Parting words for Master Cangi: Cressida knows that the wizards of the Vault are going to be looking to remodel the thing once they've had a chance to prepare stone shape. It looks like some people have already done a little bit of that. Cressida Kroft has plans for the Vault too, plans which include a sensible street plan and common areas and air flow and a usable latrine and hiring a military architect to make sure that remodeling the Vault makes it easier to defend rather than much harder.

It'd be good for efficiency if Korvosa's wizards held off on implementing their plans until after they've hashed out how they fit into hers, so no one's using limited spells per day to tear down anyone else's house.

That's all for now.

Take care of yourself, Julaei.

All right.

It's time for Kroft to sleep.

Disassembling her armor takes a few minutes. It'd go faster with assistance, but getting assistance would take longer than doing it herself, so.

After two days wearing it[1], getting out of the plate harness is a weight off her shoulders. And she can finally stretch and scratch her back.

...She's going to put her expensive magic armor in a Bag of Holding, along with her coin purse and most of her other things, and use the Bag as a pillow, is what she's going to do.

...If she dumps the armor in the Bag it'll take an eternity to reassemble.

But that's a problem for Future Cressida, into the bag everything goes!

Maybe she won't even put the armor on tomorrow, she doesn't have a horse down here and against shadows it only slows her down.

She's drifting off the moment she lies down. She'll sleep for an hour and a half, an hour forty-five... no, better make it the full two hours.

-

1. For more on Cressida Kroft's terrible sleep habits, see Curse of the Crimson Throne: Edge of Anarchy. ↩

<In generosity, I spare you that effort. Your secret is safe while I breathe. Stay out of my matters.>

Mind blank.

Westcrown, City of Twilight.

The rumored birthplace and mortal home of the dead god Aroden, the one-time seat of his empire on Earth, and the place of his prophesied return. It's been dying a death by slow decay.

Population:

100,900 humans,

8,000 halflings,

5,800 "other,"

and,

well.

Our story begins in Rova, 4676 AR[1]. The Westcrown Pathfinder lodge was struck by calamity, and from the haunted building dark insubstantial beings began hunting the streets.

Westcrown has no Field Sergeant Cressida Kroft, and no Sable Company: the government downplayed and ignored the growing shadowpocalypse for months[2]. Their eventual response was characteristically geriatric[3], and attained little save dead dottari guardsmen.

The Wescrani civilians had more vital energy: they found scapegoats in a pair of Nidalese sailors, who they burned in broad daylight[4]. To the predictable lack of effect[5].

Having tried everything that came to mind for them to try, Westcrown imposed its famous nightly curfew, which for thirty years the shadows have enforced[6]. Life went on. With the dying of the day's light, businesses shutter and lanterns are lit in homes. But every week there's another story of some new deadly attack[7], and everyone knows someone who has lost someone.

-

1. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

2. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

3. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

4. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

5. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

6. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

7. Council of Thieves, Bastards of Erebus, page 52 ↩

I'm King Eodred Arabasti.

King.

I give the orders, around here.

It's true, he doesn't.

He can't make any sense of it.

His mind feels clearer than it has been in a long time. He feels more aware, he feels more alive. Call it the difference between a WIS 10/CHA 11 human with their best years behind them, and a WIS 12/CHA 15 immortal.

He's undead now. He gets that. He'll have to hide it if he wants to continue ruling Korvosa.

He ate Neolandus Kalepopulus. That was illegal. But it's going to be fine because he made the seneschal promise not to tell anyone Eodred was the one who did it.

But here's the part that doesn't add up.

Tawniela is undead too. She doesn't have any leverage over him.

She's his.

His harem slave. Absolutely she cannot give him orders.

Plaintively, he repeats himself to her. He's King Eodred Arabasti. King.

Tawnelia tells him to wash the floors until they shine. His hands don't work for that. She tells him to do it anyway.

He tries to make Neolandus do it but Tawnelia says to do it himself. His hands don't work for that.

She tells him to do it anyway. He used to think she was prettier when she was angry but it's different when she can make him suffer instead of only try.

He's King Eodred Arabasti.

Isn't he?

Stand very still, my friend, and I will take you away.

Teleport.

The teleport placed them, midair, near a sheer cliff-face high in the snowy Mindspins. It is starkly beautiful, and the cold does not bother him.

There's a shelter built into the cliff, shaped from the stone. Eodred moves towards it.