Chapter 2: Bloodfire and Smoke¶
Prologue - Grotdor¶
The Beds were soft—too soft. Aldori coin buys comfort: polished marble, little lamps, potted green, sheets that whisper when you turn. The others talked while buckles clicked and scabbards kissed the floor. Good dreams, good plans—schools, orphanages, a merit‑ruled throne—but the hour was wrong. Heat lives best when it’s banked. I needed quiet.
The feast still hung on the edge of my teeth. Elroy played the gallant with Amiri, shouldering in like a shield into a storm. She might have snapped his arm for sport. He grinned anyway. Brave or foolish—both wear the same face. I let myself be amused.
Perry didn’t need steel. He pared the Iron Wraiths to the bone with words, each remark a clean cut. They reached for pride and found only air. I respect that kind of burn—no ash, no mess, just a lesson.
Rain argued with snow on the shutters. I rolled my shoulders, breathed out—maybe smoke, maybe habit—and traced the gate with my thumb. The spark answered, patient. Let the talk fade. Let the room cool. We sleep where we’re told and rise where we must. Tomorrow would want discipline and fire, in that order.
Aldori Guest Quarters – 3:00 A.M. A Quiet Night and Big Plans
The storm had passed, but night brought no peace to Aldori Manor. Perry Marlowe woke to the acrid smell of smoke curling beneath the door of his guest chamber, his investigator's instincts screaming danger before his conscious mind fully registered the threat. Around him, his companions stirred—Rust Freelox bolting upright in his comically oversized top hat, Dravyn gripping his runic staff, Elroy Jenkins already rising in full armor thanks to his guardian's training, and Grotdor radiating heat as elemental fire danced instinctively at his fingertips.
"There's fire," Rust announced unnecessarily, pointing at smoke seeping through the door seams. Distant sounds filtered through the walls—the clash of steel, screams, and something massive bellowing in rage.
Elroy reached the door first, shield already in hand from his habitual defensive stance. He cracked it open and immediately recoiled. In the hallway beyond, three figures in black leather armor prowled through the darkness, their greasy hair hanging in tangles, their blades drawn. One muttered to another: "Move that body so nobody finds him."
"You've got it, Hank."
As they turned, moonlight through a nearby window caught the distinctive mark each bore—three black tears tattooed over their eyes.
Perry quietly closed the door. "Looks like there are assassins in the hallway killing people," he whispered. "Sounds like we're under attack."
Elroy's jaw tightened. "Obviously we have to stop them. Let me go first."
"Good," Perry replied, already reaching into his alchemist's toolkit. "Well, before we go out there, I'd like to make a smoke ball."
Within moments, he had crafted the volatile concoction. The others readied themselves—Grotdor channeling his elemental gate until it blazed within him, Dravyn tracing protective sigils in the air, Rust preparing to call upon his life-soaked magic.
Elroy kicked open the door.
The Black Tears¶
The three cutthroats—later identified as members of the Black Tear mercenary gang—spun toward the sudden movement. "Oh shit, it's more of them!"
Combat erupted instantly. Perry's strategic mind raced through calculations as he analyzed the nearest assassin. Their modest armor, their positioning, their weaknesses—all cataloged in heartbeats. Using his pre-calculated trajectory, he threaded a crossbow bolt through a gap in the tangled leather, striking solidly. The assassin staggered but held.
The Black Tear cutthroats pressed their attack with professional coordination. One lunged at Elroy, but the guardian's shield—already raised from his cautious traveling stance—turned the blade aside effortlessly. Another hurled a spear toward Rust, finding purchase despite the goblin's quick reflexes.
The third cutthroat, more heavily built, began pelting Elroy with hardened seeds like sling bullets. The first bounced off his shield, but the second found a gap. Elroy interposed his shield fully, absorbing the impact with a grunt. Before he could recover, thorny vines erupted from the assassin's position in a magical ensnaring spell, wrapping around the guardian's legs and hindering his movement.
Perry activated his temporal abilities, quickening himself with supernatural speed. He moved into the hallway and activated his smoke ball, disappearing into concealing clouds. Grotdor launched a flying flame that threaded through the assassins, singeing their armor and cloaks. Dravyn's frostbite spell lashed at one with biting cold, while Elroy—fighting through the entangling vines—struck back with devastating force.
The battle was brief but brutal. Perry's crossbow bolts found vital points with calculated precision. Elroy's sword cut down the wounded assassins one by one. Grotdor's flames scorched leather and flesh. When the last Black Tear cutthroat fell, silence returned to the blood-spattered hallway.
"We need to check on the others," Elroy said, his shield already raised again as he moved toward the other guest chambers.
Servants' Blood¶
The next rooms revealed only horror. The servants' quarters showed signs of swift, merciless slaughter—small neat beds now soaked in blood, bodies of staff who'd been murdered in their sleep. The companions found a few valuable items, including healing potions and a tanglefoot bag, which they gathered quickly.
But when they opened the door to the room where the other adventurers had been housed, hope flickered. Four bodies lay on blood-soaked beds, but these were not their new companions. Valerie, Linzi, Harrim, and Amiri were missing—either escaped or taken.
"We keep moving," Perry said grimly. "People are still dying."
Elroy opened another door, revealing a water garden—a lush indoor paradise with trickling streams and flowering vines. The beauty was marred by three more Black Tear assassins waiting among the plants, and beyond them, across ornate bridges, were two more of the mercenaries.
The guardian didn't hesitate. He used his defensive advance to race across the bridge, shield raised, and plunged his blade into the nearest assassin with such force that the mercenary died instantly. "Make that three!" he shouted back to his companions.
Perry's crossbow sang again and again, each bolt placed with surgical precision. Grotdor's elemental blasts scorched through multiple targets. Dravyn's electric arc leaped between foes like living lightning. Rust channeled divine blessings over his allies, his life magic bolstering their strength.
When the last assassin fell, his body erupted in one final magical burst, but the threat was ended. The companions stood among the ruins of the water garden, breathing hard but victorious.
"We're getting good at this," Grotdor noted, letting the last flames fade from his fingertips.
"Don't get cocky," Perry replied, reloading his crossbow. "I saw more of these bastards. Many more."
Survivors in the Library¶
The companions pushed deeper into the manor, following sounds of violence. They discovered a modest library completely destroyed—bookshelves emptied, books heaped in corners, and a horrifying pile of severed limbs and heads stacked in one corner. The carnage spoke of systematic brutality.
In the center of the chaos stood something massive: an ogre, easily ten feet tall, swinging a wicked hook wildly in all directions. Black ink was splattered across his face, covering his eyes—he was completely blind.
Hiding under a Blood-spattered chair was Linzi, her eyes wide with terror. When she saw the companions, she mouthed silently: "Help me."
The blind ogre roared, swinging his hook in random arcs. "Where are you, halfling? I can't see no more. I smash your eyes good when I get you!"
The battle against Gromog the ogre tested them severely. His wild swings were devastating even without the ability to see—one blow sent Elroy crashing to the ground, unconscious before he could react. Only Rust's immediate healing magic pulled the guardian back from death's edge.
But blindness was a cruel handicap. Perry's bolts struck true again and again. Grotdor's flames found their mark. Dravyn's thunderstrike lashed the creature with electricity and sound. When Rust finally landed a critical strike with his needle darts, sending three bone-white projectiles through the ogre's vital points simultaneously, the massive creature toppled with a ground-shaking crash.
Linzi crawled out from her hiding place, shaking. "What is happening? Last thing I knew I was sleeping and then—fire and blood and—oh gods, where's everyone else? Have you seen Amiri? Valerie? Harrim?"
"First one we've seen so far," Elroy replied, helping the bard to her feet. "But we've killed about a half-dozen assassins."
"They have these black tear tattoos," Perry added. "Wielded daggers. Do you know about them?"
Linzi shook her head, still trembling. "We've got to find the others. We've got to get out of here. This has to be a coordinated attack. This was planned."
The Treasury and the Giant¶
Rust rummaged through his pack and produced a small bronze key they'd found earlier in a secret compartment. "I found a key. I don't know if it's this key, but I did find a key."
Linzi grabbed it eagerly and led them to a particular bookshelf, where a book bound in green and gold sat prominently displayed. She inserted the key, turned it, and pushed—revealing a hidden passage to a small treasury.
Inside sat a large wooden chest. Grotdor checked it carefully for traps, found none, and opened it to reveal Lady Jamandi's reserve funds: ten cloth pouches, each containing a hundred gold pieces for paying guards and servants, plus a ledger tracking all payments. Also within were a masterwork longsword and mace, both enchanted with minor magic.
Elroy stared at the gold, then closed the chest firmly. "I am not going to rob our sponsor."
"Agreed," Perry said quickly. "Can't do it."
"Well," Rust ventured, "would she really mind if we use the weapons? We're kind of helping defend her manor right now."
After brief debate, they took the enchanted weapons—Elroy claiming the longsword, Perry the mace—but left the gold untouched. "If she wants them back after this is done, we give them back," Elroy declared. "But people are dying as we speak."
Another hidden door in the treasury led to a pantry, and from there to a scullery. The companions moved cautiously, weapons ready, and opened the scullery door to find a scene of carnage.
Corpses were piled against the walls—guards, servants, and Black Tear mercenaries alike, showing signs of tremendous violence. Sitting amidst the slaughter, his back to the great hall doors, was a frost giant. Easily twelve feet tall, covered in heavy furs and iron armor, bearing grievous wounds that wept blood, the giant's breathing came in labored, wheezing gasps.
A massive greataxe lay broken in three pieces at his feet. As Dravyn opened the door, the giant's pale eyes fixed on them with exhausted determination.
He spoke in the harsh language of giants—Jotun.
"Anyone here speak giant?" Elroy asked.
"I do," Dravyn replied. He called out in Jotun: "Who hired you, you filthy son? You smelly giant."
The frost giant's response was flat, matter-of-fact: "Don't know who hired me. My boss pays me to kill what I do."
"Do you know who your boss is?"
"Elroy Volor. Mira the Axe."
The companions exchanged glances. The name meant nothing to them, but it was information to remember.
Dravyn tried to reason with the wounded giant, attempting to convince him his services were no longer needed. But his words came out wrong, his diplomatic approach fumbling. The frost giant—his name was Jurgrindor—slowly rose to his feet, the temperature dropping precipitously as he did.
"My work is done when you're all fucking dead, heroes."
Despite his terrible wounds, despite his broken weapon, Jurgrindor proved nearly unstoppable. His first punch caught Elroy with the force of an avalanche, sending the guardian crashing into unconsciousness in a single blow. The giant's massive fists swung with terrifying power, each strike capable of ending a life.
Rust's healing magic barely kept pace with the damage. Perry's alchemist fire splashed across the giant's face, flames dancing in his beard. Grotdor's elemental blasts scorched frozen flesh. Dravyn's force barrage hammered the giant with magical projectiles. Linzi attempted to help but her telekinetic assault went wide.
The frost giant was a mountain of resilience, shrugging off wounds that would have felled lesser creatures. But slowly, inexorably, the companions wore him down. Fire and force and steel took their toll. When Elroy finally rose from unconsciousness, he faced the wounded giant one last time.
"Next time," the guardian said coldly, "you should hit me a little harder."
His enchanted longsword found the gap where Jurgrindor had struck him, carving through beard and jaw. The frost giant fell like a toppled tree, dead before he hit the ground.
The Great Hall¶
In the chamber beyond, they found three of their missing companions bound and gagged: Valerie, Amiri, and Harrim, all unconscious but alive. The companions quickly freed them, rousing them to consciousness.
Valerie's usually composed face was cut and bloody. "What happened? Where are we?"
"We've been attacked," Elroy replied. "I speak in Dwarvish to Harrim: Are you all right, my friend? I'm sorry, Groetus is not quite ready for you, but we still have need of you."
Harrim's response was characteristically grim: "It's a damn thing. I was really hoping that was the end of old days. I was ready to die."
Amiri, recovering her senses, immediately asked: "Where's the frost giant? You did that?"
Elroy looked apologetic. "Amiri, I apologize. I slayed him, but with my sword, not with your dagger. I promise I will remember next time."
The barbarian woman laughed roughly. "All right, I'll let you slide this time. I almost had him. I almost had him, but he got me in the end. I'm really surprised he didn't kill me."
These four were too injured to fight further, so the companions left them to recover while pushing toward the great hall. There they found the remaining guards had barricaded themselves behind overturned tables. The guard captain, Avenzi—great mustache, greater sword—looked them over with frank assessment.
"You survived that? That is impressive. How did you manage to do so?"
"We stabbed everything in front of us that wasn't human," Elroy replied simply.
"Where's Lady Jamandi?"
Avenzi pointed to the western doors, where smoke poured through gaps stuffed with cloth. "She ordered me to hold the great hall, then took a squad of about eight guards to clear the western wing. Her goal was to retake the dueling hall at the far end of the manor. I wager you'll find her there."
"The western wing is actively burning down," he continued grimly. "I don't know how many more soldiers, servants, or party-goers are alive in there, but I know there are more frost giants, more Black Tear assassins. I am not permitted to leave my post, but I must ask: would you be willing to go into the west wing, defeat the attackers, and rescue Lady Aldori?"
"Of course," Elroy said without hesitation. He looked back at his companions, noting their exhaustion and wounds.
Avenzi softened slightly. "If there's any resources you need—we are low ourselves—but if you need moments to collect yourselves, take them. I know Lady Aldori is a swordlord, one of the greatest fighters we have. But I also know the leader of the Black Tears is in there: an axe-wielding bandit by the name of Volor Mira. Bring me her head."
The companions took ten minutes to tend their wounds, redistribute healing potions, and prepare for what awaited. The smoke pouring from under the western wing's doors was thick and black, reeking of chemical fire.
Into the Inferno¶
When they pulled open the western doors, heat and smoke rolled over them in a suffocating wave. The hallway beyond was an inferno—flames crackling along walls, ceiling, floor. Smoke so thick it obscured vision beyond a few feet.
They had no choice but to push forward. The manor was burning, people were dying, and Lady Jamandi was somewhere in that hell.
Perry led the way, using his acrobatic training to stamp out flames and kick apart burning debris. Rust followed, using his divine magic to douse flames with conjured water. Grotdor suppressed fires with his kinetic control, making flames shrink and die unnaturally. Dravyn cast cones of frost, and Elroy simply smashed everything flammable with his shield.
But the smoke was relentless. It clawed at their throats, burned their eyes, sapped their strength. Perry caught fire at one point, his clothes igniting from ambient heat, until Rust's magic doused him. All of them were coughing, sickened by the toxic fumes.
Room by room they fought both fire and smoke. Perry's strategic mind calculated the best approach to each blaze. Grotdor's elemental manipulation gave them an edge no normal firefighters could match. Slowly, agonizingly, they cleared chambers, extinguished flames, created a path forward.
In one blessed chamber—a shrine to Milani, goddess of those who war against oppression—the smoke refused to enter. Magical protection kept the air clean and pure. They marked it as a sanctuary, knowing they might need it if things grew desperate.
But they couldn't stop. Somewhere ahead, Lady Jamandi fought for her life and her manor. Somewhere ahead, Volor Mira and her Black Tear mercenaries awaited.
The companions pressed on through smoke and flame, leaving extinguished fires and cleared paths behind them. They had proven themselves against assassins, ogres, and frost giants.
Now they would face the heart of the attack itself.
The real test was only beginning.