Mission 2 - Amrik Vanthampur
The Journey through Shadow and Gore
As we navigated the grimy arteries of this city en route to the infamous The Low Lantern, our path was regrettably obstructed. A gaggle of nine cultist fools, pathetic in their devotion, were making nuisances of themselves, harassing some poor souls in a shadowed alleyway. The sentries among them, bless their predictable hearts, brandished those rather fetching skull flails. A wicked grin spread across my face – oh, the irony! – as I produced two identical flails, liberated from their brethren earlier, before diving into the delightful chaos.
What followed was a gloriously protracted ballet of brutality. Thomus - Thomas, ever the enthusiast, initiated the festivities with a rather underwhelming sprinkle of burning hands. I, however, prefer a more definitive statement. With a precise and devastating strike, I separated one cultist's head from his shoulders, a crimson fountain painting the grimy walls. Iliran Tilorri - Mike followed suit, reducing another to cinders with his arcane fury. All the while, our stalwart shield, Baktha Tassup - Ryan, stood sentinel at the alley's mouth, his shiny badge deterring any would-be spectators from interrupting the beautiful carnage.
For nearly a full, blood-soaked minute, the dance continued – a symphony of clashing steel, roaring flames, whispered words of mending, and the wet thud of bodies meeting pavement. The quartet cowering at the alley's end proved surprisingly resilient, prolonging the exquisite agony.
By the time only a single, trembling fool remained, the alley floor was a slick, unholy mire of viscera and spilled life. Soaked it was, to the point where both Baktha Tassup - Ryan and Salah Secumber - Hal lost their footing, collapsing into the muck, consumed by fits of inappropriate, sociopathic laughter. Honestly. Dodging a clumsy blow from the last standing cultist, I glanced at Thomus - Thomas and sighed, "We're surrounded by fools". Naturally, I delivered the coup de grâce, silencing the final whimpers.
The wretches we'd inadvertently saved introduced themselves as Sam and Popper. It seems the cultists were sowing precisely the kind of chaos Mortlock Vanthampur had warned us about – all part of the grand, messy scheme to elevate the ambitious Thalamra Vanthampur. Popper, it turns out, runs a little provision shop near where our noble vessel, the Uncivil Serpent, rests her hull. Popper's Provisions, he called it, offering us his wares should we ever require mundane supplies. A quaint notion.
We saw the rescued pair safely home before retreating to the Uncivil Serpent to cleanse ourselves of the filth – both literal and figurative – and catch a moment's respite. Refreshed, we ventured back into the city's embrace, arriving at The Low Lantern in the dead of night, around the third hour.
Within The Low Lantern's Murky Depths
The deck offered a grim welcome: a scattering of dead seagulls, their small bodies marred by countless stings, Thomus - Thomas deduced after a brief, morbid inspection. Four lay near the entrance, three more adorning the forecastle. An eerie green lantern swayed from the bow, while the stern stood bereft of its wheel and rudder. Ravens watched silently from the crow's nest, judging us, no doubt.
Descending into the vessel's bowels, we were assaulted by a putrid miasma – stale beer, sweat, decaying wood, and the faint, sour tang of vomit. A bar wench, Lorella, greeted us with a weary warning to watch our step, hinting at the establishment's inherent messiness. Salah Secumber - Hal, smooth as ever, sidled up to her, ordering "whatever poison is popular" and inquiring about the avian corpses. Lorella professed ignorance regarding the cause but lamented the constant cleanup. With each deck we descended, the stench intensified, growing fouler, heavier.
Finally, we found our quarry. Amrik Vanthampur, nestled in a back corner, flanked by a spined devil – a charming companion – and a hulking brute. A couple of bored-looking bouncers loitered near the entrance. The lowest level seemed dedicated entirely to cramped sleeping quarters, radiating the most offensive odor of all.
We positioned ourselves at the bar on Amrik's level, engaging in a raucous game of Bones. We tossed coins with feigned abandon, pretending to succumb to drink far quicker than we actually were, all while subtly observing Amrik's dealings, straining to catch any whispers of consequence.
Alas, our eavesdropping yielded little of substance. We made our exit, with Salah Secumber - Hal executing a rather convincing portrayal of a drunken stupor, leaning haphazardly near the gangplank. The rest of us melted into a nearby alley, predators waiting for their prey to emerge.
When Amrik Vanthampur finally surfaced, flanked by his infernal pet and his muscle-bound associate, we sprang our trap. Iliran Tilorri - Mike stepped from the shadows, unleashing a concussive Thunderwave that sent them reeling.
The ensuing confrontation was laughably brief. Faced with our overwhelming persuasion, Amrik wisely surrendered. His companions, demonstrating a flicker of self-preservation, departed voluntarily, though not before relinquishing Amrik's ledger and a purse heavy with 150 gold coins. Amrik, ever the opportunist, suggested his dear mother, Thalamra Vanthampur, might pay handsomely for his safe return. An intriguing proposition.
The Return Trip and a Fiery Encounter
We began the trek back towards Darmin Zodge (Captain)'s expected location, our captive in tow. A prickling sensation crawled up our spines – first Baktha Tassup - Ryan felt it, then Thomus - Thomas. We were being watched.
Thomus - Thomas, never one for subtlety, hurled a firebolt down a side alley, illuminating a hooded figure. Instead of fleeing, the figure waved, beckoning us closer. Thomus - Thomas and Iliran Tilorri - Mike, curious fools, obliged. Beneath the cowl was a young woman, barely more than a girl, with hair like spun flame, clad in metal armor, a longsword resting at her hip. She introduced herself as Reya Mantlemorn, claiming she'd been observing us for days. A paladin of Torm, like our own Baktha Tassup - Ryan, she harbored a clear disdain for The Flaming Fist. She possessed information, she claimed, but deemed the alley unsuitable for discussion, promising to find us later aboard our ship.
Upon reaching Darmin Zodge (Captain), we found him predictably uninterested in our high-value captive. The political fallout of involving himself with a Duke's scion like Amrik Vanthampur was apparently too rich for his blood. Some men have no stomach for real power plays.
Reya's Tale of Woe and Ruin
True to her word, Reya Mantlemorn found us. Her story tumbled out – a paladin of Torm, trained near Elturel. She witnessed the city's horrifying disappearance, saw the Companion's light extinguish as Elturel seemingly crumbled into nothingness. Returning to the site, she found only a crater where the holy city once stood. Gathering survivors, she led a band of refugees to Baldur's Gate just before the gates slammed shut. When The Flaming Fist descended upon her desperate flock, they scattered. Cornered by a guard, Reya defended herself, lethally, and was now a fugitive.
Her sole focus: unraveling the mystery of Elturel's vanishing. Alone and hunted in this wretched city, she sought allies. Whispers in the shadows led her to a rumor: Thabius Kreeg, Elturel's High Overseer, was supposedly hiding in Baldur's Gate, associating with the Vanthampur family. Reya suspected his involvement in her city's doom. A paladin seeking vengeance and truth – how delightfully dangerous.
The Interrogation: A Fruitless Exercise
We spent hours attempting to pry useful information from Amrik Vanthampur. It proved utterly pointless. The man was a wellspring of useless platitudes, reiterating only that returning him to his family villa would result in generous compensation. Tedious.
The Siege: Unwelcome Visitors
We assigned Baktha Tassup - Ryan and our new paladin acquaintance, Reya Mantlemorn, to guard the prize, Amrik Vanthampur, while the rest of us sought much-needed rest. Slumber claimed us, but not for long. Iliran Tilorri - Mike's alarm spell shrieked, jolting us awake. We scrambled, armed ourselves, and spilled onto the deck to find four intruders – three standard cultist thugs and one adorned in the grim vestments of Bane's clergy.
The cleric sent some manner of dark bolt streaking towards me, a minor annoyance. The cultists' clumsy blows glanced harmlessly off my armor as I contemptuously cut one down. Iliran Tilorri - Mike unleashed another thunderwave, battering the remaining three cultists, before Salah Secumber - Hal efficiently dispatched another.
These fanatics fought with the desperation of the doomed, refusing surrender. We were only too happy to oblige their death wish.
The Ransom: Cashing In
With the riff-raff disposed of, we decided it was time to collect on our investment. We marched Amrik Vanthampur towards his family estate.