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Saturday, December 26

Crisis in Freeport: Part 13 – Shattered Masques

The front double doors to the Salon du Masque were made of solid oak with metal bands reinforcing the wood, giving them a sturdy and utilitarian appearance. Sebastian rang his chime and they opened as if they had been invited guests.

Inside the doors was a beautiful entryway; a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and fine rugs gave the wooden floor a somewhat richly cluttered appearance. Off to the left, a stairwell ascended to the second floor, with common areas on either side of the entrance. It gave the impression that Salon du Masque was no mere brothel, but rather an upscale home for socialites.

Several tables and chairs were overturned, and elorii soldiers fired a volley of arrows as Sebastian entered. The projectiles stopped a few feet before him and fell to the ground. Beldin stepped out behind him, their roles reversed for once.

“Well, look ‘ew we ‘ave here!” came a familiar voice. “If it ain’t th’ Sea Lord o’ Freetown ‘imself!”

“Price,” said Sebastian. “I thought you were in prison.”

Price stood up from behind one of the tables, and it was clear that things had changed since he was incarcerated. He bore scars and marks all over his arms and face. He had short and unruly brown hair that stuck up at all angles. And somewhere along the line, Price had lost an eye and acquired an eye patch.

“Oh, right. Well, yah, I was afflicted wid a bad case ov incarceration, but I got better.” He swung two long clubs before him, one in each hand, striding towards Beldin.

Sebastian fired back at the elorii bowmen with closed fists, unleashing blast after blast of eldritch energy. One of them shrieked and fell backwards out of sight.

Beldin moved to meet Price, Windcutter at the ready. “There’s no way you’re competent enough to escape prison on your own.”

“Took a bit o’ convincing o’ the Commissioner, yew know, but ‘e got it once I stuck a shiv through ‘is throat.” Price laughed. more


posted by Michael Tresca at 7:15 AM

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