December 18, 1251
Three months had passed since our triumph over Coheed. There was still no sign of Mersh whatsoever. Peregrine had come and gone a couple times. Albion was still in the Gomezian mountains, spending time with his long-lost family and keeping in touch with the rest of the company via courier ravens. Tibles, Moira, and I were the only ones who were firmly anchored on our new home in North Crescent Isle.
Me n' Tibles kept busy filling orders for magical and mundane gear, working together to construct some fine pieces of work. Moira seemed content to play in local taverns, until she became something of a celebrity. Her music's some of the best I've heard, and she's attracted an assortment of travelers to the island.
But I reckon it's here that our story begins again. An unnatural winter has set in on the land, and it's bogged down communication something fierce. We hadn't heard from Albion for a couple weeks, and we weren't sure where exactly Peregrine was. It was on a cold blizzardy morning that Tibles brought in a copy of The Times, along with a little letter from Artemis.
The Times reported news of multiple disappearances all throughout Ashan. People hadn't found explanation, and were beginning to panic. Even worse, the continent-wide snowstorm was worsening. Fort Renwick had snow for the first time in decades. We opened Artemis' letter, which said that we should get together at The Dusty Drink to investigate these disturbances.
But first, I wanted to get my company back together. Artemis had sent similar letters to Peregrine and Albion, but Mersh was still a wild card. We'd assumed that we would be summoned to testify at the prince slayer's trial, but we hadn't heard any news. It was like Mersh's existence had been erased. We would hunt him down, and free him. I smelled adventure, and we were all eager to get back to what we did best.
As luck'd have it, Gilder Daccat was planning to head down to the mainland for some undisclosed errands. We tagged along with him for the price of a bottle of rum, and stuck it through below deck while the crazy captain and his crew braved the storm. We passed the time sharpening our weapons, going over our spellbooks, twanging away on finely tuned strings, and other preparatory activities. All of us were eager to get started.
When we docked, Tibles cast Endure Elements, conjured up mounts for him and Moira, and we set out on horseback for Gootham, over an impossibly snowy landscape. By the end of the day, we had made it, and came in knocking on Artemis' door. I think he was happy to see us! We told him our plan to bust Mersh out, and he seemed to be on board with it.
We schemed a spell, and decided that we could use our influence to get an audience with Mersh by cashing in a favour with the king. Moira and I headed down and made our case, and he reluctantly and begrudgingly allowed us a short visit. We were led down beneath the palace, through several levels of dungeon, and finally into a special cell that the warden had designed specifically for Mersh. There, he left us off with a monster of a man named Buckley, who carried a giant hammer and wore stone plate.
The cell was wide, had a slew of platforms connected by little bridges, and at the bottom, shrouded in darkness, our Mersh was chained to a pillar. We were led down as Buckley talked our ears off with sick euphemisms for torture, and met our old friend.
It was much worse than we feared. The kid didn't recognize Moira or me at all, and he seemed to have forgotten his own name. He said he was only the prince slayer. He was only trash. And he was going to rot. It broke our hearts, but I wasn't about to let that stop us. And I wasn't about to let Buckley just keep beating Mersh to a pulp. Moira saw to the latter bit; she placed a spell on him, and ordered that he refrain from hurting Mersh for a few days. We were escorted out shortly, to return to Tibles and Artemis to begin our plotting. But on our way to the surface, an imprisoned catfolk caught our attention. He had gathered that we were here to rescue our comrade, and told us that the Gootham Undergound owed many debts to the thief. If we were to come to a jewelry shop in the Bazaar around noon tomorrow, we would be offered help.
So we did just that. I dropped a few subtle hints to the clerk, and he escorted us into the "back room," a small passage that led to a large underground warehouse full of illegal goods. There, we met a man named Reginald, who offered us a distraction and a schedule of guard routes. We thanked the man, and moved on to our next order of business. We needed the key to Mersh's cell, which the warden kept on him at all times. It wasn't gonna be easy to nab the thing from under his nose without drawing suspicion.
Well, I dunno. Moira said to leave it to her. We found the warden's house, and Moira unbuttoned her blouse a little and waltzed inside. Half an hour later she walked out dangling the keys and buttoning up again. She's a strange creature, and I may never know what sort of coercion or witchcraft caused the warden to lower his guard. But that wasn't important right now. We had a couple hours to kill, and then we'd begin our heist. At 7:30, we crept onto the palace grounds, and sure enough, heard an explosion from the far side of the complex.
Thinking quickly, we charged up to the gate, and told the guards that The Tiki Company was here to help defend the palace against a surprise attack from the underground. They let us in. Moira and I did the talking, and we got right down to Mersh's cell before our presence was questioned.
Well, perhaps questioned is the wrong word. We arrived in the cell to find that Buckley had set up a small squad of guards to apprehend us. With the help of Tibles and Moira's magic we charged in, and dispatched each and every guard standing between Mersh and freedom. Meanwhile, Moira snuck down and freed the scoundrel, handing him a couple weapons and giving him a spell of invisibility.
He was the one who did away with Buckley, in the end. Though, in typical Mersh fashion, he left the bastard alive. Well, I wasn't gonna argue with the kid. Still, it seemed like he didn't have much of his memory left. He didn't know any of our names, but he accepted that he may as well be Mersh, and we were as good friends as he was likely to get.
When the dust settled, we hopped on the lift, and made a dash to the surface while we still had some confusion to capitalize on. We opened the catfolk's cell, and absconded before he could even give thanks. I'm not usually one for breaking criminals out of prison, but after all we'd been through, I decided the King deserved it.
We gathered our belongings, and left a note for Artemis, then left before anyone could sort the situation out. Next stop: The Dusty Drink. We had work to do.
—Richard J. Buckles
