The Great Assassin Hunt part I

When last I put pen to paper circumstances were much different - yet much the same.

Much the same in that it was barely a month ago that we lost our dear friend Franz, and as I write now, it is after losing another worthy companion, albeit in far happier circumstances. Eduarde d'Villiers has departed our company, his starry eyes unable to keep him from the side of Jamais Sices du Sices. I have never known him to be so... besotted... despite the many women he has had relations with in the year that I have travelled with him. I wish him well, perhaps one day our paths will cross again.

Yet much indeed has changed. Freiburg has changed forever with the destruction of the Wachtturm, and we have departed that troubled city for Charouse, a city in even greater turmoil. I still grieve for Pierre, Giancarlo and Franz, and with Eduarde gone too from the companions I started travelling with a year ago, only Pistol remains - who would have thought that! But as old friends depart, new friendships form. Antonio Mondavi has caught up with us again, it is pleasing to have him around, Dandelion is at his wits end - one minute supremely happy to be sampling the foods and fashion of his homeland, the next second deeply morose at what has happened, with friends and family meeting their fate with Le Coiffeur. A young Avalon knight, Avon has joined us. I find him very confusing, he seems aimless, without a past, there is much for him to discover, hopefully we can help with that journey. In recent days we have also been joined by a gruff highlander, but I get ahead of myself, I should detail how we met this odd fellow.

We were breakfasting at the inn where we were lodging, La Belle Aurore, the morning after Eduarde had departed. The mood was strange, it took me a little while to realise that I had become used to hearing of Eduarde's bedroom exploits over breakfast in the mornings.

We heard some shouting and a scream from outside near the stables. Avon, Dandelion, Antonio and I quickly jumped to our feet to discover the cause of the commotion. Pistol paused to finish off Dandelion's croissant. Outside we found a group of men in the livery of the revolutionary guard surrounding two women, one with her bodice ripped. At least thats what it looked like at first glance. But after spending a second to see what was going on, I realised that the second woman was in fact a large man with a bushy red beard, strangely though he was wearing a skirt, which had caused my momentary confusion. It became clear that this fellow was defending the young woman from an unseemly attack from the guardsmen, and we quickly rushed to his assistance.

The guardsmen responded by opening fire with their muskets, sorely wounding the ginger-bearded fellow, but they were made to pay, as Antonio began laying into them in a most unsportsmanlike manner. They were quickly knocked to the ground with barely a whimper.

However, instead of a word of thanks or gratitude, the Highlander - for it was apparent that was where he was from - began to abuse us for interfering with his fun! Nevertheless, we invited him to join our breakfast, at which point Pistol guiltily brushed crumbs from his vest. He introduced himself as Mordred Stewart and the woman gave her name as Michelle Anget, daughter of Pierre Anget, some sort of historian from what I could gather. We offered to accompany her home, an offer she gratefully accepted.

We gathered together our belongings, as wisdom held that it would be an opportune time to change addresses, and accompanied Michelle to the University. We then found our way to a new inn, Le Coq Sportif, an establishment with a rather fit-looking barkeep. Two incidents of note occurred on this brief sojourn.

Firstly, Pistol decided to ask Mordred why he was wearing a 'skirt'. I'm not sure if he did this out of innocence, but I'd doubt it, I'm sure he must have come across a highlander before, after all Inismore isn't that far away from the Highland Marches. For my part, I recall meeting a highlander at Heilgrundstadt, Fergus McAllister. (A meeting Dandelion might not look back on fondly!) So even I was aware that highlander men wore these skirt-like garments called kilts, and I was well aware that any reference to it as an item of woman's clothing would likely be met with hostility, and indeed that was the case here. Mordred took a wild swing at Pistol's grinning face, but fortunately missed, I separated the two and we travelled on.

Shortly afterwards, Avon was accosted by an old crone. Some confusion ensued, but we discovered some important information from her (after a rather generous donation). Apparently she had been present when the head of the Rose and Cross, Aristide Baveux, and his fellow member of the council of eight, Eugene Suchet du Crieux, were assassinated. She had spotted Avon's Rose and Cross tabard, and decided to offer him the information. From what we could understand, she spotted an assassin wearing a maroon cloak, and he disappeared down a manhole into the sewers, where a scuffle ensued with The Mole and his men. Apparently this 'Mole' is some sort of underworld figure.

Pistol and Antonio decided to scout a few seedy bars to see if they could get some information, and possibly an audience, with the Mole. The rest of us followed Avon to the Rose and Cross chapter house, where he divulged the important new information. We had been aware from soon after our arrival in Charouse (in the sewers once more) that the killers were still at large, and that the knights were actively hunting for the culprits. The chapter house was very interested in our news, and asked Avon if he and we would assist in tracking down where this information would lead, a task we readily accepted.

We had a number of leads. There was the maroon cloak, which Dandelion informed us was horribly out of fashion, no-one from Charouse would be seen wearing such an item, and it was surely not made here. We wondered about Jean-Marc Nevarre, a third council member, who narrowly avoided assassination. However, questioning him about the day was not an option - our recent efforts in rescuing prominent nobles would mean we would likely be arrested if we dared approach him.

So, we were left with the cloak and the Mole. We quizzed Etienne, the tailor we had rescued, for further knowledge about the cloak, but he just confirmed what Dandelion had told us. If he had the cloak to examine, he might be able to tell us more. On the way back to the inn, we met an old friend, Don Carlos d'Montoya, and he joined us at Le Coq Sportif.

Antonio and Pistol returned in the evening. They had found an appropriate dive called The Hand of Glory, and imbibed a good quantity of a beverage with the unappealing name of "Avalon's Ass Ale", apparently it was quite to Pistol's taste. They had, with a little more bribery, discovered where the Mole could be found - not suprisingly, deep in the sewers. Apparently, the seedy barkeep had gone quite white-faced when the Mole's name was mentioned, he was not a man to be messed with.

Nevertheless, we decided to head straight down to the sewers to see if we could find the Mole. Unfortunately, the instructions we were given meant entering the sewers from a man-hole right in the middle of La Place de la Revolution! It was sure to be under guard.

We made our way stealthily towards the square, and yes, there was a squad of guardsmen patrolling the area. And the grate was to be found right in the centre of the square. Pistol crept up to the grate, but found he couldn't lift it, so he motioned, and Antonio and I joined him, but we were spotted by the guards, and had to play as drunks to allay suspicions. We were sent on our way.

Don Carlos suggested creating a diversion at a nearby tavern, if we could convince a couple of merry-makers to stage a fight, it would distract the guards long enough for us to enter the sewers. This idea worked perfectly, and we made our way down into the dark, dank Charouse underground.

We then followed Pistol's directions. Head South, take the fourth turn left, then the second turn right, and we began looking for the third turn right again. But the Mole had set some traps for unwelcome visitors, and Pistol was hit by a scything blade that suddenly appeared from a wall at the side. He was badly injured, and Dandelion and I took over leading the party, moving cautiously in case of further traps. However, it was not cautiously enough, as the ground gave way beneath us. I fell with a splash into a murky sewage filled pit, and began treading water. There was no hope of climbing the slimy walls. Of more concern to me was that there was no sign of Dandelion, and I was sure he fell with me. Pistol yelled out for us and I replied - we were in terrible trouble as it appeared that I was the only party member with a length of rope. We decided that Dandelion must have used his sorcery to return to the inn mid-fall, as no-one could remember hearing a second splash. At least that's what we hoped.

Fortunately Pistol had the bright idea of using his clever grapple device to lower himself into the pit. It would not be strong enough to support both of us, but I was able to find my rope, and handed one end of it to Pistol, and he took it back out of the pit with him. He then secured the rope to a beam, and the party hoisted me out of the pit - a close shave!

We proceeded further, only to be greeted by a volley of musket fire from either side, it seemed that the Mole was not fond of visitors. A weedy fellow whom we took to be this Mole appeared above us, wearing a maroon cloak! He demanded to know why we were there. We pleaded our case, and after a moments consideration, he offered to 'sell' the cloak to us. A bargain for the coat was made, and the Mole supplied some information with it. He and some of his men had been patrolling the sewers, when confronted by three men descending. The three were obviously skilled swordsmen, and made their escape, but not before relinquishing the cloak we now had. They fought with foil and main gauche, and spoke Montaigne, but with a provincial accent.

We made our way back, but as we exitted the sewers, we were spotted by the guard. We tried to make a run for it, but the guardsmen soon caught us in a dead-end alley - unfortunately for them. Whilst most of us were trying not to kill the men outright, just to knock them out, as we had done to those earlier in the day, this time we had Don Carlos with us, and he has a particular hatred for Montaignes, especially those that would rise against nobility, and he showed no mercy, cutting down the majority of the guardsmen with gay abandon. The rest we tied up, and made our way back to the inn to patch our wounds.

Etienne examined the cloak, there were no distinguishing marks or labels, but he determined that it was of Dore origin, most likely from the capital, Dechaine.

Given recent events, we thought it most prudent to leave Charouse anyway, so in the morning, we packed our bags, bought some horses and supplies and made our way North. I decided it would be prudent to disguise the party, it would be likely that the guard would be on alert for men of our description. In any event, we made our way successfully out of the city and on to Dechaine. Don Carlos did not join us, he had unfinished business in Charouse, but we welcomed Mordred with us, despite his surly nature, his company made up for the absence of Eduarde.

Several days passed. I'm still not used to travel by horse, I'd almost forgotten how bad the chafing gets! We spotted several bands of roaming soldiers, probably formerly loyal to l'Empereur, and now without employment, but they tended to avoid us. Towards lunchtime one day, we heard a volley of musket fire. Spurring our horses on, we came upon a small village. Outside the village, a band of soldiers had lined up some unarmed villagers and had them shot! We dismounted and made our way towards the grisly scene, but were unable to get there before another group of villagers were shot. We had approached to within a short distance before being spotted, unfortunately, close enough to be shot at, and Pistol copped a shot that had narrowly avoided hitting Avon.

We charged into battle, there were twelve soldiers, a sargeant and a mounted noble against us. Mordred unleashed his mighty weapon, a great claymore, and showed that he was quite skilled with the use of this large weapon, as he dispatched a group of unfortunate soldiers. I fought the noble, and managed a couple of nasty blows with my axe before the fellow turned his horse and fled. An arrow from Avon slowed his retreat, but he was still able to ride, and managed his escape. Just for a moment he turned and looked at the carnage he'd created, and it looked like he was about to weep, perhaps he finally saw the folly of his actions. Meanwhile, his men lay dead or dying around us, as Mordred, Antonio, Pistol and Dandelion quickly sent them to meet their maker.

A senseless battle, but one of many I've seen in the past year, and I fear will see again. How many more of my friends and companions will I lose before this year is out? Will I survive it myself? Ah, if only I could take with me the attitude of my friend Pistol, while he does things that sometime make me almost shudder with shame, he has a most pleasant outlook on life, a spirit that is hard to break. And what of my new friends? I look forward to finding out more about Avon and Mordred, whilst very different fellows, they are interesting companions, and with Dandelion and Antonio travelling with me, I am once more content, but for how long, I cannot say.