Perin’s Journal, Entry 17.
We arrived in Fialus two nights ago, after dealing with a fat smuggler named Phineas Mogul who got us past the lockdown. I had feared at first we were too late: there had been an attempt on the king’s life, but thankfully it proved unsuccessful. Once in the city we encountered Lady Lionstone, who offered to get secure an audience with the royal court. Naively we accepted without question and gave her Blackfyre’s sealed letter. Upon taking her suggestion and bedding for the night at the Hatfish Inn, we were attacked in the middle of the night by hired thugs.
I make it a point to note that I thoroughly dislike Bugbears. They possess the intelligence to rise above the unsavory nature of their goblinoid kin, but nevertheless remain base thugs and brigands. Despicable folk to a one. But I digress.
The leader of these thugs betrayed Lionstone’s involvement in their ambush – this, coupled with Burtran and Clock’s keen observations led us to believe she was in fact Up To No Good – and furthermore, possibly some manner of fiendish undead. We’d heard rumours about the Market District that Lord Hightowerwas investigating Lionstone with regards to that very question, so we sought him out. He found us first, however, and confirmed our suspicions: Lady Lionstone was in fact a VAMPIRE.
Hightower informed us that the vampire would be meeting the King that very afternoon. He granted us access to the Quality Quarter and armed with fire, silver, and the blessings of the Lightbringer we fought the abomination in her own dining room. Sweeping the curtains back and bringing to bear all our weapons mundane and divine, we protected the king and sent the vampire fleeing in incorporeal form to its coffin. Following it to the wine cellar, we opened that dread sarcophagus. She lay within, still and pale as a fresh corpse. Calling forth the holy fire of the Lightbringer I laid my holy symbol upon her forehead and smote her heart with a wooden stake. Thus vanquished, she gasped a last rattling shriek and then crumbled to ash.
His Highness was grateful, of course, for our rescue, and at last we delivered our message from Blackfyre. The scroll we had given to the vampire was burned in the fireplace, but with Mordigaunt’s correspondence to Gormangast and the afternoon’s recent events, the King decided to meet with his advisors and hopefully plan for war. We were given an apartment in the Artisan Quarter to stay in (our welcome in the Hatfish sorely worn out, due to the bugbear blood
on the sheets. And the floor. Everywhere really.) and we took our leave.
We await for a dictum from the King as to his decision regarding Mordigaunt – until then, I am at a bit of a loss. Perhaps I shall spend some time in the Seminary. I miss its old walls and musty library. I should like to return to the fight quickly though – Mordigaunt will not be patient. I have not yet written about his demonic messenger on the bridge. That was most disturbing, indeed.