SIDE QUEST VI

Coulrophobia

Part 1

Trevor and Byron rowed their way over to Old Korvosa, the sun setting behind them in a fiery blaze of orange and red. The closer they got to the island, the more evident the chaos became. Smoke billowed across the town from burning buildings, a grim testament to the horrors unfolding in their hometown.

As they neared the docks at Eel’s End, they could see the mayhem spilling into the streets. Gangs roamed with burning brands, setting fire to anything in their path. The screams and cries of the innocent echoed through the air, a haunting symphony of despair.

"We need to be careful," Trevor whispered as they moored the boat. They stowed it under a quay, hoping it would remain hidden should they need it for a quick escape later.

Byron, eyes scanning the burning horizon, growled, "This is worse than I thought. We need to find our people, make sure they're safe."

Trevor nodded.

"Let's head to Ruby’s first” said Byron “See if anyone's there who needs help."

They moved cautiously through the docks, the acrid smell of smoke filling their nostrils. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the flickering flames that devoured buildings and sent embers soaring into the night sky.

Ahead they spied a small mob of 4 rushing down a street and managed to hide before they were spotted.  Anyone watching might have been surprised to see the two famed fighters concealing themselves, avoiding a fight, but a wordless understanding was between them.  They had family to get to and every delay was a danger.  Once the gang was past the two great men stepped forward.

Suddenly, a gang of ruffians appeared, wielding torches and makeshift weapons. Their leader, a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, sneered at Trevor and Byron. "Well, well, what do we have here? Fresh meat for the fire?"

Trevor and Byron, fuelled by rage and desperation, yelled back, their voices echoing through the night. "You picked the wrong night to mess with us!" Trevor roared. The intensity of their shouts made two of the gang members step back, visibly intimidated.

Without wasting another moment, Trevor and Byron charged into the fray. Little Focker, Byron's drake, lunged forward, sinking his teeth into one thug and sending him sprawling. Byron's claws slashed through the air, striking another thug with a force that sent him reeling. Trevor swung his axe with terrifying strength, nearly severing a thug's arm, blood splattering across the cobblestones.

Little Focker then unleashed a cone of confusion over two thugs. One began to blubber in fear, dropping his weapon, while the other turned on his comrade, attacking him in a frenzy before bolting down the street.

Byron swiped at another thug but missed, his claws cutting harmlessly through the air. Just then, the mob they had spied earlier rounded the corner, drawn by the commotion. One of them spotted Byron and shouted, "I've always wanted to take down a legend!"

Trevor turned to the new arrivals, his eyes burning with fury. In his best orcish manner, he bellowed, "Come here! I'm hungry!" He bared his massive teeth and advanced, his axe gleaming menacingly. The thugs, terrified by the half-orc's ferocity, turned tail and fled.

As this happened, the two remaining thugs from the first gang attacked Byron. One managed to land a hit while the other missed. Byron swung back with his fists, but missed, stumbling and accidentally hitting himself, stunning him for a moment.

Seeing his friend in danger, Trevor rushed back in, but his axe failed to connect. Little Focker, sensing his master's peril, also attacked, but his bite missed its mark.

The thugs, sensing an opportunity, struck Byron again, drawing more blood. Byron gritted his teeth, fighting through the pain.

Trevor, regaining his composure, swung his axe with precision this time, delivering a grievous wound to one of the thugs, though he still stood.

Little Focker, not giving up, breathed his cone of confusion once more. The thugs turned on each other in a chaotic brawl.

Byron, recovering from his stumble, roared and plunged his claws into the belly of one thug, eviscerating him. The thug's guts and spleen spilled onto the street.

Trevor and Little Focker combined their efforts, hitting the remaining thug hard. Desperate to survive, the thug tried to flee, but Trevor's commanding voice stopped him in his tracks. "He's all yours," Trevor said to Byron.

Byron stepped forward, his eyes cold and determined. With a swift, brutal motion, he plunged his claws through the thug's head, ending the fight quickly and efficiently.

The docks fell silent, save for the distant cries of the city. Trevor and Byron, bloodied but unbroken, stood amidst the carnage. They had survived another battle, but they feared the would be more to come.

Trevor and Byron left the dead thugs behind them, but as they walked away, Byron noticed that one of the deceased bore the red marks of the plague on his face—he was infected. A sense of dread settled over both of them, realising they might now be carriers of the deadly disease.

As they trudged through Old Korvosa, the destruction around them was palpable. Buildings that once stood proudly were now reduced to smouldering ruins, their walls charred and crumbling. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning wood. The cries of the wounded and frightened filled the air, mingling with the distant clash of steel and the crackle of flames. The city was a war zone, and its heart was breaking.

Rounding a corner, they saw Ruby's Rest—Byron's home—engulfed in flames. The heat was intense, waves of blistering air washing over them. At the far end of the street stood many of the girls who worked at the gentlemen's club, their faces pale with fear. Byron's heart pounded when he couldn't see Madame Devlin among them. He also spotted his oldest friend, the tattooist Decca, with a bloody wound on his head. Next to him were three Korvosan Guards, one quite clearly a Captain. Laying dead upon the ground was another guard. Behind the girls two more guards could be seen were defending them from threats in other directions.

In front of them was an angry mob, brandishing burning brands and makeshift weapons. Their faces were twisted with rage, and their shouts were a cacophony of anger and desperation. It was clear they had been in a violent clash with the guards, who had been valiantly protecting the girls from harm.

Trevor and Byron approached the mob, shouting at them to get water and help put the flames out. The considerable size of the barbarians and the fierce determination in their eyes made many in the crowd hesitate. Some dropped their weapons and complied out of fear or shame. Byron noticed a few individuals still clutching burning brands, their eyes wild with anger. Trevor made it known that the house on fire was his home. Every single one of them dropped the brands, their defiance crumbling into fear and guilt. Trevor then began to organise a water chain, taking control of the chaotic scene with a booming voice and commanding presence.

Realising that Madame Devlin might still be inside the burning building, Byron knew he had to get in there. Trevor, understanding the peril, handed Byron the potion of air they had recently procured. "Take this," Trevor said. "It will help you breathe in there."

Byron nodded, his resolve steeling. He yanked one of the doors of Ruby's Rest open, and flames immediately licked at his skin. The heat was unbearable, and the roar of the fire was deafening, but he charged inside, determined to find Madame Devlin. The air was thick with smoke, and the building groaned and crackled as beams and walls started to give way. Navigating through the inferno, Byron finally found her unconscious on the top floor. He quickly placed the potion of air on her lips, and she gasped awake, her eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Realising it was too dangerous to descend the burning stairs, Byron picked her up in his arms. With a powerful burst of adrenaline, he sprinted towards a window. The flames roared around him, and the building shuddered as it started to collapse. With a mighty roar, he smashed through the glass and leapt from the upper level. It was a sight to behold as Byron sailed through the air, Madame Devlin cradled in his arms, the fire raging behind him.

They landed hard on the ground below, miraculously unscathed. Byron's heart pounded with relief as he laid Madame Devlin down gently. Trevor rushed over, his face a mix of worry and awe.

"You did it," Trevor said, clapping a hand on Byron's shoulder.

Byron nodded, catching his breath, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. "We need to make sure everyone else is safe," he said, his voice resolute despite the chaos around them.

The mob, seeing Byron's daring rescue, seemed to lose some of their fervour, and many began to help douse the flames, their anger giving way to a desperate need to survive and save what they could. But it was clear that 'Ruby's Rest,' Byron's home, could not be saved. The flames consumed the building with relentless fury, and the best the mob could do was contain the fire, preventing it from spreading to neighbouring buildings. If the fire spread unchecked, all of Old Korvosa could go up in flames, a catastrophe the beleaguered city could not afford.

Byron carried Madame Devlin over to the girls, who cheered in delight and relief when they saw the barbarian had saved her. As he laid her down gently, he noticed she was clutching a piece of paper tightly in her hand. Then, he took out a potion of cure light wounds and administered it to her. Slowly, she came around, her eyes fluttering open, a weak but grateful smile forming on her lips.

Captain Perith, a tall, battle-hardened man with a stern expression, approached Byron. "Thank you for your help, Byron," he said, his voice gruff but sincere. "We defended the ladies when the mob attacked, believing their salacious ways might have caused the plague to spread. It was a fierce fight, and we lost one of our own—Troth. Sergeant Henrich, whom you might remember from when we first raised the bridges in Korvosa, and I did our best, but..."

Byron nodded, placing a hand on Perith's shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss, Captain. Troth was a brave man. If there's anything we can do to help with his burial, just let us know."

Perith's stern face softened slightly. "Thank you, Byron. We appreciate it. Right now, our main concern is keeping this fire from spreading and ensuring the safety of the people."

Trevor joined them, his eyes scanning the burning remnants of Ruby's Rest. "We'll do whatever we can to help," he said, his voice resolute.

Madame Devlin, now more alert, looked up at Byron with gratitude. "You saved me," she whispered. "Thank you, Byron."

Byron nodded, squeezing Madame Devlin's hand gently. "Rest now, Devlin. You're safe."

Madame Devlin nodded weakly and handed Byron the piece of paper she had been clutching. "Here, this belongs to you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Byron, confused, took the piece of paper and opened it. It was a letter from Gina. Gina was not exactly well-versed in writing, so it took numerous attempts for Byron and Trevor to understand the letter’s meaning. As they deciphered the rough handwriting and the confused syntax, they realised that Gina had gone to New Korvosa for an assessment to become a Grey Maiden.

The girls, still visibly shaken, gathered around Madame Devlin, offering comfort and support. Decca, Byron's old friend and Tattooist, holding his bandaged head, approached Byron and embraced him. It had been a while since they had seen each other, but he came because Gina had asked him to. No one could have anticipated the terrible events that had quickly unfolded though.

"What now, Byron? Where do we go from here?" Decca asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

Byron looked at the burning building, then back at his friends and the people they had sworn to protect. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon him. They needed to act quickly and decisively to save what remained of their community.

Trevor looked at his friend, the guard, and then the mob. He stepped forward and addressed everyone. "The only way we can survive this is if we work together. If we don't, it could be your homes burning down next, your wives and children being chased by an angry mob. We need to work as one to save our community, our town, our way of life."

The crowd murmured in agreement, some nodding, others still looking uncertain but willing to listen.

Trevor continued, "I’m taking the girls to the Cracked Weasel. . You’re coming with us.  After that, report to Captain Perith. Because of your actions, the only way to avoid any punishment is to follow his instructions. He and his men are here to try and keep everybody safe. But that can only work if everyone, and I mean everyone, works together."

While his words were strong, the silent scowl of Byron staring at each member of the mob, clearly committing their faces to memory, was also a great source of motivation!

Byron and Trevor then began walking towards the Cracked Weasel, leading the girls, the guards and their new “recruits” and ensuring their safety.

The streets of Old Korvosa were a chaotic maze of destruction and despair. Flames licked at the night sky, casting eerie shadows on the crumbling buildings. The cries of the wounded and the frightened filled the air, mingling with the distant clash of steel and the crackle of flames. The atmosphere was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning wood and flesh.

Byron's mind raced as they made their way through the devastated streets. He thought of Gina and the peril she might be in. He thought of the people depending on them. The task ahead seemed insurmountable, but he knew they had no choice but to keep moving forward.

As they approached the Cracked Weasel, a relatively intact but heavily fortified building, Trevor turned to Byron. "We'll find a way through this, Byron. We have to."

Byron nodded, his jaw set with determination. "We will, Trevor. For Gina, for Devlin, for everyone. 

Byron then turned to Little Focker and told him to guard to Greta, which the little Drake immediately nodded and took up position.

As they approached the Cracked Weasel, Trevor noticed the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside, scanning the dimly lit interior. Four people lounged on chairs, looking relaxed despite the chaos outside. Behind the bar stood Sirius, a familiar face and a steadfast friend. Next to him was a red-haired serving girl, whom Trevor didn't recognize.

One of the loungers suddenly barked out, "Oy! Bartender, get me some beer!"

Trevor's blood boiled at the disrespect shown to his friend. He turned on the man, his voice a thunderous roar, "Get out of my pub!"

The intensity of Trevor's outburst sent all four men scrambling from their chairs, their faces pale with fear. They bolted out of the Cracked Weasel and stumbled into the street, joining the ranks of the guards, the Ladies of Ruby’s and the former rioters, leaving the tavern in an uneasy silence.

Sirius, visibly relieved, stepped out from behind the bar and embraced Trevor. "Thank the gods you're here, Trevor. Things have been... difficult, to say the least."

Trevor squeezed his friend tightly before stepping back. "We're here now. We'll sort this out."

Sirius nodded and then gestured to the red-haired girl. "This is Katrina, our new serving girl."

Katrina gave a small, nervous smile. "Nice to meet you, Trevor."

Trevor eyed her curiously, sensing there was more to her than met the eye. They exchanged a few words, and as the conversation unfolded, it became apparent that she knew Nightingale, Cali, and Taylan. A realisation dawned on Trevor.

"Katrina," Trevor said, a hint of suspicion in his voice, "you're also known as The Flame, aren't you?"

Katrina's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't deny it. "Yes, that's me. I have... a past, but I'm here to help."

Trevor turned to Sirius, a bemused look on his face. "Did you check her CV before giving her the job?"

Sirius chuckled, a lightness breaking through the tension. "She's been more of a help than a hindrance, Trevor. Trust me."

Trevor sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, let's focus on what we need to do. Sirius, um I'm not alone, there’s a few people outside who need help. Is it ok, I bring them in?

"Of course, my friend," replied Sirius. "How many?"

"Um, a few," said Trevor, and then all the ladies from Ruby's Rest came in, along with Captain Perith and Sargent Henrich, carrying the body of their fallen comrade. The other Korvosan guards and the newly recruited members of the mob remained outside to protect the place. The Cracked Weasel had never been so busy!

As they entered the tavern, it became clear that some people were showing signs of the plague. Faces were pale, skin covered in red splotches, and a few were coughing weakly, barely able to stand. The air was thick with the scent of fear and sickness. Trevor and Byron quickly instructed the plague victims to go down into the basement to stay away from the others. This decision, though necessary, was heart-wrenching. The basement was dim and cold, and as the sick descended, they cast desperate, pleading glances back at their healthy companions, as if hoping for some miracle that might reunite them. Sirius and Trevor quickly organised blankets, rugs, pillows for them.  Anything to make them more comfortable during this terrible time.

The dead body of the Korvosan guard was then put into a salted barrel to preserve it until they could arrange a proper burial. The grim task weighed heavily on everyone present, a stark reminder of the deadly threat they faced.

Focker landed near Byron, “What should I do boss?”

Byron looked at the little drake “You guard the girl!” he nodded at Greta, “That is your only task.” His eyes bore into him and for the first time Little Focker wished he could blink, ”Nothing bad happens to her you understand me?”

Focker looked at Greta and resolve entered his little body, “I’ll die defending her.”

Madame Devlin, looking around, remarked, "This place needs a good clean." Trevor was momentarily confused. As far as he was concerned, the place looked the same as it always did. But her intentions were more of a caring nature. She just wanted to make sure no other germs would affect the poorly

Sirius then took Byron and Trevor aside. "With this many people, we only have enough supplies for two days."

Trevor and Byron shared a determined look, the gravity of their situation sinking in. "We need to find supplies and a priest to help save those who are sick," Trevor said. "I know a priest of Sarenrae, my friend Otto. He could help."

Byron nodded in agreement. "Let's go find him."

Leaving the Inn, they became aware of how defenceless the place looked from the outside and after a quick consultation with Captain Perith, he and his guard set about erecting barricades in the nearby streets to block access to the Weasel.

Katriona looked at the guard going about their work “You know, normally I think all guards are useless.  Not worth a moment of my time.  But this lot are ok.  Huh.  Never thought I’d say that.”

The two heroes looked at the remining rioters, They realised that some had already drifted away but the ones left were the very ones who had held burning brands and who were looking a little out of place now and unsure what they should do. As they left Byron looked at them with an unnerving glare.  These people were responsible for the fire at his home!!  But they were lost souls and Byron for all his fearsome reputation was not a man to turn on those who have lost their way. He and Trevor shared a glance and a nod, Trevor turned to the shamefaced men, “Go find your families!  Bring them here.  They’ll be welcome.”  Swiftly the remaining people dispersed.

With that, they set off through the dangerous streets of Old Korvosa. The city was in chaos, with fires burning and the sounds of distant clashes echoing through the night. The smell of smoke and fear was thick in the air as they navigated through the rubble-strewn streets. Every step they took was fraught with danger; the desperate cries of the needy and the wounded seemed to come from every direction.

As they moved, they encountered desperate citizens trying to salvage what they could from the ruins of their homes. A group of looters ran past, clutching stolen goods. Trevor and Byron ignored them, their focus on the mission ahead. They were haunted by the knowledge that every second counted, that every moment's delay might cost more lives.

Part II

They made their way to the small temple where Otto resided. The 'church' was situated atop a shop, accessible by a spiral staircase that creaked underfoot. Symbols of Sarenrae, the sun god, adorned the walls, casting a warm, golden light in the otherwise dim and narrow stairwell.

When Trevor and Byron arrived, they were met by a group of orphans, their faces lighting up as they saw Trevor. "Trevor! You're back!" they exclaimed, crowding around him. Despite the chaos outside, their smiles brought a momentary relief.

However, Otto was nowhere to be seen. Concerned, Trevor asked the orphans where Otto might be. One of the older children stepped forward, holding a folded piece of parchment. "He left this for you, Trevor. He went to investigate something about the plague."

Trevor unfolded the note and read it aloud, his voice tinged with worry:

"Trevor, if you find this then something has happened to me. I've been investigating something to do with the plague. It came on too quickly and without warning to be entirely natural, and I am suspicious. Luckily, I appear to be immune. I think some others are as well. I suspect Portia at Ruby's Rest is one of them. I have more to say, and I wish we could talk face to face about this, but if I am missing there is no other way to say this, and I think you need to be aware of what I have seen. To put it bluntly, I know you have a dark spirit within you. I have on occasions seen its signs when you are in danger. I have been working on something to help you with this, but was waiting for the right time to talk to you about it, as you seem oblivious to its existence. Wrapped in this letter are a pair of amulets. My plan was for you to wear one and I the other. It would have allowed us to enter your mind and communicate with the spirit. I do not believe it means you harm. Quite the reverse, and perhaps we could reason with it. If I am missing and with the danger in the city so prevalent, it may be necessary for you to try and talk to the spirit on your own. Or with another to help. I have no time to say more. I wish you well, my son. Take care of the orphans. Otto."

Trevor's hands trembled slightly as he folded the letter back up, revealing the two amulets wrapped within. He handed one to Byron and kept the other, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew he had to deal with the shadow within him, but not right now. There were bigger things at stake.

"We need to find him, Byron. We need to figure out what Otto discovered about the plague," Trevor said, determination hardening his voice. "But first, we have to ensure these orphans are safe and the people at the Cracked Weasel are taken care of."

Byron nodded, his expression resolute.

One of the orphans then handed Trevor a bag.

“What’s this?” asked the half-orc

“Elixirs,” the young boy replied. “Otto said we should drink some of it everyday to stave off the blood veil”

Upon closer inspection, Trevor and Byron could see that some of the boys were indeed showing some of the signs of the plague but somehow the elixirs that Otto had provided the boys were preventing the plague from taking its full and deadly affect on them.

Trevor nodded to the boy and then told them they needed to go and bring whatever provisions and supplies they had with them.

They made their way back down the spiral staircase, the orphans following close behind. Each step felt heavier than the last, the urgency of their mission pressing on them. When they reached the street, Trevor looked back at the temple, hoping they would find Otto safe and sound soon.

As they navigated the treacherous streets, the city's state of disarray was ever more apparent. Smoke billowed from various parts of the city, mingling with the cries of the desperate and the dying. Every corner they turned revealed more devastation—burned buildings, looted shops, and the occasional skirmish between desperate citizens and opportunistic looters.

Back at the Cracked Weasel, they were met with anxious faces. The tavern was now a makeshift refuge, filled to capacity with people seeking shelter and safety. The reality of their dire situation was clear: with the extra orphans in tow, they now only had enough supplies for one day. The plague victims in the basement added to the tension, their moans and coughs a constant reminder of the looming threat.

On top of this a solitary rioter had returned.  A man named Bree and he’d brought his sister Ravenna.  Two more mouths to feed. 

Trevor and Byron quickly set about organising the newcomers. They designated safe areas for the healthy, instructed those showing signs of the plague to now move to a house across the street (with Portia’s immunity she could be their liaison and provide them with much needed food and comfort) the orphans meanwhile would rest in trevor’s room on the top floor of the inn.

Katrina, the new barmaid otherwise known as the Flame, then suggested she should check out the Arkona residence. "If anyone would have food and supplies, it would be them," she said with a determined glint in her eye.

Trevor's concern was immediate and palpable. "Um, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. The Arkona’s are dangerous," he warned. "And upsetting them could lead to serious trouble. We've had run-ins with them before, and trust me, you don’t want to make them enemies if you know what I mean? The consequences could be dire."

Katrina's eyes sparkled with defiance. "All the more reason to go. If we don’t get supplies, everyone here could die. I can handle myself, Trevor. Trust me."

Trevor sighed deeply, knowing she wasn't going to change her mind. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his voice softening. "Just... be careful, Katrina. Don't take unnecessary risks. We can't afford to lose anyone."

She nodded, her resolve unwavering. "I’ll leave first thing in the morning and be back before you know it."

Trevor looked glumly at her and couldn’t help but feel that this  could lead to more trouble than it was worth, but their options were limited, and desperation called for desperate measures.

Trevor, Byron, and the Captain of the Guards, Perith, & Katriona sat down to assess the dire situation. Trevor broke the silence first, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "We need supplies, and we need them fast. Byron and I will head to Eel's End tomorrow. The ships docked there might have what we need to keep everyone here alive."

Captain Perith nodded, his expression grave. "We've set up barricades to protect this area from the chaos outside, but my duty is to all of Old Korvosa, not just one part of it. If things continue as they are, we’ll be overwhelmed. We can't stay here forever."

Byron, his eyes intense but thoughtful, leaned forward. "Your men are limited, Captain. If you disperse them now, trying to cover more ground, it might do more harm than good. We need to secure one neighbourhood at a time, make it safe, and then move on to the next. This will take time and more people. These people, here, need you now. To leave them would be a dereliction of duty. I know you won't do that"

Trevor couldn't help but smile, admiring Byron's diplomacy. He knew Calli's influence had rubbed off on his barbarian friend, teaching him the value of strategic thinking and negotiation.

Captain Perith sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You're right, of course. We need a plan that ensures the safety of the people without spreading ourselves too thin. But where do we find the manpower for this? The city is in chaos, and people are scared."

Trevor glanced around the crowded tavern, filled with refugees from Ruby's Rest, the guards, and even some members of the former mob. "We start here. We organise those who can fight, those who can help with supplies, and those who can care for the sick. We turn this place into a stronghold, a safe haven."

Byron nodded in agreement. "Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to Eel’s End for supplies, but we need to ensure that while we’re gone, this place is fortified. Sirius, Madame Devlin, and the guards can help."

Sirius overhearing the conversation nodded, his usual jovial demeanour replaced with determination. "We’ll do what we can to hold the fort. Just make sure you come back in one piece, Trevor."

Captain Perith seemed to regain some hope, nodding thoughtfully. "I'll do my best to keep the order and recruit anyone capable of fighting.

Byron shook the Captain's hand. “You’re a good man Captain! Cressida Kroft would be proud. We’ll get through this. Together!”

Byron and Trevor looked at one another. The Cracked Weasel was now a beacon of hope in a city shrouded in darkness, and they were determined to keep that light burning.

Part III

Night had fallen, casting a blanket of darkness over the beleaguered city of Old Korvosa. The tumultuous events of the day had taken their toll on everyone, and rest was desperately needed. Trevor and Byron, weary from the battles and heartache, retired for the evening, finding a small corner in the crowded Cracked Weasel to lay their heads.

The sounds of the city—cries, distant clashes, and the crackling of flames—filtered into their restless dreams. Despite the chaos, they knew that sleep was essential to face the challenges of the next day. As Trevor closed his eyes, his thoughts drifted to Gina, his heart aching with worry. Byron, too, felt the weight of the day's events pressing down on him, but the image of Madame Devlin’s rescue provided a small measure of comfort.

Morning came too soon, the faint light of dawn piercing through the grime-streaked windows of the tavern. The air was heavy with a mix of smoke and the lingering scent of desperation. Trevor and Byron rose, their muscles stiff but their resolve unwavering. They were greeted by Sirius, who was already up, preparing what little breakfast they had left for the inhabitants of the Cracked Weasel.

“Good morning, lads,” Sirius greeted, his voice low. “Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”

Trevor nodded, accepting a piece of bread and some water. “Thanks, Sirius. How’s everyone holding up?”

“About as well as can be expected,” Sirius replied, glancing around at the tired, anxious faces. “But we’re running out of time. The supplies you bring back today will make all the difference. Katriona has already left to see what she can do”

Byron, chewing on his bread thoughtfully, looked over at Trevor. “We should get going. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can return with what we need.”

Trevor agreed, standing up and slinging his pack over his shoulder. “We’ll head to Eel’s End and see what we can find. Sirius, keep everyone safe.”

Sirius nodded, clapping Trevor on the shoulder. “We’ll be waiting for you. Good luck.”

The streets of Old Korvosa were eerily quiet as they set out, the early morning light casting long shadows over the destruction. The smell of smoke was thick in the air, and the sounds of the city waking up were muted, as if the plague itself had dampened the spirit of the place.

As Trevor and Byron walked through the streets, they could feel eyes upon them. Shadows flickered in alleyways, and the rustling of movement followed their every step. People darted away at the sight of the barbarians, their actions suggesting they were reporting news of their presence to someone.

Rounding a corner, they were confronted by a large mob brandishing makeshift weapons. This mob was different. They stood silently, their eyes fixed on the two barbarians with an unsettling intensity. The leader stepped forward, a large man with white makeup smeared across his face, painted like a demented clown. His presence was menacing, his every movement deliberate and unnerving.

"Oh, hello!" he said with a grotesque smile, his voice dripping with false cheerfulness. "What a lovely day for a stroll!" His attempts at light-hearted talk were betrayed by the menace in his eyes. It was clear he had an agenda, and the tension in the air was palpable.

“What are two fine gentlemen such as yourselves doing out and about!  Byron and Trevor is it not? The Korvosan Bear and the bouncer of the Cracked Weasel.”

“Minding our own business!”  snapped Byron, Trevor growled agreement. “Who don’t’ talk to strangers.”

“Wise words” cackled the clown, “We’ve got two wise men here boys!  Then let me introduce myself, I am Drooth.  We work for the Emperor.”

The clown-faced man continued, his tone turning more sinister. "My boys and I are on the hunt for supplies. We thought the Cracked Weasel would be a perfect place to search. Got any food there boys?" His voice had an edge that sent a chill down the spine, the words hanging in the air like a threat.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed, his anger rising. "If you dare go near the Cracked Weasel, you'll deal with me," he warned, his voice carrying an edge that hinted at something darker within him. It was as if the dark shadow that Otto had mentioned was speaking through him at times. His words were a low growl, filled with an almost feral intensity that made even Byron glance at him with concern.

The clown leader's grin widened, clearly intrigued by Trevor’s demeanour. His eyes glittered with malicious amusement. "Oh, we're only doing as the Emperor, commands." he said cryptically, though who or what this Emperor was, remained unclear. His voice had a mocking lilt, as if he enjoyed the power he wielded over the fearful masses.

“Tell your emperor to come meet us and we’ll talk.” Growled Byron

“I will ask him, but I don’t know what he’ll say.”

For a moment, tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating. The mob's eyes were on Trevor and Byron, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and threat. Then, with a wave of his hand, the clown leader instructed his men to let Trevor and Byron pass.

“Let the wise men pass boys!   And pay attention to their words.  They are words to live by.”

The mob silently parted, creating an eerie channel for them to walk through. The unnatural silence and the fixed stares of the mob were unnerving, their faces masks of cold indifference.  The sound suddenly broken by the madly grinning clown applauding.

As they walked through, Byron stared intently at each member of the mob, his eyes blazing with a warning. The mob's gaze remained unwavering, their expressions empty and devoid of emotion. Each step felt heavy, the air around them thick with unspoken threats. And as Byron stared at each member of the mob, he could see they all had unmistakable marks of the plague.

Trevor’s muscles were coiled, ready to spring into action at any moment. He could feel the dark presence within him, simmering just beneath the surface. The encounter with the clown-faced man and his silent mob had left them rattled, but they pressed on, their determination hardening with each step.

Once they were clear of the mob, Trevor and Byron quickened their pace, their senses heightened for any further danger. The memory of the clown leader’s mocking grin lingered in their minds, a reminder of the precariousness of their situation. It was at that moment they remembered something- a theatre in Old Korvosa devoted to all things foul and shocking. It was called Exemplary Execrables.  The place put on plays solely designed to shock and scandalise. They featured faked rapes, murders, and bloody tortures; these shows were always filled with gore and were normally pornographic. The owner of the theatre, Pilts Swastel, was a sore-covered man who was every bit as repugnant as the shows the theatre put on. Perhaps he was the ‘Emperor’ of this clown faced theatrical mob.

The journey to Eel’s End was fraught with tension, but they moved with purpose, their minds focused on the task at hand. The docks came into view, the sight of the docked ships offering a glimmer of hope. However, one of the ships was on fire, its flames casting an eerie glow over the water.

A few old enforcers were still stationed at the boats and immediately assumed Trevor and Byron were there to cause trouble. As they approached, Byron raised his arms to indicate he meant no harm. "Easy, friends. We’re not here to fight," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

There was a moment of hesitation from the enforcers then one said “Jam Roly Poly!  Do you remember he was here on the night when the Mantis killed The Spider!”

The other enforcers hushed him but the recognition of a familiar face made them relax and trust the two.

Byron looked at Trevor “Jam Roly Poly?” he asked

Trevor blustered, “Nothing, it was a ….you know what never mind.  Private!”

Shifting his gaze to the guard, “The Spider is dead?!” queried Trevor.

With many glances around to see who was listening the guards confirmed.  “The fact that everyone thinks Delvargo is still alive is all that’s keeping people in line around here. But yes, assassins came and killed him on the night you were here!  No one saw them. They must have been from the Mantis!”

"Times are tough," one of them admitted, the weariness clear in his voice. "A clown mob took over one of the boats, burnt another, and now they're... 'engaged in notorious acts' with courtesans on another boat. Plus they took all our supplies.”

Trevor and Byron’s first instinct was to rescue the courtesans from these vile men, but the enforcer's warning about the sheer number of them—at least twenty to thirty—made them reconsider. Instead, they turned to the enforcer and suggested, "Come join us at the Cracked Weasel. We need men like you. Together, we can stand against these Exemplary Execrables."

The man nodded slowly, considering their offer. "I'll think about it," he said, his tone cautiously hopeful.

Trevor and Byron left Eel’s End, their minds heavy with the knowledge of the clown mob's presence. Realising that twenty of these Execrables were on board a ship and another mob roamed the streets, they decided to head to the theatre. If the Emperor was there, perhaps supplies would be too.

The short walk to the theatre was filled with anxious silence. As they approached, they found the building reduced to charred ruins. The theatre had been burnt to a crisp, leaving nothing but ashes and rubble.

Talking to a local, Byron discovered the devastating event had occurred late last night. "A mob set it ablaze," the man explained, his eyes hollow with despair. "No one knows why, but they say it was a message from the Emperor."

Trevor and Byron exchanged grim looks. The Emperor, whoever he was, had his grip tightly around Old Korvosa, spreading chaos and fear.

"Looks like we’re back to square one," Trevor muttered, frustration edging his voice.

Byron nodded, scanning the wreckage. "We need a new plan. Supplies are running low, and we can't keep moving aimlessly.”

Trevor suggested they try and find Eery Yelloweyes, the wererat they had recently met. Perhaps her and her people could help them. It was a good idea but they had no idea where to find her. All they knew was that she had a market stall nearby. But when they reached it, it was abandoned. They had no way to find her. Another dead end.

There were a few merchants actually on the streets. When Byron enquired about food, he could see they were selling it at exorbitant prices, and the food was already mouldy and stale.  Byron then made a proposal. Rather than sell their wares on the streets and risk being attacked and having all their goods and supplies stolen, he would buy everything and they should come and stay with him and Trevor at The Cracked Weasel. This way they would be safe.

It was an excellent proposal and once again, Trevor couldn’t help smiling at the influence Calli’s ‘words’ had on the big barbarian. The merchants needed to consider this, but you could see it made sense to them. Byron and Trevor hoped they would see reason.

The two barbarians left them to their thoughts and decided to return to the Cracked Weasel, in order to regroup, and rethink their approach.

When they arrived at the inn their hearts heavy with the weight of their findings, they found the atmosphere inside was thick with despair and urgency. The once bustling tavern now harboured more afflicted souls, their faces pale and haunted by the onset of the blood veil. The plague had taken hold with terrifying speed, its relentless advance leaving no corner untouched.   Only 5 people were left untouched!!  With fear in his heart Byron looked around for Greta.  He found her to one side, Little Focker lay curled I her lap.  The dragon looked up, with despair in it’s eyes “I’ve failed boss.” The words almost didn’t need to be said, Byron laid a hand on his friend’s head “We both have.” He whispered.

As they moved among the sick, a chilling pattern emerged. Each afflicted person spoke of the same haunting dream—a pervasive smell of saltwater and decay, a looming old mansion on the shore adorned with stained glass windows depicting grotesque, otherworldly creatures. Trevor's brow furrowed as he realised the implications: this plague was no ordinary disease. Its supernatural nature explained its rapid spread and resistance to conventional treatments.

Determined to stem the tide of suffering, Trevor gathered the able-bodied survivors. With makeshift equipment and dwindling supplies, they laboured tirelessly throughout the day. Trevor's skill in crafting anti-toxins was their slim hope against the relentless onslaught of the blood veil.  He had to crack the alchemical code of this Elixir Otto had made!  He sagged with exhaustion at one point and felt a rising tide of despair as yet another dead end left him with little tonic to work with.   But then he gathered himself together thinking about all he’d accomplished.  He was Trevor.  Trevor the bouncer of the Cracked Weasel!  Trevor the defeater of spiders, Otyughs, beasts from beyond, surging with this confidence he suddenly had a realisation!  Of course it was so simple, he knew what the trick to this tonic that Otto had made was!! “Everyone stop!”  he commanded “Add the moss BEFORE the mustard seeds.  The liquid will turn clear.  That’s what we need!”  From them on each vial they produced offered only temporary reprieve, a brief respite from the plague's merciless grip, but it was a respite they had not had before.

Katrina, returning with urgent news, added to the sense of impending doom. "Arkona Hill is impenetrable," she reported breathlessly. "Guards everywhere, and Orsini's Academy—targeted, burned down in a deliberate act of aggression. But by whom I don’t know, it's strange. However, that's not the worst of it all.  The mobs, Trevor, Byron, they're mobilising.   Shouting about an Emperor.  We can't stay here."

“Emperor?!” Captain Perith joined in, “A white face clown was here earlier talking about wise men.”  He continued to talk saying that a white faced clown had been at the barricades earlier enquiring if there was any supplies at the Cracked Weasel and how many people were stationed here. He gave no answers to the man, but it was clear he had bad intentions.

Trevor's fists clenched in frustration and resolve. "This is our home," he insisted, his voice trembling with emotion. "We can't abandon it, not now."

Byron agreed and the two men fell to planning a defence of their home.  But Katriona interjected.

“Trevor, Byron, I know this is your home, your place of family.  I understand.  I had family once.”  A grim look crossed her face, an old wound long hidden, “And if you and I and the Captain and Sirius were here alone I’d join you.  But you have so many people here.  One stray burning torch.  One small band of madmen get in here and how many will die?”

Byron looked at her, “But what do we do?”

Every fibre of Trevor’s body wanted to stay. To fight. To protect the Cracked Weasel, his workplace, his home. But he knew he couldn’t. Reluctantly, Trevor nodded, the weight of the decision settling heavily on his shoulders. “Then what’s the plan?”

“Eels end has boats!” Katriona said.

Trevor shook his head, “I already thought of that.  But they are on permanent mooring.  Hardly sea worthy.”

“We don’t need sea worthy,” sparked the Flame, “We just need it to hold together long enough to cross the river.”

“There’ll be patrols.” Protested Byron

“Not ……yet.”  The flamed haired girl looked fierce, “If we do this we’ll get one shot at it.  Once we do it they’ll close this slim chance down.  We won’t get a second shot at it.  So if we do this.  We all go.  And we go now.”

Byron and Trevor looked at each other, and grim realisation came to them.  They glanced around.  Slowly Captain Perith and Sirius reluctantly nodded.

"Then…..we move to Eel’s End," Byron announced, steeling himself for the arduous task ahead. "Gather everyone. We leave now."

The atmosphere in the Cracked Weasel was charged with tension as they hurriedly organised the evacuation. They moved with urgency, distributing the precious vials of anti-toxin to those most in need. Each moment felt like a race against time, every second counting as they prepared to face the unknown perils of escape.

Part IV

Night descended upon Old Korvosa like a shroud, casting long, ominous shadows over the narrow, winding streets. The air was thick with tension and fear as the motley group assembled outside the Cracked Weasel. Every face bore the weight of uncertainty, the gravity of leaving behind their home and venturing into the unknown.

The orphans huddled close together, their eyes wide with apprehension. The girls from Ruby's Rest clung to each other for comfort, their usual confidence overshadowed by the looming threat. Katrina, her fiery spirit subdued by the impending danger, whispered words of reassurance to those around her. Decca, the tattooist, stood resolute beside Byron, his expression grim but determined.

As thirty nine souls started their trek towards Eel’s End, the streets seemed to close in around them, suffocating in their silence. The sound of their footsteps echoed ominously, a stark contrast to the usual lively hum of the city. Shadows flitted from alleyways, eyes watching from hidden places, spreading the word of their departure like wildfire. Fearful whispers followed in their wake, warnings of the approaching mob.

Above them, Little F soared through the night sky, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of danger. His movements were swift and vigilant, a silent sentinel guarding their path. In the distance, he spotted a swelling mass of figures, moving with purpose towards the Cracked Weasel. He knew they had little time.

Byron, Trevor, Sirius, and Captain Perith fell to the rear of their group, their faces set in grim determination. Weapons drawn, they braced themselves to confront the mob that chased them, ready to buy precious moments for the others to reach safety. Their hearts pounded with adrenaline, a mixture of fear and resolve coursing through their veins.

Ahead, Madame Devlin,  Decca, Katrina, and Little F led the way, their footsteps hurried yet deliberate. Devlin's voice rang out with urgency, guiding their group through the labyrinthine alleys towards the distant docks of Eel’s End. Katrina’s eyes darted around, her senses alert for any ambush, any threat that could derail their escape.

The streets seemed to close in around them, each corner turned a gamble with fate. Shadows whispered malevolent secrets, and the distant murmur of the approaching mob grew louder with every step. They pressed on, their breaths quickened by fear, their hearts heavy with the weight of their uncertain future.

In the face of overwhelming odds, they marched onward, driven by the desperate hope that beyond Eel’s End lay salvation, a chance at survival in a world gripped by chaos and darkness.

As the group hurried through the winding alleys towards Eel’s End, their escape route was abruptly cut off by a thunderous roar from behind. Turning swiftly, Byron, Trevor, Captain Perith, and Sirius saw eight members of the mob charging towards them with reckless abandon. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows across their faces, enhancing their manic expressions and the glint of malice in their eyes.

Byron’s muscles tensed, his claws gleaming in the dim light as he took a step forward, positioning himself in front of the others. His jaw set with determination, he braced for the clash ahead, the urgency of their mission burning bright in his eyes.

Trevor stood tall beside him, his great axe gripped firmly in both hands. His brow furrowed in concentration, he scanned the advancing mob, calculating their numbers and assessing their intent. Each step they took reverberated through the alley, echoing like a warning of impending conflict.

Captain Perith, a stalwart figure clad in the Korvosan guard’s uniform, stood at their side. His sword drawn, he barked orders to the others, directing them to stand firm and protect their retreat. His years of experience on the city streets had taught him the value of swift action and unwavering resolve in the face of danger.

Sirius, usually jovial and welcoming behind the bar of the Cracked Weasel, now exuded a steely resolve. His fists clenched at his sides, he squared his shoulders, and brought forth a rapier. The rapier seemed to shimmer and shine and radiate some unseen power. Sirius then swirled the blade in the air and then, like magic, the rapier turned into two rapiers. Sirius looked around and silently nodded. He was ready. Ready to defend his newfound comrades and the sanctuary they were leaving behind.

The mob closed in, their footsteps thundering against the cobblestones. They brandished an assortment of makeshift weapons – clubs, knives, and even a few rusty swords – their faces twisted into masks of aggression fuelled by desperation and fear. They shouted curses and threats, their voices blending into a cacophony of rage and chaos.

Byron raised his claws high, a beacon of defiance against the encroaching darkness. With a primal roar, he met the first wave of attackers. Trevor’s axe swung with deadly precision, each strike aimed to kill and maim. Captain Perith moved with practised agility, parrying blows and countering with calculated strikes of his own. Sirius seemed to ‘dance’ with his rapiers with incredible speed.

The clash of steel against makeshift weapons echoed through the narrow streets, mingling with the shouts and grunts of combatants locked in a deadly dance. Sparks flew as swords clashed, and the metallic tang of blood filled the air amidst the chaos.

Meanwhile, their colleagues – Madame Devlin, Decca, Katrina, Little F, and the others – sprinted down the alley towards Eel’s End, their footsteps pounding against the cobblestones in a desperate bid for safety. Their faces were etched with fear, each step a testament to their determination to escape the clutches of the pursuing mob.

Byron, Trevor, Captain Perith, and Sirius held their ground, their minds focused on the task at hand. For every moment they kept the mob engaged, their comrades moved closer to the docks and the slim hope of finding refuge aboard a ship at Eel’s End. The outcome of this skirmish would determine not only their own survival but that of everyone they had sworn to protect in this ravaged city of Old Korvosa.

All the frustration they felt at their inability to fight this deadly plague was unleashed at their enemies.  For Byron in particular his face was a mask of anger as Greta’s small face covered in the Blood Veil’s rash filled his mind.

The clash in the narrow streets of Old Korvosa was an explosion of chaos. Sirius lunged forward, his rapier flashing in the dim light. The blade struck a mob member in the chest, but the man grinned maniacally, still on his feet.

Captain Perith swung his sword at another attacker, but his blade met only air as the enemy dodged with a sneer.

Trevor barely had time to react as a mob member's weapon slashed across his arm, leaving a bloody gash. Snarling, he swung his great axe in a powerful arc. The blade bit deep into his foe, but the man remained standing, blood dripping from the wound. The shadow within Trevor stirred, feeding off his rage.

Byron roared, his claws flashing out. He struck at an enemy twice but missed both times, his frustration growing.

Captain Perith brought his sword down in a vicious strike, carving a gash into his opponent’s chest. The man staggered but held his ground. He tried to retaliate but instead stabbed his own foot with a pained yelp.

Trevor, with a feral cry, swung his great axe again, splitting his enemy in two with a mighty blow. As the body fell, another mob member stepped forward, eyes burning with hatred. The man lunged at Trevor, who barely managed to deflect the attack.

Byron's claws lashed out, but his target danced out of reach. The relentless pressure of the mob was overwhelming.

Sirius stabbed at his enemy, his rapier slicing across the man's chest. Blood flowed, but still, the enemy stood defiant.

Captain Perith slashed at his foe again, causing more damage, but the man remained upright. The guard struck back, hitting Sirius with a glancing blow that drew a grimace of pain.

Another mob member attacked Byron, but the blow glanced off his muscular frame. Byron retaliated with a roar, his claws finally finding flesh and drawing blood, but his enemy stayed on his feet.

Trevor swung his axe with savage strength, the blade cleaving into his foe. The man staggered, but didn’t fall.

Byron, fuelled by rage, struck again, his claws rending flesh. The enemy faltered but stood firm.

Captain Perith delivered another precise blow, but his opponent refused to go down. The enemy swung back, his blade narrowly missing Perith.

Sirius, his movements swift and deadly, struck his enemy again, but the man seemed unstoppable. The guard hit Sirius once more, adding to his growing tally of wounds.

Trevor, seeing his friend's plight, let out a battle cry and swung his axe. The blade connected with a sickening crunch, cutting deep into the midriff of his enemy, who fell dead at his feet. Another attacker immediately took his place, swinging wildly at Trevor.

Byron missed both his claw attacks again, the frustration clear on his face.

Sirius, his rapier flashing, struck once more, but the enemy remained standing. The guard countered, hitting Sirius and causing him to drop his weapon.

Captain Perith's sword came down in a brutal arc, his enemy collapsing to the ground, lifeless.

Trevor was struck by his new opponent, the blow sending a wave of pain through him. He swung back but missed, his grip tightening on his greataxe.

Byron, his eyes blazing with fury, struck twice with his claws. His enemy fell to the ground, dead.

Captain Perith delivered a crushing blow to the head of his foe, who crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Trevor and his opponent exchanged blows, neither landing a hit. Byron then lunged forward, his claws slicing through flesh, bringing Trevor's foe down.

Two enemies remained, but Captain Perith and Sirius charged together, their blades finding flesh and ending the fight.

The first wave of attackers was over. The four men, bloodied and exhausted, quickly took healing potions, the magical liquid mending their wounds. The sound of more attackers approaching echoed through the alleyways. They barely had time to catch their breath before the next wave descended upon them, the battle far from over.

The second wave of the mob crashed into Byron, Trevor, Sirius, and Captain Perith like a relentless tide. Their muscles ached, their breaths ragged, but they stood firm, ready to fight for their lives.

Byron, activating his rage powers, roared, his claws slicing through the air and into the chest of a mob member. Blood sprayed, but the man remained standing, eyes wild with fury.

Trevor, also decided to rage and his great axe swung in a deadly arc, striking his enemy with bone-crushing force. The man stumbled, grievously wounded but still alive.

Sirius moved with his usual grace but found his rapiers deflected by his enemy's desperate defence.

Captain Perith’s sword cut deep into another attacker, the mobster staggering but refusing to fall.

With a savage snarl, Trevor brought his great axe down on his enemy’s head, splitting it open. The man dropped instantly, but another mob member stepped forward, filling the void, and lunged at Trevor.

Byron aimed another blow but fumbled, nearly losing his gauntlets. As he struggled to regain his grip, an enemy seized the opportunity and struck him, the blow causing significant damage.

Trevor swung his axe again, the blade biting into his new foe, but the man gritted his teeth and stood firm.

Sirius struck twice, his rapiers leaving deep gashes across his enemy’s body, blood streaming from the wounds.

Captain Perith’s blade found flesh once more, but his opponent remained defiant.

Trevor struck again, his axe sinking into his enemy’s side, weakening him further.

Byron, regaining his balance, plunged his claws through an enemy's face, killing him instantly. But as the body fell, another stepped up, attacking Byron with ferocity.

Trevor was hit hard, a powerful blow that made him stagger. The Shadow within him surged, desperate to be let out, to take control.

Sirius slashed at his enemy, his rapier drawing blood, but the mobster still stood.

Empowered by rage, Trevor lashed out and obliterated the enemy that struck him. Again, another mobster took the fallen one's place.

Byron's claws ripped another mobster in two, his fury unstoppable.

Sirius plunged his rapiers into another enemy, the blades piercing through vital organs and dropping him to the ground.

Captain Perith struck twice, but his enemy stood firm, bloodied but unyielding.

Trevor swung his axe, the blade finding flesh once more.

Byron’s claws lashed out again, tearing into another attacker.

Captain Perith was hit badly, the enemy’s weapon cutting deep.

Byron also took a severe blow, blood dripping from his wounds.

Suddenly, Drooth the leader of the mobsters, the white-faced clown, came screaming into the fray. His eyes blazed with rage as he swung his weapon at Sirius, delivering a devastating blow that left Sirius reeling but still standing.

Sirius lashed out with his rapier at the clown leader, but the man dodged with a maniacal laugh.

Captain Perith, undeterred, killed another mobster, his sword striking true.

Trevor destroyed another enemy, his great axe cleaving through flesh and bone.

Byron’s claws tore into his foe, the enemy falling in a bloody heap.

Only the white-faced clown leader remained, his painted grin a mockery of joy. He stood amidst the bodies of his fallen comrades, eyes locked onto the four defenders. The final showdown was at hand, the air thick with tension and the scent of blood.

The clown leader bared his teeth, raising his weapon. "Wisdom to the Wise! Wisdom to the Wise! Wisdom to the Wise!" he snarled, charging forward, eyes wild with madness.

The white-faced clown charged, his weapon raised high, but something within Trevor snapped. The Shadow, long caged within him, erupted with a force that sent a shiver through the very air around them. Trevor's body contorted, and his eyes rolled back as his dual personality, Shiv, emerged. Acid began to drip from every pore of his body, sizzling as it hit the ground. The transformation was complete, and where Trevor had stood now loomed Shiv, a monstrous figure of raw, chaotic power.

Shiv looked around at the dead bodies strewn about him, the carnage of battle, and the beast that was attacking Byron and the others. His lips curled into a sinister smile. "Oh, what a lovely day!" he hissed, his voice dripping with malevolence.

Shiv lunged forward with terrifying speed, the acid dripping from his body burning through the air.

Byron, Sirius, and Captain Perith watched in a mix of awe and horror as Shiv moved. He was a blur of motion, a whirlwind of rage and chaos, his acid-drenched skin a deadly weapon in itself.

Captain Perith, steeling himself, lunged forward and struck the clown-faced leader with a powerful blow from his sword. The mob leader grunted, staggering back as Sirius darted in too, his rapiers flashing, to add another flurry of strikes. Despite the combined assault, the clown-faced man remained on his feet, a sneer forming on his lips.

Shiv moved with predatory grace, his great axe swinging in a deadly arc. The blade connected with a sickening crunch, and acid erupted from the weapon, searing into the mobster's flesh. The man screamed in agony, the acrid scent of burning flesh filling the air.

Byron, slashed at the clown-faced man with his claws, each strike tearing into flesh and bone. The combined force of the blows caused massive damage, but the clown-faced leader fought on with a crazed determination.

With a roar, the clown-faced man smashed his weapon into Captain Perith, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious. Byron barely had time to react before he too was struck, a brutal blow that left him seriously wounded and struggling to stay on his feet.

Sirius, undeterred, lunged at the mob leader once more, but his rapier caught in the tattered remnants of the clown's clothing, causing him to fumble and miss his mark. Frustration etched across his face, he quickly tried to recover.

Shiv saw the opening and seized it, delivering a massive blow with his acid-coated axe. The blade bit deep into the clown-faced man's torso, and the acid spread, burning through his skin and muscle. The leader screamed, a horrific sound that echoed through the narrow streets.

Byron, driven by a primal fury, unleashed a final, devastating attack. His claws ripped through the mob leader's flesh, tearing him apart. The clown-faced man fell to the ground, lifeless, as the acid continued to eat away at his body.

Breathing heavily, Shiv and Byron grabbed each other's arms, pounding their chests in wild revelry. They were lost in the glory of battle, adrenaline coursing through their veins. In typical barbarian fashion, they head butted each other. A sign of glorious victory!

At that moment, Little Focker, Byron’s faithful Drake, urgently swooped down from the skies "You have to get to the ships." he panted “Now!  Clown!  Mob!” his eyes burning with determination. Byron understood the danger immediately.

“Why the fuck should I go to a ship?” said Shiv

 "Because, there are more enemies to take care of." replied Byron. Knowing exactly what to say to the chaotic barbarian

Shiv's grin widened at the prospect of more combat. "Well, let's not keep the cunts waiting then."

Sirius quickly knelt by Captain Perith, administering a healing potion. The captain's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned, slowly rising to his feet with Sirius's help.

"We need to move, now," Sirius urged, urgency in his voice.

The four of them sprinted towards the docks at Eel's End, their surroundings a blur as they focused on their goal. The sounds of more pursuit echoed behind them, but they pressed on, driven by the need to reach safety and the hope that the ships would provide their salvation.

When they reached the docks, the scene before them was both chaotic and hopeful. Everyone was waiting on the quay—the orphans, the ladies of Ruby's Rest, Bree and his sister Ravenna, and others who had sought refuge at the Cracked Weasel. A gangplank led to one of the ships, and Trevor and Byron saw Sergeant Henrich engaged in a fierce battle with another white-faced clown. Decca lay prone on the deck, his fate uncertain.  Eel’s End enforcers and the other 3 guards lay lifeless on the ground.  It seemed no one had been able to face the madness of the evil jester.

Without hesitation, the two barbarians charged up the gangplank. Byron reached the mobster first, his clawed fists swinging with deadly precision. The impact was so forceful that it spun the clown around, disorienting him. The clown-faced thug tried to leap off the gangplank onto the deck of the ship, but Shiv, with uncanny precision, threw a tanglefoot bag that ensnared the mobster's legs, slowing his movement as he landed awkwardly on the deck.

Henrich took advantage of the distraction and delivered a solid blow to the clown, driving him back. Byron followed up with another savage strike, his claws raking across the enemy's chest.

Shiv, eyes gleaming with a wild, feral light, swung his great axe with a deadly arc. The blade bit deep, acid exploding from the wound and eating away at the flesh. The clown, howling in pain, retaliated with a brutal swing of his own, striking Shiv and causing massive damage. Shiv roared in anger, his rage only intensifying.

The clown didn't stop there. He landed a heavy blow on Byron, who staggered but remained standing, his eyes blazing with fury. Byron retaliated with all his might, his claws slashing through the air and tearing into the clown's already wounded body.

The fight was intense, every blow landing with lethal force. The air was thick with the smell of blood and acid, the sounds of battle echoing across the docks. Despite their injuries, the barbarians fought with a tenacity born of desperation and determination.

Henrich, Byron, and Shiv continued their relentless assault. Henrich struck again, his blade cutting deep. Byron followed, his claws ripping into the clown, and Shiv delivered another devastating blow, more acid burning through flesh.

Byron then lashed out with his claws once more, raking across the clown’s chest and leaving deep, bloody furrows. The clown staggered but didn't fall. Shiv swung his great axe but missed, the blade slicing through empty air as the clown dodged to the side.

With a guttural snarl, the clown retaliated, landing a brutal blow on Byron. The impact drove Byron to his knees, blood streaming from his wounds. He was severely weakened, his vision blurring from the pain and exhaustion.

Henrich, seeing his comrade in dire straits, surged forward and struck the clown with a powerful blow from his sword. The mobster reeled, his balance faltering.

Byron, summoning the last of his strength, struck again. His claws tore into the clown’s flesh, leaving the man teetering on the brink of collapse.

Shiv, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury, saw his moment. With a roar, he swung his great axe in a deadly arc. The blade connected with a sickening crunch, slicing clean through the clown’s body. Acid sprayed from the wound, and the white faced clown mobster let out a final, gurgling scream before crumpling to the deck, lifeless.

Breathing heavily, the three warriors took a moment to gather themselves. Byron, bloodied and battered, managed to stand with Henrich’s help. Shiv, his rage still simmering, scanned the surroundings for any other threats. But for now, the immediate danger had passed.

“We need to move, now!” Sirius shouted, urging everyone onto the ship.

Madame Devlin, Katrina, Little F, and the others began to board the vessel, their fear palpable but their determination unwavering. As the last of the refugees made their way up the gangplank, the barbarians took their positions, ready to defend against any further attacks.

With adrenaline still pumping through his veins, Shiv looked toward the ladies and suggested to Byron they should have ‘a bit of fun with them’. Byron’s eyes darkened with anger. “They’re out of bounds,” he warned, voice low and dangerous.

Ignoring Byron’s instruction, Shiv started to walk towards them, a lecherous grin on his face. Byron intercepted, stepping into Shiv’s path. The two barbarians locked eyes, and the tension between them was palpable, crackling like a storm about to break. Muscles tensed, their fists clenched at their sides, and their breathing grew heavy. Byron's fists flexed, his claws glinting in the dim light. Shiv’s eyes blazed with a feral hunger, his acid-slicked axe dripping onto the deck, hissing as it burned tiny holes into the wood.

Byron's voice was a growl. "Step back, Shiv. Now."

Shiv’s laugh was a low, menacing rumble. "Make me."

For a moment, it seemed as though they might clash. Their muscles coiled, ready to spring, and the air between them was thick with the promise of violence. Just as their rage threatened to boil over into an explosive confrontation, a tidal wave of exhaustion engulfed both warriors. Their rage powers diminished, their heightened senses and strength slipping away like water through their fingers. They staggered, their bodies suddenly heavy, drained of the supernatural energy that had fuelled their fury.

Shiv stumbled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel himself fading, the edges of his vision darkening as the world of rage and bloodlust began to slip away. "No," he snarled, clawing at the air as if he could hold onto the rage that was being ripped from him. "I won’t go back!"

The struggle was fierce, a battle of will against the inevitable pull of his other self. His eyes flickered between madness and desperation, his hands twitching as he fought to remain in control. But the exhaustion was too great, the drain too powerful. With a final, shuddering breath, Shiv felt himself being pulled back into the depths of his mind, back to that dark, shadowy place.

Trevor reemerged, gasping for air, his body trembling from the exertion. He looked around, taking in the scene—the bloodied bodies, the makeshift vessel, and the frightened faces of the refugees. He felt a deep, unsettling understanding settle within him. Otto's words echoed in his mind: the dark shadow within him. Trevor now knew exactly what Otto had meant. He had felt the darkness, the uncontrollable rage, and the insidious pull of Shiv. It was a part of him, a shadow that lurked just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

While this internal struggle unfolded, the rest of the refugees frantically worked to undock the ship. Decca, with determination etched on his face, began to sail out of the harbour. The makeshift vessel creaked and groaned under the weight of its passengers and the pressure of the sea, but the will to survive drove everyone forward.

As they laboured, a scared voice said “What are you doing?  Are you leaving?”

Looking across the towards one of the other boats Trevor hauled his exhausted body up onto the gunwales and saw a women with 6 other diaphanously clad women and men.  Lady Halvara from the floating brothel next door looked over at them.

“Can we come too?” the timorous voice, clearly from someone more used to being in control stirred something in Trevor’s soul.  He nodded. “Come on.  Old Korvosa is hell just now.” And seven more refugees joined the group.

As the ship moved into the open water, the waves rose higher, slamming against the hull. The night was dark, the moon veiled by thick clouds, making navigation treacherous. The ship’s timbers moaned under the strain, and water leaked through countless gaps, forcing the refugees to bail out the water with whatever they could find. The journey was fraught with tension; every creak and splash seemed like the harbinger of doom.

Behind them, the lights of Old Korvosa began to fade, replaced by the dark expanse of the river. But safety was still a distant hope. Not a moment too soon, another mob of clown-faced thugs started to appear on the distant shore, their sinister faces contorted with rage.

After what felt like an eternity, they neared the opposite shore at Trail's End. The makeshift vessel, full of holes and barely seaworthy, managed to hold together long enough to reach the dock. As they disembarked, they were met by confused onlookers, including Grau Soldado, the man whose niece The Flowers had saved. Trevor warned him not to come too close as some members were contagious.

Soldado, his face a mix of concern and determination, wanted to help. He quickly arranged for all of the refugees to take shelter in friends’ houses. “Be quick” he warned, “The Grey Maidens will be here any moment!”

The refugees swiftly spread to nearby house and not a moment too soon!  Moments later, a patrol from The Grey Maidens rode into town, their armour glinting ominously in the dim light. They demanded to know if anyone in Trail's End had seen anyone depart from the ship. The tension was palpable; the refugees knew that if discovered, the Maidens would cut them down without mercy.

Soldado, quick on his feet and sharper with his wits, pointed in the direction the woods. “I saw a few people run that way,” he lied, gesturing towards a distant grove. The Grey Maidens, their eyes narrowing with suspicion, immediately gave chase on their horses, the clatter of hooves echoing through the night.

With the immediate danger passed, Soldado turned to Trevor and his companions. “You need a place to stay. It’s the least I can do for what you’ve done for my family,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude.

They graciously accepted, though their faces were lined with weariness and worry. As they settled into the modest shelter provided by Soldado, the pressing need to find a priest to heal the infected weighed heavily on their minds. The shadows of Old Korvosa still loomed large in their thoughts, and the threat of the Grey Maidens remained ever-present.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, the group knew they had to gather their strength for the tasks ahead. The battle for survival was far from over, and the challenges that awaited them were daunting, But for now they were grateful that they had escaped from Old Korvosa.