“I don’t think we should waste this opportunity to question our friend here,” Korwin commented as they dragged the stunned and suddenly pale priest away from the entry and toward the central pillar of the Shrine. “Given how slippery these fellows have been so far, I fear any delay could lead to disaster… we have this space to ourselves, for whatever reason, and the power of the Ma– er, the Shaper – seems to have given us a break.”

“True,” agreed Vulk, “Even if we could get him past his fellow Kalosians, there’s no guarantee that this blessing would last beyond the walls of this Shrine, or beyond His lands…”

“If we set up behind this pillar,” Devrik offered, “we can’t be easily seen from the doorway, should anyone pass by, but should be aware of anyone entering.”

The others all agreed with this plan, and soon the faux priest of Kalos was bound hand and foot, his back to the massive central pillar and his face sickly looking in the soft amber light. He had regained his bearing by this time, and even as he was manhandled he adopted an air of remote indifference.

“You will get nothing from me, offspring of jackals,” he sneered when they all stood ranged around him, looking at him expectantly. But Vulk had not been idle while Devrik and Erol bound their prisoner. He now stepped forward, and raising his baton, he invoked the ritual of Abon’s Authority, certain that this time his invocation would be allowed to work.

“Those in whom you have placed your faith have abandoned you,” he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. The priest’s face went slack with shock and despair, but only for a moment; he quickly drew his resolve around himself, however tattered and bereft it suddenly seemed to him.

“N-no, I have not… not been abandoned… you have done this… but the Golden Man…”

“…cannot help you now,” Vulk interrupted coldly. “Your only hope lies with us. Tell us what we wish to know, and you may yet be saved!”

“No, I –”

“What is your name?” Vulk barked this question out suddenly, and before he could even think, the man had answered.

“Gerif Urnoketh!” He was sweating profusely now, and his face was a study in fear and desperation.

Mariala stepped forward and with every erg of mental energy she possessed she reached out with her mind and Commanded the confused man.

“What is the Vortex?”

Gerif’s face went suddenly slack, and he slumped back against the basalt and amber pillar, all resistance seemingly gone. He spoke in a quite monotone quite different from his previous sibilant hissing, almost conversationally.

“The Vortex is the cleansing power of Chaos, which will destroy the old and dying relics of the past, and usher in the new Order… It is everywhere, and it is unstoppable… Resistance is futile.”

“Who else is a member of the Vortex,” Korwin asked, leaning forward avidly, his eyes bright with curiosity. But the priest just looked at him, his face regaining a bit of its former tension, until Mariala repeated the question with her Commanding voice. Gerif’s gaze turned blank again as he began to speak.

“It is not for me to know more than is given to me… my charge is this shrine of the Mad God, and the monastery. I know only those whom I’ve recruited to the service of the Vortex, and the one who recruited me, Arlun Parek… and the Golden Man, of course… he who is the Vortex made flesh…”

A sudden babble of questions broke out at this point, and it took several minutes for Mariala to restore quiet and make it clear all the questions had to go through her. Eventually the group fell into the pattern of quietly asking Mariala a question and waiting for the mind-locked priest to answer after she had repeated it for him in The Voice. Vulk reinforced her commands with his ritual of Authority, and confirmed the answers with his truth sense, and slowly a picture emerged.

It became clear that they weren’t going to blow this thing wide open that night – the Vortex appeared to be a cellular organization, with each cell unaware of the members of other cells. Gerif Urnoketh was in charge of this single, apparently fairly remote and unregarded, cell. The only senior Vortexian he knew by name/sight was the one he reported to, Arlun Parek, who oversaw several cells in the region. Gerif knew nothing of the nature, location or even number of other cells.

He did once meet the leader of the organization, the one he called the Golden Man, when he received his second tattoo and was made a cell leader – but the man was swathed in rich robes of midnight blue, crimson and gold, no inch of flesh exposed, and his face hidden beneath a mask of solid gold, the eyes of which glowed white. He, if indeed a man it was, never spoke, but touched Gerif’s newly inked tattoo, imbuing it with his power and filling him with a sense of purpose and camaraderie.

As the leader of the Nah-henu cell Gerif had just six agents in his employ, and only two of those were aware of the existence of the Vortex; the other four believed that they were merely agents of an ambitious priest of Kalos. Of the latter, two were acolytes of Kalos at Nah-henu: Shemet Korvemin and Lesia Jegwar, both young, devout and ambitious, especially the girl. Another was Hergot Verokor, the Master of the Cellar and monk of the Monastery of the Ochre Hand… an ambitious man, willing to hitch his wagon to a rising star. All three believed Gerif to be maneuvering to become the next High Priest of the Nah-henu Shrine.

The fourth blind tool he employed was Joreth Vederzin, a boatman based in Vespina Abbey at the southern end of Lake Everbrite, who plies the waters of the lake from there to Dürkon, carrying cargo and passengers as circumstances allow, including pilgrims to the Shrine at Nah-henu. He was useful for keeping track of the movements of various people in the region. Gerif actually volunteered the information that he was certain that the man was also in the pay of several other spymasters with interests around the lake… “strictly a mercenary,” he concluded with a derisive sniff.

Of the two agents who were willing tools of the Vortex, one was an innkeeper in the castle town of Areson, Fendal Larket, master of the Broken Capstone Inn, well positioned to see who passes through the town, and to learn much of their business if they happened to be less than discreet while enjoying the refreshments of his common room. Gerif said Larket was a black-mark recruit, and seeks only personal wealth and power through the Vortex, caring little and knowing less of their true mission. He was recruited in the summer of 3016.

But it was the last agent, and the one most recently recruited, that riveted the group’s attention. A red-mark agent, Vorgev Greatcoffer was recruited just four months ago, with an eye to a specific job. A  wealthy Khundari merchant/trader from Dürkon, he conducts much of the city-state’s trade with the Umantari realms of Kildora, Nolkior and, to a lesser extent, Arushal, exchanging weapons and raw ore for foodstuffs and luxury items. He was seduced into the Vortex by the believe that it is a secret Khundari-Umantari alliance that wishes to keep the Ocean Empire out of the North. Vorgev feels his monopolies are threatened by the changes Prince Rhoghûn the Younger has been making since he took power last year, especially the proposed trade treaty with the Khundari princedom of Lakzhan, in the Empire. He sees the Vortex as a way to return to the status quo.

“And you’re too late to stop Arlun,” Gerif added, suddenly seeming more animated, though still under the combined powers of Vulk and Mariala. “The assassination may already have taken place… or will soon…”

“Assassination? What assassination?” Vulk barked, using the full force of his Authority. “Speak!”

“It is not the desire of the Vortex to see Dürkon expand its contacts,” Gerif explained, the blankness settling over him again. “Especially not with the Empire… Arlun used Vorgev… I’m not sure how, he doesn’t tell me very much… bastard thinks he’s so special… infiltrated the dwarven city… the Imperial Ambassador, some Khundari from Zhan-Tor… will be assassinated… make it look like the Prince sanctioned it, I think… destroy any chance of alliance… for years… maybe a generation… undermine Rhogûn, too… we can hope…”

As Mariala explained to her friends, for centuries Dürkon has been isolated from other Khundari realms and city-states, holding tight to a long tradition of isolationism… Rhoghûn’s grandfather instituted a more open exchange with the United Realms of Karac 200 years ago, but even he resisted the overtures of Lakzhan, as being too intimately tied to the policies of the Ocean Empire – many Northern rulers fear the possibility of the return of the Empire. But the new prince wants to open formal relations, including trade deals, with Lakzhan, and thru it with the Empire. Apparently this plan was now coming to fruition…

Despite repeated questioning Gerif could reveal no more about the plot, only that Arlun had left for Dürkon five days ago, by boat, and that the Imperial ambassador was due in the city by Höl Kopia. Eventually they returned to other questions, questions he could answer.

“I want to know about these tattoos,” Devrik growled. “What do they mean, and how do they work?”

Once again Mariala set about pulling the answers from the prisoner…

The black tattoos are the lowest ranking, for agents who are useful and believe in whatever goals the Vortex has told them it seeks (and they tell each agent whatever they believe will best bind him to the organization – revolution, criminal organization, religious ascendency, etc.). Such agents are not highly placed or fully trusted. The only power in the black tattoos is one to confuse their minds if they try to speak to outsiders about the organization. They are seldom used to kill, and when they are fully invoked to scramble the bearer’s mind, they then fade away, leaving no trace.

The red tattoos are for higher placed agents, of a more useful nature to the Vortex… middle management, if you will. These marks not only confuse the mind if the bearer tries to speak to outsiders or otherwise betray the organization, they can erase the agents memory, from the moment it was inked to the present moment. They also allow the bearer to monitor the surface thoughts of any black-mark underlings, if the bearer concentrate and is within about three leagues. If the agent attempts betrayal and so invokes the memory erasure, the red mark too disappears thereafter.

The combined red & black tattoo is given to those who move up to leadership positions, governing a cell. It allows them to monitor the surface thoughts of both red and black marks under their command, if they make an effort to do so. It also prevents revealing Vortex secrets to outsiders, but only if such revelation is done with treasonous intent – when recruiting, the bearer may reveal certain levels of information to potential members. But if there is harmful intent, or under harsh questioning, the tattoo will burn out the mind of s/he who bears it, often killing them in the process. It allows two-way communication with other full-tattoo bearers, which is actually how they communicate, not by magical parchments… though those might be used for instructions to underlings.

Gerif also revealed that the parchment that had led them to him, and the trap of the Labyrinth, had been a planted decoy, designed just for that purpose. Arlun had kept it about him in case he met them again, and had laid the trap with the priest a month earlier. When he had fled from them in the swamp he had flown directly to Gerif to tell him the trap was sprung… the next day he had left for Dürkon to oversee the upcoming assassination.

Gerif also revealed that his main responsibility was diverting certain of the kalovai that exited the Shrine toward certain hunters of the beasts in the foothills south and west of Nah-henu. He had no idea why the Vortex wanted them, only which ones were desired – any unique or rare beast, to be sure, but also rock trolls, hill trolls and other strong, aggressive breeds. He assumed the hunters captured them and sold them, perhaps to finance Vortex activities, but he had no actual knowledge of what was done with the beasts. He also didn’t know who the hunters/trappers were, only where they would be at certain times.

All of this latter information came amongst much muttering about violating the sanctity of the God’s creations, but who cares, the Mad God cared more for his beasts than for his worshipers, he treated them all like shit, to the Void with Him, the Vortex would show all the Immortals what was what…

It was at this point that a mild voice behind them caused the Hand to whirl as one, weapons drawn and ready. But it was an elderly priest, short, bald and wrinkled, who stood unmenacingly before them in his rumpled yellow and red robes.

“I have heard enough,” he said mildly. “It seems I truly do have an infestation of vermin within my house.

“I am Horgûn Entargel, the High Priest of Kalos at Nah-henu… and until this evening, I believed myself the spiritual master of the man you have restrained and ensorcelled there.”

Several of the group began to speak at once, but the little old man held up one hand to silence them, smiling slightly.

“Under normal circumstances, I would never condone, nor allow, such things in this sacred place… but two nights ago a vision came to me while I slept; a vision and not a mere dream, of that I am certain. One does not mistake the voice of the God! In the dream I saw my house infested with a plague of rats, but every time I turned to confront the vermin, they faded into the shadows. Then a golden snake appeared at my door, and when I let him in he became not one snake, but five smaller, ordinary snakes. And these snakes pursued the the rats, forcing them out, and my house was again fit for habitation.

“At that point the rest of the vision faded away and only the great snake remained. He reared up and I looked into His great yellow eyes, and I knew, without words, that I must leave the Shrine unattended on the night of Höl Kopia, save only for my Master of Adepts… I confess that I had no sense that I should cloak myself and stay to watch what would transpire, but even a High Priest is only human… and I hoped that Kalos Himself might appear, as in my dream…”

He sighed and shook his head then. “But perhaps that is my punishment for presuming to alter the God’s instructions, that I shall not see Him in the flesh. Am I correct in understanding that you five have met my deity in the Labyrinth?”

“We have, sir,” said Vulk, stepping forward. “And it was a most… unsettling experience.”

“It always is, or so my studies have told me,” the old man said, smiling. “Perhaps I shall know for myself one day, before I die… if not, certainly afterward, on my journey to either rebirth or Unity.

“In any case, it seems you have done us a great service in exposing this corruption within our temple. And you must stop this assassination, obviously, so tell me how I may be of service to you, in turn?”