lye. She was quite startled when we walked into her office and sat down.  Normally I think it’s odd that a priest would have an office like a clerk, but in the Church of Deals it makes sense.

“The bad news is your boss is an apostate and a traitor, the good news is you’re about to be the new head priest, er, priestess I mean.”

Our new best friend Milania took my tale of Fynwar and his devotion to Kralten at face value – I guess there’s not a lot of loyalty in a church dedicated to greed.  She took us to a watch commander that clearly owed her a great many debts and I told them everything I knew – especially helpful was my ability to show them exactly what all the cultists looked like.  A few hours later and strike-teams of city watchmen were breaking down doors and grabbing up Kraltenites like eagles snatching up serpents.  Or some other better metaphor, what am I writer?  One of the cultists had rigged his house with alchemist’s fire to explode which killed several men, but those are the risks you sign up for when you agree to take the measly copper salary in law enforcement.  Other than that it was a by the numbers cult uprooting. Martialla and I watched as Fynwar was dragged into the public square and beheaded that very day.  If there was any kind of trial I didn’t see it. 

“I doesn’t happen often, but it’s nice when the law is on your side for a change.”

Corset lady (who was dressed normally at this point) was up next for the executioner’s swing and was spewing curses at me non-stop, even for a few seconds after the ax fell.  Which is really something to see.

“These Kralten people really have it out for you.  Are there any other religious orders that you’ve made enemies with?”

“Probably.  Who can keep track?”

Once all the “law” was done being doled out we returned to the temple of Odobenine where Melania called up the power of her god to remove the many curses afflicting me.  She made it very clear though that she was NOT doing this for free, that we had earned “credit” for exposing a traitor in their organization.  Once all the chanting and censor-waving was done she gave me a receipt – apparently the Church of Deals still owes me eleven thousand and change in credit.  Non-interest bearing, non-transferrable, non this and non that.  While she was droning on I almost tossed it away in boredom but I think her head might have exploded had I done that.  Afterwards Martialla and I went to one of the nicer restaurants in town to a relaxing dinner.

“How do you feel?”

“The same, only less cursed.”

“I’ll drink to that.  So tomorrow we set off for Heller’s Hills?”

“Oh, I suppose.  I’m kind of losing my enthusiasm for this whole bringing Hardra back from the dead scenario.”

“What do you want to do now?”

“Right now?  I want to smoke some flayleaf, drink some good bourbon, and then sleep for ten days.  Tomorrow we’ll see”

“Now that sounds like a plan.”


Hair regrowth progress :  .0375%

Funds: 747 platinum, 58,301 gold

XP: 261,961

Inventory:  Wig of Alluring Charisma +4, Enchanted White Pathfinder’s Gear (effects as Iadaran Dress Uniform) Pocketed Scarf, Wrist Sheath, Animal Totem Tattoo (Lion), Ring of Protection +2, Assortment of Fake Signet Rings,  Bag of Concealment,  Belt of Giant Strength +4, Versatile Vest, Ring of Sustenance, Silver Chain set with Moonstones, Gold and Emerald Ring (2) Black Marketers’ Bag, 852 Garnets, Campfire Bead, Expedition Pavilion, +1 Human Bane Endless Ammunition Light Crossbow, Deck of Curses (two cards used), Blue Dragoncloth Dress, severed hag head, Ring of Urban Grace,  gold necklace with jade pendant, Feather Token (tree) 2, white squirrel fur slippers, +1 Human Bane Dagger, ivory combs, Bewitching Gown, masterwork lute, Grappling Scarf, Wyvern Skin Robe (Robe of Arcane Heritage), receipt

Revenge List: Duke Eaglevane, Piltis Swine, Rince Electrum, watchman Gridley, White-Muzzle the worg, Percy Ringle the butler, Alice Kinsey , “Patch”, Heroes of the Lost Sword, Claire Conrad, Erist priest of Strider, Riselda owner of the Sage Mirror, Eedraxis,  Skin-Taker tribe, Kartak, Królewna & Bonifacja Trading Company, Hurmont Family, Androni Titus, Greasy dreadlocks woman, Lodestone Security, Kellgale Nickoslander, Beltian Kruin the Splithog Pauper, The King of Spiders, Auraluna Domiel, mother Hurk, Mazzmus Parmalee,  Helgan van Tankerstrum, Lightdancer, Bonder Greysmith, Pegwhistle Proudfoot, Lumbfoot Sheepskin, Lumber Consortium of Three Rivers, Hellerhad the Wizard, Forsaken Kin, Law Offices of Office of Glilcus and Stolo