[18e05] TBD

The party’s evening in Trell took a tense turn when Galloc, one of Kerwin’s bodyguards, emerged from an alley and engaged them in a probing, friendly exchange that masked his true intentions. Though the group played it cool with a cover story, Taelin remained visibly shaken throughout the encounter — and moments after Galloc retreated into the shadows, she discovered her pouch had been stolen. Before the party could act, Taelin collapsed with a splitting headache as the magical buffer suppressing her corruption began to dissolve. Vondal finally voiced what everyone had been avoiding, asking point-blank whether she had killed someone that night. Taelin didn’t deny it, and Ozborn offered his own brand of gruff comfort by recounting his first stabbing. The group split up: Callie and Bec escorted Taelin to the SPI’s local headquarters under a protective dome, while Freki and Ozborn doubled back to track Galloc. Using rooftop parkour, a raven named Hugin, and intelligence gathered from a chatty tomato plant named Potato, the two agents deduced that a second bodyguard — a tiefling woman named Preen — had likely lifted the pouch while Galloc held the party’s attention. Ozborn struck a deal with Galloc: the SPI would keep the case out of court and ensure the carafe left town in exchange for a tip on the artifact’s location.

Back at SPI headquarters, Taelin gave a full account of her three years under the carafe’s influence, explaining how a business trip to Abriymoch had briefly cleared her mind enough to write herself a letter outlining a plan to steal the artifact — a plan that ended in violence when Kerwin refused to relinquish it. She cited constructive coercion by a hazardous artifact as her legal defense and urged the SPI to ensure the carafe never circulated again. Cassandra attempted to purge the remaining corruption from Taelin’s mind but pushed herself to her limits in the effort, ultimately merging her remaining strength with Callie’s so the gnome cleric could channel the power of three divine presences at once. The healing worked completely — Taelin’s memories, identity, and sense of self were fully restored, including the name of her long-forgotten partner, Davan. With Taelin secured and the team regrouped, Ozborn pulled Mallory aside to request discretionary funds to pursue the carafe through Trell’s underworld channels, leveraging the deal he had struck with Galloc. Mallory approved without hesitation, and Ozborn assured the team with full confidence that he had a plan — a good one — and that they would absolutely be getting receipts.

The night had grown heavy and watchful over the rough streets of Trell when a shadowy figure stepped out of a nearby alley, his smirk catching the dim light as he approached the party. He introduced himself through Taelin’s startled recognition — Galloc, one of Kerwin’s personal bodyguards — and offered a casual warning about making too much noise in a neighborhood like this. The sharpest eyes among the group caught the subtle flicker of his gaze toward Taelin, a momentary tell that betrayed a hidden interest beneath his easy, friendly manner. He was sizing them up, probing for weaknesses, and almost certainly angling for some kind of profit.

The party played it cool, spinning a convincing story about heading to dinner and assuring Galloc that Kerwin was probably just working late. Galloc, for his part, was disarmingly candid about his own role — he was paid to watch the streets, not to babysit his employer inside a building. He hinted at working in the gray spaces between what governments could legally do and what they actually needed done, a confession that landed with knowing nods from the more worldly members of the group. Taelin stood rigid throughout the exchange, visibly tense and distrustful, though not quite terrified of the man she clearly knew from her years at the firm.

When Galloc finally retreated back into the shadows of the alley, the group exhaled and pressed onward toward dinner. It was only a few blocks later that Taelin’s hand flew to her side and her face went pale — her pouch was gone. She insisted it contained everything important to her, and the party immediately suspected Galloc, the only stranger they had encountered close enough to have taken it. But before they could form a proper plan, Taelin crumpled to her knees, clutching her head as a splitting headache overtook her. Those with a healer’s eye recognized what was happening: the magical buffer that had been wrapped around her was finally, visibly dissolving away.

Vondal, who had been quietly bottling up the knowledge of what Taelin had done that evening, could contain himself no longer. He blurted out the question that had been burning in him all night — was she freaking out because she had murdered a man? The words hung in the air, blunt and unavoidable. Taelin didn’t deny it. Ozborn, ever the pragmatist, knelt beside her and offered the only comfort he knew how to give, remarking with genuine sincerity that he remembered his own first stabbing and that they could talk about it. It was, in its own strange way, the kindest thing anyone had said to her all evening.

The group made a swift decision to split up. Callie and Bec would escort Taelin back to the SPI’s local headquarters, keeping her safe inside a shimmering protective dome that rendered them invisible to the outside world. Freki and Ozborn would double back to track down Galloc and recover the stolen pouch. Taelin, still shaking, reluctantly climbed aboard the magical flying carpet and was ushered toward safety, the translucent barrier of the dome glowing softly around her as she stared out at the city she could no longer trust.

Inside the dome, Taelin began to speak more freely. She described her condition in precise legal terms — constructive coercion by a hazardous artifact — and explained that the magical coffee pot had been warping the minds of everyone in Kerwin’s orbit for years. She had known something was wrong, had even taken precautions, but the gas the carafe emitted had a way of making everything feel perfectly reasonable until you were far enough away from it to remember who you used to be. She had once had a partner, she said, and a life outside the firm, but she could no longer even recall her partner’s name.

Meanwhile, Freki dropped to a crouch in the alley where Galloc had stood and breathed in the lingering traces of the man’s scent — brimstone and the outdoors, the unmistakable signature of a tiefling who spent more time in alleys than drawing rooms. There was a second scent too, fainter and older, suggesting someone else had been present before Galloc emerged. His raven, Hugin, appeared on a neighboring rooftop and signaled with a tilt of his head, and the chase was on. Freki and Ozborn leaped and teleported their way across the rooftops of Trell, following the raven’s guidance from building to building until they arrived at a flat roof featuring a small community garden.

Ozborn immediately helped himself to a tomato, eating it like a piece of hand fruit while Freki investigated the garden with considerably more focus. The scent trail ended near the tomato plants, and after careful searching, Freki discovered a cleverly concealed trapdoor hidden beneath the disturbed dust of the rooftop. Wary of traps, the two backed away and sent Ozborn’s flying monkey, Churro, to open it. Churro scratched at it, pawed it, and jumped on it in mounting frustration until the door banged open on one of his leaps — and a hand reached up from below.

Galloc climbed out of the trapdoor looking considerably less amused than he had on the street. He acknowledged that they had gone to impressive lengths to follow him, and the two agents launched into a layered conversation — Ozborn speaking aloud while simultaneously communicating in Thieves’ Cant beneath the surface, pressing Galloc about the stolen bag. Galloc denied taking anything, but his eyes said otherwise. Freki let his own eyes shift to a cold, predatory yellow, and Galloc took one smooth step back, putting the trapdoor between them.

While Ozborn kept Galloc talking, Freki turned his attention to the tomato plants and began to commune with them in the quiet, whispering language of growing things. The plant he spoke with — a cheerful, chatty specimen that introduced itself as Potato — turned out to be a surprisingly reliable witness. Potato confirmed that Galloc visited often, sometimes covered in blood, and always smoking near the leaves in a way that clogged up its little pores. But there was also a woman who came to the roof: a tiefling with a tail who sang to the plants, sometimes disappeared without warning, and was, in Potato’s enthusiastic opinion, far better company than Galloc had ever been. Freki promised to bring food, sang a brief song to encourage growth, and bid farewell to his new tomato child, departing as Agent Papa.

The intelligence pointed clearly toward a second bodyguard — a woman named Preen, who matched the description of someone who could vanish at will and who had likely been the one to lift Taelin’s bag while Galloc held the party’s attention on the street. With that piece in place, Ozborn laid out a deal for Galloc plainly: the SPI would ensure the case never went to court and the carafe would leave town, and in exchange, Galloc would point them toward the artifact’s current location. Galloc agreed, hinting that something would turn up soon if the agents kept their word and left his crew alone. He dropped back through the trapdoor, and the two agents made their way down from the rooftops — Freki via a rusted fire escape, Ozborn by dropping a dagger to the street below and appearing beside it.

The triumphant return to the local SPI office was immediately humbled by a locked door. Vex had gone home for the night and taken the only key with him, leaving behind nothing but an IOU note promising a visit to the locksmith. What followed was a prolonged and increasingly chaotic series of attempts to gain entry: Vondal’s familiar Murphy, in cat form, managed to pop a window latch and get inside, but the door remained stubbornly shut. Vondal attempted to manipulate the lock’s internal mechanisms with a spectral hand, accidentally gumming up the tumblers with ectoplasm. By the time Freki and Ozborn arrived to find their teammates still locked out, Ozborn’s attempt with his thieves’ tools ended in failure and the eventual, disgusted disposal of the entire set into a nearby dumpster.

The party eventually coordinated a solution involving the portable hole — a magical extradimensional space furnished with tiki torches and a folding table — to get everyone inside without further damaging the property. Freki, who harbored a deep and well-documented trauma around the portable hole from a previous incident, grumbled through the entire process. Once inside, they used the office’s teleportation circle to travel back to the main SPI headquarters, where Mallory was waiting and the lights in Cassandra’s lab were still burning.

Bec and Ozborn briefed Mallory on the situation with the blunt efficiency of agents who had seen stranger things: there had been a murder, they had the suspect in custody, and she had formally requested asylum. Mallory raised an eyebrow at the detail that the murder suspect had been left alone in a portable hole with one of his best agents, but the party assured him that Callie was perfectly capable of handling herself. Cassandra was pulled from her lab, looking haggard from a long night of paperwork, and the group gathered in Mallory’s office to conduct a proper interview.

Taelin, now seated and somewhat steadier, laid out the full story with the precision of someone who had spent years managing legal documents. She had been with Kerwin’s firm for three years, and the carafe’s influence had been present the entire time, slowly eroding her memories of her previous life, her partner, her interests, everything that had made her herself. Six weeks ago, a business trip to Abriymoch on the judicial island of Phlegethos had taken her far enough from the artifact that her mind had begun to clear. She had used that clarity to write herself a letter, mailed it home, and returned to the firm knowing she would fall back under the influence — but trusting her clear-headed self to have left her a way out.

The letter had contained a plan to steal the carafe and break Kerwin’s hold on the firm. When Kerwin refused to give it up, Taelin’s anger had overtaken her, and the plan had ended in violence. She described the legal defense she had researched — constructive coercion by a hazardous artifact — and noted that the lawyer Serelda Voth’s team had independently uncovered the same ancient precedent and was likely planning to use it to pursue Kerwin’s estate. The carafe, she insisted, could not be allowed to remain in circulation. It had already destroyed too many lives.

Cassandra stepped forward and attempted to perform a miracle to clear the remaining corruption from Taelin’s mind, her eyes blazing white as she uttered a word of incomprehensible power — but the effort left her trembling and spent. She had pushed herself too hard for too long. Rather than give up, she turned to Callie and offered what remained of her strength, merging her essence temporarily with the gnome cleric’s so that Callie could channel the power of not two but three divine presences at once. Callie’s medallion burned hot against her chest as she laid her hands on Taelin’s head and called upon her goddesses with everything she had.

The flash of energy that followed was clean and complete. Taelin’s eyes snapped open, sharp and clear, and she said simply that she thought it had worked. The three years of slow, grinding magical corruption dissolved in an instant, and for the first time in a very long time, Taelin was entirely herself again. She remembered the name of her partner — Davan — and the place she had once been offered a job, Crestfall, and all the things she had given up without ever quite realizing she was giving them up.

With Taelin restored and secured, Ozborn pulled Mallory aside for a quiet word. He explained that he had made contact with a figure in the local underworld who had agreed to provide a tip on the carafe’s location, and that the criminal elements in Trell wanted the artifact gone just as badly as the SPI did. He requested discretionary funds to pursue the lead through the city’s underworld channels, and Mallory granted it without hesitation. Ozborn looked at the bag of coin, looked at the rest of his team, and announced with complete confidence that he had a plan — it was a good plan, it was going to cost some money, and they were going to get the receipts.

Last we left off, our agents found themselves navigating the treacherous streets of Trell when a figure emerged from the shadows — Galloc, one of Kerwin’s personal bodyguards. The encounter was brief but charged, and it was only after he retreated into the dark that the party realized Taelin’s pouch had vanished from her side. Before they could act, Taelin collapsed under the weight of a dissolving magical buffer, and the truth of the evening came spilling out — she had killed a man, the carafe’s influence had been unraveling her for years, and she could no longer even remember the name of the person she had once loved. The group split: Callie and Bec escorted Taelin to safety beneath a shimmering protective dome, while Freki and Ozborn took to the rooftops in pursuit of Galloc, guided by the keen instincts of a raven and the quiet testimony of a tomato plant named Potato.

The chase led them to a rooftop garden and a tense negotiation with Galloc, who denied the theft but agreed to a deal — the SPI would keep the case out of court and see the carafe removed from the city, and in exchange, he would point them toward the artifact’s location. The real culprit, it seemed, was a second bodyguard named Preen, a tiefling woman who could vanish at will and had likely lifted the pouch while Galloc held the party’s attention. With that intelligence secured, the agents regrouped — after a prolonged and undignified battle with a locked office door — and made their way back to SPI headquarters, where Mallory and Cassandra were waiting.

There, Taelin laid out the full scope of what the carafe had done to her: three years of slow erosion, a business trip that had briefly cleared her mind, and a letter she had written to herself as a lifeline. Cassandra, exhausted from a long night’s work, pushed herself to the edge of her limits attempting to purge the remaining corruption — and when her strength gave out, she merged her essence with Callie’s, allowing the gnome cleric to channel the power of three divine presences at once. The healing that followed was complete and immediate. Taelin’s eyes opened clear, and for the first time in years, she remembered who she was. Now, with Taelin restored and a lead on the carafe’s location secured through the city’s underworld, the party stands ready to move — and Ozborn, coin purse in hand, assures everyone that he has a plan…

From an alley stepped Galloc, all smiles, A bodyguard steeped in dark wiles. He chatted them up, Then vanished — corrupt — With Taelin’s pouch gone by some miles!

Poor Taelin then fell to her knees, Her mind crumbling fast by degrees. Vondal blurted out loud, “Did you kill someone?” — proud — And Ozborn said, “First stabs, I seize!”

On rooftops they leaped through the night, With Hugin to guide their swift flight. A tomato named Potato Spilled all that he’d seen, oh — And Galloc agreed to play right.

The office door locked — what a shame! A portable hole was their game. Through tiki-torch space, They found their way’s grace, And Vondal’s ectoplasm’s to blame.

Then Cassandra and Callie combined, Three goddesses blazing aligned. Taelin’s eyes opened clear, She remembered — “Davan’s here!” — And three years of fog left her mind.

So the party ran into Kerwin’s bodyguard Galloc in a dark alley, somehow managed not to blow their cover, and patted themselves on the back — right up until they realized he had pickpocketed Taelin in broad darkness like it was nothing. Taelin then immediately collapsed on the street because the magical corruption that had been eating her brain for three years chose that exact moment to start visibly dissolving, which is just great timing. Vondal, unable to hold it in for one more second, asked if she was freaking out because she had committed murder, and Ozborn — bless him — responded to a woman’s emotional breakdown by fondly reminiscing about his own first stabbing.

The team split up, Freki and Ozborn parkoured across rooftops with the help of a raven and a chatty tomato named Potato, struck a deal with Galloc in a rooftop garden, and then returned triumphantly to a locked office door that defeated them for an embarrassing amount of time. They eventually got everyone inside via a magical extradimensional tiki lounge, teleported back to HQ, had Cassandra and Callie perform a divine tag-team exorcism on Taelin’s corrupted mind, and now Ozborn is holding a bag of discretionary funds and telling everyone he has a plan. He has receipts. God help them all.