How The Wicked Fall - Chapter 3

Standing in the darkness of an open alleyway, the two groups meet, converging as one. None of you can supress a feeling of relief as you are all reunited, common foes against the darkness that surrounds you. But before you can revel in the feeling long, the woman (who Joran, Richard, and Natty learn from the others is named Rina) motions you onward and says "Follow me. We should hurry."
Following the elusive lady leads you to the back door of a particularly decrepit home, looking long abandoned. Thoughts of ambush enter your heads, but she doesn't hesitate in opening the door and disappearing within. A feeble light can be seen inside, perhaps from a candle.
Having no real choice, you all enter apprehensively.
Standing in the room is the girl, seemingly to almost cling to the other occupant of the room, a tallish thin man, with a wry look upon his face. But what sets him apart is his skin. It's all horribly wrinkled and scarred, as though he had been in a fire that engulfed most of his body at some point in his life. He peers at you with an undisguised look of curiosity, after glancing at Rina, who curtly nods.

"Um...hello," Richard says tentatively.

The man looks over at Richard, then to the rest of the party. When he speaks, his voice is deep and a bit hoarse, but not unpleasantly so.
"I offer ye me greetings. I be Wick, to me friends."

"Oh. Well. Um... I be Richard." Richard reaches to shake hands.

With a small grin of perfect white teeth in the horribly scarred face, Wick reaches out and shakes Richard's hand.

"I believe you have need of our services"

"Aye, ye are right...I do. I 'ave need of ye, if ye are able. Before I get into that, 'owever, I would like a wee bit o' information. Me dear Rina hasn't quite filled me in. What 'appened 'ere tonight?"
He looks at the party expectantly.

"Good question. I don't think any of us are quite sure of that ourselves, Wick."

Wynne holds near to Natty and looks for a small box or crate to sit on.

Joran looks the man up and down before he rudely interrupts Richard.
"I don't see why we have to fill in the details of something of which we have no background knowledge.
Your - what is she? Your daughter? Well - Rina - seems to be as closed to us as she is to you.
I cannot say that owns my trust, nor does abandoning ones companions after they fell to the claws of some nether creature.
You will excuse me if I am a bit wary, as you will no doubt be of us."

Richard says to Wick, "Um...you'll have to excuse him. Sometimes he's a little bit...dodgy."

Wick turns towards Richard, "D'nay worry, lad. No offense taken. 'E is a Falkovnian, and ye can't expect much different from them. Ye can bet 'e 'ad little chance fer trust in 'is life. Living is a wee bit easier 'ere than there.
"It also means ye can expect different attitudes 'ere than there...some of those different attitudes are about the matter o' life and death. Ye are correct, the corpses of our dear friends were left in the street. The corpses, that's all. Empty shells that once 'eld their souls. When ye face ye're family and friends, given a mockery of life by foul sorcery...do ye stay ye're 'and? Do ye refuse to cut into the body ye 'old so dear?
"No, ye do nay. The souls that ye knew 'ave departed. Left be'ind is the rotten shell."
Wick shakes his head. "When ye eat corn, do ye worry about what 'appens to the husk?"
"Ye may nay follow me thinkin', but I just ask ye to keep an open mind."
"The only knowledge I wanted ye to give is what you saw...nothing more, nothing less. I didnay ask fer an 'istory lesson."
During his discussion, Wick looks curiously at Wynne. He then says quietly, to himself, "ye look awfully familiar, ye know..."

At this Wynne slowly raises his head. He cooly eyes the man, seeing if he can place his face or voice.

Everyone gets as comfortable as they can in the decrepit hovel, and Rina leans into Wick's ear and whispers something. After a few moments she finishes and he nods thoughtfully. It would appear that Rina has just explained what happened previously to Wick.
He then looks to your group with a queer grin on his face, as if he is about to say something.

Richard, disturbed by the grin, discreetly readies a bit of "magic," hopefully something that will do to cause a distraction, be it a flash, smoke, etc.

Wick takes his scarred fingers and draws them down his horribly twisted and wrinkled features.
His fingers gently brush his ruined flesh. Some places seem hard and purplish, the skin stretched as if the skin itself had tried to escape the immense pain that he must have gone through.
They caress past places that look like they used to be bubbles of boiled flesh, but had popped. He sighs, dropping his hand, and speaks.
"Ye 'ave the look o' everyone that meets Wick fer the first time.
To ye I appear a monster. Ye 'ave seen the 'orrid and evil cased in a coverin' such as this.
Ye 'ave also seen, I cun bet, the wolf dressed in lamb's clothin'.
Jus' as I've told ye before, ye're body is jus' a shell. I jus' ask ye not ta judge me by the way I look."
Wick looks at each one of you, his eyes tired.
"To business then, mates. I'll not keep ye, but me thinks I know what been causin' the attacks against the fine people o' Martira Bay.
And to fer this ta sink in, ye gots to believe in magics most foul."

Aren "Oh, I believe in that... I'm not sure if I can help you if that's the case, however."

Raven listens to Wick's monolouge in silence, his grey eyes speak of an undertanding that mere empathy cannot account for.

Yeah well...", Joran, feeling caught by the man's remark, "just get on with your story."

Wick continues...
"As a sometimes collector o' fine objects, Wick bought a couple o' candlesticks. They were the shiniest gold ye ever saw, an' 'ad the look of great craftsmanship about 'em. On the base they had a row o' cute little skulls about, and up the shaft it 'ad what looked like twistin' folks wit' wings. The candle i'self was 'eld by the 'ands o' the people along the shaft."
Wick shrugs, "I knew they were a wee bit gruesome ta look at, but fer the price Wick paid and the obvious work that was put into 'em, I decided that it was a bargain Wick couldna' pass up, ye know? So's anyways, I took 'em 'ome and put white candles on 'em. They seemed to change the candles in some way, fer they didna' seem ta drip the wax so much as ooze it, and the oozin' was startin' ta turn red."
He shudders, then continues, "I blew 'em out straightaway, as I'm sure ye woulda' done, and thought nothin' o' it. That's when the deadun's started attackin'. I didna' make the connection 'til a couple o' nights down the road. I was startin' ta doubt what I 'ad seen that night, so I lit the candles again. Surely enough, they'd started oozin', stronger then afore. I blew 'em out again and the dead attacks started again."
Wick's face takes on a look of deep sadness. "What Wick did next is ta cause 'im shame, surely. I couldna' bare ta 'ave the dreadful thin's about, so's I sold 'em."
He shakes his head. "But that didna' stop the attacks by the deaduns on Martira Bay. In me scared condition I sold away the only thin's, I feel, will stop 'em."
He looks at the party. "That's why I need ye, that's why Martira Bay needs ye."
Wick then stops for a second, considering, "and I can afford to pay ye, also," he nods.

"I will help you, but only if you agree to destroy that artifact once you have used it to stop the dead from rising."

"So they were undead, after all. If you knew that " Joran looks at Rina "leaving behind your comrades to rise as undead was not merely cowardly, it was plain stupid."
He sighes, shaking his head.
"What is done is done. But I find it hard to work with someone who would leave my body to rise and stalk the streets as a undead menace."
He turns to Wick again.
"So, convince us you actually need our help, mister. Why not buy the candlesticks back? Surely you know who bought them?"

Richard remains silent and watches the conversation.

Wick nods. "Wick thought of that very same solution, ye can be sure. I went back to me customer. Turns out, he solds 'em right aways. When I found out who he be givin' 'em to, I knew I needed 'elp."
He pauses, then sighs. "To me regret, 'e solds 'em to this 'alfie."
He stops and looks at Wynne, a bit of a blush coming onto his features. "I 'ope ye can take me apologies. I meant 'alflin'. Anyways, this 'alflin' fellow 'as this preference ta deal with other 'alflin's...somethin' 'bout too many tall folks cheatin' 'im an' what not."
Wick grin opens to show perfect white teeth. "I asked me 'elpers to keep an eye open fer an 'alflin', preferably one that seems to 'ave an ounce o' brains an' a better n' rottin' disposition.
After ye 'elped out Rina 'ere, she was 'opin' that ye were the ones I needed. That WE need. So, me friends, all I need ye ta do is go to the 'alflin', somehow get the candlesticks back, and return ta properly destroy 'em...and pick up ye're reward, o' course."
He opens his hands wide. "That simple."

Joran casts a glance at Wynne and back at Wick.
He seems a bit uncomfortable.
"Well..." he hesitates.
"I can't make a call on that one then. The half... Wynne will have to decide on this."

Wynne responds, "Well, does this other halfling have a name, and why do I get the feeling that you and I have met before?"

Aye, ye do look familiar, but I canna' place ye. 'is name is Giles. If ye agree to 'elp Martira Bay, Rina 'ere will point ye the way to see Giles.

"How do you suggest I approach him? On what business? I doubt it's everyday that one halfing just runs into another in these parts?"

Wick places his hand on his chin and crosses his arms in thought.
"Perhaps ye can tell 'im that ye 'ave 'eard of the candlesticks. As a collector, Giles 'ill most likely find 'em interestin' enough ta talk about.
Feel 'im out, ye never know. Maybe the truth of it may 'elp ye, about the deadun's 'n whatnot. Of course, don't say ye 'ave been 'ired by someone else. If ye come across as it bein' ye're idea, me thinks he'll be a bit more receptive to ye.
Rina can show ye where 'e lives. After that, ye are on ye're own."
He flashes you a truly unsettling grin.

Wynne warily replies, "We will need a moment to discuss. Where can we talk privately?"

Wick's boots make very little sound on the wood floor as he walks towards a door.
He opens it with a high-pitched squeak. Through the door is a hallway with two more doors on the left side and one door on the right, near the end of the hallway.
The floors are warped and wear shows down the middle. The walls are stained and show signs of water damage near the top.
Many small chunks of the wall covering had, in time, left its rightful place, but none of it littered the candle-lit walk.
"Ye will find a goodly place if ye walk to the end of the hall on the right."
He adds, smiling, "I'll need ta warn ye. Ye'll 'ave ta keep ye're voice down." He wrapped on the wall with a purple-scarred knuckle.
"Thin as parchment."

Wynne turns to the group, "At least to prying eyes, at least that we can see." He sweeps his hand, looking for someone to take the lead down the hallway.

Richard says, "let's go!" and starts down the hallway.

Joran shrugs, then follows Richard.

As you all travel somewhat unsteadily down the dilapidated hallway to the room at the end, your thoughts churn over what you have learned, the proposal, and most importantly, Wick himself. What to do about this whole situation?
Entering the indicated room, you see that it is in no better shape than the rest of this house. It appeared to have once been a bedroom, but time and neglect has not been kind to it, and it shows the same decay as the rest of the building. A sunken canopy bed draped in dust and cobwebs stands against one wall, and a heap of kindling (which may have at one time been a dresser) lies against another. Some chairs are set about, but whether or not they can support anyone's weight is another matter entirely. The light illuminating this scene comes from a window where the full moon shines in brightly.
When you all enter, one thing does happen that catches your attention however. The light of the moon falls distinctly upon the faces of Joran and Aren. Is it just a trick of the light or is there hair growing from their skin?!?

Richard will once again prepare to do some sort of "flash" "magic." He will also step back into the shadows as much as possible.

Natty quickly covers the window with drapes if they exist, a sheet if it exists and the drapes don't, or if there is nothing to cover the window with, Natty will stand in the path of the moon to Aren and Joran.

Seeing their faces, Wynne stumbles back and catches himself against a wall.
"Now there's two things I'm uneasy about..."

Raven leans lighly on one of the chairs and begins to watch with interest.
"What have we gotten here?"

Joran catches the eyes of the others as he scratches his chin. He tests the sturdyness of the bed, then squats down on it.
"Look here,", he mutters, "don't look at me like that. I admit that I don't like this deal one bit. But if you want to go ahead with it, I won't back out."
He points his thumb at Wynne.
"It's his call."

"Do I really have a choice. I don't much like walking into this situation, but how can we live with ourselves if we let this menace run free?"
Wynne looks around for support.

"I agree with Joran. If the little guy wants to do it, I'm backing him up."
"Why is everyone looking at me like that? I thought you all agreed to do this."

"Well, it's... um... your sudden need to shave..."

"Huh?"
Aren feels his face.

"Well, your mind seems to be made up.
At least that saves an argument." Joran says, ignoring Wynne's remark on personal hygiene.
"Agreed then? We take this case?"

As Wynne mentions the words about the sudden hair growth, you all realize (at the same time) that it must have just been a shadow, or trick of the light. For there is no hair growing there now. Perhaps all this new stress is playing with your minds?

"Well" quoth the Raven in his usual horse whisper. "Perhaps we should take our rests. We have a long day ahead of us."
Raven tests the chair he is leaning against. Not wanting to experience the awkwardness of sitting in a chair that may break under his weight, Raven decides instead to move to a dark corner of the room, near the door. He sits on the floor, wraps his black cloak around his body, and tilts his wide brimmed hat over his eyes.

"Err... yes. Let's all get some sleep." Aren picks another corner and curls up in it.

"Someone tell Wick we will take the job, but we will need to rest."

Natty will rest in a corner away from the door and window. The bow will be out with an arrow at the ready.

"Hrm... well," says Joran, rising from the bed, "I'll tell him, then.
If you want to rest, that's fine, though I personally would prefer a bed. I have one at the inn that I am paying good money for."
He steps outside and walks back through the corridor. As he nears the room where Wick is, he slows down, walking more softly, untill he stops at the door.
He carefully listens for some noise, before he opens up.

"Inn... Now that sounds good. Would probably look better if we went out from there anyway."

As Joran approaches the room he can hear hushed voices. Though he can't quite make out what they are saying, you do catch the last word:
"...hope."
Wick and Rina wait for him to enter.

Joran steps inside.
"We'll take the job." he says. "We'll start on it come morning. I suggest Rina meet us at the inn we are staying in. It's a cheap one in the South District."