Session 31: The Eyes Have It

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Kemperbad’s docks as the Dandy Fräulein finally came to rest against the weathered pier. The River Reik’s current tugged insistently at her hull, as if reluctant to release its hold on the battered vessel and her equally battered crew. Qavitrae stood at the rail, her elven eyes scanning the familiar waterfront with calculated wariness. They had been gone mere days, yet the absence of the plenipotentiary’s ostentatious riverboat felt like a weight lifted from the very air itself.

“Boy, we were here not long ago when the Plenipotentiary’s boat was jamming up everything,” Thindruk announced to the dockmaster with practiced nonchalance, his voice carrying just the right note of casual observation. “Glad to see that guy’s gone. Did he leave town without any trouble?”

The dockmaster’s response confirmed what they had hoped—Count Bormann had concluded his business and departed. Thindruk allowed himself a small smile beneath his voluminous beard as he produced his credentials, securing their favored docking rate with a toss of three silver shillings. The potion had worked, then. Their gambit had paid off.

As they made their way through Kemperbad’s familiar streets toward Herr Keitel’s manor, Felrick stumbled along between his companions, his eyes still wrapped in gauze from his unfortunate encounter in Nuln. The gnome used his longbow as a makeshift cane, tapping it against the cobblestones with each uncertain step. “Can’t see how much I’m drinking,” he would mutter later, “that’s the problem.”

Herr Keitel received them in his comfortable parlor with an enthusiasm that bordered on giddy. Crystal glasses of fine brandy appeared as if by magic, and the merchant lord’s mood was infectious. “Count Bormann finally turned his attention to his work here in Kemperbad,” he explained, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “His clerks had nothing to show him but what they had found in the old records—exactly what we told him he would find. Everything done to the letter of the law.”

The brandy burned pleasantly as it went down, and Thindruk felt the weight of obligation lift from his shoulders. His word had proved good, his reputation intact. The promissory note for two hundred crowns that Keitel produced was merely the tangible proof of a more valuable currency—trust earned and honor maintained.

But their business in Kemperbad ran deeper than collecting debts. “We had not anticipated being back through here so soon,” Thindruk ventured, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “We’re here on a matter of some urgency. Have you heard of one Etelka Herzen? A noblewoman, and a trained magic user?”

Keitel’s ignorance of the name was genuine, but his suggestions proved valuable. The outfitters, he said, would know if someone was mounting an expedition. And so, after concluding their steel transaction the following morning—a disappointment at only one hundred fifty crowns after haggling, but profit nonetheless—they had turned their attention to the hunt.

The River’s Rest that evening buzzed with conversation and the clink of tankards. A busker’s tune wound through the smoke-filled common room as Thindruk and Wanda worked the crowd, dropping hints and silver coins in equal measure. It was a rough-voiced dockworker who finally provided the lead they sought.

“Oh, yeah, I think I did meet this Etelka,” he said, his anger still fresh. “She and another man, they were trying to hire on some of my men to act as porters. Planning to head out into the wilderness or something.” His voice rose with indignation. “Those boys work for me! You can’t just wander into Kemperbad and hire away my crew!”

The pieces began falling into place. Etelka had been here, just days ago—the last day of Flugzeit, to be precise. She’d been heading up the Stur, toward Unterbaum, gathering supplies and hands for whatever mad venture drew her toward the Barren Hills.

The evening might have ended there, with useful intelligence gathered and plans beginning to form, but fate—or perhaps something more sinister—had other designs. The woman who entered the River’s Rest moved with purpose, her shorter frame adorned in a well-tailored dress that spoke of money and taste. Pearls gleamed at her throat, and makeup carefully applied suggested this was no casual visit to a dockside tavern.

Thindruk’s trained eye caught what others might miss—the purple kerchief discretely visible, the two large men trailing at a careful distance. His blood ran cold with recognition. These were the people who had been hunting someone named Lakkarson, someone who apparently bore an unfortunate resemblance to a certain dwarven viscount.

“This lady walking in the room, I think she fancies you,” Thindruk hissed to a nearby drunk, already moving toward the door. “Go make your move.”

The chaos that followed was both calculated and desperate. Qavitrae, sensing the mayflies’ predictable drama approaching, had already slipped outside for air. Wanda grabbed the stumbling Felrick, trying to guide him through the crowd as his longbow swept dangerously through the air, cracking shins and clearing a path. Nora, somewhat tipsy from the evening’s libations, bounced off pillars and patrons alike in her attempt to flee.

But the woman was faster than expected, and her eyes locked onto Wanda with predatory focus. “What the hell is Lakkarson doing?” she demanded, her stage whisper cutting through the tavern’s din.

Wanda’s attempt at deflection—something about the attractiveness of the woman’s bodyguards and her own preferences—fell on deaf ears. The woman’s frustration mounted with each exchange, until finally she delivered her message with venomous clarity: “If the next time Lakkarson shows his face is not in Middenheim with the full sum of his inheritance to be handed over, then there will be hell to pay. This is the final warning.”

It was when Wanda, emboldened by drink and irritation, grabbed the woman’s arm that the true nature of their adversary revealed itself. For just a moment, the woman’s eyes shifted—pupils becoming vertical slits, serpentine and inhuman. The implications sent a chill through Wanda’s spine even as she tried to maintain her threatening grip.

“We’ve killed Beastmen,” Wanda growled, trying to project more confidence than she felt.

But the woman seemed unimpressed, and when her bodyguard’s massive hand clamped down on Wanda’s arm, the confrontation ended as quickly as it had begun. “This woman is drunk,” the mysterious lady announced loudly, and swept away—though not before Felrick’s wildly swinging bow sent her tumbling into another patron.

Their escape through Kemperbad’s nighttime streets was neither graceful nor entirely successful. Nora’s attempts at stealth were hampered by her earlier drinking, and she led them on a meandering path that included at least one stop at another tavern before they finally found refuge at an inn called the Happy Goat.

The next morning brought clearer heads and more focused investigation. Felrick, despite his blindness, proved his worth as a former bounty hunter, spreading coins liberally among the outfitters’ shops. The critical intelligence came from a woman who ran one of the horse rentals, her attachment to her animals making Etelka’s party memorable.

“They took old Daisy,” she lamented, as if the horse were her own child. But more importantly, she revealed that Etelka’s group—four in total, including hired guards—had only taken ten days’ worth of supplies. They weren’t planning some grand expedition across the Barren Hills. They had a specific destination in mind, something they believed lay just beyond Unterbaum.

As the party gathered to plan their next move, the urgency of their situation became clear. Etelka had a four-day head start and would likely reach Unterbaum this very day. The treacherous waters of the upper Stur made river travel slow and dangerous—six days by boat for most crews, though experienced sailors might manage it faster. By horse, the journey would take five days along the cliff-top trails.

But there were other considerations now. The purple kerchief conspiracy had found them again, their mysterious connection to this “Lakkarson” growing more dangerous with each encounter. And the woman’s serpentine eyes suggested that whatever forces were at work here went beyond simple cases of mistaken identity.

Qavitrae studied the maps spread before them, her ageless elven mind calculating routes and possibilities. “The best way to follow someone,” she mused, echoing an old maxim, “is to show up where they are before they get there.”

The idea took shape slowly—what if they sailed the Dandy Fräulein up to Unterbaum and positioned themselves as ferrymen at the Waterfall Inn, where the Stur and Narn rivers met? If Etelka needed swift passage back to deliver whatever she sought to her masters in Middenheim, she would need a boat. And who better to provide one than a group of helpful river merchants who just happened to be in the right place at the right time?

As plans crystallized and preparations began, the weight of their task settled upon them. Somewhere in the cursed expanse of the Barren Hills, Etelka Herzen pursued goals that threatened the stability of the Empire itself. Behind them, the purple kerchief conspiracy searched for a man who might not even exist, willing to use inhuman agents to collect debts that Thindruk had never incurred.

The Dandy Fräulein sat at her mooring, awaiting their decision. Whatever path they chose—river or road, pursuit or ambush—would carry them deeper into a web of conspiracy and danger that seemed to grow more complex with each passing day. The comfortable certainty of merchant life was behind them now. Ahead lay only the unknown perils of the Barren Hills and the mysteries that drove men and women to seek such cursed ground.

Felrick adjusted the gauze around his eyes and gripped his bow tighter. Even blind, he could feel the change in the air. They were hunters now, all of them, pursuing quarry that might prove far more dangerous than any of them had anticipated. But then again, they had faced pirates and beastmen, cultists and corrupt officials. Whatever awaited them in the wasteland beyond Unterbaum, they would meet it together.

The morning sun climbed higher over Kemperbad as they made their final preparations. Time was slipping away with each passing hour, and Etelka’s lead grew longer. But they had advantages too—knowledge of her destination, the element of surprise, and perhaps most importantly, the hard-won experience of surviving whatever the Empire’s dark corners could throw at them.

The hunt for Etelka Herzen had truly begun.