Hey everyone!
Gotta apologize for being so late posting this chapter. It had actually been completed weeks ago, but a small mistake on my part delayed it. You see, I had planned an "interquel" chapter that would take place between the events of chapters 2 and 3, which would have been a short standalone fic that could hopefully be posted alongside "Blue Blood". Unfortunately, it seemed doing it that way would have put too many spoilers for both "Blue Blood" and the interquel.
My fault for wanting such a… novelty. So, the interquel - titled "Shadowchasers: Souled Out!" - will instead be posted separately as an interlude, while "Blue Blood" will instead take a short hiatus. Seeing as about half of it is completed already, that shouldn't be hard.
So… onto the new chapter.
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Shadowchasers
Blue Blood
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Chapter Two
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The Inquiry
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The town of Mormugao, India was small, and its port wasn't the smallest, but certainly not the largest. Nor was the ship Nichole intended to board anywhere near the size and splendor of a Carnival Cruise. It was, however, one of the few ship lines in this part of the world willing and able to take passengers to Cauldron.
It was now Saturday, 8PM, local time. The ship wouldn't be leaving until 5PM tomorrow - it required incredibly early check-ins for passengers - so Nichole was killing time in a small cafe. It was here she had met with Hank Richards, the Shadowchasers leading expert on Shadowkind archaeology. It wasn't exactly a popular field of study, at least among humans, but it had its uses.
Hank was about ten years older than Nichole, tall and muscular, always with an earthy, duster odor about him - Hank really loved his work.
"Thank me?" he asked with a tone of surprise. "I should be thanking you Nichole, I'd have taken a job as a galley slave if they agreed to drop me off at Cauldron, it's a chance of a lifetime."
"There's that much there?"
"Definitely. Anyone who has done even a casual study of the island would give his left arm for a chance to explore the Demonskarr alone. I mean, if Steven Spielberg were an Aware he and Harrison Ford could have launched their type of movies into a new Golden Age. Think about it," he lifted his hands to simulate a director measuring perspective, "Indiana Jones and the Skarr of Darkness."
"Well, I guess that does sound better than Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." Nichole gave a nervous laugh. "Listen, I was wondering, this Demonskarr place… What exactly is it? I mean, I heard some folks in Cauldron talking about it, but…" She shrugged.
"Well, hey, that's what I'm here for."
Hank did love to lecture, and this was one time Nichole seriously wanted to listen.
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"A representative of the Lord Mayor's office will be in touch with you, probably tomorrow, if there's anything else." Sergeant Zhent's tone was friendlier than before, but with a manner that was all business.
Hauling the unconscious umber hulk away to somewhere it could be held had been a hassle. After calling in a carriage large enough, a group of Princess Shanafa's lakshu (they assumed they worked for her - they didn't know anyone else who employed them) showed up to lift the heaven behemoth onto it. Even they had trouble, but after about thirty minutes of work, they managed to get it onto the vehicle and secure it with heavy chains.
Now that the worst was behind them, the Shadowchasers (except Sonya, who had stayed behind and said she'd catch up to them) and their allies were back where the chaos had started, the coffee house across from the warehouse the beast had come from. Or rather, what remained of both. This street had clearly gotten the worst of its rampage.
A few people were coming back out onto the street, curiosity overcoming their earlier terror. It was a miracle more people weren't killed, Red Feather said to herself as she surveyed the swath of destruction wrought by the umber hulk. The only death had been that unfortunate mercenary whose head had been shredded by the hulk like a melon dropped into a combine. Several of the other guards had been gravely injured, but the quick intervention of Gregory and the other acolytes that had arrived, drawing upon the power of Pelor and Cuthbert, had saved their lives. Fortunately, no one had been inside that warehouse when the attack had come, or the death toll would have been much higher.
Ironically, it seemed that as careless as Dorisan had been in raising the beast as a pet, it had not surrendered completely to instinct, which had been fortunate.
"Thank you, Sergeant," Maddie said. The man nodded and turned back toward the excavation that was ongoing in the rubble of the warehouse. About two dozen town guards were present now, a mixture of the mostly human veterans and more of the Alleybasher mercenaries. The latter had sullen, hard looks about them, and they watched the gathered pedestrians as if expecting any or all of them to initiate an assault. Obviously, the Alleybashers were not well-liked among Cauldronites.
There were also four gnomes in the investigation group, two men and two women clad in functional robes of blue trimmed with white, plus a badge that they recognized - the seal of Colfer Academy. Those four were obviously arcanists of some sort; he had noticed several casting spells, mostly minor divinations as they scanned the scene for clues.
Francis stood watching them with his arms crossed before his chest, his face solemn and emotionless, his body covered in dried blood and the tattered remnants of his clothes. He'd gotten an extra cloak from one of the guards but paid it little heed as he surveyed the scene.
"I don't like this."
"What?" asked Maddie, "the giant monster suddenly appearing in the middle of the city, or that we just happened to be here when it did?"
"Maddie, please," Red Feather said in an assuring tone. She was pretty upset too, but not as suspicious. "Nobody knew that we would be here today. Paranoia is fine but let us not get excessive."
"Hey, everyone." They turned as Sonya suddenly appeared again beside them, materializing out of the crowd along the street. She wasn't in much better shape physically than Francis, of course, but seemed far more enthusiastic. "I asked around. The warehouse was Dorisan's property too, and so is Kessel's Kettle the hardware store where you got the rope. Everyone says he's a merchant around here, and a wealthy type. Couldn't find out anything else though."
"Huh," said Maddie. "Did he have any enemies?"
"Yeah, right. Anyone who wants that jerk waxed has to get in line, and the line starts with me and goes around the block."
The angry comment had come from the owner of the coffee shop, who was now rooting through the debris trying to find anything that hadn't been broken.
"I'll take that as a yes." Francis shook his head; this was the last thing they needed.
Ten minutes later, after a brief discussion on what to do, he closed their conversation with, "Let's all meet back at the Nixie at eight o'clock. We all need a break after… all this."
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"Tsukki Ssen?" Nichole noticed the author's odd name on the cover of the thick book Hank had produced. "That's an ophidia name, right?"
"That's right," said Hank with a nod. "Long before humans even discovered Cauldron, it was occupied mostly by primitive tribes of Shadowkind - like troglodytes, gnolls, bullywugs, and lizardfolk mostly. The ophidia were the only ones with the desire and ability to keep accurate records and map the place out, as I'm sure you know."
Nichole nodded. Many historians who studied the history of the snake-like Shadowkind called ophidia (many of whom were ophidia themselves) claimed their civilization had reached their equivalent of the Age of Enlightenment while humans were still in the Bronze Age, and could have become the true dominant species had not a variety of factors - infighting among clans, slave rebellions, and a tendency of insanity among leaders - that caused their culture to "stagnate" and regress. Slightly.
Hank opened the book to what looked like a two-page satellite photo of the island of Cauldron as a whole. "Now, this is the only successful image of the island I could find -"
"Successful?"
"Cauldron is an odd place, Nichole. It seems to resist attempts to find it via conventional means. The only way someone can navigate a ship or airplane to it is to learn the route from someone who has already made the trip, and even then, it's much harder for humans to do so. There's even a rumor that if you've never been to Cauldron, the only way to find it without help is if you are not looking for it. That's kind of why merchants like Suramar Spellmason were interested in it back then. The harder a place is to find, the more folks think it's hiding something that they want."
"So, this was taken by accident then?"
Hank nodded. "Mmm-hmm, probably." He pointed to a section of the photo in the south region. "Now this is the city of Cauldron here, and this is the Demonskarr."
He pointed to a forested area directly to the west of the city, tracing his finger along a long, jagged canyon that went from there to the center of the island, slanted to the northeast. It was unnerving, looking like a festering wound on the earth itself.
"Here's the creepy part." Hank turned a few pages until he got to a reproduction of a hand-drawn map. The city was not there, nor was the chasm, and all the writing was in ophidian.
"If this is accurate," he pointed to a label in the lower left corner. "This was drawn by an ophidia named Csmis Arn in the Third Year of the Fifth Coil of Zahir on their calendar, which was roughly 1,100 years ago. However…"
He turned a few pages, then to a second version of the map, which seemed more detailed. The Demonskarr was included in this one. "This was also drawn by Csmis Arn, 80 years later."
Such a discrepancy was certainly possible - ophidia tended to live about twice as long as humans. "So, that means -" started Nichole. "It wasn't a natural formation."
"Not likely. And that's not the half of it. From what I've heard, the igneous and sedimentary rock within this chasm doesn't match any other on the island, and the canyon contains plants, fungus, and insects that also don't seem to belong.
"And of course… Demons. You see, when Spellmason first came to the island, the island was under de facto control of a demonic warlock named Gogoyle. General Gogoyle, he was called. Everything written about him says he was some heartless and cruel monster who wasn't keen on sharing the land with dwarves. And he used the Demonskarr as his base.
"The very act that started Suramar Spellmason on his road to fame and claimed him the island for his own was vanquishing General Gogoyle."
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"I have to tell you, Sonya, that move you pulled there was amazing, I would have panicked."
It was 8 PM, and for many, it was the end of a long day. The common room of the Coy Nixie was crowding, with patrons continuing to issue into the place through the main doors. The sun had set, and night started to cover the city. Outside the darkness was broken occasionally by the winking flames of streetlamps. Despite the tropical climate, nights in Cauldron were chilly this time of year; few people remained out on the streets at this hour, and those that did moved quickly, intent on reaching a destination with a cheery atmosphere and roaring fire.
Sonya, Red Feather, and Sypha were occupying a semi-private booth in the back of the common room, near a door that led out onto the rear courtyard. By now, the Shadowchasers had taken a semi-permanent claim over this table, which offered an unobstructed view of the near-constant activity of the common room while lending them a modicum of privacy.
"I was terrified, Sypha," replied Sonya. "You just have to learn to ignore it. Not a hard trick to learn, so long as you never mess it up, seeing as the one time you mess up will be the last time. Oh, hey, HEY, over here!"
She stood up, waving to Francis and Maddie as they came in. "Find out anything?" she asked as they made their way to the table.
"Give me a minute," said Francis. He sat down and called over his shoulder, "Gabby, can we get a platter over here?"
"You got it," the waitress called back.
"First of all," started Francis, "I spoke to Fawley and some of his aides, and he said that if the umber hulk was under any sort of magical compulsion, it's gone now, but without being able to examine the beast himself, all he can do is make conjecture. And his conjecture is, if Dorisan had indeed raised it like he claims, it wouldn't have snapped like that on its own."
"Well I've been asking around about the man himself," added Sonya. "He's well known in the city and the rest of Cauldron as a whole, and he's been involved in several business ventures throughout all of them for several decades. Nobody knows if he's human or not, but they do know he's far older than most humans tend to be. He owns half the buildings along that stretch of Magma Avenue, including Curaro's Curio Cabinet, the place those goblins tried to rob."
"Well, we could probably rule him out as a suspect then," added Maddie. "Unless this is some sort of insurance scam."
"I'm no expert," replied Francis, "But I'm fairly sure that if you own a dangerous pet and it wrecks your own shop, insurance isn't going to cover it. Even if it would, this seems a little extreme."
Sonya continued. "Most of his businesses involve imports coming through Redforge, and he has a lot of power there in the Merchant's Guild. He also seems to be either directing or funding some… odd projects."
"Such as?"
"Well, he has a greenhouse somewhere north of Redforge where folks are 'cultivating' mandragora and flytrap leshays, and he also supposedly has this farm where some associates are breeding cockatrices."
"For goodness sake," said Red Feather. Breeding cockatrices was indeed a profitable business, as their eggs and feathers were highly sought after by alchemists and wizards, but it wasn't the safest way to earn money. Mundanes tended to perceive these dangerous Shadows as common chickens…
"Here you go everyone!" The cheery waitress interrupted with a large plate of cheese, crackers, and fruit, plus some steaming hot potato wedges, an appetizer that had quickly become everyone's favorite at the Coy Nixie. "Be back in a sec with your drinks, folks!"
Francis was starting to like Gabby, but then, it was hard not to like the statuesque and buxom waitress. She was, in fact, a lilend, a reclusive Shadowkind that few other than fey ever got to see. She was six-foot-eight, with a long tail in place of legs (with sparkling, gem-like scales) and feathered wings, plus quite a few tattoos on her human torso and arms. She always greeted paying customers with a smile and seemed able to memorize "the usual" order for every customer. Although, she was both a waitress and bouncer, and any patron who tried to start a fight or try to leave without paying found that her cheery attitude could go away fast.
Sonya turned back to the subject at hand. "This wasn't the first 'incident' involving one of his 'exotic' pets. He owned a black pudding that got loose eight years ago and got into a fishing boat full of a recent catch - the owner didn't like Dorisan much before, and swore he set it loose there on purpose."
"Who on Earth keeps a black pudding as a pet? Doesn't seem like the type you could walk on a leash."
"Rich people are eccentric, Maddie," said Sonya, "they have to do eccentric shit."
"Couldn't he have just done the stuff every other eccentric does, like build an airplane that was too big to fly and then turn it into a museum?"
This was starting to drift from the subject, so Maddie changed it: "You think maybe he's a wizard? That way he wrapped himself in his cloak and disappeared, serious Harry Potter vibes there."
"I asked Fawley that earlier today, he said it wouldn't surprise him. And while I was at Colfer I heard a rumor from some students that - get this, he's known to come to and from Redforge riding a horse that had clouds for hooves."
"Uh…. huh," said Maddie with a nod.
"Could have just been the cloak," suggested Sonya.
Francis nodded back in agreement. "He's got no shortage of folks who don't like him, but I couldn't find any specific reasons why someone would want to kill him, much less by doing so in public by putting a spell on his own monster. But I have a few more names and can do a little more digging tomorrow. Oh, and speaking of which, tomorrow is Sunday, right?"
"You bet it is," said Gabby. She started to place the drinks on the table, still smiling cheerfully. "And this Sunday I'm not the one who has to be here for brunch for a change!"
Francis nodded and placed a five-Sovereign bill on her tray. As she went to serve another table, Maddie chimed in. "Right, by the way, are you going to keep that appointment with the Lord Governor on Wednesday?"
"Haven't decided yet," answered Francis. "Sypha, you know anything about that guy?"
"Lord Governor Sevven Lamour?" The faun rolled her eyes. "Oh, I could tell you plenty about him. He claims he is distantly related to Suramar Spellmason himself and has no other qualifications for the job other than that. From what I've heard, he's a rich fop whose only real skill is telling everyone else what to do. Not exactly a model of dwarven self-esteem and innovation, but a prime model of their greed and arrogance."
"Ugh," said Francis. "Well, one thing we must decide right now is whether we're going to the Demonskarr Ball, because I'm going to have to pick up the costumes tomorrow. Anyone here object?"
Nobody responded for a minute or two, most of them wondering what to say. Finally, Sonya shrugged and said, "Well hey, at least it's a free meal, right?"
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Over a thousand years ago, thought Nichole. She looked hard at the map with the Demonskarr. Before even Jalal was born, long before anyone even conceived of a group like the Shadowchasers. What the devil could have created it?
"So, what do you expect to find down there?"
"Hard to say," said Hank with a shrug. "Treasure hunters think there are vast riches, like they expect to find in any old ruins. Smarter folks think they would find libraries of lost knowledge. A power-hungry wizard would want to use such knowledge, but a saner one would want to ensure it remainedlost. A lot of Cauldron's history might be uncovered, and let's face it, the whole island is just… wrong even by Shadowkind standards."
"Hasn't anybody in Cauldron ever gone into the place since Spellmason's time? I mean if there was anything useful or valuable in the Demonskarr -"
"-someone would have cleaned the place out already, I know. That's why King Tutankhamen's tomb was such a big deal, it was the only tomb in the Valley of Kings that was intact when they found it. All I can say is this about going into the Demonskarr, if anyone has truly become rich or found anything useful after going in there, they've never boasted about it."
"Sounds like a pretty dangerous endeavor."
"Well, hey, at least I'd have a big strong warrior girl like you to protect me, right?"
Both laughed. Nichole had a feeling her second trip to Cauldron was going to be far more of a hassle than the last…
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Elsewhere in the city, in a manor house in the northwest part of Cauldron, due south of Magma Avenue (possibly the fanciest house in the city that was not on Obsidian Avenue), the owner was impatiently and nervously brooding. He reached for a half-empty bottle of sherry on the end table, then stopped and looked at it in disgust. Why am I drinking this crap? he thought to himself. Of course, he knew why, he was both nervous and frustrated.
Sypha was far from the only citizen Cauldron who regarded Lord Governor Sevven Lamour as an incompetent fop behind his back. Almost everyone did, and it was hardly a secret from him - did they assume he was deaf?
Of course, it wasn't exactly untrue. He had been about 80 years old (practically still a teenager by dwarf standards) with almost no experience in any skills that would be useful as Lord Governor when his father had named him successor. "Learn from experience" his clan often said, and while he had done so, his tenure as Lord Government had been marred by some… poor decisions. One of them he was certain his three guests were about to remind him of.
"Enter!"
The five Shadows who entered his study were Sergeant Zhent, Sergeant Reynaldo, Professor Fawley, and two of the researchers from Colfer, the lady gnome who had been examining the umber hulk at the scene (Aszithef was her name) and a male moon elf (Canius).
"Well?" snapped Lamour, rudely.
"The umber hulk is sleeping like a huge, ugly baby," replied Aszithef. The gnome's cheeky and snarky humor was well known at Colfer.
"Given the analysis we did on the contents of its stomach - as in the stuff it puked up when we were examining it - the best bet is, someone fed it Mongolian darkrook."
"Uhm…"
"It's a root, Mr. Lamour," said Fawley, "an edible root, you know, like potatoes?"
"Actually," said Caius, "a potato is a tuber, a better comparison here might be -"
"Knock it off, Canius!" shouted Fawley. "Apologies, he does that a lot. Mongolian darkroot is a stimulant, like coffee, only stronger, and in some cases, makes whoever eats it far more susceptible to emotion control magic. My opinion is, someone spiked the beast's food with the darkroot and then hexed it with a curse of supernatural rage."
"Your opinion?" asked Lamour.
"The trail had long gone cold by the time we were able to discern this," added Caius. "Nor can we assume just what sort of hex it is, or rather, was. In fact, we are almost certain whoever did this never expected the hulk to be taken alive."
"My men went over what was left of that warehouse, and the basement below it with a fine-tooth comb," said Zhent, "and we're conducting a search of the surrounding area, which would be much easier if the owners of those properties would be willing to cooperate. The, ahem, 'deputies' my men have to work with aren't exactly inspiring cooperation."
"Here we go…" sighed Lamour.
"I have to side with Sergeant Zhent here," added Reynaldo. "With due respect, the Alleybashers are causing more problems than they are helping with. There have been reports of threats and assaults involving them, including a few cases where they are not the aggressors."
"The Alleybashers are a -" Lamour stopped for a minute to find the right word. "They are necessary considering the current situation, or should I say, how it is going to get worse very soon. I don't expect the announcements I'm going to have to make next week to be welcomed or well-received, but it must be done."
He stopped for a minute to pick up the bottle again to refill his glass, then went on. "Sergeant Zhent, you are hereby promoted to Lieutenant."
"Uhm, thank… you." Usually, a promotion was a good thing, but Zhent was suspicious there was a condition.
Which was quickly confirmed. "Keeping your promotion - and your job - depends on finding the underlying cause of this. Now get out of my sight."
As they left the room, he heard Aszithef say, "Necessary, right," and Reynaldo reply, "Necessary evil, maybe."
Yes, they obviously thought he was deaf.
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The next day.
It was almost eleven o' clock, at least according to the clock tower. The weather was cool, like the pleasant feeling one would get right after a storm.
Maddie had visited the Jail before, but that time, it had been to talk to someone who had purposely let himself be arrested and thrown in the "drunk tank" with the intent to meet with them there. This time, it was much different.
As she expected, upon stating her intent at the front desk, her sword was confiscated and she was frisked (by a female guard, thankfully). Then three guards - one human, who was in charge, the other two a giff and a wemic, both muscular Shadows twice her size - told her to follow. None of them said anything, leading her to a special wing of the facility that was behind three checkpoints, each with iron doors held with three iron padlocks apiece.
Finally, they reached the special wing, where the worst criminals of Cauldron would spend their final miserable days before being "sent to the Cleaners." The door they stopped at was also iron and padlocked.
"Fifteen minutes, Ms. Fulton," said the human guard. "We'll be down the hall, if she tries something, just shout."
How about scream? thought Maddie. The door was opened, revealing a dark room within, and a switch was thrown, turning a light on. A groan came from the prisoner inside, the light hurting her eyes.
It was Cammy, but the Fist of Hextor was not nearly as intimidating or impressive as she was the last time they had met. She was slumped against the wall in a sitting position, her wrists above her head, held by iron shackles. She had obviously been beaten - the dirty and torn rags she was wearing doing little to hide the bruises.
She sternly looked at Maddie. "Come to gloat?"
Maddie lifted the paper bag she'd brought with her. "I brought food. Fish and chips." Cammy turned away and didn't respond. "Come on, I assume it's better than whatever gruel they've been giving you."
"Fine, fine, come here…"
Maddie could, of course, see the irony here. If you could imagine being a rabbit at the mercy of a hungry tiger, you'd know how most would feel about confronting someone like Cammy - you'd know that fighting would end your life quickly but trying to flee would only extend it slightly more. Now, not only were the roles reversed, but it had also become worse. Cammy was a snared rabbit, and the tiger was trying to comfort her.
And Maddie had no doubt that the irony of it was just as clear to Cammy.
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Elsewhere in the city.
When Francis got back to the cathedral the previous night, he had found a letter in his room, postmarked with a stamp of delivery. One of these days, he was going to ask someone to send him a letter that way and then camp out in order to see who delivered it, but not now.
The letter had been a simple note from Nichole:
Dear Francis,
Hey. Hope everyone is doing well.
Hank and I will be leaving from Mormugao tomorrow, Jalal is helping by sending us there via a portal. We should be on the morning commune train to the main caldera of Cauldron on Monday.
Ask Jenya if I can have that room I had last time. Oh, and ask her if I can use the kitchen. Still owe you pancakes.
See you at 11:30 on Monday, give or take.
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Nichole
He was glad she sent that because he had almost completely forgotten they were coming. At least she seemed to be in a good mood, and he was anxious to see her again.
Right now, he, Red, and Barclay were in the west side of Cauldron, where many of the city's most expensive boutiques, tailoring shops and - concerning them - masquerade stores were located. Barclay was carrying four boxes holding the costumes, while Red was making sure he didn't trip on anything while he did so. Fensir like Barclay were known for their incredible strength, but that didn't make it easier for him to see where he was going in this case.
"Thanks for the help with the heavy lifting, Barclay."
"Eh, you call this heavy?" he replied. "My brother and I used to do this for a fellow who was into, uhm, collecting."
"Collecting?"
"Uhm, okay, okay, he collected stuff that other guys probably had dibs on."
"As in, tomb robbing?" asked Red Feather.
"Mostly old temples," replied Barclay, "ruined castles, the ones you don't usually want to enter if you get my drift. My bro and I had a 'no questions asked' policy, and it paid well. Most folks who found the Dark Altar of Zinzerena, Mistress of Assassins would stay the hell away from it, but if you think it would make a good coffee table and need someone to haul it, who are we to judge? And that's just -"
"Barclay, wait -"
Francis remembered that night his first week in Cauldron where he was sure he was being watched. It was an ominous, frightening feeling, like he was being hunted by some ravenous predator.
Now he was certain he was being watched again, but it wasn't frightening this time. It was more…
…annoying.
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"I only must ask… Why?"
Because Cammy's hands were shackled, Maddie had to feed her, and it was hardly dignified. Still, it didn't seem pride was much of a concern now.
"I mean, not like I'd ever be able to return the favor, nor would I tell you where any huge stash of stolen loot is - even if I knew about any, these greedy fools would confiscate it."
"I have my reasons," replied Maddie.
"I don't want pity either," said Cammy with a growl.
Pity? It wasn't exactly pitying that Maddie had felt, at least not towards Cammy. If she felt pity at all, it was the type she would feel for any condemned criminal under this sort of sentence.
Her father had been a defense attorney. Not the type who defended white collar criminals, oh no. Many of his clients had been brutal murders and rapists, some of the worst scum the state of Idaho (where she'd grown up) had ever seen. His most famous case had been a home invader who had broken into the apartment of a woman with a teenage daughter. He brutally killed the mother with a wrench, forcing the poor daughter to watch before clubbing her with it and throwing her out the second-floor window. Miraculously, the daughter survived, identified him, and Mr. Fulton's defense was of little consequence, the killer was convicted and would never see the light of day again.
How could anyone sleep at night after trying to defend such a man? Prove to a judge and jury that such an animal was worthy of any sort of clemency? Maddie had asked her father just that and got her first lesson on due process.
He had told her, bluntly, that if he did all he could to prove a man's innocence when guilt was obvious, and a guilty verdict was still delivered, it would prove one thing - that the system worked. Without being able and willing to defend a guilty man, could he ever be expected to defend an innocent who had been unjustly accused?
The idea of Cammy being so quickly convicted and condemned… She didn't like it, and something about it just didn't make sense…
Still, she didn't have the time to explain that to Cammy now - eight of the fifteen minutes she had been given had passed - and she was confident it would be ignored anyway, so telling her "I have my reasons," seemed sufficient.
"Maybe you want me to atone?" asked Cammy. "Save the soul if not the life?"
The way she said that sounded almost cheeky. "Dunno," answered Maddie, "do you feel sorry for everyone you've killed? Those four Alleybashers, all they did was steal your liquor, and -"
"You're asking if I regret any of it?" Maddie did not like the smile on Cammy's face. "That other soldier I was with at the museum, maybe I felt a little sorry about him. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. The Alleybashers? Heh, no it wasn't about the liquor. I might have even shared with them if they hadn't annoyed me so much. I didn't think I had to kill them to punish them, I killed them because I wanted to. Because I wanted them to be dead. Because I like killing. Because I like the way it makes me feel. Because it gives me power, that's why."
Maddie looked at Cammy in disgust. She couldn't believe she had felt sorry for this monster, or that she spent seven Sovereigns on the fish and chips.
She was about to get up and leave, but then Cammy said, "...and I'm not sorry I did it either. You call me evil? No more so than the folks who run this hellhole of a city."
"Wait, what?" said Maddie.
"Oh, you want specifics? You've seen the list of transgressions on that wanted poster, right? If it had only been murder, I wouldn't be here on death row. Maybe one of those labor camps up north, but not here. Want to know just what the 'vandalism' charge was?"
"I…" started Maddie.
"Go to the museum, Shadowchaser. The Factory. Once you find out everything, you might start wondering who the greater evil truly is…" She smiled more pleasantly. "Thank you for bringing the food."
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Francis saw the perp spying on him from the room of the building across the street. "Everyone wait here," he warned.
Barclay didn't object, feeling he could use a break anyway. As Francis dashed across the street, Red shrugged and said, "This might take a while."
She and Barclay watched him; he ran to the side of the building, leapt towards the wall, and grabbed a drainpipe, climbing it and scrambling towards the roof.
He expected either a fight or a chase when he got there, but it seemed he would get neither. Standing in front of him was the fattest clown he had ever seen. Obviously, a member of the Last Laugh, given his colorful - meaning gaudy and loud - clothes, the obese jester was standing with a threatening expression (which given his makeup, made him look ridiculous), holding a mallet that looked like the type you'd use in a carnival at a strength-test game.
"Seriously?" asked Francis.
"You make one step closer, mainlander," he threatened, "and I'll smash you flatter than a freckle!"
"You're welcome to try it, Clarabelle."
The jester growled and lunged at Francis, taking a swing with the weapon - or rather, trying to. As Francis had expected, he lost his balance as he did so, and as the Shadowchaser stepped aside, fell flat on his face.
"Clowns…" sighed Francis, shaking his head.
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Maddie was ushered out of the wing of the jail, and then out of the facility, all without much fanfare or fuss. Not that she really wanted to stay much longer. Coming here had been a mistake, but at least she had another clue as to what was going on.
When she was back outside, she took something from her satchel that she had kept, those postcard reproductions of paintings she had found in the Kopru Fortress. Someone had sent them to Cammy, along with a note she had also kept:
I figured you could use these if you ever feel like following up on that lead. For future reference, these are much easier to obtain and transport than an actual painting.
Hopefully, the museum staff would be a lot friendlier.
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"Okay, Chuckles, on your feet!"
Francis grabbed the fat clown and then slammed him against the chimney on the side of the roof.
"TALK! Why are you all watching us? Damn, do you all ever wash these outfits? Seriously, you stink here."
"Hey, HEY! I don't know!" he pleaded. "The boss lady told me to watch you! Don't hurt me, please!"
Boss-lady? thought Francis. He rolled his eyes again. He had a fairly good idea who that was, but he wasn't taking chances.
"I just do what I'm told to do!" pleaded the jester.
"Oh, and they told you because? Is it because this is what you're good at or because you're the one with no seniority?"
Then he noticed something the guy had dropped - a notebook.
"Or maybe because you're the only grunt who isn't illiterate?" He let go and the thug fell with a loud thud.
"Hey, HEY!" shouted the clown. "Don't touch that!"
Francis ignored him, picking up the notebook on the ground. The handwriting inside had bad penmanship and a lot of spelling mistakes but was legible. The first page had Red Feather's name on it, and then a lot of informational statistics, like "Hair: Black, long, straight," then "Eyes: Green," "Age: 21?" (obviously the guy knew elves tended to be much older than they looked), "Height: 5'6", and the numbers 31/24/33 - that last one meant Bust/Waist/Thighs, or measurement, information that was not required for most resumes.
"Get away from those!" yelled the clown. He lunged at Francis again, but a simple backhand punch to the face caused him to collapse again.
Francis skimmed through the book - there were similar "entrees" for Sonya, Maddie, Sypha, and even the female acolytes - and Jenya - at St. Cuthbert's House. Coffee, Gregory, Malakar, and Barclay were there too, but much less information, mostly species and age.
"So, why does the 'boss lady' have such interest?" he asked.
"No idea," he answered, "I just -"
Francis grabbed him, lifting the thug by the collar. "You're either lying to me or you're stupid."
"I'm stupid!" screamed the thug. "I'M STUPID! Look, I just do what they pay me to do!"
"Tell me, did they also buy your silence?"
The jester didn't answer, except to say, "Uh…"
"Ask yourself this, fatso, is the money you're getting for this going to be enough to pay the doctor you're going to need once I beat the shit out of you?"
"Uh… I… don't think so…"
"Then spill it! NOW."
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Maddie had been half-right. The museum staff was slightly more friendly, but not much.
The Factory, as it was called, used to be exactly that, and was still owned by one of the dwarven clans that now controlled Hollowski. They changed it into a museum around a hundred years ago, but it still looked like a factory from the outside. Inside it was cleaner and more formal, but the security here seemed morestringent than it was at the jail.
Not only was Maddie frisked when she entered the foyer of the museum, her satchel was searched and she - again - had to sign a ledger.
"Terribly sorry about all this." Unmistakably a gnome, the incredibly old curator was a nervous fellow with thick glasses and a thick chest-length mustache. His suit was well-made and clean but seemed old and out of style. "This is a… new policy we've had since the… incident three years ago."
"So does every guest get this treatment?"
"Uh, no, no, the policy is waived for guests we've known for a while, and uhm… The ones who are known to be donors."
Figures thought Maddie. Kind of wonder how they expect to get new donors. As the guard handed her back her satchel, she quickly opened and rummaged through it. "Uhm, Mr. Fuzzo…." she started. She didn't know if she had pronounced the name on his badge right, so she stopped to make certain. He didn't say anything, so she continued. "I'd like to see these."
She held up one of the postcards, the one with the dwarf in the tavern arm wrestling the orc.
Mr. Fuzzo perked up. "Oh, by all means, right this way."
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The fat clown saw some logic in the Shadowchasers threats, and quickly related all he knew, which wasn't much. Jil had told him to keep track of "the male human mainlander" and keep track of anyone he spoke to or interacted with more than twice, get any information he could on such people, and put special emphasis on females. She also told him to keep it a secret from Cassandra, his tone turning nervous as he said her name.
Damn, that is sick, thought Francis. He looked at the info on Illewyn. Is it even possible for a human and a bariaur to… Eew…
It was going to take a long time for him to unsee that image in his head, so he changed the subject fast. "So, who is Cassandra?"
"Ah-heh-heh, listen mainlander, I don't care how much you threaten me, there is no way I'm going to rat on her! You think it's safe to talk here on the roof, where nobody can hear us?" He sounded more nervous than ever now. "She could be watching right now. In fact, she could be here right now."
"This is a trick to get me to turn around, right?" The clown didn't answer, but Francis couldn't help but think there was some grain of truth here.
"All right, fine." He released the thug, pushing him hard and sending him sprawling to the floor again. "Here, take this back to the boss lady, there's a message for her in there."
The fat clown held his head as he got up. Francis was gone, and he really wasn't in the mood to track the mainlander down again.
Message? he thought. He groped for the notebook. He had half-expected Francis to tear it up; had that happened, reporting back to Jil at all would have been a bad idea.
Instead, he saw on the first page - where his info on Red Feather had been written - Francis had scrawled some additional "info":
"Has a foul temper and hates clowns even more than I do. Bug off."
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The antechamber that Maddie was in right now was clearly the museum's central gallery, and it gave her the feeling she was in hallowed ground.
The large rectangular chamber had marble walls with pillars, impeccably clean, with soft lighting and calm music playing from some unseen source.
Of course, the main attractions were the paintings. Each one was displayed in an alcove between two of the pillars. The pictures on the postcards were now here in their original full size, in all their splendid, breathtaking glory. There were others she hadn't seen yet, most of them depicting dwarves, many bizarre. There was a painting of a dwarf carrying what looked like a baby bird as large as himself, another of a group of dwarves at a campsite at night, two of them smoking pipes the size of walking sticks and two others playing a mandolin and recorder.
What struck Maddie as so amazing was how lifelike the art was. One of the paintings depicted a lady dwarf sitting at a deck by a fireplace writing in a ledger, and the detail was so precise, Maddie - who fortunately had remedial knowledge of dwarven - could even read the writing.
"Impressive, is it not?" asked Mr. Fuzzo.
"Yes, but -" started Maddie. As beautiful as the art was, they still did not provide the answer she had been looking for.
"Mr. Fuzzo, uh, who exactly was the artist?"
"Eh? Oh, oh, the artist. Well, Ms. Fulton, these works were done in a unique way. You might say the artist was Spellmason."
"Ah, so he could paint too?" Maddie's tone was one of sarcasm and disbelief. Given all she had heard about Suramar Spellmason, he wasn't the type she'd ever put in a fanfiction, as he'd quickly be regarded as a Mary Sue. It seemed nobody in Cauldron was willing to describe him in a way that fell short of perfect, and there was no skill he had not mastered.
"Ah-heh, no, no," said Fuzzo. "Ever hear of a scroll of images?"
She had was a common magic item that was easy to use. The scroll had an incantation written on it consisting of seven words. Saying all but the last word activated the enchantment, and saying the last word cast the actual spell - whatever the user was then looking at would appear on the scroll as a picture, like a magical selfie.
But these paintings couldn't be such scrolls, much less scrolls that were centuries old. This wasn't paper or parchment, it was canvas, and an image on such a scroll faded after only a few days.
But Fuzzo answered that quickly. "Unfortunately, such scrolls are of limited duration. The esteemed Suramar Spellmason was known to be a little vain, and wished to have his deeds chronicled with, uhm, experimented with variants of the scroll of images with the intent to make them permanent, but to no avail. That is, until he met an artist of magical skill with an aptitude for art, a reigar, I believe."
"Get out of here!"
"Uhm, I can't, I work here -"
"Only an expression. A reigar?"
"Uhm, yes, this reigar's fees were… considerable, but he managed to use some special magical pigments to reproduce the images from the scrolls onto canvas."
Maddie turned her head - she had found what she had been looking for. "What happened to that one?" She pointed to a painting to the left of the one they were looking at, one with the same dwarven warrior - Suramar, she assumed - shown from behind, approaching a dark, fiendish-looking altar that had obviously been used to restrain a blood sacrifice. Behind it and to the side, a door was in the process of slowly being opened by a claw. It would have been more intimidating had the canvas not been ripped by a knife or shears.
The curator shook his head sadly. "That image was captured right before his confrontation with the Lord of the Demonskarr. For some mad reason known only to her, that vile witch broke into the museum and vandalized it. Terrible. As you can imagine, paintings of this sort are irreplaceable."
There was silence for a few minutes, then Maddie changed the subject, turning to another painting, one that seemed to depict Suramar grappling with a giant, ugly toad-demon. The picture showed at least two corpses in the background and a broken axe in the foreground. Suramar himself wasn't in particularly decent shape; his beard was stained with blood, he had several bad wounds, and his armor was dented and broken. This had obviously been a tough battle even for him. "So, is that the Lord of the Demonskarr?" she asked, pointing to the toad demon.
"Eh? Oh, no, no, that one depicts the Lord's lieutenant Oblar the Undying. Rather ironic name." He chuckled a little. "Suramar never managed to capture his battle with the Lord on a scroll. Most say he simply didn't have time to do so. I mean, vanquishing such a powerful demon took priority."
"You said 'most'."
"Ahem, yes, well, some believe the scribe he tasked to use the scroll was, erm, paralyzed with fear."
"Or dead," suggested Maddie.
"Yes, that theory has come up... from time to time," said the curator with a nervous nod. "Given the non-visual descriptions of the Lord of the Demonskarr, he was… quite the beast…"
Maddie looked at the painting and that of the one Cammy had torn. She suddenly remembered the murals in the arena. She shivered.
"Reason known only to her"? The reason was likely she had thought there was something important concealed behind that painting, something hidden behind the canvas, and likely she didn't find it. The note that came with the postcards seemed to suggest the picture itself was the key…
…but what was the key?
"I figured you could use these if you ever feel like following up on that lead. For future reference, these are much easier to obtain and transport than an actual painting."
"I mean, not like I'd ever be able to return the favor, nor would I tell you where any huge stash of stolen loot is - even if I knew about any, these greedy fools would likely confiscate it."
"I'm not sorry I did it either. You call me evil? No more so than the folks who run this hellhole of a city."
The note she had recovered, and the things Cammy had told her, it was like they were three pieces of a still-incomplete jigsaw puzzle, and Maddie had a nagging feeling that Cammy was only slightly closer to solving it than she was. There was a secret she had been trying to find.
As Maddie left the museum, she shook her head and shrugged. Cammy had until tomorrow at five o'clock to live; maybe she would go and watch - maybe Cammy planned to go the whole dramatic cliche route by spilling the secret with her final words, something that was almost corny enough to be true.
At least everyone was going to meet at the Plaza tomorrow, hopefully with Nichole and Hank, they could all talk about it then.
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The next morning, Francis, Barclay, and the two acolytes Havan and Illewyn, were all outside the city, just outside the north gate. There wasn't much to see here, only the huge backdrop of the volcano's slope behind them with the giant portcullis gate (now open) and the grassy savanna in front of them with mountains in the distance. They could just make out the giant bridge that Francis and Maddie had to drive over on their emergency run to the Lucky Monkey. The one that spanned the Demonskarr. Most importantly, this was the platform where the commuter train was due to stop at eleven thirty.
Francis didn't expect the train to come on time; he had lived in Chicago his whole life and knew that public transportation was rarely dependable. He was almost surprised when he heard it coming, set to arrive on the dot.
Of course, when it did, and the train started to unload its cargo, concern started to turn to suspicion. A lot of tough looking Shadowkind - including orcs, hobgoblins, saurids, and even a few troglodytes lugging out crates and iron strongboxes with military insignia on them, obviously holding military-issue supplies.
Where have I seen those before? he thought to himself.
"Hurry it up!" shouted a gruff voice. Francis' concerns were all but confirmed when he saw it came from someone who looked like their supervisor.
The nogrund-arn were supernatural mutations of goblins, believed to have been created by hobgoblin sorcerers via the same magical experiments that created bugbears (if one believes that story) possibly via crossbreeding with orcs. Nogrund-arn were large, broad (often hulking), and stout, with far less hair than bugbears but tusks and snouts that were more pronounced; unscrupulous Shadowkind tended to call them "swine lords," always out of earshot. But what worried Francis the most about this one was the remarkably clean uniform with the same sash he had seen on the Alleybashers.
Whoever the Blue Duke is, he's been busy, thought the Shadowchaser. He made up his mind right there, he was going to keep that meeting with the Lord Governor. Hopefully, I can convince him to tell me what's going o -
"FRANCIS!" His train of thought was cut off as Nichole rushed the boarding platform and grabbed him in an affectionate, almost crushing hug.
"Erm… Nice to see you too, Nichole."
"Hey, no hug for me?" Hank's comment was very much tongue in cheek, but Sypha, upon seeing him, remarked "Okay!" and rushed to grab him.
"Whoa, wait…" he protested.
"Don't worry, Hank," remarked Francis, "I'm pretty sure she's had all her shots."
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About fifteen minutes later (the clock tower reading 11:55) the group was now within the city and Francis' concern had been set aside for now.
"So how was the trip?"
"Ugh," started Nichole, "the food was terrible, sleeping was next to impossible, and I really could use a hot bath now. Sea travel is the worst. So, where's everyone else?"
"We're meeting Sonya, Red Feather, and Maddie at the Bazaar down by the lakeshore. Maddie found a place that -"
Then it happened. An explosion, much like the one Maddie had heard last week, the blast heard by all of Cauldron. But this time, they saw it. Southeast of where they were, on the east side of the lake a fiery blast exploded in mid-air…"
It passed, and there was dead silence for a minute before Hank spoke up. "Francis, you really didn't have to do this for us."
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Intrigued? This will be continued, but NOT in "Shadowchasers: Blue Blood." As I said, this story will be put on pause as the "interquel" story I mentioned starts. "Shadowchasers: Souled Out" will take this newest plot twist from here - with Maddie, Red, and Sonya taking the reins - while "Shadowchasers: Blue Blood" takes a short break.
So, catch the first chapter of that in a couple of days, and "Blue Blood" should resume in a few weeks.
Remember how I said, "a few surprises you didn't expect"? This is going to be a blast. Pun intended.
And before I go, as I promised before…
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Shadowchaser Files:
Personalities: Mr. Slur
I have to admit, I never expected Morgianna's Kin to have any dwarves among them. After all, dwarves aren't fond of magic and aren't into dimensional exploration. Maulie Kragthaine, however, seemed enough of an open-minded type to be an exception, and she is the best authority on the Para elemental Plane of Ooze that the Kin has. Mostly because, as she herself might tell you, nobody would willingly go there without a reliable way to leave, but to go there of your own volition repeatedly, you'd need the toughness and fortitude her people possess. Her history in dealing with that unpleasant area of the multiverse is a lengthy one, having liberated many refugees who were unable to leave, but her story is one for another time, as she seemed perfect for detailing this rather unique Shadowkind criminal.
I should also point out that dwarves are big on traits like ability, effort, and potential, three things you must have to gain the gumption needed to explore any elemental planes, and another reason she is so interested in Mr. Slur.
I'll give the basics first. Mr. Slur is a crime boss who has operated out of Detroit for at least three decades. (Calling him a "crimelord" or "criminal mastermind" might be a little too generous.) Mundanes see him as a bald, overweight man with dark skin, usually wearing a white or beige suit and sunglasses. Shadows and Mundanes don't see him all that differently, and when you speak to him, he seems very trustworthy and likable, though not nearly as much later after he leaves. Some who associate with him only briefly claim he always seems… wrong when they're in his presence, giving an odd feeling like he's not supposed to be there, though the reason isn't readily apparent.
Which may not be far from the truth. Hopefully, Maulie can explain it further. I should note that her statements here are for now a hypothesis based on conjecture.
Hey, y'all! Like the man said, ah'm here ta tell ya about Mr. Slur, a fella who I believe Ms. Clarkson has met at least once, claimin' the guy's an ooze genasi, possibly the only one known ta exist. Not sayin' he ain't, but it may be Sonya was too willing to believe this claim, made by Mr. Slur himself, who, might have reason to lie about what he is.
I wouldn't bet the farm on it mind you, but I tend to think he's an Ooze Sprite. So, what the sam-hill is that, ya ask? Well, first lemme give ya my reasons for bein' suspicious of his claim.
First off, a genasi is a "Shadow-touched" offspring of a half-elemental and a human; with a half-elemental, it's a human and a real elemental.
How is that possible? Eh, well, depends on the situation. Don't think anyone could literally shag with a living tornado or a huge living bonfire. Magic - usually elementalist magic, natch - is usually at play here, and exactly why in Moradin's name a wizard would want to do it, I dunno. Ah'm guessin' a lot of them are a few corn dogs short of a full picnic, if ya know what I mean, if not completely out of their gourds, an' the same goes for most half elementals. Of course, even a fully sane one would tell you they've heard lots of jokes about their parents. Most will simply say, "Don't know, don't want to know."
However, it's done, you'd need an elemental and a human, and for there to be an ooze genasi, there'd have to be a half elemental of Ooze origin. Which means a wizard would need ta find some way to get one of the natives of Ooze to shag with a human. If ya think that sounds gross, ya ain't alone. No doubt, volunteers for such a project would be difficult to find, but the bigger question for someone doing such a thing is… why? (A brief footnote here, Maulie does seem to underestimate how insane some sorcerers can be. Cults of Tharizdun, Ghaunadaur, and maybe Zuggtmoy would all have reasons to create such a creature. Probably not a sensible reason, mind you. Still, Maulie's opinions are just conjecture.)
I ask that cause, well, I know a few things about the Para elemental Plane of Ooze. It is utterly disgusting.
What, ya want details? Okay…
Here's an effective way to envision the Para elemental Plane of Ooze. Start with a desert, a vast, sandy, barren desert. Concentrate on how vast such a place can be. Then change the sandy ground to a swamp. Not just a typical swamp, but a horrid, disgusting swamp where twisted, gnarled trees (some the size of small skyscrapers) and thick, stinging vines grow from the dense muck and slime. Here and there stagnant lakes and pools play host to thickets of weeds and monstrous swarms of leeches and mosquitoes that would drive a former Navy SEAL to the breaking point. The few human and demi-human Shadowkind settlements here consist of wooden structures suspended above the muck with poles...No solid earth underlies the mud of the swamp, so these dwellings eventually must be abandoned and rebuilt before sinking down into the mire. And of course, there's the smell. If anyone were to plan on goin' here ah'd be willin' to bet them a porterhouse steak it would take less than ten minutes before the smell made them puke. Of course, a lot of folks say that's how the place came about ta begin with. (A joke there, trust me, it's hard to talk about Ooze without adding a few of them.) You'd have ta be off yer rocker ta want ta come here, and if ya aren't, it won't be long before ya are. Little wonder why it's called the House of Chambered Madness.
The ironic thing about Ooze is that, unlike the most Elemental Planes, the environment itself is not overly hostile to terrestrial life, a frequent problem in most of the Inner Planes. There's enough edible plants, game animals, and drinkable water for a savvy adventurer to survive here. (Of course, as one "savvy adventurer" once said, ya can live on it, but it tastes like shit.) Frankly, Ooze has an ecosystem that's almost hospitable to Earth natives, but that isn't as much of a boon as one might think. Animals like snakes, crocodiles, giant frogs, giant lizards, and the worst stinging and biting insects live here. There are also carnivorous plants, oozes, slimes, jellies and puddings of all varieties, trolls, and undead creatures. There are plenty of sapient Shadowkind races who have built communities here, including hags, lizardmen, bullywugs, troglodytes, and even sahuagin, most of them living as bandits and highwaymen who prey on anyone unlucky enough to be here by accident. There are even rumors of froghemoths (plus a rumor of someone who created the first of those things), and a black dragon lurking around the Choking Smogs, a rumor I cannot confirm or deny 'cause I'm not crazy enough ta go there. And then there are the unlucky folks I mentioned, refugees who ended up here completely by accident. Ah've known of mining colonies having accidents using excavation explosives near magical sites that trigger portals, sending a whole team here (that's how I got "acquainted" with this place, by the way, a story for another time). Most of these unfortunates try to survive in hastily made shelters, waiting to be enslaved or eaten by the more hostile residents.
It ain't a nice place, and I doubt most spell-slingers would come here hoping to play matchmaker between a human and a native. But another giveaway here would be the actual natives.
Ironically, there ain't a lot to say about regular Ooze Para-Elementals. It's a big, living pile of mud, strong but dumb, much like elementals in general. I don't think it's even as strong as a regular earth elemental. (That is true, for some reason, elemental beings that are "composites" of two or more elements - Earth and Water in this case - are weaker than "pure" elementals.) Ooze Sprites are a different type of Ooze Elemental.
Ah'll say right away that an Ooze Sprite has nothin' ta do with a "sprite" or any other type'a fairy or fey. It's also a big pile'a mud - rumor has it that the label was meant as another joke. It's got more brains than the typical Ooze Elemental, but not as strong, and in the Inner Planes, brains are rarely a better quality than brawn.
So, due to natural… eh, what's the word… right, natural selection, ooze sprites have a slight edge. They tend to be exceptionally good at hiding - easy for a pile of mud in a huge swamp - attacking prey and then using its most well-known trait. They have some sort of poison or drug, or something of the sort that can be delivered through skin contact, which briefly compels prey to follow simple commands. Dunno how it works, but it can cause intended prey to stand still when the ooze sprite tries to eat it, or in the case of monsters who try to prey on the ooze sprite, tell them to go away.
(Another edit here. As I said before, Maulie clearly has little aptitude for magic, so one can best explain the ooze sprite's power as a variant of an arcane spell called suggestion. It's sort of like the divine spell command, which readers of this series have seen Malakar use twice now, but more powerful, in such that the user is not limited to a single word and able to use short phrases. The ooze sprite's ability is slightly stronger, as it is not hindered by language, but unlike suggestion, requires physical contact.)
Ah'm far from the first one to wonder why such a powerful ability is wasted on simply hunting; like I said, ooze sprites have more smarts than the typical elemental, so it's possible they just don't realize their potential. Some wizard types claim that ooze sprites see other beings only in terms of predator and prey (as in, prey are beings it knows it can overcome in a fight, predators are beings it knows it cannot, and it learns which is which by experience), and don't recognize sapience in any beings other than ooze sprites. Sure, a human can talk, but to an ooze sprite, that doesn't signify intelligence or sentience. (Might have a point there. I've met a lot of brainless folks who never shut their traps. Heh, another joke there.) But one of the refugees I met (who seemed to be the scientist type) when I first started to explore Ooze had this to say about them:
"These deceptive creatures rarely make their presence known. Their insidious nature reflects their quiet mastery of all things that occur around them. They may be behind everything that occurs on the entire plane — and possibly beyond. Who knows how far their influence has spread? Who knows what — or who — else they control? My advice? Watch out."
How far can their influence spread, you ask? At least as far as Detroit.
Now, I admit my informants here are not very reliable (as in, I had ta beat up a lot of them ta get this information) but it seems a few decades ago, there was a low-ranking member of Dark Obsidian named Moraan who was skilled in both dimensional travel and elemental magic; I haven't been able to gauge much information on him (or her, to be totally fair) whether it's their real name or a nickname, whether they were human or Shadow, or what sort of Shadow, but likely someone in Maremoto's or Terremoto's group. They managed to catch an ooze sprite and brought it to the mortal world, again, no idea if he did this under orders of the leaders or via their own volition. This ooze sprite learned fast, realizing there were sapient beings other than itself, assumed a humanoid form, and was given a magical charm that let it speak English. Whoever had brought it here intended to use it as an enforcer, naming it "Slurgolosith," but it learned a little too fast, figuring out it could use its powers more creatively, manipulating civilians, merchants, the police, and possibly even some of the De Factos.
Then one day, Moraan was… Disposed of. Not sure if that meant they were done in by their employers, done in by a rival gang, or arrested by the De Factos and handed over to the Shadowchasers, but for some reason, they left Dark Obsidian's employ. (If the third possibility is true, I can confirm that "Moraan" is an alias, there is nobody in our custody with that name.) But Slurgolosith was nowhere to be found. Like I said, the general consensus is, he moved to Detroit, set up his own gang, and took the name Mr. Slur. Whether it had anything to do with Moraan's disappearance is hard to say, but personally, I'd say it's likely.
Now, as for his current activities, well, as ah'm sure ya can imagine, Mr. Slur is a dangerous individual, his unique ability letting him avoid the police and gain "favors" from influential people. Supposedly he's into loansharking, protection rackets, and bookmaking, often the rigged type (his powers again making such schemes much easier) but compared to most crooks, well… He ain't the most competent. Sonya noted how the guy wanted to shrink an umber hulk and train it ta play football - ah think he heard the Packers had a gray render on their team and figured the Lions would be interested in something similar; spoiler alert here, they weren't. He started to talk about makin' the beast a pro wrestler (Hey, why not? With that crew, an umber hulk could fit right in.) but scrapped the idea.
It wasn't the only time he had somethin' I'd call a "hair brained scheme." A few years after he left the Dark Obsidian, he had some idea about turnin' ambulances and taxicabs into armed assault vehicles. Who did he plan ta fight with them? No idea, he abandoned the plan after the prototype was finished. He had this idea about bottling emotions and selling them on the black market; I… guess there are a lot of Shadows that do indeed consume emotions, mostly fear, but few of these would pay cash for them. (IMOHO, bottled love and happiness could sell on the open market, but again, Slur had no idea how to do this.) Probably the worst scheme he ever had was how he tricked a junior high school drama club to perform The Hanged King's Tragedy, claiming he could film it and sell the results to… "interested buyers." (Brief explanation again, The Hanged King's Tragedy is a cursed script of a play that, when performed, causes the cast and audience to kill each other. No legal action was taken in this case because the script in this case was a fake, a non-magical adaptation that he had bought from a con artist. Ironically, the play the school put on was very well-done.)
Not sure how he hires anyone to help pull off these dumb ideas (unless he can afford to pay top dollar for them) but in the end, none of them comes to fruition, and he rarely pursues them long enough to give them a chance. That's his weakness, he never finishes anything. Maybe he just has a short attention span - I mean, a lot of his plans do seem like they came from someone who watches way too much television. Someone once said he seemed like the type who had ADD, but can you really assign a label like that to an elemental?
Maybe the problem is… He's still not living up to his potential.
Story Ideas
Mr. Slur is the Team Rocket type of villain, someone who, while not harmless, is not dangerous enough to pose a significant threat. In most cases, he would be a comic relief villain who might be a small reflection of a greater danger - while the Elemental Planes are not evil by nature (like the Lower Planes) a disturbingly considerable number of dark entities draw their power from them. Ghaunadaur has already been mentioned, but many other "Elder Evil" types could fit, and Mr. Slur could be a pawn (unwitting or willing) or any of them.
On the other hand, Mr. Slur could be used as an underworld information broker. Certainly, he could be a potent ally to anyone who has reason to oppose the Dark Obsidian or any of the aforementioned cults. Of course, Mr. Slur would not be the most loyal nor dependable ally in such cases.
Should Duel Monsters ever play a part, Slime monsters are certainly an option, as are any decent cards with focus on the Earth Attribute. The Subterror and Gem Knight archetypes would be excellent choices.