Sunday, Sarenith 26 (small hours)

We returned to our favorite manhole just before midnight, and immediately there was a new wrinkle. The cover was sealed with magic, and a small sign was posted next to it.

ACCESS RESTRICTED

Access to this sewer opening is denied to all without express permission by the East Shore District office. Existing permits rescinded unless countersigned by the East Shore District.

We backed off while I considered the matter, though it didn’t take me long to come up with a legal argument in our favor that would likely hold up in court. The city of Korvosa issued our pass to enter the sewers to perform our investigation, and there were three potential sticking points.

The first was that the pass was issued to us to investigate the source of the doppleganger conspiracy, and while we did get to the root of that, we also came across evidence of another crime committed by an influential Korvosan citizen, namely Loris Raknian. While I wouldn’t normally claim that our authority to investigate the first crime extended to the second, the fact is that Raknian’s involvement suggested a conspiracy with the first, and a conspiracy makes the two one and the same. Which means our authority to investigate was still valid. This was perhaps a shaky argument, but a logical one that I was confident we could defend.

The second issue was that the local authority was denying us access to the sewers. Here, we were on much more solid footing. While the East Shore District did have a right to restrict access to their sewers, the fact is that their authority did not trump the city’s. The East Shore District did not have the authority to revoke our pass.

The third was that we’d need to essentially circumvent the lock to exercise our authority. This was more of a gray area, but we could argue that the manhole cover was illegally and unreasonable sealed, and that the city was not consulted before taking this action. As our investigation had some urgency, there wasn’t time to go through proper channels to get it resolved.

So we broke in.

We also set off a magical alarm, but we learned our lesson and spotted the second one in advance. Viktor dispelled it, and we entered the sewer with no further interruptions. Since the second alarm didn’t go off, I think the guards up above assumed we had tried, and failed, to get inside. Whatever the reason, no one came looking for us.

With spells to conceal our passage and surround us in a layer of breathable air, and potions for invisibility, we managed to carefully sneak our way past the guards between the village and the arena’s underground. There were more alarm spells to contend with, but Cress summoned a dire rat to set them off and provide a visible distraction. This worked exceptionally well, and soon we back in the wine cellar.

With the assistance of a spell to locate secret doors, we found what we suspected was there, but had missed the first time. It opened up to reveal stairs going down. They were protected by a trap that Sera says was designed to outright kill the first person who entered.

Someone was going to a great deal of trouble to keep people out of here.

With that trap disabled, we descended to what we think was a sublevel halfway between the first basement level of the arena and the second…and were immediately accosted by over a dozen undead, most of them worm spawns of Kyuss. And beyond them was where we found the tiefling that was the source of all this trouble.

He sent two shadow demons after us, but they didn’t last long and soon we were facing him directly. That’s when he tried to bargain with us. “You know nothing of the forces at work here. Kill me, and you unleash your worst nightmare, without me to stop or control it!”

Or at least, it sounded like he was bargaining. I did some quick calculus on this: we keep him alive under the assumption that he will, what, exactly? Not unleash our worst nightmare? Be willing and able to control it if it gets out, anyway? This seemed like a bad deal to me, because it was open-ended, lacked specifics, and, let’s face it, there weren’t a lot of reasons to trust him.

Once he got the message we weren’t going to ask him to clarify his offer, much less take him up on it, he said, “I am nothing compared to the horror that I am preparing. Strike me down! My revenge will then be sure because it, uncontrolled, unfettered, will destroy you utterly!”

Then he recklessly charged me, and hit me with a spell that would rate as the singularly most unpleasant experience in my life. Wounds just erupted across my body and I nearly collapsed on the spot. I heard Zhog scream in a panic; he had a spell that monitored our health and it was one hell of a shock to both of us. Not gonna lie: I was very afraid for my life in that moment.

And, again, this is why I don’t banter during fights. Sometimes the unexpected happens. You don’t gloat until it’s done.

Fortunately, my friends acted quickly and provided some desperately needed healing. And the tiefling was now in the middle of the group of us because it was a suicide run, one where he planned on taking at least one of us—namely, me—down with him.

Now that he’s dead, the question became, “what now?” And it didn’t have an easy answer. It still doesn’t.

The Apostolic Scrolls were on an altar in the room, protected by some sort of force barrier. A green beam of light ran from them, down a long hallway and stopped in a dead end. I checked for auras and there was an overwhelming taint just beyond the wall. And as I stood in that green beam, I realized something was talking to me inside my head.

Bozal? Are you there? I feel my strength growing every day. So hungry…when will you let me feed?

I said to the others, “I think his name was Bozal”.

When can I be released? it asked. I am ready!

I tried thinking a response back to it. Bozal is currently out of the office. Would you like to leave a message?

A cautious reply came back. Who are you? Are…you of Kyuss?

I ignored this while we explored the hallway. An invisible force prevented us from passing more than half way down. And by “prevented”, I mean, “jolted me hard enough to hurt and prevented me from passing”.

We spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to get to whatever this thing was, and nothing was panning out. So I entered the green light again and asked, What would you like to eat? I mean, why not? If it’s being fed, there must be a way to feed it, right?

It answered back, Souls of the living! You promised me the soul of a champion!

Which is not at all the answer we were expecting. A complete picture of what was going on was starting to form: this thing would be unleashed at the end of the games, on the unsuspecting victors, and probably the unsuspecting crowds of thousands at the stadium. Not good! Not good at all!

We took a break from this puzzle to explore Bozal’s chambers, and that’s where we found our next surprise: a zombified woman matching Lahaka’s description. She didn’t react to us, and I went to put her out of her misery when Cress stopped me. “Her throat,” he said, pointing. “Look at her throat.”

The process of turning her into an undead had preserved the evidence of her murder. She had been strangled, and along her neck was what appeared to be the imprint of a ring. A ring with two serpents intertwined. A ring whose design exactly matched the one we’ve seen Raknian wear. He had strangled her then dumped her body on Bozal.

We destroyed the zombie, careful to preserve the neck, wrapped her body in cloths, and stuffed her in the magical bag for now (what else were we going to do with her?). I did not look forward to delivering this news, or her corpse, to Ekaym, but at least he’d have his answers.

And I think we’re going to need a new bag, because we keep shoving corpses in this one.

Also interesting was an incomplete note, apparently penned by Bozal. It read,

Raknian,

Don’t lose your focus. You have a bigger prize here and you know what is at stake for you personally. Just make sure your champions are at the center of the arena at the appointed time and you will have your promised reward.

We went back to the room with the scrolls and the creepy green light to consider our options. The best way to stop whatever was planned was to kill this thing here and now, but we couldn’t figure out a way to get to it. We proposed and rejected a whole slew of ideas, ranging from the impractical to the impossible, and got absolutely nowhere. Our only solace was that we still had a couple of days of games ahead of us.

“If we can’t figure out how to get to this thing,” I said, “and we’re right about our suspicions, then we need to be prepared to take it down when it…bursts out…” My words just kinda died off as a horrible thought occurred to me. “Oh, crap! I just realized something! That thing told me what it was hungry for: it said, ‘Souls of the living! You promised me the soul of a champion!’

“The soul of a champion, not the soul of a specific champion. There’s already a champion! Last year’s champion is in the games right now!”

Shit!

Starday, Sarenith 25 (afternoon)

I met with our team early this morning after the match-ups were posted. They are set to face Pitch Blade at noon.

Our team has two options for dealing with them. The first is to use magic to curtail their fury. There’s a spell for quelling rage and other strong emotional states, but violent acts like those found in, say, a gladiatorial battle, break the spell. That would make it a temporary solution at best, and one that’s not particularly reliable. This leaves the second option: run out the clock. The fighting style the dwarves use is based on working themselves up almost into a frenzy, but it’s not one they can sustain for long.

As we talked it out they were favoring the option two. Pitch Blade’s big disadvantage was that there were only two of them. In the first match, they won not just because their opponents were woefully outmatched, but also because they took advantage of the free-for-all nature of the fight to team up on individual combatants who had little to no support. This strategy wouldn’t work as well in a one-on-one bout, so a giant game of keep-away could very well wear them down, and rob them of their most effective tactic. And Ilthane’s Fury could also keep a couple of scrolls at the ready for opportunistic use.

With that out of the way, I headed back up to the manager’s section to watch the first match of the day: Auric’s Warband versus Final Phoenix. Unlike the Warband’s first bout, the battle wasn’t as lopsided and Final Phoenix even held their own for a while, but they, too, struggled against the flesh golems and it was just a matter of time before they went down. The last team member yielded and Auric’s Warband emerged victorious.

I saw Zhog talking to a couple of the elves from Arcane Auriga during the free time after the match (he had tried to chat them up during the dinner a couple of nights ago but was soundly rejected, but I guess his persistence paid off). An archery range was set up in the arena for the public to try their hand at it, and he and the team’s leader, Rennida, had an impromptu competition. Zhog is found family to me so I went over to watch, and he put in a rather impressive showing. Enough that Rennida agreed to a round of drinks in a show of respect. Good for you, little brother!

The next match was ours against Pitch Blade, and just as we had discussed, the team relied on their agility to counter the dwarves’ brute strength. They would get the dwarves worked up, dash just out of reach, then lure them back in so a teammate could land a strike from behind. This pattern repeated itself several times, with no one really landing any decisive blows, until fatigue finally hit. Then Ilthane’s Fury descended on them like a pack of wolves, landing precision strikes over and over. It was not the most exciting battle because it dragged out for so long, but a victory is a victory, and the crowd erupted at the upset.

Both Raknian and Okoral were furious. I rushed down to congratulate the team on their win, and overheard the latter speaking quietly (but not quietly enough) to the defeated dwarves on my way back to the stands. “This isn’t over yet,” he said ominously. “Meet me in my office later.”

Some people just can’t handle losing. Especially when those people are Raknian and his lackeys, and the people they lose to are us. I made a mental note to warn both the team and Celeste about possible reprisals outside the games.

After a quick lunch, I sat next to Draconic Brood’s manager for their bout at 2pm.

“Congratulations on your team’s victory,” he said to me as I took my seat.

“Thanks. And best of luck to you in your team’s match. My name is Bel, by the way,” I said, offering my hand.

He shook it and said, “I’m Meril. Pleased to meet you.”

Draconic Brood was up against Snow Leopards. It was a lengthy bout because they were evenly matched, and it ended up being a crowd favorite. In the end, Draconic Brood emerged as the winner.

“Congratulations!” I said to Meril.

“Thank you! Honestly, we’re just happy to be here, much less to have made it this far.”

I thought he’d been an awfully good sport throughout the whole games so far. Most of the other managers are either stand-offish or openly unfriendly. Meril was a refreshing change.

“Would you…be up for dinner this evening, to celebrate our victories?” I asked.

He seemed shocked that I’d even ask, but readily accepted the offer. I suggested an early evening time since we’re planning another visit to the arena underground late tonight.

I caught up with my friends and told them that I had dinner plans. Zhog gave me a hard time about it.

“Maybe you should get some sleep,” he said.

“I have a dinner date first.”

“Maybe you should not go to dinner with some stranger. Maybe you should just go get some sleep.”

Um. Excuse me?

“I’m going to take a nap, then I’m going to dinner, then I’m going to take another nap. And then we’ll meet,” I said angrily. “You just spent time with elves with bows, so don’t give me shit.”

He didn’t have a response to that.

OK. Maybe I deserved it after hassling him about Marzena and their age difference, especially since Meril is definitely several years older than me. That being said, Marzena is almost old enough to be Zhog’s grandmother, so…maybe not.

(evening)

Dinner with Meril was lovely. I think the answer to why he’s been so pleasant throughout the games is that he’s just a really good person who likes people.

Naturally, the conversation turned to the games, since that was ostensibly the reason for the evening out. He confirmed that two of the team members of Draconic Brood are brother and sister, and do, indeed have a draconic blood line. They’d been more or less in the sword-for-hire business taking care of…things that need taking care of. Having fallen into something tangential to that ourselves, I know how that goes and it’s hard to describe it without making it sound like you’re just mercenaries. There was certainly an element of that in their history—one does have to eat—but the difference lies in who you work for and what jobs you take on.

He said they were self-funded in the games. I’ve learned that this isn’t that unusual, though it is a lot harder to field and support a team without a sponsor. You’re basically putting all your own money on the line. Getting past the first round will ensure you break even on the entrance fees, but that won’t cover your time and material. It’s also their first year in the competition, so they’ve made a rather impressive showing making it to the final three.

We both knew that one of us was going to have to face Auric’s Warband. Given what my own team had “accidentally” overheard, it sounded like Ilthane’s Fury was being “randomly” chosen to fight this Madtooth creature. That meant the honor would go to Draconic Brood in the next match, and I realized then that…I didn’t want them to lose.

“Do you have access to adamantine weapons?” I asked.

“No. Why?”

“In case you end up facing those flesh golems.”

He didn’t understand the connection. It was obvious to me, of course, but then I remembered that not everyone’s team has a Viktor. When we saw those flesh golems at the dinner, the first thing Viktor did the next day was research flesh golems: their creation, their abilities, their weaknesses, and so on. According to him, any sufficiently skilled, dedicated, and wealthy spell caster could make one. His research into the process suggested that the big advantages of flesh golems are that they are difficult to injure with weapons, and all but immune to magic. The latter was a tough nut to crack, but the former was solved with lots of money. Something most of the entrants, including Draconic Brood, just didn’t have.

“You could try and get a sponsor, even if it’s just for loaner weapons.” I suggested. “I could help you with the contract.”

“I think it’s too late for that. There’s not enough time to get something in place.”

The other option was blanches. I’ve seen my friends use them. Because they don’t last, they are best used on arrows and other ammunition. He seemed to think this was a more realistic alternative.

The whole discussion was a bit of a downer, though. I guess this is why people don’t come to me for relationship advice.