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Hello everyone, for the last few months I have been creating long form write-ups on a variety of unsolved cases. If you are interested in other lengthy write ups you can find them on my profile- https://www.reddit.com/useQuirky-Moto.
Also, huge shout out to everyone who voted for the earlier parts of this series in the Best of 2020 series contest. I am honored that so many of you remembered the post and took time to read it. Those posts can be found here.
Background
Serial killer Gary Ridgway confessed to 71 murders, but was only charged with 49. Of those 49, 3 victims are still Jane Does. Official victim counts place known victims at 52-55 women. The other 15 or so women are still unknown; their bodies undiscovered. But Ridgway and investigators place Ridgway’s body count realistically at 80-100 victims. Who are these people?
Most of Ridgway's victims were killed in between 1982 and 1984 in the worst killing spree that the country had ever seen, with the murderer killing women and girls sometimes more than once a week. Ridgway continued murdering until at least 1998, but police believe he committed crimes until 2001 when he was arrested. Ridgeway claims that he started his killing spree in early 1982. He says does not remember killing anyone in the 1970s but admits that it is possible.
Ridgway has only been charged with homicides if he both confessed and there was one or more pieces of evidence against him. For example, if he led investigators to a body he was charged with that murder and all the murders of the women he left in the same cluster. He has also been charged with other cases if there was circumstantial evidence, fiber evidence, paint chip evidence, or DNA. He has not been charged with the murders of women still missing or women whose cases cannot be linked to him in a corroborating way, which is why the confession list is so much longer than the charged list. Also please remember that mass murders are not known for their honesty and we have to take confessions with a grain of salt.
For months I have been collecting reports of missing women from Washington and Oregon who could be victims of Ridgway. Some of this information was compiled and posted in my earlier write ups on Ridgway, but my research has slowly been growing. Today, I want to profile Ridgway’s unknown Jane Doe victims, women he has confessed to killing but who are still missing, victims the police believe fell victim to Ridgway but who were living Jane Does, and others who could be the 15-40 victims for whom no justice has been served.
Terms used
The scene- A term used by Bundy and LE to describe the people with high risk lifestyles those who are homeless, sex workers, exotic dancers, drug users, hitchhikers, and others who are down and out
The Strip- An area of Pacific Highway South near the airport in extreme south Seattle known for the scene. Most GRK victims were last seen in this area.
Aurora Avenue- An area of extreme north Seattle along Aurora Avenue North known for the scene. A handful of women disappeared from this area.
Rainier Avenue and Central District- Neighborhoods in south Seattle near the strip. Usually regarded as cheaper places to live. A handful of women disappeared from here.
Dating- A term used in literature to refer to soliciting prostitutes. Ridgway used this term as did many sex workers. I use this term below as that is what is described in GRK literature. I don’t use it to dull what was happening in these exchanges.
NOTE- Just like in my other posts, I want this section to tell the women’s stories in a respectful way, but I was also wanted this section to be authentic and I don’t want to sugar coat any of these stories. For many of the victims there is very, very little information available. I think this is why sometimes victims appearances are mentioned as it sounds better to say “At age 21, she was a tall woman with thick red hair and a great smile” rather than she died at 21. Additionally, some of these victims’ stories are not very pleasant and a in a few cases information from family and friends is unflattering or downright negative. Rather than skip these women or pretend these things did not occur I chose to include them in the summaries below. I added as many positives as I could and tried (key word tried) to shy away from information solely about their appearances or criminal records but sometimes no other information is available. I hope everyone can understand that my intention is to remember these women and their lives in the best possible way while realizing that not everything is positive. I ask you for only respect down in the comments. Thank you.
Unidentified
Jane Doe B-10 was a murder victim who was found in 1984, near the remains of known victim, Cheryl Wims. She was a white female between the ages of 12 and 19. She most likely died in the summer of 1983. She may have had brown hair and was around 5’5’ and 120 lbs. She was likely left-handed. She had a healed injury to the front of the left side of her skull. She is not Rose Cole, Janel Peterson, Susan Cappel, Lisa Dickinson, Wendy Huggy, Kase Lee, Keli McGinnis, Anna Anderson, Kristi Vorak, Amy Matthews, Teresa Hammon, Cheryl Wyant, Denise Dorfman, Carol Edwards, Linda Jackson, Angela Meeker, Andria Bailey, Dean Peters, Joan Hall, Patricia LeBlanc, MaryJo Long, or Kerry Johnson.
Jane Doe B-17’s bones were found twice. Some bones were found in 1984 and some more were found in 1986. She was most likely a white female, aged 14-19, around 5’4”- 5’8” and average weight, around 120-140 lbs. She most likely died in 1983. Ridgway said she died in Spring or Summer 1983. Isotope testing shows she is possibly from the Northern United states (Alaska, Montana, Idaho, North Dakota) or Canada. She is not Rose Cole, Janel Peterson, Susan Cappel, Lisa Dickinson, Wendy Huggy, Kase Lee, Keli McGinnis, Anna Anderson, Kristi Vorak, Linda Jackson, Andria Bailey, Joan Hall, Patricia LeBlanc, MaryJo Long, Carol Donn, Barbara Cotton, Pollyanne Carter or Kerry Johnson. Green River task force believes that these remains belong to Diana Munyon who disappeared from Mississippi in the early 1980s.
Jane Doe B- 20 was a murder victim who was discovered in 2003 after Ridgway led investigators to her body. Her skull was not recovered so no composite can be made and no race can be determined. She died in between 1973-1993 but most likely died in the late 1970s. She was likely 13-24 years old. Ridgway says she was a white woman about 20 years old with brown or blonde shoulder length hair who he killed in Summer ’82 or ’83. He does not remember killing anyone in the 1970s but admits it is possible. Jane Doe B-20 is not Keli McGinnis, Andria Bailey, Cora McGuirk, Linda M. Adams, Misty Copsey, or Deborah Tomlinson.
Links
The following 3 women have been linked to Ridgway almost conclusively but are technically still missing. Ridgway has confessed to the following three women’s cases but without corroborating evidence or bodies he has not been charged.
Kase Anne Lee was a petite, red-headed 16-year-old who lived in the same building as confirmed Green River victim, Terry Milligan. She was originally from Spokane and worked a few hours weekly at a 1 hour photo shop. She worked the streets near the airport. Her husband, Anthony “Pretty Tony” Lee, was even briefly looked at as the killer due to his background of violence and pimping out women. Kase left one evening at 11:30 pm to buy groceries and vanished into the night. For years, the only available photos of Kase (pronounced like Casey) were her mugshots, although it seems as if a non mugshot photo of her is now available. Her body has never been found.
Patricia Osborn left her home on Aurora Avenue in extreme north Seattle to meet a date in October 1983. Earlier she had been heard arranging the date on the phone. Patricia’s family lived in Oregon. She had three arrests all in 1983 that they had no idea about. When she didn’t call home during the holidays, she was reported missing by her family. By that time, she had not been seen by anyone in over three months.
Keli Kay McGinnis had a life one could call peculiar. She was born to a young mother who worked as a musician and the pair lived in apartments in the Seattle area. When Keli was a few years old her mother married a millionaire businessman, and the three lived in a two-million-dollar mansion on Queen Anne Hill. Keli and her parents owned horses, yachts, and nice cars. They took lavish trips and Keli loved her father, who was actually her step dad. A few years down the road her mother and step father split and the pair went back to living in apartments with her mom working long hours as a singer. It was a weird life for the now aged eleven-year-old McGinnis. Years later at age 15 Keli fell in love with a boy at school and became pregnant. Keli’s family did not approve of her African American boyfriend so the couple moved in together. Keli and her boyfriend traveled the west coast with Keli working the streets. Keli usually worked with her best friend, later Green River victim, Pammy Advent. Keli’s background gave her an edge in the business and she worked at fancy hotels and attracted wealthier johns. According to some of the women who worked with Keli, McGinnis was able to pull in 2-3x what they did on a typical night. Keli left her home one night in South Seattle to work but never came home. Her boyfriend called the police to report her missing. He was adamant Keli would never abandon their toddler daughter, who was later adopted out to a family when McGinnis never returned home. Her body has never been found, but Ridgway believes he killed her.
The following three women are current or previous Jane Does who were arrested under false names before disappearing in Seattle, and are still not identified today. It is possible some or all of these women are Green River Victims. (this is a very confusing section so please bear with me.)
Linda Louise Jackson was arrested in King County in the early 1980s using the alias Wylynda L. Wells. In 2012, King County authorities tried to contact Wylynda who they learned was actually Linda, to testify in a trial. When her family was tracked down, they reported they had not heard from Linda in “well over 10 years.” As it turns out Jackson has not been seen in King County (or anywhere else) since early 1983 but was never reported missing. If you know her whereabouts or associates please contact King county authorities. She is a native American female with brownish-black hair and brown eyes. A photo is provided below.
Michelle has not been seen in King County since December 1980. She went by the first name Michelle but this may not be her legal name. She also had ties to the New York area. She appears to be African American with light to medium skin tone, shortish brown-black hair and brown eyes. If you know her whereabouts, legal name, or associates please contact King county authorities.
Both women’s photos can be seen here: https://www.kingcounty.gov/depts/sheriff/about-us/enforcement/investigations/green-river.aspx
Angie is a young woman who has possibly been missing since Summer 1983. She is only known as Angie, and she was a friend of victim Tammie Lilies. Angie was from the Marysville area and is described as a white female, 17 to 18 years of age at the time of contact, 5' 4" in height, 110 pounds, with curly shoulder length light brown hair and greenish-blue eyes. She's been described as "very pretty" and "a Barbie doll." She was wearing blue jeans when she was last seen. No photo is available. If you know her whereabouts, legal name, or associates please contact King county authorities. (I have wondered if she is Angie Girdner down below but descriptions don’t match up perfectly and authorities seem to doubt this. She is also possibly Angela Meeker from Tacoma)
More information can be found here: https://www.kingcounty.gov/depts/sheriff/about-us/enforcement/investigations/green-river.aspx
The following women have been linked to Ridgway pretty conclusively and are known to be deceased but he has not been charged with their murders. In fact, he specifically denies killing the following three women.
Amina Agisheff was a 36-year-old immigrant from Russia and a working mother of several children. She left her home and was waiting for the bus when she disappeared going to either visit her mother or coming home from visiting with her mother. She disappeared July 7th 1982. Agisheff’s body was found near North Bend in an area very close to other victims of Ridgway. Agisheff was found clothed or partially clothed, and her cause of death was a possible gunshot wound although this could not be conclusively proven. It is unknown if she was sexually assaulted. For years, Agisheff was considered to be the first Green River Victim due to where she was found even though she had no ties to the “scene” and was not known to use drugs or hitchhike. Ridgway always denies killing Agisheff, but as demonstrated above not all women killed by Ridgeway were part of the scene. However, Amina’s death varies significantly from Ridgway’s typical pattern.
Theories:
It is a coincidence that Amina’s body was found near other victims and she was the victim of another killer.
She differed from the pattern because she was Ridgway’s first victim and his method was substantially different.
She was not Ridgway’s first victim and varied from the typical because Ridgeway’s victims were more varied than initially thought. Some have speculated that Ridgway offered Amina a ride somewhere and she took it because she knew him, however tangentially. This has never been proved.
Tammie Liles was from the Everett/Snohomish area north of Seattle. Tammie’s family last heard from her in 1982 and she was reporting missing in 1983. Friends or family believed that had contact with Tammie in May 1984 when she called and said she was living in Tacoma and was going to get married. The police think it is possible the girl on the phone wasn’t actually Tammie, or that her family was confused on the date of the call. Tammie was removed from the missing persons list only to be reported missing again, this time for good in 1988. At this point, Tammie who was known to work as a sex worker in Seattle was linked to the GRK but her body was not identified until 1998. She was not known to work anywhere in Oregon and it has been suggested she was killed in King county and transported to Oregon after death. (Her body was found in Oregon.) Tammie is listed on some lists as an official or unofficial/ unproven Green River Victim, on some lists as a possible victim while she is left off of other lists entirely.
Angela Girdner went by the name Angie and was a straight A student at a private high school. As a teen, Angela fell in with the wrong crowd and ran away from home. She was reported missing in 1982 and died sometime that year or in early 1983. Her remains were found with Tammie Liles’ remains. Both girls were found close (within a mile) to the bodies of victims Denise Bush and Shirley Sherrill near Portland, Oregon. Police do not believe Angela ever travelled to Washington state making Angela the only victim who may have been both abducted and killed outside of the state of Washington. This may be why Ridgway denies involvement as his plea deal states he is eligible for death penalty if he committed crimes outside of King County. There is a theory that Tammie and Angela were killed by someone else and the placement of their bodies was a coincidence.
The following women are missing or were found dead and may be Green River Victims but are not on the official list.
Rhonda Louise Burse was 21 years old when she was last seen climbing into her car after her shift ended at the Flame Tavern where she worked as a dancer. Flame Tavern is located in Burien, Washington near SeaTac airport. Burse has never been seen again. Strangely, the Flame Tavern is also the last known sighting of another woman, Brenda Ball, who was killed by Ted Bundy only three years earlier. Due to the area and Ridgway’s victimology, some think Rhonda could be an early victim.
Angela Mae Meeker was almost 14 when she disappeared in 1979. She was planning on going to the mall in Tacoma and then going to a birthday party when she vanished. Angela was seen later that evening at a party but never surfaced again. Angela ran away from home regularly and often hitchhiked around the Tacoma area. Angela’s parents believe she met with foul play when someone she hitched a ride with killed her. Angela Meeker is not Jane Doe B-10. Little information is available in the case.
Andria Bailey was 15 or 16 when she went missing sometime in 1978 or 1979. The exact date of her disappearance is unknown. Andria lived with her grandmother in Spanaway, south of Seattle. Andria’s parents were in the military and lived in Germany. Andria was reported missing in 1989 when her mom called the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children saying that Andria had been missing for over 10 years. NCMEC called law enforcement. In 1995, someone (possibly NCMEC) called the Green River task force and gave them Andria’s name to compare to the does in the case. No one knows if Andria was involved in drugs, prostitution, or running away. Her grandmother cannot remember the last time she saw Andria or what she was doing. Apparently after Andria went missing her grandmother called her parents and Andria’s father flew to Washington state to look for her in the local area but she was never officially reported missing. Andria’s mother and grandmother have since passed away. In the one article available about this case, Andria’s relative submitted a DNA sample to match potential does. Little information is available.
Linda M. Adams was only 15 years old when she was last seen in Yakima, Washington in 1978. Linda was a chronic runaway who was last seen walking down a road in June of 1978. She may have been hitchhiking. Linda was not reported missing until 2004 and it was actually the Green River task force who filed her report. Linda’s sister said they had tried to report Linda missing earlier but her status as a chronic runaway made the situation hard. I have submitted Linda as a possible match for all three of Ridgway’s unknown victims. I have since heard that Adams is not Jane Doe B-20.
Louise Sanders was last heard from in February 1981. She called a friend to make lunch plans but then canceled those plans because she was meeting a “date.” She disappeared from downtown Seattle in 1981. Louise was 35 years old at the time but a hormonal disorder made her look like a teenager still. She was involved in prostitution in downtown Seattle at the time. Little information is available in her case.
Diana Munyon ran away from home in Mississippi in 1981. Her family last heard from her in May 1982 when she called from Fontana, California. She was only 16 years old at the time. Her family contacted the Green River Task force years later, both due to her background and because Diana bears a resemblance to one of the Jane Does Ridgway plead guilty to murdering. Her case is being investigated by Seattle authorities. Little information is available.
Kristi Vorak left her foster home in Tacoma, Washington in October 1982 age 13. After leaving home she may have been seen at a bus depot in downtown Seattle. Kristi did not have a history of running away or prostitution but she did frequent areas of Seattle and Tacoma known to be part of the scene. Kristi’s mom thinks it is possible Kristi is a transient in the Seattle area or left to start a new life but law enforcement believes she met with foul play and is a possible Green River victim Little information is available in her case.
Patricia Ann LeBlanc was 15 when she ran away in 1983. Patti had a record for solicitation and in August 1983 was arrested and sent to a youth shelter. Four days later the youth shelter took a field trip to the Seattle Center (a museum where the Space Needle is at) and she ran away and disappeared. Patti’s foster mom said that Patti ran away from whatever living situation she was put in, but Patti still called her foster mom often. Those phone calls stopped in August 1983. Patti may have an unspecified medical condition. Little information is available in her case.
Pollyanne Jean Carter was last seen leaving a friend’s home in Graham, Washington near Tacoma. She had called her parents and said she was headed home, but Pollyanne ran away often and frequented the city of Tacoma. After her disappearance her sister told law enforcement that Pollyanne frequently did sex work in Tacoma, something her parents did not know. She was last seen in 1984 at age 15.
Diane Nguyen Robbins left her home in the Eastern Washington town of Kennewick to travel to Seattle in Summer 1985 at age 13. Diane had no history of prostitution but had recently began hanging out with an older woman named Molly A. Purdin, aged 21. Molly and Diane went to Seattle and Diane was reported as a runaway when she did not return home. Molly and Diane were last seen in Seattle or Bellevue on June 18th. Molly was found murdered a month later in north King County but there was no sign of Diane. Law enforcement believes Diane and Molly’s disappearances were due to a serial killer but have not specified Ridgway. Snohomish PD is handling the case and says both cases are considered cold. Molly sometimes went by Molly Purdin-Clary. She lived in Kennewick, Washington before going missing. Little information is available.
Virginia Rambus was a Seattle woman who went missing at age 19 from south Seattle, Washington in 1985. Virginia left her apartment to visit a coworker who lived in the same complex. They were planning on going to a party together in the Rainier neighborhood, but Virginia never made it to her friend’s unit. At the time of her disappearance, serial killer Jesse Pratt also lived in her complex. He is the prime suspect in her disappearance. Virginia had no links to prostitution or drugs and held down a steady professional job. Her case is included in this piece only because of where she lived and the time period she disappeared.
Doris Mulhern went missing from the SeaTac strip in 1987 when she was 21 years old. She and her boyfriend traveled all around the country; they were originally from Michigan. Both lived “transient, high-risk” lifestyles. Mulhern’s boyfriend took her to the mall and he never saw her again. The last time she was seen, she was walking down the SeaTac strip.
Margaret Diaz was 31 when she vanished from Tacoma in 1988. Margaret had a high-risk lifestyle and frequently worked in the Hilltop area of Tacoma. She moved around a lot but tried to keep in contact with her three kids regularly. That contact stopped in 1988 and she has been missing ever since.
Deborah Yvonne Wims sister of Cheryl Wims was last seen shopping on the SeaTac strip in 1990. She worked the strip in 1990 and disappeared when she was 31 years old. Her car was found parked on Pacific Highway south but there was no Deborah. Little information is available in her case. Her family believes she is a victim of Ridgway.
Darci Warde was 16 years old in 1990. She was located by police in Seattle who returned to her parents- she had been reported missing previously. She immediately ran away again and vanished. Darci had links to prostitution. Law enforcement believes Darci’s disappearance was due to a serial killer but have not specified Ridgway. Little information is available in her case.
Cora McGuirk was 22 in July 1991. She was the young mother of three who worked at a gift shop and was an enrolled student at the University of Washington. Cora went from being a typical working mother and student to suddenly dropping out of sight for one-two days at a time. Cora asked her aunt to look after her children in case anything bad happened to her, something that worried her aunt. The pieces fell into place when Cora brought home a new boyfriend who was using hard drugs. It is unknown if Cora was using but her aunt thought it was a likely explanation for her behavior. Cora left her children with her aunt and said she would be gone for a bit. She never returned and her abandoned car was found parked on Aurora Avenue north. Cora’s first priority was always her children even in those last few chaotic months of her life she made sure her kids had a safe place to be. Her family does not think she disappeared of her own accord. Cora’s aunt adopted and raised her three children, the oldest of which, Martell Webster, grew up to play professional basketball for the Portland Trailblazers. He was 4 when he last saw his mother.
Helen Tucker was last seen in Tacoma in 1994 when she went to the police station to report that a John had beat her up. This was the last time anyone ever saw the 27 year old. Helen struggled with addiction and homelessness but she was regularly in contact with her family and her young child who was being raised by a family friend. Tucker was first reported missing in 2000, after family members realized that no one had formally reported her missing. Her case was originally given to the Green River task force who ruled out Ridgway and then returned the file to the Tacoma PD. New investigators report that while they believe Tucker died at the hands of a separate predator, Ridgway cannot be conclusively ruled out.
Tami Faye Kowalchuk was only 17 when she was last heard from in December 1999. Like Hunter,Kowalchuk was from Tacoma and struggled with addiction to methamphetamine and often turned to sex work in order to make money. In 1999, she told her mother she was going to travel the county with a long haul trucker, her mother reminded her that she had a court ordered curfew and that that wasn’t a wise idea. This was the last time Kowlachuk was ever heard from. Her mother still searches for her daughter today.
Jennifer Mae Enyart age 16 had a life similar to Tami Faye. As a teen she began running away from home and was arrested on a few occasions. One day in 2000, she was arrested by Seattle police, who called her parents to pick her up. They drove to Seattle and retrieved their daughter but when they stopped for gas, Jennifer escaped the car and disappeared into downtown Tacoma. No one has heard from her since.
Jennifer, Tami Faye, Helen, and two other later victims, Debra Ann Honey-Hooks, and Danielle Mouton are believed to be victims of the same serial predator who was stalking women with high risk lifestyles in Tacoma from 1994-2005. However, TPD have said that Ridgway cannot be ruled out as the killer of the three earliest victims.
Cases with loose or former links to the Green River Killer. Some of these women are mentioned in one book or one source only. Some women’s names are believed to be aliases which is why information is sparse. My research has yielded little information on several of the women below.
Cherry Greenman was last known to be alive in September 1976 when she was released from the Douglas County jail in Waterville, Washington at age 20. Cherry was reportedly a “free spirit” who hitchhiked and wandered throughout the United States. Those who knew her reported that she would lose contact with loved ones for months to years at a time, so it would not surprise them if she was alive for years after her last known sighting. However, they believe she would have called her family eventually. She was not reported missing until 2004. One source says she has been ruled out as a Ridgway victim but other sources say she cannot be ruled out. Greenman is also a possible victim of Rodney Alcala. I have submitted Greenman as a possible match for Jane Doe B-20.
Leann Virginia Wilcox died in late 1981. She fits the Ridgway profile to a tee, and was found near other dump sites but DNA on her body belongs to an unknown man, not Ridgway. Initially on the Green River list, Wilcox’s case is no longer considered a Ridgway murder, but he cannot be 100% ruled out.
Theresa Kline died in 1982. She was in her 20s at the time and was known to hitchhike. Initially on the Green River list, Kline’s case is no longer considered a Green River homicide. Little information is available. My research has yielded little information on Theresa’s case, her death may not be a murder and her name may be an alias.
Debra Kay King disappeared from Tacoma in July 1982 when she was only 24. Little information is available in her case but foul play is suspected. My research has yielded little information on Debra’s case, her name may be an alias.
Laronda Marie Bronson disappeared November 19, 1982 from Portland, Oregon. The 18-year-old was last seen at a bus stop. Laronda had ties to prostitution in both Washington and Oregon and the King County Sherriff’s office is the investigating agency in her case. For reasons unknown, sources say she is known to be a Green River victim, although she is technically missing.
Trina Deanne Hunter died in 1982. Initially on the Green River list, Hunter’s case is no longer considered a Green River murder. Little information is available.
Kimberly Ann Reames Larson disappeared from the SeaTac strip in 1983. Her body was found the next day. (This info is available in only one book on Ridgway- no other information is available.) My research has yielded little information on Kimberly’s case, her name may be an alias.
Tonya Lee Clemmons disappeared from the SeaTac area in 1983 but was not reported missing for a year. Tonya’s aunt said that Tonya always called, especially on holidays but the phone calls stopped in 1983. Tonya did not have a record for prostitution but she frequented areas known for sex work such as the SeaTac strip.
Kimberly Yvette Hill of Portland was last seen getting into a hatchback car with Washington license plates. Kimberly was a sex worker and was only 19 years old. Her body was found dumped the next day. Her 1984 murder is still unsolved.
Kathleen Arita was a 38-year-old computer operator at Boeing. She was last seen in May 1984, leaving her home in Renton. Her body was later found near the Star Lake road Green River dump site. She had been strangled. In general, she is not considered a Green River victim but the placement of her body is suspicious.
Jacqueline L. Sexton a Portland native who worked as a sex worker, disappeared in December 1984. Her body was found 3 days later. (This info is available in only one book on Ridgway- no other information is available.) My research has yielded little information on Sexton’s case, her name may be an alias.
Rose Marie Kurran was a 16-year-old from the Bellingham area. Rose was known to hitchhike. She was last seen on Pacific Highway south in 1987. Her body was later found near SeaTac airport. She had been strangled. Her family described her as an animal lover and a free spirit. Some sources say she is a known GRK victim.
Kimberly Delange was last seen at a Puyallup shopping center in 1988. Her body was later found in Enumclaw, near the body of later victim Anna Chebetnoy. Little information is available in her case.
Kerry Anne Walker of Renton, disappeared in 1988 after walking away from her home on Rainier avenue. Her body was found later in South King county. She was 15 years old. Little information is available. My research has yielded little information on Walker’s case, her name may be an alias.
Shannon L. Pease, 15 was found dead in the Lakewood area of Tacoma in 1988. She was last seen in an area known for prostitution. Little information is available. My research has yielded little information on Shannon’s case, her name may be an alias.
Robyn Kenworthy, 20 called her mom from Aurora Avenue one night and said she was coming home and was going to try to kick heroin for good. Robyn, who worked as a dancer, never made it home. Robyn was found dead from an undetermined cause later in a wooded area of Snohomish county in 1988. Ridgway is a suspect in her case.
Jennifer Burnetto, 32 had also fallen prey to addiction. Jennifer worked the streets of Tacoma in 1988. She was found dead from stab wounds in Snohomish county near the body of Robyn Kenworthy. Ridgway is a suspect in her case.
Tracey Wooten washed up on a beach in Tacoma at age 26 in 1990. Tracey had a history of drug use and sex work. Tragically, Law Enforcement has been unable to find any friends or family. My research has yielded little information on Tracey’s case, her name may be an alias.
Anna Lee Chebetnoy was last seen at a Puyallup shopping center in 1990, the same one Kim Delange disappeared from. Her body was later found in Enumclaw, only 100 feet from Kim Delange’s body. Ridgway was known to leave bodies in Enumclaw in the past. Little information is available in her case.
Tia Hicks was a 20-year-old who struggled with addiction and worked the streets of Aurora Ave. north in Seattle. Tia was found dead from an undetermined cause in a car in 1991. There is a suspect in her murder, if she was murdered. Her death is still a mystery.
Heather Marie Kinchen disappeared in 1991. She was living in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood when she disappeared at age 14. The Florida girl’s remains were found in July 1991 in North Bend, Washington. Little information is available.
Sarah Marshlene Habakangas disappeared in 1991. She was working on the Pacific Highway south when she was last seen at age 17. Her remains were found in July 1991 in North Bend, Washington. Little information is available.
Nicole French aged 19 disappeared in 1992. She was good friends with Sarah Habakangas. Her remains were found in North Bend, Washington near the remains of Heather Kinchen and Sarah Habakangas. Little information is available.
Sue Ellen Walker was 32 years old in 1992. She was believed to be living in Seattle but had no permanent address and was transient. She was not reported missing for several years. Little information is available in her case.
Lisa Karen Sheer age 32, went missing from Auburn, Washington in 1994 near somewhere Ridgway was known to frequent. Sheer has a long history of dropping out of sight for extensive periods of time. It appears that she may have been transient. Very little is known about Sheer, and no one has heard from her since 1994.
Tukwila Jane Doe: In January 1997 contractors in Tukwila, Washington were digging to build a new house when they uncovered human bones. Only known as Tukwila Jane Doe, this person was determined to be an adult female of unknown race and age. A full skeleton was not found. Due to the placement and location of the body investigators believe Tukwila Jane Doe may be a victim of Ridgway. The skeleton's postmortem interval is unknown at this time. The body was found wearing one tube sock and a blue hair barrette. Near the body there was a blue cloth, nylon type underwear W/ "JC Penny" & "Long" on the waistband, a red nylon type cloth, a brown & tan cloth, lace bikini-cut underwear, and some cloth with green, orange and blue stripes. The Doe is not Dagmar Linton.
Anitra Renee Mulwee was last seen at a New Year’s Eve party in 2000/2001, but she never made it home to Tacoma. Anitra’s body was found a few weeks later near a former dump spot of the GRK. Despite the location of the body, there is no evidence that Anitra’s death was a homicide. Anitra did have ties to the scene as she had several drug and alcohol related offenses in her background. That particular dumping spot had been discovered by investigators years earlier, meaning that if Anitra was a victim of Ridgway, he would have dumped her body in place regularly surveilled by law enforcement, something he was not known to do. Little information is available in her case.
Conclusion
Even though Gary Ridgway was arrested almost 20 years ago, the aftermath of his crimes live on. King County Sheriff's Office still has a unit assigned to the Green River homicides and they're asking for information and tips which could help solve some of these mysteries which still haunt King County almost two decades later. They also encourage those whose relatives may have gone missing in the 1970s, 80s, 90s to contact them especially if they lived or worked in the area where Ridgway was known to operate. For years, many citizens did not know they could report their loved ones missing if their loved ones left of their own accord and were adults. Because of this misconception many people who may be victims of Ridgway or other predators have never been reported missing. You have a relative or friend who matches this description I would encourage you to contact the Green River Task Force at 206-263-2130 or email at [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected]).
What do you think? Are any of the women profiled victims of Gary Ridgway?
Sources
Green River Running Red by Ann Rule
The Riverman: Ted Bundy and I hunt for the Green River Killer by Bob Keppel and William Birnes
The Search for the Green River Killer: The True Story of America's Most Prolific Serial Killer by Carlton Smith and Tomas Guillen
https://archive.seattletimes.com/archive/?date=19920727&slug=1504298
http://charleyproject.org/case/keli-kay-mcginness
https://unidentified.wikia.org/wiki/Green_River_victims
https://www.kingcounty.gov/depts/sheriff/about-us/enforcement/investigations/green-river.aspx
http://www.seattlemag.com/article/remembering-victims-green-river-killer
https://archive.seattletimes.com/archive/?date=19911121&slug=1318612
https://www.q13fox.com/news/vanished-search-for-5-women-missing-in-tacoma-includes-possibility-of-serial-predator

How to Survive Camping - it's Irish history time and also I might die but that's probably not a surprise anymore

I run a private campground. Sometimes I think that the sort of stuff I deal with is ridiculous, and no, I’m not talking about the people who vomit all over the porta-johns after getting ludicrously drunk. I’m talking about the inhuman things and all the brushes I’ve had with death. I think - why is my job so terrible? But I suppose there’s lots of terrible jobs out there. Some might even be as dangerous as mine. I hear late night security guards see a lot of weird stuff. I guess I’m trying to keep from feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been down a bit lately and that’s just not me. I’m not a ‘good vibes only’ person, but I’ve always loved this campground and I love what I do, even if it is a little terrifying sometimes.
It’s just this worst of years is starting to wear me out, I think.
Anyway, if you’re new here, you should really start at the beginning and if you’re totally lost, this might help.
Let’s talk about Balor and Lugh for a moment. Yep, it’s Irish history time.
Balor was the leader of the fomorian host. The fomorians are creatures of tyranny and cruelty, huge and misshapen. I could recite a bunch of poetic prose at you about how fearsome or horrid Balor was, but this isn’t a book report, so I’ll just cut to the interesting part. His eye. His one eye that when he opened it, he laid waste to all that he gazed upon. If Godzilla and Cyclops from X-Men had an illicit love child, it would be Balor.
Since we’re talking about giants already, have another random fact: the Romans believed that dinosaur bones were the bones of mythological giants and would try to classify what giant they came from. Of course, given the sorts of creatures I deal with, I’m not convinced that all of those bones were merely dinosaur bones. I read that in a book whose title I forget, a few chapters after the Roman birth control that involved stuffing a dead frog up you-know-where.
Don’t ever buy me a beer unless you want to be treated to an hour or more of random facts like this.
Okay, back to Irish history. I would say sorry for the tangent, but I’m not. I’m really not.
Lugh has resemblance to a sun god. He is also the grandson of Balor and was foretold to be the one to slay him. Of course, this resulted in shenanigans with Balor’s daughter being locked away, there was a quarrel over a cow (all the best wars in Irish history start with a cow), and then a revenge pregnancy and BAM, Lugh was born. Lugh grew up to be talented in everything, which was highly respected by the Danaans.
I’m gonna go all book report here and cite directly from Myths & Legends of the Celtic Race by T.W. Rolleston because that’s what I usually go to when I need to look this stuff up. “...the surname Ildanach is conferred upon him, meaning ‘The All-Craftsman’, Prince of all the Sciences; while another name that he commonly bore was Lugh Lamfada, or Lugh of the Long Arm.”
So for those of you that have kids, next time they complain about their homework, just remind them that they could grow up to be like Lugh, Prince of all the Sciences, if they just apply themselves.
Anyway, Lugh leads the Danaan to slaughter the fomorians instead of offering tribute and the war starts. Some more stuff happens, the sons of Turenn kill Lugh’s father, then Lugh makes them bring him some magical things including a sweet spear, and then the sons of Turenn are mortally wounded in their quest and Lugh is like ‘nah die mad’ instead of saving them. These early heroes are kind of complicated, they ain’t Captain America here.
Then there’s the final battle with the fomorians. The one that is apparently being continued on my campground. The second battle of Moytura, on a plain in the north of county Sligo. Balor went all eyeball-Godzilla on the Danaan, killing at least one of their heroes and many others. But then Balor’s eye began to droop in weariness and Lugh, seeing his chance, hurls a stone right through the giant’s eyeball and straight into his brain. And so the tyrant Balor was killed and the fomorians routed.
You should really read up on this yourself. I haven’t even touched on the harp that flies around and kills a bunch of fomorians. Good stuff, that.
History is a complicated thing when these inhuman things are involved. Patterns echo, louder than they do with our own history. I wonder if this is why these two combatants found their way here, to continue their war. If they are doomed to battle as they did so long ago, until the fomorian is slain as Balor was. Perhaps that is the reason for the fairy’s confidence.
I also wonder if this is why Beau suffers like he does and why he’s earned the ire of the other campground inhabitants. He is trying to expand his own pattern to something far greater than it is.
But enough about history and theorizing. On to the stuff that happened this week and why I’m starting to feel a little exhausted from dealing with crisis after crisis. Part of it is physical exhaustion, I suspect. For lack of a solution, I’m dealing with the thorns the hard way. Tearing them out by hand. Every day I make my rounds around the campground and then head back to the garage and fetch a shovel and hoe and find a patch and get to work. I rip out as much as I can and then do it all over again the next day.
I’m relying on my brother to do the research to figure out how to stop them for good. He’s scouring the family notes for references to the gummy bears. I think he’s a little sick of me pivoting his research focus, as he had to abandon going through our mother’s journal. It can’t be helped.
At least the book I found in the attic is going to a dedicated reader. The university’s rare manuscripts department thinks the book is from the mid-1800’s and found a student willing to go through it and photograph the pages for some extra credit. I’ll hear back from them… eventually, I guess. This is a college student we’re talking about, after all.
In the meantime, I’m just trying to hold ground on the campsite. Keep the thorns from overwhelming us until we find a way to destroy them permanently.
It was a rare sunny day when I went out to remove a patch in a particularly bad location. It was encroaching on the gas line that runs through my land and I didn’t know how deep the roots went, but I really didn’t want to find out and then have to involve public utilities in a supernatural war that cracked one of their pipes. So I was there, on the edge of the woods, right where we started clearing the trees to keep them away from the line. I was using plain hand tools because I was worried that these unnatural thorns would do something horrible to more sophisticated equipment and I’ve already wrecked enough stuff this year.
(thank you to the person who gave me that used four-wheeler, I know coordinating drop-off was a pain but it’s very appreciated)
The daylight hours are by no means safe on my campground, but I felt fairly at ease while clearing the thorns. Most of the creatures that hunt in daylight hours set lures to draw people off the road and while I wasn’t on the road, I was at least in the open, and knew better than to follow anything strange. The other creatures that seek people out are the harvesters and Beau, and I wasn’t particularly concerned about them. So I focused on my task instead and as I worked, I saw something strange deep into the thicket of thorns.
They remind me of bird’s nests when they’ve had some time to grow. Their black vines wind around each other, spiraling inwards before the outer layers branch out again to choke the surrounding plant life. It forms an impenetrable wall of wiry fiber and vicious thorns. I have to hack it away a little bit at a time, cutting through a handful of strands and then ripping those out before starting on the next layer.
This time, as I was tearing away a layer, I thought I saw something moving in the middle.
I stepped back, staring at it suspiciously. When nothing happened, I tentatively poked at the thicket with my hoe. Still nothing. I tried hitting it a couple times.
Nothing.
Satisfied it was my imagination, I went back to work.
And then something moved again, as I was leaning in close to cut through some more vines. It came tearing out of the center of the thicket, scuttling rapidly free, and I screamed and threw myself backwards as it lunged at my face.
Then it landed on the ground, pivoted, and scurried off into the woods. I lay there on the ground, heart pounding and chest heaving.
It was a spider. A rather large spider.
And it hadn’t thrown itself at me, it was merely trying to escape in case I accidentally killed it while removing the thorns.
Cautiously, I took up the hoe again and this time, I levered the thicket open, trying to see into the middle of it. More spiders spilled out as I did so and this time I ignored them, gritting my teeth and steeling my nerves as they ran down my hoe and over my boots and vanished into the woods.
At the heart of the thicket were cobwebs. They covered the thorns in dull fluff, blunting their tips. And the vines themselves… were tattered. Chewed apart, bit by bit. I hooked the end of my hoe into this empty space the spiders had carved and I pulled and with a groan, the thicket simply fell apart.
The lady with extra eyes was a protector of the campground. It was one of her natures. It seems she’s carrying on her task even in her reborn form.
I cannot tell you how conflicted this makes me feel. I grieve for what I did. I’m hopeful for the future, for the possibility that I’ll see the lady again - or at least, another incarnation of her. And I’m afraid that it’s nothing but a cycle, one that inevitably spins towards either my death or hers.
She’s been killed before. I wonder if my ancestor was similarly conflicted and I wonder if someday, my niece or one of her descendents will have to make the same horrible choice I did.
Or perhaps the cycle will be broken when something ascends. Perhaps - if it is something that treats my line kindly - it will have the power to save both of us.
I don’t think being preoccupied with these thoughts is the reason for what happened next. There was no warning. Certainly, I had a sense of unease, but that is simply the case for when I interact with these thorns. They make my skin crawl. They are unnatural things, poisoning the soil around them, and they feel malevolent. Like they know I am there to destroy them. But otherwise, there was no change in the air to warn me I was no longer alone.
“What are you doing, campground manager?” a voice directly at my back rumbled.
I dropped the hoe. I think I squeaked in horror. Then I spun around and found myself face-to-face with the fomorian. It leaned over, putting its lone eye on the same level as mine. All I could see was the darkness of its hood, the shadow engulfing us both, and the red eye glinting like a ruby.
“I’m… gardening,” I said as a panicked sweat broke out on my brow. “Winter is the best time for it, you know. No undergrowth to deal with. You can just take stuff right out of the ground.”
“It looks like you are destroying my thorns.”
“Ohhhhhh welllll I thought these were just a poison ivy variant. I’ve been hearing about them in the local gardening club, they said they were cropping up and I really can’t let them take root on my campground because I have enough people stumbling into normal poison ivy already even though we mark it with magenta spray paint - seriously, how do you miss that? I guess they were too drunk to see straight, hahah.”
I think I was babbling a little bit because the longer I kept talking, the more I delayed whatever it was the fomorian intended to do with me. This was a strategy that was bound to fail at some point, however, with the deleterious side-effect of exhausting the fomorian’s patience.
“Enough,” the fomorian finally snapped.
So that’s another thing to mark off my bucket list. Annoying a fomorian. I’m lucky I’m alive to even have a bucket list still.
It put a hand on my shoulder. Its long fingers wrapped around my upper back. One grazed my neck and my hair stood on end and I stiffened as cold fear wound its way down my spine. This didn’t seem fair. How did something so big sneak up on me?
“Uh, your horse kind of has dibs I think,” I whispered.
I wasn’t sure where the dapple-gray stallion was, but I was ready to claim anything to make it reconsider killing me outright.
“I am its master,” the fomorian said calmly. “It will take whatever scraps I offer it.”
It paused. The hand on my shoulder dipped and long fingers wrapped around my chest. I inhaled sharply in terror and my heart raced painfully. I felt frozen, helpless but to watch in mounting dread as it straightened, lifting me up off the ground and holding me level with its single glowing eye.
“I said I would kill you next we met,” the fomorian said. “That I would break your bones and drink your blood.”
“Have you… reconsidered?”
“I have. There are better fates for meddlesome humans.”
‘Better’ is an extremely relative term here.
In panic, I seized my knife and drew it. I stabbed it straight down with both hands, driving it down to the hilt into the fomorian’s wrist. Then I wrenched it free and stabbed him again and again, growing ever more panicked as the creature refused to react, as if I were merely an ant biting at its pallid flesh.
It opened its hand and dropped me. I tried to land on my feet and for a few seconds, I did, but the impact was too hard, the ground too slick with snow, and I am not a gymnast. My feet slipped out from under me and I landed hard on my back. I was fumbling for the knife before it even registered that I hadn’t started breathing again yet. Blind panic drove me on. Just as my fingers closed on it, the ground around me lurched, as four fingers came crashing down into the frozen soil. They formed a cage around me, the palm pressed low enough that I was just barely pinned to the ground by its pressure. I stared up at the fomorian looming over me.
“Since the thorns concern you so,” it rumbled, “I will help you understand them better. I will plant them in your flesh. They will feed on you until there is nothing left to consume.”
I kicked, trying to squeeze myself out from under its grip. But I could only watch in horror as it reached into its bag and pulled out a single seed. It held this balanced for a moment on its finger.
Then it dropped the seed neatly between my collarbones.
There was a sharp pain, like a bee sting. The fomorian released me from under its hand and I tore at my clothing, frantic, ripping open my jacket and pulling the hem of my shirt down, clawing at my stinging flesh. Nothing. There was nothing there. No seed. Just a thin cut, not even the size of my thumb. The flesh was blackened at the edges.
I was close to hysteria. All I could think of was those thorns choking the life out of the trees, spines growing through them like worms. Now, it was inside my chest. I’d seen someone die in a similar way before. The thought of such a fate horrified me beyond measure and I dug at my own flesh until blood ran down to my stomach and finally - more than the pain - the cold realization that the seed had vanished somewhere beyond my reach was what made me stop.
When I looked up, the fomorian was gone. I could only gather my tools and return to the house to clean up my chest and bandage the wound I’d made, trying to ignore the pain and the creeping sensation along my skin. I wondered how long it would take. I wondered if the shiver I felt along my spine was my imagination or if the thorns were spreading through my body already. I took a couple shots of whiskey to steady myself and radioed for Bryan.
I’m really not sure what his relationship with the fairy is, but I’m starting to suspect there’s something going on there. More so than I initially thought. Anyway, I asked if he’d request the fairy to pay the house a visit. I desperately needed help, I said, and it involved the fomorian.
The fairy showed up a few hours later. The sun was still up, but the fairy seemed to glow with their own sunlight. I couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to gaze upon Lugh, whom they had once followed into battle. They stared at me from the back of their deer a moment, then languidly dismounted and walked closer. I looked away under their intent scrutiny, keenly aware that I was just a dumb mortal who had gotten into more trouble than she could handle.
“I cannot cure this, if this is what you wish,” they finally said.
“Then who can?” I asked desperately, snapping my head up to meet their gaze.
They seemed… sad. But also stern.
“Where is your protector?” they asked.
“My what?”
“The one seeking a name.”
Obviously by this point I knew they were referring to Beau. I don’t necessarily think of him as my protector, as there’s been plenty of times he’s merely stood by and let something awful happen to me. The bit about seeking a name though… Well, there’s only one thing on this campground doing that, as far as I’m aware.
But instead of answering the fairy’s question, I continued to play dumb. Perhaps if I could get them to recognize Beau’s name, that would grant it a little more significance than what we collectively have already given it.
“Beau,” the fairy murmured. “Since you insist I speak that name.”
Don’t say I never did anything for him.
I told them the truth. I didn’t know where Beau was. He wasn’t mine to control, after all, and he only came when he chose to. I had no doubt that if he didn’t want to be summoned, he simply wouldn’t show. Nor did I think he tailed my every movement through the forest. Beau expected me to be able to take care of myself, to a degree. Mutual respect and all.
“Do you mean to say he can fix this?” I asked. “It’s not something I swallowed.”
“No. But he is on good terms with the creatures you have taken to calling the harvesters and I think they would accept a request from him, should he ask that they cut it out of you.”
I thought of how my great-aunt died and I could not speak. There was a touch against my cheek, like a moth’s wing, and it brought me back to myself.
“Poor thing,” the fairy said softly. “You have time yet. Seek another way, if you cannot bear the thought of such a remedy.”
Then their tone turned stern and unforgiving and they dropped their hand, stepping back a pace.
“And campground manager?” they added. “Do not summon me again in such a way.”
“Why can’t I?” I demanded, somewhat wildly. “You’re waging a war on my land.”
I was feeling a little spicy after my encounter with the fomorian.
“I am defending your land against a would-be conqueror that you led here.”
Being petty is a lot less fun when the other person refuses to engage. The fairy said it so plainly, with all the interest of stating the sky was blue. They didn’t even look at me while they did so, but I could not help but squirm with uncomfortable guilt.
“Besides,” the fairy continued. “Doing so endangers Bryan.”
Ah. That… made sense. And I only felt more guilty for not thinking of this myself. Normally I pride myself on how I protect my staff, but I admit that there have been lapses in the past. This might have become one of them, had the fairy not intervened. Bryan is accommodating and I think I take that for granted at times.
“Is there a way I should contact you?” I asked.
“No. I will come if I am needed.”
The deer turned and walked away, leaving me standing there on the front porch of my house, my chest stinging with every breath, with the only cure available to me one that I fear with all of my being.
I’m a campground manager. I… haven’t spoken to Beau yet. I cancelled knife fighting with him so I could keep my distance, in case he noticed something was amiss. Said I was worn out from ripping out thorns and he respected that, as I’ve already had to explain that sometimes humans need rest days. I admit I’m feeling a little desperate right now. My options are slim. I’m going to try the dancers, though I fear they can only cure diseases or poisons. If that fails…
I’m going to seek out the spiders. [x]
Read the full list of rules.
Visit the campground's website.

Matched Betting Extra Place Horse Racing - January 21 Profits - £4,707 on top of Full Time Job

Upon a Dead Horse: Chapter Three

In our last episode
Micro coil electro guns are faster and more portable than a long coil rifle, but are much harder to aim. It was this fact more than fast reflexes that was his salvation. Although the air was sizzling with flying bolts and his hair stood on end as the ion tracer beams tried to find him he was still able to dive to ground and do a fast crawl towards the first large bit of protection he could find without being hit. Unfortunately the only shield he spotted was that same wagon he had only recently escaped. Meanwhile the dry goods store behind him suffered an onslaught of blue and yellow bolts of light splintering the exterior wall.
He squeezed himself into a tight ball near the rear axle and checked the charge on his rifle. The low battery light was on. Unless he could find a power supply soon he had maybe one or two full power shots left. Technically speaking the stock had a solar panel and the gun would recharge on its own, but he suspected no one was going to allow him an eight or nine day intermission to do that.
He was too exposed where he was but he couldn't really run anywhere while all those electro bolts were hammering the wagon behind him. At any moment it would occur to the angry mob that they could spread out to encircle the wagon and come at him from the sides while he was still pinned down. Worse, even if they didn't think of it, the wagon could only take so much abuse. So far only a handful of bolts had managed to punch all the way through the wagon. That wouldn't last. He was still considering his options when the situation went from bad to completely catastrophic.
"Well, well, well," a voice called out over the gun fire. Suddenly all the guns stopped firing in unison. That was almost worse than having them all shooting at him. Having them taper off or a few stragglers who were late to notice the new arrival would mean that the people were acting as individuals. A simultaneous shutdown like that, more orderly even than most military units could manage, meant only one thing. As if to confirm his suspicions, the voice continued.
"If it isn't the Oligarch's favorite dog," the voice called out, "Marshal Aldo Crease."
The marshal winced. It had been years since anyone had spoken that name. He still found the sound of it left a sour taste in his mouth.
"Evening Kincaid," Mashal Crease called back, "Any chance you'll consider coming along peacefully?"
Kincaid laughed.
"Oh please," Kincaid said, "Do at least do me the great favor of standing up. I want to show you off to my flock."
Crease ground his teeth and considered his options. He could, he supposed, pop up with the rifle and try firing at Kincaid. But, he needed a better idea where the man was to do that. He did not have enough power left in the gun for a wide spread lethal blast. He might be able to pull off a knockout. Barely. But even then that was iffy because with Kincaid hopped up on his own juice like he was he might not go down.
"If you are considering shooting me," Kincaid said with a voice that projected both confidence and mockery at the same time, "You may want to look to your right."
Crease glanced that direction and grimaced. The giantess had appeared again and was now stomping in his direction. He spun the rifle in her direction and, to his immense relief, she stopped in her tracks. Unfortunately, that also meant Kincaid could tell where Crease was aiming.
"Gun moves off her," Kincaid explained, "And Viana there tears you apart. Shoot her and we open fire as she heals. So you can shoot me or shoot her. But not both at once and Viana and I will get right back up no matter which one you choose . So do as I told you and stand up!"
Crease sighed and slowly climbed to his feet while training his rifle on Viana the whole time. He tried to remember why that name sounded familiar. Wasn't that the woman Yacob had said was a deserter who had battle tech? No wonder she hit so hard. If her gear was military grade it may even be a higher spec than his own. He made certain to keep his eyes on her as he shot a glance in Kincaid's direction.
The crowd stood motionless and facing him. Over half the people seemed to be armed with some sort of weapon. Mostly micro coil pistols but he thought he saw a few short barrelled scatterguns and at least one heavy coil military grade rifle that would make short work of the building behind him much less the contents of his skull. The crowd was composed of both men and women of various ages. Old men with long beards and frock coats and young women wearing a sheer garment that left almost nothing to the imagination. There were even a few teenagers in the mix. Those that were not armed with firearms carried knives or homemade cudgels. All of them also carried the same identical blank expression on their faces. Only the man standing in the back wearing white robes showed any signs of animation. He was also completely unarmed. Not that he needed a direct weapon.
"Kincaid," Crease acknowledged the man.
Kincaid's grin broadened and took on an eerie maddened look. The man's hair was wild and unkempt and the bags under his eyes were a testament to the exhaustion he must feel. Even though health and vigor seemed to ooze from the man's pores, there was also a slightly frayed look about him. As if his health were just a mast for something shredding him apart from within.
"The feedback loop is too far gone," he heard the Oligarch's voice say in his ear, "If he stops now the blowback will shred him to pieces."
Crease didn't answer. He hadn't needed the analysis. He too knew the signs of an arcane who had pushed their talent - no matter how potent - beyond the abilities of sustaining. The man in front of him was a runaway reactor spewing health into the area. It would almost be comical if the effects weren't so tragic. His own acarnic talents, though greatly suppressed, were telling him something that he was certain no one else - save perhaps Kincaid himself - even suspected. Over half the crowd of people in front of him were already dead. Their bodies just hadn't got the notice yet.
The reasons didn't matter. A heart that had been sent racing only to burst. A pancreas overproducing insulin. Blood cells produced in such numbers that the blood inside was a thick syrup that barely flowed. Too much vitality was killing these people and it was only Kincaid's out of control talent that was keeping them upright and walking as is.
"You've got to stop this, Kincaid," Crease said, "You don't know what you're doing. You have to stop it. It's destroying you and everyone around you."
He knew his warning would be unheeded. He expected to be ignored. Truth be told, he wasn't sure there was a safe for Kincaid to stop without killing himself and half the town. The crops were already beyond saving. The delicate balance between life and death had been shoved too far to one side and he already knew first hand how unrecoverable such acts could be.
Kincaid tilted his head to one side and frowned.
"Why can't I feel you?" he asked. Belatedly, Crease became aware of a faint tingling sensation along his skin. Kincaid must be trying to influence him.
"I'm immune to arcana," Crease said simply.
"So it is true," Kincaid asked, smile returning, "The great and mighty Aldo Crease. Once a general in the Patagonia Resistance and now little more than a dog for the Oligarch itself. I knew about your resurrection, of course. But I thought the rumors of your unbalanced arcana were just that. Rumors."
Crease winced. He liked having the details of his unfortunate past being revealed even less than having his name spoken aloud. Apparently Kincaid hadn't just fled the Citadel empty handed. He must have taken some intelligence files with him. Which meant the man wasn't just AWOL. He was rebelling. Oh no. No no no.
"Kincaid," Crease asked slowly, "What is it you think you are doing?"
"Picking up where you left off, of course," Kincaid said, "Doing what you only attempted to do all those centuries before failing."
"Look," Crease said as he spread his arms wide in order to look less threatening, "You're not thinking right. Your bioware's last system flash accidentally included some very nasty software. Software your brainbox doesn't have the hardware to support."
Kincaid's smile grew impossibly wide. The corners of his mouth almost tearing the skin apart on his emaciated face.
"Accident?" Kincaid asked, "You think this was a mere accident? I had to graft the code by hand. Do you know how long it took for me to figure out how to do that? How many hours it took of digging through the Oligarch's data archives while simultaneously tripping any alarms? It took me months to even confirm that the Avatar program even existed!"
"An accident," Crease insisted, "It had to be because if you had read anything on the Avatar program details you would have known what you were doing was insane."
"Oh I read it," Kincaid insisted, "Eighteen modest talent arcana received a bioware upgrade. They jumped at least one arcana class each. A Class II pyromancer jumped to abilities above Class I. Just shy of Apex level!"
"Yes," Crease agreed, "Only to suffer a complete mental breakdown. This was despite extensive psychological testing and conditioning prior to upgrading their bioware. Blocking the physiological need for sleep, enhanced multitasking, and neural stimulation are all great but the human mind can't operate at those levels forever. That's why their upgrades included the ability to remote shutdown."
"But can you imagine the possibilities if these upgrades were applied to an Apex?" Kincaid said, "Or, better still. Don't imagine. Observe! See what I have done here!"
"This is wrong," Crease said, "You don't realize what you are doing to these people."
"But I do," he said, "There is no death here. No disease. No frailty or feebleness. Only perfection."
"Look at them," Crease said. He still held the rifle in his left arm so he waved with his right. Kincaid eyes twitched once but did not follow the gesture. It was as if he were afraid that Crease would try something if he looked away. Fair enough as Crease had been thinking of doing exactly that.
"Look at them," Crease repeated, "Everyone here. It's like they can't see or hear anything. They only move when you want them to."
"Yes," Kincaid agreed, "Perfect. You of all people should see that."
Crease lowered his arms. Kincaid didn't stop him.
"This is an army," Crease said in a hushed tone. It wasn't a question, but Kincaid nodded anyway.
"Yes," he said with a theatrical bow, "Or, rather, it will be. I'm still building it now and my soldier lack discipline as well as, ahem, sharp shooting skills. But, yes, very soon it will be an army.."
"Damn it, Kincaid."
"You should appreciate the symmetry of it," Kincaid added.
"Damn it and damn you!" Crease repeated with more venom this time, "You know how that went down! I had 5,000 undead soldiers with me! What do you expect to do with a bunch of farmers and deserters?"
"Win," he said simply, "I keep telling you. I know about you and what you did during the Luddite War. The last great battle before humans were overrun and made the . . . the pets!"
Here Kincaid practically spat the word.
"The pets!" he repeated, "The slaves of some computer. Governments caved. Countries rolled over. But not you! Oh no! Not the great and mighty Crease! The first Apex! You who could fling waves of death through the very air! You commanded a legion of the undead! You pushed back against this cybernetic monstrosity only to fall at the very doorstep of its stronghold."
"I was shot to pieces," Crease said simply, "It's kind of hard to march with no legs."
"You were already dead!" Kincaid shouted, "An unkillable zombie! You had filled your corpse with so much necromantic arcana it could not be destroyed! Your very limbs kept crawling towards your objective even after they were separated! The only way they ever stopped you was by freezing all the bits of you!"
"They didn't freeze me!" Crease shouted back, "The Oligarch's fortress is in the heart of Antarctica! What do you think happens to corpses when it's below freezing!"
Kincaid shook his head sadly.
"You still don't get it, Crease," he said in a mocking tone, "You still don't understand where you made your great mistake, do you?"
"I just told you," Crease said, "Charging across a frozen continent during the winter."
"No," Kincaid said, "Your mistake was in joining them. When you assembled your undead army you had no way of dealing with the blowback. So you thought your only hope was to use it. To channel all that recoil back into yourself and let it consume you. To become just another soldier in a sucide gambit. But, don't you see? What if you never ever stopped. Just kept feeding the power back in on itself over and over again. Sending wave after wave of the undead."
"That's not possible," Crease said with a shake of his head, "It's too much power. The human mind can't take that."
"I've been doing just that for months now!" Kincaid shouted, "Look at what I've done!"
"It's shredding you," Crease said, "Your own power is keeping you going for the moment but you can't hold it up forever. Look at your face! Your hands! You're breaking down!"
"I'm more alive than ever!"
"No!" Crease insisted, "You've got vitamancy running through you. It's not the same."
"You should know," Kincaid snapped, "How many vitamancers died to bring you back?"
Crease shook his head.
"This isn't the way," he said, "Please. I'm trying to help you."
"You? Help me? A traitor like you?" Kincaid snarled, "Just because you were too weak to bring down the machine don't presume to know me or my limits!"
Crease could see the decision forming in Kincaid's wild eyes. The strain of exertion, the lack of sleep, the madness of controlling those many minds one neuron at a time. It was too much for him and he was already past the point of no return. He was going to give the kill order and there was nothing Crease could do to stop him. So, he didn't even bother to try. Crease mentally flipped the panic switch in his brainbox.
Time slowed down. He could see Kincaid's lips moving, presumably to give the kill order, but no sound reached him other than the roar of blood in his own ears. Adrenaline and endorphins were flooding his bloodstream as well as artificial hormones manufactured by the synthgland at the base of his skull. His heart thundered in his chest while his nerve endings seemed to dance with barely suppressed energy. Ahead of him the muzzle of every gun and the tip of every improvised weapon sprouted cones of probability as his stochastic subunit filled his mind with data. His allowed his conscious mind to flit out of the driver's seat so that the preprogrammed battle reflexes could take over.
The battle processor evaluated the abundance of weaponry, the layout of the combatants, and his own weaponry and decided the best course of action was to allow his own knees to buckle. He fell to the ground before Kincaid could get the last syllable out of his mouth and the air above Crease glowed with lightning. The wagon shuddered from multiple impacts. But the battle programming was not done. His hands twisted the barrel of the rifle even as he was falling so that when he landed on the ground on his side the rifle was pointed under the wagon and towards the crowd opposite him. His fingers found the trigger almost immediately and he fired a wide focused beam at the legs of the people opposite him. He barely registered the howling of pain as people dropped. He rolled onto his back in one smooth movement and turned to face the towering figure of Viana running directly at him.
The gun was now depleted. It was useful only as a club. If the person racing towards him was a normal human his enhanced speed, strength, and durability might give him an edge even while laying on the ground. But Viana was enhanced as well. Probably more so than he was. She also had about double his muscle mass on top of that. He needed a distraction if he had any hope of taking her out. His battle mode was evaluating possibilities and coming up dry. He didn't see a way of escaping that gave him a better than a nine percent chance of success. Fortunately, having the battle processor do the movements for him gave him a chance to think and perhaps alter the odds on the fly. Which is what he was doing in this case. Unfortunately, the only thing that occurred to him was a party trick he learned in his pre-Luddite War days. It was a cheap shot, but it was also the best idea he could come up with at the moment.
Saying there was no death in the valley was, of course, an exaggeration. Death on macroscale could be interrupted but even a powerful vitamancer like Kincaid couldn't halt it entirely. Nor should he. Cells dying and replacing themselves are part of the natural life cycle of living organisms and interrupting this process would also halt the body's ability to grow and repair itself. Which is why even in a place oversaturated with vitamantic energy there was still some degree of dying and regeneration taking place. For an ordinary necromancer such trivialities were simple nitpicking. They only had the ability to affect the dead on a macro scale. Crease was no ordinary necromancer.
Though his power was greatly reduced on account of the vitamancy used in his own resurrection, his skillset still remained. With great effort he could still feel the dead and dying cells within a body and, to some extent, influence them. In the field he could use this ability to aid living soldiers by slowing the process of necrosis in infected wounds and other low level healing abilities. But one other trick he learned was that if he focused on the person's hair he could influence the cells there. After all, what is hair but a chain of dead cells clinging to a still living root? So, with great effort on his part, he tapped into that ability now and reached outwards with his gift to Viana's head. Mentally straining, he tapped millions of dead cells to alter themselves ever so slightly.
The giantess was almost on top of him when he made the last connection and the cells in her hair let go in unison. The black hair that had been piled up upon her head fell off as if cleaved by an invisible sword. The rage that twisted the woman's face gave way to confusion as her own hair fell before her eyes and momentarily blinded her. Then, without thinking, she made the worst possible decision she could in such circumstances. Forgetting entirely about Crease, she reached up with both hands and gripped the top of her own head to see if the falling hair really were her own. The stochastic processor in Crease's own head took note of the change in posture and calculated the most appropriate response. So he was only slightly more prepared than Viana when the arc of the rifle's swing intersected with the side of her knee.
Viana dropped to the ground howling in pain. Enhanced durability and vitamancy were great, but even they occasionally had to take a back seat to pure physics. He had hit the side of her knee with every bit of speed and strength his own enhancements could afford him. The bones in the leg were unbreakable but even with battle tech a knee is still mostly supported by soft tissue. The tissue could be reinforced with synthetic fibers, but a certain degree of stretching had to be allowed in order to keep the knee functioning as a knee. A powerful blow to the side of a battle hardened knee could still knock the joint out of alignment and then gravity would do the rest. As Viana fell her own weight would tear many of the organic connections that were still present even though the synthetics would largely hold. Knees have a lot of nerves running through them and even minor injuries can be incredibly distracting to even the toughest soldiers. This was not a minor injury and it would take Viana's brainbox several seconds to adjust to the input flooding the gateway. Which is why Crease's own brainbox decided the best way to deal with this was to reorient the rifle into an overhead swing that terminated on the side of Viana's skull before she even hit the ground.
The blow should have killed her. Anywhere else, it may have. Even with a reinforced skull the brain cannot be rattled around like that without consequences. But here all it seemed to buy him was a few moments of unconsciousness as her brain healed itself. He crawled over to her unconscious form and briefly searched her pockets for any hint of a weapon he could use.
"Crease!" Kincaid called out, somehow cutting through the fog in his head, "Did you forget the horse?"
The horse? What was he talking about?
As in answer the horse started neighing and pawing at the ground frantically. Its nostrils flared as it snorted and tossed its head from side to side. Belatedly, he realized exactly what Kincaid was doing. The same thing Crease's own bioware had done to him. The same thing as was likely occurring within the bodies of the crowd of angry gunmen. The creature's rage was being stoked. It had barely flinched from the gunfire but now it was lashing out against, well, nothing. All Kincaid had to do was wait for it to notice Crease and then send the creature's rage skyrocketing. Suddenly the scant cover offered by the cart seemed to go from "flimsy" to "nonexistent" in the blink of an eye. Crease was unsure what his next move should be. Fortunately, his battle reflexes had an idea. Not a good one but an idea.
Crease's legs slammed into the ground beneath him. He found himself hurtling upwards and over the top of the cart while flattening himself. It seemed to be a sloppy jump as he was even now falling back onto the tarp covering the back of the cart. He couldn't help but notice that he was now presenting a rather hard to miss target and, sure enough, his left side exploded in agony as some of the lightning bolts struck home. But his battle reflexes were still moving.
His body cleared the edge of the cart and was threatening to crash into the dividing wall separating the front from the back of the car. Just before his head could hit the wall, his still functioning right hand punched at the wood. The blow was done with little regards to his comfort, it seems, as a shock of fresh agony traveled up his fist and along the wrist towards his elbow. His falling body landed atop the tarp causing it to tangle up with him as he landed in a belly flop inside the tail of the cart. The wall closest to the gunmen was still exploding to pieces and it took him a few precious - not to mention painful - seconds to extricate himself. What had that all been about? He glanced up at the damage done to the wall ahead of him and found his view of the outside world blocked by a rather familiar looking rust stained bit of cloth. Scrambling forward, he used his blooded hands to tear the hole he had created wider until he could reach the bundle of his own coat that had been stored under the seat on the opposite side of the wall.
"Hold your fire!" Kincaid shouted and, as before, all the townspeople's guns were silenced at once. Nothing seemed to happen for a long moment and no movement could be seen coming from the cart.
"What's the matter, Crease?" Kincaid shouted into the echoing silence, "Did that healing arcana that's filling you finally run out?"
In answer, Crease's upper body appeared over the sidewall as he sat up and faced Kincaid and the angry mob. Crease was now sporting his duster once more and in his hands he held two pistols.
"Fu-!" is as far as Kincaid got before lightning erupted from Crease's pistols.
The twin shots struck the heads of two people in the crowd. Instead of dropping, those people twisted to the side and fired their own guns at someone else. By that time the people Crease had originally shot were starting to recover but now two more gunmen were shooting. As Crease leaped from the cart, guns firing continuously, Kincaid started screaming.
Unlike Crease, Kincaid had never been a soldier. He had no experience with the chaos and confusion of battle. So it was that he was completely unprepared for his own side to start firing upon itself in apparent retaliation to the necromancer's influence.
People who had previously been responding well to his own influence were now turning upon one another and firing. Not just at the commandeered corpses Crease was piloting but upon anyone they even suspected was shooting at them. As Crease ran at an angle, firing the entire time, he jumped from body to body and caused the town folks to fire at their neighbors. Soon old passions and grudges were influencing decision making as much as anything else. Lightning bolts flared and Kincaid struggled to get a calming influence to settle over the crowd as they reacted to both the very real danger around them and the imaginary one he had been feeding them just moments ago.
Crease twisted and dodged as he ran. His coat flared as it caught stray lightning bolts. The metallic weaving offered some protection, but not much. Crease felt his limbs grow heavy and then numb as the corona of multiple blasts washed over him. He kept moving.
One battery was spent. He ejected it and slammed to pistol's butt against the quickloader belt he had strapped to his waist. Firing with a fresh battery with his right hand he repeated the process with his off hand to continue the onslaught upon the crowd. Trying to find an opening to target Kincaid. All the while his mind was busy flickering among recently dead and attempting to cause as much damage as possible before being ejected himself. Every as he ran the strain of keeping so many bodies coordinated was taking its toll. He briefly let go and allowed the blowback to wash over him.
His vision blurred as a grenade exploded inside his head. He felt dizzy and his arms and legs were now moving only because the brainbox told them to. He was on autopilot and riding the wave of feedback as his own body tried to cope with competing signals from his brain.
"Stop shooting!" Kincaid shouted again, "You can't die! Don't fall for this trick!"
It was good advice but the mob was now far beyond listening. Many were now shooting at each other even without Crease's influence. The shots missed as Kincaid dodged in an inhumanly fast way. But it was only a matter of time before one of the bolts, intended or otherwise, struck him. Kincaid apparently came to the same realization as he abruptly roared in anger and everyone, save for himself, and Crease dropped to the ground just as Crease's head was starting to clear.
The people dropped as if they were puppets who had their strings cut. For just a moment, Crease's necromantic powers fluttered as he received the sensation of dozens of limbs and bodies dying only to be nearly instantly reborn. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened. Kincaid had just sent out a mental shockwave that had temporarily stopped the nervous systems of everyone near him. Just stopped dead in their tracks. Hearts stopped beating. Muscle fibers stopped twitching. It was like getting paralyzed while also suffering a heart attack. People dropped because he gave them no choice. Even the enraged horse fell silent as its own legs gave way. Only Crease's own unbalanced arcana had managed to protect him from suffering a similar fate.
Crease aimed his guns at the suddenly exposed Kincaid. Kincaid's face changed into a sneer of contempt. Crease's fingers squeezed the trigger and, to his amazement, the bolts missed the target by mere centimeters. Impossibly, Kincaid had ducked to one side!
Crease tried again but, again, Kincaid simply stepped to one side in a blur of motion so fast that even with Crease's own slowed sense of time he could just barely register the movement. With dawning horror, Crease realized that the shockwave that had dropped the town's people to the ground hadn't just been intended as a way to wrestle control of their guns away from Crease. No, now that he wasn't splitting his attention a hundred different ways Kincaid was free to focus entirely upon himself.
The healer's grin had changed from insane madman's to a feral grimace that was equal parts pain and determination. Sweat boiled off the man's scalp as his face flushed a fiery red. Crease tried to aim again but the vitamancer zigged to one side before zagging back. He was running fast. Faster than Crease thought a human being should be able to maintain without tearing itself apart. Faster than Crease and his battle reflexes could match. Every time his brain thought it had acquired a target lock the healer was somewhere else. Crease's battle reflexes opted on random firing while trying to anticipate the healer's movements. However, the software upgrade Crease had received didn't just enhance his ability to stall the onset of blowback. Its own stochastic modeling was on par or superior to Crease's own. The healer bounced around, never quite being where Crease predicted, until suddenly Crease felt tight fingers wrapped around his throat. His vision shrank to a small window as Kincaid's face swam into view.
"Why don't you just die?" Kincaid shrieked.
Crease couldn't answer that question even if he desired to. He gagged for a moment before finding himself flying backwards and slamming into the much abused cart. He landed on his knees and tried to get air back in his lungs. His battle reflexes seemed to be offline as his brainbox attempted to sort out the jumbled data in his head. Something struck him across the jaw and he went sprawling in the dirt. He wanted to rise. Tried to rise. But a foot struck him in the back and sent his face first back into the dirt.
"Die you immortal abomination!" Kincaid's hysterical voice cried out, "Die!"
Crease heard a ripping and tearing sound. The cart, he thought. Kincaid was tearing apart the cart with his bare hands. A board slammed into Crease's back causing him to bite his own tongue as his head bounced off the dirt. Blood filled his mouth and he could only hear Kincaid's screaming.
"The gun is still in your hand," someone said in his ear. Who was that?
"The pistol," the voice repeated, "Your battle reflexes wouldn't let go of it. It's still being held in your left hand."
Pistol? What was that word? It was hard to concentrate as something kept smashing into the back of his skull and spine. He wanted to tell it to stop, but words were difficult.
"Open your eyes," the voice commanded. Reluctantly, Crease obeyed. One eye he immediately screwed shut again as it was being driven relentlessly into the dirt. But the other he could see out of. Barely. The world was crooked and blurred. But ahead of him he thought he saw a shape climbing to its feet. A bit shape. Struggling to stand but close to him.
"Now!" the voice commanded, "Behind the jaw!"
He wasn't sure he understood the meaning behind the words, but he did as the voice suggested. As the giant lifted near him, he rotated his arm at the elbow until the gun was almost vertical. Shoving upwards, he pressed the muzzle to just behind the thing's chin and pulled the trigger. As he did this he realized there was a doorway ahead of him and that he felt no pain on the other side of it. Happily, he shoved himself through the doorway and found himself looking down upon his own body as a superhumanly fast Kincaid shattered a board to splinters as he pummeled the reclined form.
Crease's thoughts were clearing. He was not having an out of body experience. Not exactly. He was in a body. Just, not his own. He glanced down upon himself and realized the body was female. A very, very large female. Viana!
Memories came flooding back. The Oligarch had been speaking to him. Asking him to do what? Place the gun under the chin and fire. Why? The answer clicked into place almost immediately. The skull reinforcements in battle tech were applied to the top, the front, the back, and the sides but not to the bottom of the skull. To do so would require injecting the laminate in through the roof of the mouth. As the skull laminate also contained microfilaments to disperse an electrical charge, a soldier could actually potentially survive a shot from a small coil weapon. Which is why battle tech enhanced soldiers in the field who wanted to commit suicide often chose to place the wapon under their chin,
The electric bolt would have punched through Viana's skull and pureed her brain as the bolt slammed into the filaments and was reflected back. Unlike his earlier sledgehammer move to the head that had caused a concussion, this time the brain itself had been blown to bits. He could feel the vitamancer's ambient arcana trying to force the brain to reform, but for the moment the woman was quite dead. Which meant Crease was in control for now.
Even though his real body was getting beaten severely, for the moment, he felt no pain. He knew that using this much necromancy, particularly after his recent usage, was going to cause a blowback sooner rather than later. But, for the moment, he was tempted to relish the feeling of being pain free. The temptation passed. If he didn't move and move soon this brief respite would be all for nothing. He needed a plan. Except it was still difficult to think. His arcana had projected his consciousness, but his real brain was still getting pummelled. He couldn't even ask the Oligarch for advice without going back into the maelstrom of beatdowns. What he needed was someplace he could stash the vitamancer until he had a chance to recover. He looked around looking for inspiration. He was surprised when he found it. Without waiting a moment to reconsider if this was a wise decision, he propelled the giantess forward at a full sprint and snatched the vitamancer in one beefy hand as he/she ran.
Kincaid was caught off guard and, as such, he didn't realize what was happening until Viana's fist had closed around his throat. By that time it was too late for him to dodge to one side. But that didn't exactly mean he was helpless.
Crease noticed the feedback from Viana's corpse was unusually potent. The air rushing past, the feel of the dirt under her feet, and even the burning in her own lungs all seemed to be amplified. He guessed that Kincaid was increasing Viana's nerve sensitivity and stepped slightly back and away from the driver's seat just before KIncaid launched a punch into the giantess's forearm.
Stepping out of the body slightly was a mixed blessing. He avoided the overwhelming pain sensation that Kincaid was attempting to flood him with but was now highly aware of the very real pain coming from his own body. The double sided attack of blinding pain from both bodies nearly broke his concentration. But he held on. Barely.
Kincaid punched and slammed his fists at the arm with inhuman speed. The bone's laminate prevented it from cracking. So he changed tactics and increased the photosensitivity of the giant's eyes. The light was suddenly too bright and Viana could not see. Crease continued running and flitted more of his own awareness back to his own body. Slowly and painfully, he managed to move his real neck once more. He was now steering the body remotely. Less secure, but possible.
Sensing something was wrong, Kincaid tried other tactics. He caused her heart to stop beating. He forced her lungs to stop breathing and cut off blood to her muscles. All of which would have stopped her in her tracks if her body had been alive in the first place. Realizing his mistake, Kincaid switched directions again and focused on healing her damaged brain. Crease felt his control being shoved away. The giantess's gait became more erratic. He was hurting. It hurt to move. He switched to battle mode and told his battle implants to target the back of the running giantess. He allowed it to take full motor control.
The world went red with pain as his body moved without him consciously willing it. The servos flipped him around on damaged muscles and lifted his arm on a torn and agonizing shoulder. The finger squeezed on the pistol's trigger and suddenly he was back in the driver's seat of Viana's body. Bolts of lightning tore through her chest from behind as Kincaid released a gurgled scream. Crease directed Viana's other hand to join the one currently wrapped around Kincaid's throat. Together they squeezed with every bit of her enhanced strength. Kincaid's face turned purple for a brief moment before he, again, focused the healing arcana back into himself. As the pained expression returned to his previous snarl, Crease saw a look of concern cross over the vitamancer's face.
Although the events had felt like they took place over several minutes subjectively, both Crease and Kincaid had been operating in accelerated time. While for Crease this increased time awareness had been giving him a greater time to plan, Kincaid, on the other hand, had been acting out of instinct and raw emotion. When Viana had dragged Kincaid away from Crease's helpless body he had continued to react on pure emotion. He had lashed out and tried to fight Viana as carried him further and further from his intended target. It was not until the last moment that it even occurred to him to wonder where she was taking him to.
The giantess struck the side of the well before doubling over and falling in. The last view Crease had from her undead eyes was of Kincaid, still grasped in her strong hands, falling backwards into the well with Viana coming right after him. Crease let go as the darkness swallowed both of them and waited for the long delayed blowback to hit him. He screamed when the pain enveloped him but few heard him. Everyone else who could scream was screaming along with him.

Dragonstone - Chapter 51

Chapter 1 | Chapter 50 | Chapter 52 | Patreon
Prae
It has begun to rain.
We land before the Wyrm King himself, still kneeling, head pressed against the unmoving side of his dragon. Cassian’s feet land in the softening ground, water pooling around his boots as they sink into the earth. He draws his sword, a wariness emanating from him. I feel his urging and move away, slowly, my own claws sinking into the soft ground. I must make my way to this Wyrm King’s flank. That will best serve Cassian.
Liana and Veyra land nearby, Liana sliding off Veyra easily. I cannot help but notice that she keeps her distance.
“Brother!” She shouts. The Wyrm King stands, slowly turning to face us. His face remains hidden by his armored helmet, sweeping metal that matches the scales of these wyrms. He has discarded his weapon but shows no sign of concern as Cassian stalks closer. He exudes a cold confidence that I find uncomfortable.
“Ah. The prodigal sister has returned.” The Wyrm King says, tilting his head. “Thrown your lot in with the savages, have you?”
“You are making a mistake.” Liana says. The Wyrm King laughs behind his armor. It is a cold, dry laugh.
“A mistake?” He slowly removes his helmet, letting it drop to the wet earth. I see him for the first time. He is too young to be so marred by such scars. Half his face is rippled scar tissue, the mark of vicious burns. His scalp lays bare, half shaved and half scarred. One of his eyes is cloudy, the other burns with a cool rage. The scarring extends down his neck and disappear beneath his armor.
Liana winces, and squeezes her eyes shut.
“I have made mistakes, sister. I made a mistake when I let a mewling, insufferable baby live because father wished it. Father made a mistake when he raised you to your post and I made a mistake when I did not speak out then. Those were mistakes. Do they know what part you played in all this?” He asks, looking to me, then to Cassian. In his eyes I see a dismissive nature.
“Brother, please. It is not too late to stop this.” Liana says, stepping forward.
“Yes it is. Decades late, sister.” The Wyrm King stoops and recovers his swords, swinging them through the air in loose, graceful arcs, before pointing them at Cassian. “Come then, boy. Show me your mettle.”
Cassian thunders ahead. Water splashes from his charging footsteps, his longsword tip drags through the mud behind him. He brings the sword up and I see the rain droplets scatter against the blade, mud flicking up in a blur of steel and motion.
Sparks fly, the Wyrm King deflecting Cassian’s heavier blade with one sword and making to open the Knight’s throat with the other. Cassian is almost imperceptibly fast. He leans back and the blade meant for his throat misses it by little more than a hair’s breadth. I stalk and watch, waiting, feeling Cassian’s confidence and steely determination. He tells me to wait and I listen.
They meet in a flurry of strikes, evenly matched. The Wyrm King uses both swords to attack with terrifying speed, slashing and thrusting where Cassian’s plate armor is weak. Cassian replies, equally capable with one hand as he is with two, moving his whole body to dodge what should have been deadly blows. I see the Wyrm King’s blade carve a furrow in the steel of Cassian’s breastplate, Cassian draws a thin line of blood across the Wyrm King’s cheek.
It is seconds of combat, drawn out for an eternity. They part, both men dripping from the cold rain, the same rain that cascades down my scales and drips from my nostrils. Colder than it should be.
Cassian feels it too.
“Curious.” The Wyrm King squints, swiping the rain from his face with a forearm. “Sister, you have always been gifted with the talent of finding entirely more capable servants, haven’t you?”
“Watch your words.” Veyra grumbles in defense of his lady.
“Did I speak to you?!” The Wyrm King roars, composure crumbling. Veyra bares his teeth and snarls. The Wyrm King returns the gesture, then becomes placid once more.
Curious.
“Come then, I would finish this and be on my way. I have business to attend to. One of these Knights has been returned to our uncle, dear sister. I would have words with him, uncle is far too kind in his old age. And father, well he will come soon. He is so looking forward to seeing you.”
“You talk too much.” Cassian mutters. The Wyrm King shrugs and makes to step forward and begin the fight anew. His foot does not come free of the earth. Confused, he looks down to find that ice has encased his boot, ice that crept from below. Ice formed from the cold rain.
Perhaps if he had been of this continent he would have questioned it more, a cold rain in these months is strange. He looks to his wyrms, with a hint of panic, and finds them struggling in the earth. He watches some of them fall, pierced by long spears. He watches Citrine cavalry crash into his wyrms, he watches Emeralds bear longbow riders that pierce his wyrms from afar.
He does raise his blades to defend against Cassian, who comes with a wide, sweeping attack. It is a feint. With both blades engaged in defense, the Wyrm King is helpless to stop Cassian’s free hand, formed into a plate armored fist. The Wyrm King collapses as unconsciousness is forced upon him.
It is done. A skirmish, it would seem.
A costly one.
I hear heavy claws and know who has landed near before I look.
“Mother.” I say.
“Son.” She says. Emery dismounts. His hair is stuck back in a windswept way and his heart is still racing, I can hear it. Governor Rin, Knight Atwater, legionnaires of the Southern and Western Provinces, we are surrounded by allies once again. Sapphires above, Onyx at the walls, Emeralds, Citrine.
“This one is clever.” My mother says, tilting her head to Emery.
He stands over the Wyrm King, cautiously. Then he shakes his head.
“No, it wasn’t me. Ivey reminded me of Seriph.” Cassian raises an eyebrow and Emery goes on. “She was another student in our class. We were studying combining arts and she was having difficulty, so she made a snide comment about how useful could it be. Our instructor was in a bad mood so he proved a point, drawing all the water into the sand, sinking her into it.”
“Magic.” Liana says, stunned. She kneels beside her brother and places her hand against his forehead. “You can use magic.”
“Who’s that?” Emery asks as Alcina and Mahz land on the soggy earth, the ice already melting and the rain has stopped. This battle is over. Legionnaires in their black and yellow livery come, with Western Province Knights in their heavy black plate. Allie’s legionnaires too, wearing their polished breastplates and trousers with dark green strips down the leg.
“Who’s that?” Allie asks, looking at the Wyrm King.
“This seems unproductive.” Governor Rin sighs, dismounting the Citrine I have not seen before. I happen to agree with her opinion.
The Southern Province legionnaires are battered, dirty, and confused. Grateful, but confused. One of them approaches Allie and Governor Rin.
“Governor.” One of the men removes his helmet and ducks his head to her. He is covered in dirt and dried blood and he looks exhausted.
“Ah, Commander Kervan. I seem to remember you were a Captain, last we met.”
“General Kervan, now, ma’am.” He says, smiling and wincing, clutching his side with one hand.
“And where is Governor Thuv? I would like to ask him some questions.”
General Kervan’s face twists into an even more pained grimace and he shakes his head.
“Governor’s dead, ma’am. They came from the earth and we didn’t stand a chance. Governor’s gone. Adamicz didn’t send help when we asked. Heard from the girl that you might be in the right on this. Heard you had the dragons with you. Heard Wolff had turned on us.”
“You heard a great deal.” Governor Rin says.
“What girl?” Emery says, his head lifting as he perks up.
“That one.” The General looks over his shoulder, then lifts his arm and points to her. She’s riding a horse, dressed much like any legionnaire. Less armor though. Her face is coated in exhaustion and dirt, marred by sweat. She sees the General pointing, then her eyes fall on the mage and a smile splits through the dirt. Emery returns the smile, a genuine one, before nearly sprinting away from us.
“Ivey!” He runs to her. She dismounts into his arms and they embrace. He spins her around. It is a little warmth and we should hold to those moments. They have become rare.
“Cute.” Bas rumbles with a chuckle.
“Practically adorable.” Mahz agrees. Chrysta flicks dirt at them with a claw and they find that amusing.
“A day for reunions, then.” Cassian says, cryptically. Governor Rin lifts an eyebrow at him and he looks at me, waiting for me to explain further.
“Ah.” I say. “We have someone you should meet.”
“Just how many newcomers did you bring with you?” Governor Rin manages exasperated better than any human I have met.
“You will like this one, I think.” I say. “We should bring Aubrey.”
“Emery looks like he wants to catch up with his friend.” Allie says. “Knight Atwater, would you and he look after the prisoner and our…guests?” She eyes the metallic dragons. Veyra inclines his head to her, Liana stays with her brother.
“We will assist. The Wyrm King will be secure.” Veyra says.
“Well, where is this someone, then?” Governor Rin asks.
Aldrich
Aldrich Rin, son of a murdered emperor. The boy that can’t remember his name. I’m struggling with that. I’m struggling with a lot.
Right now I’m struggling with the boredom of sitting alone. A little clearing surrounded by tall trees. I hear birds chirping, animals rustling, all the sounds of nature. The sunlight dappled leaves dance in a gentle breeze and I am left with the clean scent of the forest.
It isn’t the frigid cold of the north. Cold cobblestones and thick furs, hiding in the wealthier quarters where the heat of Ruby dragons keeps the cold at bay.
It isn’t the vast, swelling emptiness of the ocean. Salty and cold, wet and terrible.
It’s just…quiet.
I’ve discovered that I hate the quiet. I tap my foot on the soft grass and watch the sky. Every bird that passes overhead is a dragon until it isn’t. Every sound in the trees is a beast come to rend me limb from limb despite every assurance that would not happen. They left me here, said it would be safer that way.
So here I am. Waiting.
Hours, days, weeks. I don’t know. I’m sure it hasn’t been weeks but it has been a long enough wait that I have begun to wonder if they are coming back. Maybe I’ll die in these trees, left to rot and long forgotten. I wonder if Rhi will try to find me. I wonder if she will succeed.
My thoughts have turned dark, sitting here alone with them.
I throw another piece of bark, attempting to build an ever growing pile a few feet away. I have been largely unsuccessful in this. The pieces have scattered in various directions and none of those directions match. Somehow I threw one piece behind me, in a very poor attempt at a throw.
Aldrich Rin. Son of a murdered emperor. Possibly heir to the throne.
Terrible thrower.
I jump to my feet when a dragon lands in the clearing. The green dragon. The Emerald dragon. Prae, that was his name. He looks at me with eyes that I cannot read. Sadness, pain, even joy are all in there. Conflicting emotions.
“Come.” He says, lowering his head.
I obey. There’s a sort of natural furrow where his neck and shoulders meet, my legs dangle there. My hands take hold of two of the spines, the gnarled things that give the Emerald a forest appearance. He raises himself up on his forelimbs, then pushes off from his back legs and into the air.
Out of the all the things I hate, flying is not one of them. This is nothing short of sheer, thunderous delight that pounds through my veins. Sadly it is a short flight. He glides down to a large gathering.
I see two yellows, two blues, two greens, a black, a gray. Citrine. Sapphire. Emerald. Onyx. The incredibly rare Moonstone. It takes getting used to. I haven’t been living with people that are all that fond of dragons. Dragon is a word to be used lightly on a ship. If there is no dragon in the sky to burn your ship to cinders, you’re liable to be punched in the nose more than once just for letting the word pass your lips.
I also see lots of people. Important looking people.
“She may try to kill you.” The dragon says, before we are close enough for them to hear the words. But only shortly before. I don’t have time to gather details on who ‘she’ is before we are there and I am sliding down to the ground. I turn around and I feel that I should have been warned that ‘she’ was not singular. ‘She’ meant every person in this clearing.
Swords are drawn, bowstrings too. Everyone has a weapon leap into their hand before I have a chance to take a breath and out of an abundance of caution, I choose not to breath and remain still as a statue.
The Knight with one eye, Knight Gardiner, steps between me and the group that wants my blood carefully removed from my body in seventeen different ways. He raises his hands and not his sword. I find that comforting. The dragon also does not consume me with fire, and a handful of others remain calm. As if they expected this.
“What is this!?” A distinguished woman roars, sword in hand. Beside her is a very confused man who looks to be in pain. I’m not sure he’s on my side but he isn’t actively trying to kill me. I am a firm believer in the small victories in life.
“It’s not Milos-” The Knight is explaining but I’m not listening. I’m staring at her. That’s when I know who ‘she’ is. She’s only a few years younger than I am, no more than twenty years old. She had a confident look in her eyes but it’s been replaced by nothing short of horrible pain. Pain brought on by me.
But…she’s familiar. I don’t know why, but she is.
She leans to another woman, this one in legionnaire armor. She whispers something to the soldier and the soldier turns to a group of legionnaires, uttering an order that I don’t hear. Two of them nod, working on something that I can’t see.
I don’t like being out of the loop but I do like not being killed. At least swords are being dropped. The Knight is finishing his explanation.
“-brought him here.”
I smile, awkwardly. It doesn’t help. She hasn’t said much, except that whisper to the soldier. She sticks out a hand and takes a piece of rope, or rather a strand that had been part of a piece of rope. It’s only a few inches long, not much good for tying me up as a prisoner.
She walks to me, holding the strand. I wonder what she’s going to do with it. She holds it between her palms, her face almost childlike.
“Light it.” She whispers.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, not sure I’ve heard her right. No one steps in to stop this from happening.
“Light it.” She repeats herself. So I wasn’t wrong, it just doesn’t make any sense.
“With what? My mind?”
“Preferably.” She says. “Or I can have any one of these dragons tear you in half for a spy.”
Encouragement, always good. I feel a pull of something in my mind. Something from before the coldness of the water is lingering there, like a dam about to burst but it refuses to do so. I stare at the frayed end of the rope and wonder how I’m supposed to light it on fire with my mind.
I look up and I’m not surrounded by people or dragons. I’m in a dark room with stone walls. In the darkness I can see the furniture. Ornate, expensive, things I’ve never had before. Not that I know at least. I look down and find my hands tangled in soft sheets and furs. I lift my hands and stare at them. They are small, a boys hands.
“Please?” She says and I see her. She’s small. Younger than I am. Scared of the dark. She’s across the room, in her bed, sheets pulled to her face and quivering in fear. She always hated the dark. She hates the shadows that move in the darkness, the dim light that creates monsters from nothing.
Her candle comes to life.
I’m out of my bed and padding across the floor to hers. I sit on the edge and take her hands in mine, press my forehead to hers.
“Want to see something cool?” I ask her. She nods, sniffling. I look at the dancing flame and it becomes a bright blue, then green, then a rainbow of colors swirl through the flame. She giggles and I wipe the tears from her eyes.
I’m surrounded by dragons again, my hands pressed against hers. I don’t remember doing that. The soldier has her sword against my throat, the point biting just enough that I can feel a warm trickle of blood running down my neck.
“Want to see something cool?” I whisper. She chokes out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cry. I look down at the rope and the end is alive with fire. It swirls with colors and everyone watches it, except the soldier with her sword in my neck.
“Do you remember the name of the guardsman who died to protect us?” She asks. The dam has burst and memories come back. I remember the night they took us. I remember the cold, wet stone walls of the underground tunnels. I remember the knife in my back and I suddenly know why they would have wanted to kill me when they thought I was Milos.
I want to kill him too.
“Reineke.”
“Commander Allisten. You should remove the point of your sword from my brother’s throat. I think that might be treason.” Aubrey says. Aubrey Rin, daughter to a murdered emperor. Sister of Aldrich Rin. My sister. She squeezes my hands with hers and then I brush a tear off her cheek, just like those old days.
“Sorry.” The soldier says.
“I understand.” I tell her. “No hard feelings.”
“That makes you Cassian. I remember you. You used to have two eyes.” I say, turning to the Knight. He frowns and the yellow dragon, Mahz, laughs. One loud laugh before he clamps his jaws shut.
“So, what now?” I ask the collected. She answers for them.When she speaks I know. I know that I will never be Emperor. I am fine with that, it seems like a hard job. One I don’t want. I know this because when she speaks, they listen.
“We’re going home. We take Creia back.” She says. “Then we drive them into the sea.”
Simple.
Simple is under appreciated, in my opinion. I should know. Complicated has never worked out well for me.
Aldrich Rin, son of a murdered Emperor. Brother to the newly installed Empress.
If the civil war goes well, that is.
And the invasion is stopped.
Small details. Very small, very complicated details.

[Lets Build] Interesting Bartenders/Tavernkeepers

Lets build one hundred different tavern owners to make taverns more interesting!

Die Roll	Result
1	Davis Owensby - A retired farmer who converted his old barn into a tavern. This tavern keeper brews all his own beers with hops that he grows. He will sit and talk about farming for hours, if you let him. He is worried about his cows going missing, and suspects the ogres in the hills are to blame.
2	The Ghost of Sel'seren - This tavern is haunted by the previous tavern keeper who died a few years ago. Sel'seren was a gorgeous elven woman who treated all her guests like family. People who stay the night in this inn report having their covers being pulled over them on cold nights on their own, and mugs of ale being refilled on their own.
3	Mugsy - The ex-criminal Mugsy is a goblin who pulled off a BIG heist in his past, and is using the tavern as a cover to stay under the radar. He speaks fluent Thieve's Cant and usually takes a liking to rogue players. He charges paladins extra.
4	Slunk Copperpot - Slunk is a goblin stripper who recently came into possession of her own tavern because the previous owner died of mysterious circumstances. Slunk was always his favorite dancer, and he left the tavern to her in her will. The strange thing is, he died within days of telling Slunk that information. What a coincidence!
5	Al'Ashir - This foreigner from the desert is looking to start his new business in a land far from his home. He is overly accommodating, and typically cooks all the meals himself. If the patrons aren't used to desert cuisine, they may find it particularly on the dry side.
6	Thain D’ulbris - A former adventurer who says he has traveled with all the great heroes though none of his stories match up he is a portly fun loving man. Though he is a bit loud he has ties to the rebels though he doesn’t advertise this other than his rampant and aggressive nationalism he uses as a cover.
7	Lily - This charming, attractive Elven woman always seems to know exactly what to say to cheer up patrons and get them talking. A town drunk swears that she's actually a disguised monster and the head of a local organized crime syndicate.
8	Mimi - This enchanted wizard's familiaapprentice runs the bar, using her telekinetic abilities in place of hands. The bar features a variety of exotic drinks from across the world and even some extraplanar ones (dangerous and highly expensive drinks only available with a reservation and advance order).
9	Nimue - This bright red horned tiefling has spent quite a bit of money on the decor of her bar, which is themed after hell. The barestaurant is upscale, and the food and drinks, while good, are pricy. This is a popular spot for the children of nobility to attend. The bartender has acquired several rocks enchanted with Nystul's Magic Aura, which she has put in the foundations in order to create an "aura of evil" around the place.
10	Kra'ax Three Claw - The hulking Half-Dragon is surprisingly well mannered, but will violently throw out anyone they learn takes part in the trapping of animals. They lost their left foot to an owlbear trap while traveling the wilds and sorely miss going on long treks through the untamed wilderness. Will buy or trade at a very fair price for fresh wild berries and unique stones.
11	Grin Stoneboot - A stout dwarf, with fiery red hair and no beard, that owns and operates a tavern carved entirely from one large stone block. He’s known for his wild tales of his missing flying monkey. Every time one of his patrons asks him something he always manages to lead the conversation toward his missing monkey (Nam). Rumor has it that Grin shaved his beard and won’t regrow it until he finds his lost friend. I’m sure Grin would have a fantastic reward for the player that found poor Nam.
12	Orx Thrallkeep - former gladiator, living his best life running a bar with a solid connection to the local sporting events community and betting parlors. His favorite weapon, a silver trident, is more than just decoration behind the bar.
13	Abeg Two-Smiles - reformed thief, he was horribly scarred by an angry tavern owner during his early life and eventually returned from his adventuring days to not only buy the bar itself but also to help guide young, troubled future thieves by honing their skills and boasts that anyone able to successfully steal a mug from his bar will drink free for a year. So far, none have been able to do so.
14	Juli Wise (formerly Jani the Jannkiller) - druid with a focus on elemental magic, she's laying low for the time being until the next planar alignment allows her return to some mysterious place where her allies are waiting. In the meantime, she's keeping busy and trying get information from every traveler staying at her roadside inn.
15	Herk - a goblin who found the perfect score in treasure hunting - dead adventuring groups. His specialty is building quiet, lethal traps and placing them in front of already-cleared dungeons after the adventurers have entered. They die, he collects the loot and puts it to work building a safe space for his extended family. Remarkably, he's happier running a tavern than he ever was living in dungeons and caves.
16	Josh - A well-mannered ogre. Runs a small tavern on the edge of town, and it's clear that he puts a lot of love into it. His family was kidnapped for a gladiatorial arena, meant to test fighters prowess. Josh could never really stand the sight of blood, so he opted to take on the position of cook for the combatants in the arena. He's very self-conscious about his size, but he's a gentle giant, and a friendly soul. Speaks with a slight New Zealand accent.
17	Weiss and Jaded - an Aasimar and Tiefling Wife/Husband duo. Weiss mans the bar putting patrons to ease with her holy feminine charm while Jaded in the back is the Cook and Brewmaster known for his signature drink Devil Rose Ale. If asked about their relationship they'll simply state that it was originally a joke to screw with friends but they learned to truly love each other.
18	Lurag Strongbrew - Lurag is a retired Dwarven barbarian. He made it his mission in life to find the lost mead recipe of the legendary Dwarven brewer, Gilgoth Honeybeard. Once he retrieved it, he settled down and opened a tavern to share the legendary brew with the world.
19	Meef, Störsk, and Gjël - A trio of gnomes who take turns bussing tables, cooking, and bartending. Tavern is built into the bottom of a cliff-face and the goblins added wooden structure to turn a large hollow into a serviceable, if somewhat cramped for medium and larger characters. They each have small wooden protrusions on tight fitting jerkins that attach on the back of the each shoulder. They use these to boost eachother up and grab things from the top shelves. The food and beverages are mostly fungi-based with some options for everybody. They all complain of the smell if asked to cook meat, but will aquiesce and make the food without further qualm.
20	Kareem Sandjabar - A mage who runs the tavern liberal use of mage hand, unseen servant, summons, and other magical means. Keeps a pet mimic named Boorf in the tavern that likes to prank people by turning into mugs and foot stools. Will pay handsomely for self-washing dishes because he cant stand the way his minions clean them.
21	Elias Alondir - A high elf mage who seems a bit out of place running a tavern. Being a bit of a germaphobe, he has several unseen servants as his wait staff as well as his psudodragon that collects payment and tips. Elias never touches the coins from his customers, instead dumping it all into a chest with Mage Hand and cleaning it later. When the tavern gets busy, the high elf gets a bit of anxiety and copes by letting out small laughs and chuckles as he converses with his patrons. The name of the tavern? The Laughing Mage.
22	Iphin - A minor god of alcohol who got bored just being in his realm, sells stranded drinks for cheep and high quality drink for exorbitant prices, can cure hangovers for a price.
23	Chime - This kenku is the owner and operator of Three Crows tavern/inn. The main drink is made in house and is called the three crows. Upon taking the first drink of a freshly poured Three Crows the drinker feels a burp coming but when they open their mouth to burp they let out three caws (bird sounds) the bigger the drink you take the louder the caws should be, the smaller the sip the more quiet. Chime being a Kenku and having difficulty with communication has signs all around his tavern, not just menu/room and board, but also common sayings and phrases that he’ll point to when he doesn’t feel like interacting Backstory Chime a retired Pirate, he was The first mate to the famous Captain Dread. He retired after he was injured in a battle with the Royal Navy.
24	Littlebob Mancoon is a retired (from adventuring) halfling rogue with prison tattoos on his face. Barrel chested and rather tall for a halfling, he has a dead pan sense of humor but always raises one eyebrow when he's joking. Deep voiced, he is a quick talker who says "ya ya" and "no ya" alot. Always a gambler, he won this tavern called the Way Way in a high stakes game of Kiriki while incarcerated. He has a special where you roll 2 dice and are served drinks according to the outcome. If you roll a 1 and a 2 it's on the house. He also charges half price for those that order in thieves cant.
25	Vorrakas Crixush - Red dragonborn paladin-turned-mercenary-turned tavern owner. Despite suffering great tragedy in his life, he is a stern, yet friendly and fatherly figure. A life-time of adventuring has made him a veritable font of wisdom on the subject, and many up-and-coming adventurers come to him for advice. Runs the Red Fang tavern and inn with his old friend and sworn-brother, the dwarf Hjolthrun Bronzeheart. Mess with his wait staff at your peril. Don't mess with his adoptive drow daughter if you wish to live a long life.
26	Casémone Cosmone - A grey-skinned, brown-haired and ram-horned retired Lyre-playing Bard that runs a feywild-style tavern and claims himself to be a Faun. Drinks and dishes are named after imaginary feywild herbs, shrooms and berries, and tables are engraved with rings to make them look like tree stumps. Truth of the matter is he is simply a Tiefling that looks vaguely Faun-like and attempts to use this as a trick to get customers. Locals are usually aware of this, but an unassuming stranger may find themselves tricked. Despite knowing the trick, locals still come for the unique atmosphere and Casémone's bright smile and relentless dedication to the facade.
27	Hjolthrun Bronzeheart - Dwarven ex-mercenary, now part-owner and brewmaster of the Red Fang tavern and inn. A jolly old soul always willing to share a few tales to anyone who asks. Spends his days experimenting with new types of alcoholic drinks, from making wine from watermelons to trying to recreate an old recipe that includes slime from a gelatinous cube. His most prized possession is a reinforced dwarven adamantine beer stein his calls Fimbul'kheled (Great Mug). Mess with his wait staff are your peril. Don't mess with his drow sworn-niece if you wish to live a long life.
28	Aialla, a human bard who failed to make it in the big city and now runs an inn focused on performances. This way she can play all she wants. She's not amazing but not horrible either. Here anyone can play or read. In fact you need to perform or the price of your meal is doubled. What you perform is up to you, but each customer must do something on stage to get the discount.
29	Angus Throwbeard - a surly dwarf that walks around on stilts, making him seven and a half foot tall.
30	Dirk Prophet- Assimar Bartender with a love of spiced and mulled drinks. He stands at 6'5" and has golden hair with silver freckles. The most popular drink he makes is called Celestials call, it is 3 part vodka, one part berry juice, bitters and a sprinkling of mint and spices and a touch of silver dust. A retired bard he has his lute about the bar and can sometimes be caught playing on slow nights.
31	Boogle the Gnome - He has a pack of weasels that help him tend the bar.
32	Fizz the Kenku - who repeats your order back in your own voice. The "Fizz" is literally the sound of a sudsy beer being poured.
33	Father Endros - Tends bar at a location run by the local church. He and his fellow monks brew beer in the name of their diety.
34	Misty Spring - A hard as nails half elf who was raised by a nature loving human parent and now hates that lifestyle, almost as much as she hates her name. She hasn't left the confines of the city she lives in for years.
35	Floria - A sweet halfling barkeep who just wants to be everyone's mother. She has her regular's meals waiting for them when they clock out of their shifts. She is VERY attentive with her patrons.
36	Umlog and Nevell aka "the beauty and the beast". Umlog is a literal troll, yet an extraordinary one. He's as intelligent as a troll can be and actually not a bad fellow. He is well read and has particularly deep knowlegde of local laws. He acquired his tavern in a remote deal via an exchange of letters. No one knew a troll was the buyer, before the deal was done. People in this area -close to the feywoods- are very keen on honoring deals and contracts and thus, somewhat begrudgingly abstained from gathering their torches and pitchforks. The success of the "Green side of Life" -that's the name of the tavern- is not only based on Umlog's craftiness, though. A nymph named Nevell works in the tavern at the side of Umlog. She is hospitality personified, a skilled chef, baker and singer. Nobody except them seems to know how they ended up together, but they run a really homely place in a village on the edge of civilization.
37	Pierce "Ears" Moldun, a balding human with normal sized, non-pierced ears, is the owner of Sweet Relethe. He is always looking down, at the drink he is pouring, the bar he is polishing, or the food he is cooking. He is a man of few words. Tell him, "Ears, I need to give away a story," and leave a proper sum on the bar. You will know what his service is worth if you truly need it. It may be expensive, but rarely more than one can pay. The price is different for every story, but if you do not offer enough, he will know after a quick glance at you. He will shake his head and continue with his work. If your coin is sufficient, he will nod his head, then get the dark blue bottle down from the top shelf. Slowly. Carefully. The bottle is beautifully made, but you find yourself unable to describe it apart from the color. He will pour a tiny shot, small as a thimble, before replacing the bottle and pulling you a beer to go with it. He will tell you that it's best to drop the shot in the beer then drink it slowly as you tell your story. It is best to trust him on this. As you begin your story, he will look up at you with eyes the same color as the bottle, and you will not be able to look away. He will listen intently as you tell your story, and as the words pass your lips they will also pass out of your memory. The regulars say that even if someone is sitting right next to you, they will not hear a word, just the quiet mumbling of a slow moving river. You will leave Sweet Relethe no longer possessed by your story, not in the slightest upset at your expenditure, and quick to recommend Ears of Sweet Relethe to anyone who seems in need of his service.
38	Ripzicki Papqat - Gnomish owner of "The Shimmer and Shine," Rip is known for drinks that pack a punch stronger than their small size lets on. An accomplished but eccentric alchemist, Rip has taken to testing out the effects of his drinks at his inn.
39	Shanassa the Viridescent - Dryad owner of "The Cornicopia," Shanassa's inn is actually a tree magically manipulated to house guests. Unfortunately, she had to close down the tables balanced on branches until she could figure out how to get drunk customers to stop falling off.
40	Arthur "Art" Igneous Ficer - Art is a an average sized fellow with sallow skin and sunken eyes. To give you an idea of his general appearance: despite owning a bar and inn for travelers, it looks like Art is the one that really could use some rest. But Art is a pleasant man with a passion for magically enchanted items. He gladly will talk to any traveler with such an item about the item. He finds it all fascinating. He will tell you that he used to dabble a little, but he couldn't find too many volunteers. So, he opened a bar and inn, and that pays pretty well. He keeps the price low, and that keeps travelers coming in. If you decide to stay for the night, all weapons need to be left in his care before you head up to your rooms. He's had too many drunken fights break out in the dormitory area, he will tell you. For any party member that blacks out at the bar or decides to stay the night, the DM must roll a D4 when the party member checks out of the inn. You see, Art never did give up his love of magic item creation, and he is desperately working on figuring out how to enchant weapons and items in a single night. DM rolled a 4? Surprise! An item of yours, at the DM's choosing, has acquired a properly functioning effect, also of your DM's choosing! Rolled a 3? Well, it's the same as 4, except the DM will also roll a 1d10 on your every use/attack, and a 1 will mean that your item misfired in wild magic (DM's choice). A 2? Oof. Well, it is the same as rolling a 3, except your item is completely unmagical except for the 1d10 chance of wild magic. And if the DM rolls a 1, then you were significantly robbed of either money or an item. Making magical weapons and items costs a lot, after all, and Art has a bit of rogue in him, it seems. Also, for any night a party member stays at the inn, there is a 1d6 chance of an unsatisfactorily explained small fire breaking out overnight. The following morning after such a fire, Art normally looks a little worse for wear.
41	Judy Krom - Owner of the Dog's Ear Inn, she learned a spell of invisibility to "clean up messes". most patrons are none the wiser but casting a spell to see invisible things reveals that the cups and bar top are coated with years of dirt and grime. The town isn't really sure why people are getting so sick all the time but the bar is always packed because Judy is such a charismatic person. She'll tell you stories for hours, but none of them are true.
42	Will Hornton - This bar called The Screaming Pickle has been in his family for 5 generations. People come from miles around for his pickle hooch. He never married and has no son to pass the bar to and it's getting late in his years. However, the business has slowed since the latest news of the campaign has scared customers off and he isn't sure he will have had anything to pass on to a kin anyway.
43	Abigail Turnsprout - A jolly halfling who is an avid gardener. She spices her drinks with unique herbs grown in her garden just behind her tavern, The Tipsy Turnip. Her prized Top Shelf Brew has a secret recipe of herbs and spices that many have tried and failed to obtain.
44	Tally- an older, buff halfling woman who speaks with a country accent and repeatedly calls the players "honey." Used to be an adventurer and tells stories of the fights she once found herself in.
45	Bob, Jim, and Clyde- three gnomes in a trenchcoat. They all have completely different personalities, opinions of different races, and pricing. They go by whatever the name is of the gnome whose head is on top that day!
46	Oldeye Jasper - An elderly human with one white lazy eye. He's warm and inviting to people who come into his bar, but if you let him, he'll talk to you for hours about his conspiracy theories like Lizardfolk secretly running the kingdom, or Fey leaving changelings in place of local children, and the mayor being secretly a swarm of pixies in disuse. But these are just the ramblings of an old man. Right?...
47	Sweeps - An animated broomstick that serves drinks and cleans the tavern 24/7. This would be extremely advantageous if he weren't so incredibly clumsy. He was made by the previous owner and now the current owners don't know how to get rid of him.
48	Sloppy' Joe Reznar. A Half Orc who earned his nickname for often being drunker than his customers.
49	Tivali - A female tabaxi with 5 young kids all the same age who love roaming around the tables asking adventurers tons of questions. They will sometimes place wagers or entertain for money in order to compete with their siblings for who can make the most money in one night. If they were to ever get into trouble, Tivali would suddenly be there scooping them into her arms. She's a racing champion who's known to be able to run faster than a falcon can fly.
50	The Tavern - There is no tavern keeper because this magical tavern is it's own keeper. Food appears on tables seconds after ordering it, and all you must do to pay is toss coins onto the wooden floor which immediately disappear without even a sound. There are no rooms available in this tavern, it is simply for enjoyment only. Those who forget to pay the bill tend do go missing the next day...
51	Amie, Aedricks, and Harlen. Triplets who’ve inherited a tavern. They are a Human, Elf, and Half-Elf and the Human and Elf are always feuding, leaving the Half-Elf to mediate. When the heroes arrive, the two are in such a bad fight, it must be resolved before the party can rest there for the night.
52	Elane of Juunvanfel. She is a young bartender, daughter of the ancient bartender who was a mythomaniac. Everyone knows it, but He was harmless. He was saying he was a prince of a far away land called Juunvanfel, but no one believe him. Elane talk about it with a lot of humour, and there's no chance she is really a princess. But she is really kind and charismatic, and everyone in town called her Little Queen. (if you want the lie to be true, why not!)
53	Drubogg. An orc (or half-orc) who was a raider in the past. After 15 years of jail, the local authority had free him with mercy. One of the tavern in the town was dying because the bartender was very sick, and Drubogg help him to run his business. Since 3 year, this impressive orc are a meticulous bartender and the town seems to accept him quit gently, even with his violent past. He take care of the previous bartender with a cold, but sincere kindness.
54	Jomag and Marsia. A couple who run the tavern since 20 years. The love between them is still joyful. But sometimes, they seems to be quit melancholic. If the players want to know something about it, the bartenders don't want to spread the information. But the customers will respond : they suffer they can't have children. Maybe, if one day the PCs find an orphan, they can make them very happy.
55	One-Day-He. A clever halfling who is a sorcerer who had change his name to make a contract with a powerful, but naive, Wealth Spirit. After 10 years of labor in this tavern, he will have access to an impressive amount of gold. Technically, he trade his soul... but the contract say "One-day-he will give me his soul after he receive the gold.". He's very happy and boastful about that. Maybe he's not so clever, because it's obvious for the PCs that all rogue people in town just wait the day who One-Day-He will receive the gold to steal him. Maybe the Wealth Spirit is vexed to had been so naive, and will exchange the soul of One-Day-He with a lot of gold? Who knows!
56	Holt - A man in his mid thirties whos never left the town- and doesn't intend to. He knows everyone, and everyone knows him, and seems to owe him a favor. He's always willing to help out, going to great lengths to do so, and is very warm and welcoming to all in his tavern. The patrons of his tavern return his favors, and as such he holds many regular customers, many of who will jumpy quick to stop a destructive bar fight.
57	Nora Durthane and Agnes Baumann, a dwarf and human couple. Agnes keeps the ledger, walking through the tavern room like a queen through court, greeting every patron with a smile. Nora runs the kitchens, providing hearty fare for adventurers and locals. Their tiefling son helps run the bar and remove belligerent patrons.
58	Trish One-Eye - Owner and operator of the rickety old dive bar down by the docks. An old woman with a red embroidered eyepatch and short grey hair. She secretly can talk to rodents, and so can be an excellent source of rumors and information, if you get on her good side. Serves a spicy 'meat stew' which may or may not be made of cat. Will tell lewd jokes and talk shit about her ex-girlfriends if you get her drunk.
59	Eigen Renn: A tall, heavily built human with a smirking smile and an exceptionally loud laugh. Always knows just what to say to break up a fight or set up favorite patrons for romance. Full of stories, most of which are obvious lies that you can't help but half believe. Remembers everyone's first name, their drink, their birthday, their type, and their misadventures (which he will happily and loudly relate to the entire bar--but all in good fun). Ruddy faced, with scant blond hair and tired, grey-blue eyes. He brags that he is son of a tavernkeeper, who was son of a tavernkeeper, who was son of a fallen princess and a tavern keeper. He isn't. He also isn't Eigen Renn. In another time and a distant country he had another name, the name of a slave trader notorious for his charm and cunning. He dealt in "specialties:" finding just the right slave for your particular, and highly expensive taste. Children, oddities, half-breeds, even sentient monsters were all his trade. Rumor says he once sold a nobleman his own son after faking the boy's death. Another says he sold two rivals to each other, then sold both to a particularly inventive necromancer. Nothing was beneath him, and no one was beyond his reach. An elaborate magical ruse allowed him to escape his old life (with pockets full of gold and magical protections for his "retirement"), he now amuses himself playing tavern keeper and practicing his own slaver's skills by manipulating the lives of his clients. Whether his enemies find him again--and if they do whether he is worth saving--is up to you.
60	Bart Keep - an irresponsible innkeeper who runs a shoddy tavern. The food and drinks are low quality, brawls happen too often, a lot of stuff get stolen, and one time a pack of rats invaded the tavern. And he never notices because he says that he's busy with 'other things'. And when he means other things, he means looking at erotic literature and pleasuring himself. No wonder no one even bothered to shut down his tavern yet.
61	Alice Bob - An innkeeper of a tavern with a horrible reputation who tries her hardest to make her tavern better, and yet she only makes things worse. Turns out that the tavern is cursed by a witch after Alice refused to serve her, thus cursing the tavern with bad luck.
62	Xaero Xsisth: A lizardfolk woman, exiled in her youth from her tribe for being highly intelligent, which lizardfolk generally shun. Growing up in the shadows and alleys of a grand city, she learned how to cook, bake, brew and serve by observation. Asking her any question about tribal life may cause her to have an emotional breakdown. Xaero loves hearing tales of daring and adventure and if the story is good enough, she may just let you have a snack for free!
63	Jasmine Mcaull - A blue macaw parrot aarokocroa who serves up any rum-based drink with a song and a smile. She often requests bards to try their hand at playing salsa music in her tavern and is known to give a couple of unsolicited tips to the adventurers that seem to appreciate the unusual music. Her tavern stands out for its bright colors and attempts at island decor.
64	Torin Pliedes - A solicitous satyr who spends half his time behind the bar and half his time tormenting the serving wenches. He has a permanent "Help Wanted" sign in the window as he's a cruddy boss and most don't tolerate his attentions for long. He's so preoccupied that half the time he pours the beer but doesn't collect the money he's owed.
65	Falstaff Argon - A stout half-orc who boasts about his accomplishments as an adventurer and proudly displays his war axe on an ebony plaque behind the bar. He challenges adventurers to take the bigger jobs and bigger hunts if he hears them deliberating in his tavern. He was injured badly in his last adventure and decided only then to retire, though it is clear he misses the life. He pays nobly for a good stag or boar and is known to post hunts of unusual creatures that plague the area.
66	Grimm - This tavern is actually run by a number of different people and the main bartender switches out every single day to an entirely new person - but behind the scenes, it’s just a single changeling practicing their acting.
67	Illia the Wise: A handsome dwarf woman, Illia is actually Illixthalix, an adult Gold Dragon who is locked in her dwarf form due to a run-in with a Fey spirit decades ago. Became a tavern keeper initially to keep her ear to the ground to try and find someone who could break the curse, but has found that she quite likes living amongst mortals. The local government is aware of her true draconic nature, and she has a tense agreement to advise them on matters concerning dragons, historical events, and magic items in exchange for them not causing her trouble. She can temporarily assume her true form, but doing so causes a good deal of discomfort and she is unable to hold the form for longer than a few moments (quite long enough to intimidate unruly patrons to settle down however). Is THE expert on the architecture and infrastructure of the now-nonexistant country of Grecciyn and has authored four books on the subject.
68	Talensvar - Talensvar is a highly civilized ogre who dresses eloquently every night and keeps an immaculate establishment. The servers are all well-dressed, well-spoken and polite. Some are half-orcs, and some of the kitchen staff and plate clears dishwashers etc are goblins as well as human. It's a high-end inn. my game talents are lost two of his friends under mysterious circumstances in a battle and will pay adventurers to find them. He is well spoken polite tolerant, everything you don't expect an ogre to be. However he doesn't put up with any nonsense, except from a friend of his who's a local hedge wizard, who will be happy to join a party just for some pay at the end of it. He uses spells that often spectacularly fail, usually with somewhat comic but not too harmful results.
69	Rondo “Double Dizzy” Thimblebottom: A retired Gnome Ranger Beastmaster who hung up his adventuring cap after his lifelong friend and pet Giant Badger, Dizzy, was slain in combat. He’s now the proprietor of Dizzy’s Pub, a dive-y but well-loved pub by locals who come to hear Rondo recount tales of his adventuring days, some comical, some downright frightening. A giant painting (by gnome standards, it’s only 60”x48”) of Dizzy curled up resting under a tree is adorned above a fireplace in the pub.
70	Gina and Reyna, Gina is a kenku woman who owns the tavern and helps run it if the party has any questions she will point to Reyna her adopted daughter and tell them 'Ask Reyna'. Reyna is a half eleven girl that is 19 she has been teaching Gina how to talk more and is more then willing to answer any of the party's questions.
71	Tolbin Shortwick, a halfling rouge who speaks thieves' cant and has a few drugs and basic potions that you can get if you speak thieves' cant to him. There are investigations on people getting robbed at other taverns and with further investigation you will learn it was Tolbin or if you speak thieves' cant Tolbin will tell you it was him.
72	Chopper - A half-orc who cultivates rumors that they chop off body parts of those who dont pay their tab. They keep a few bottles on display with fingers and toes preserved inside, and have a ritual requiring those who want to start a tab, "Kiss the Toe" by taking a drink from one of the bottles. Truth is, Chopper secretly knows a Gravedigger who can procure parts, no questions asked.
73	Sweet Leaves - A small treant. The only type of alcohol that's served in their establishment is a special kind of Kirsch. This is because Sweet Leaves makes all their alcohol with their own cherries. As a result, Sweet Leaves' tavern is small but popular to a small group interested in the Kirsch.
74	Virtus Swifttail - A slightly overweight centaur in his late 20s who decided that he preferred city life over the nomadic life of his former tribe. While he's chatty and provides good service, he often ends up bumping things accidentally with his horse half.
75	Barrus Fymar - A large human man who's in his early 60s who towers over most of his guests. He used to be a paladin adventurer, but he lost his sword arm during a battle with a nightwalker and retired to become a tavern keep. He still displays the magical greatsword he used on his journey inside his tavern, but it's now unusable by him.
76	Sinead, Iron Golem operator of J.J. Killahans - Sinead was originally conjured as a bouncer for the rowdy establishment. The original owner, J.J., left the bar to Sinead in his will. Sinead runs the bar, though hospitality is often beyond her reach. She plays the same 3 tavern songs on a 15 minute loop, as 15 minutes is more than adequate time for a customer to consume their drink (and promptly leave).
77	Silent Joey is abnormal because he's, well, silent. Normally this would be an unacceptable obstacle for a bartender, but Joey is a master drink-maker and surprisingly good at interacting with customers. He's a very good listener, too.
78	Greenscarf Tabitha has the power of appearance-changing but can't control it. She wears a green scarf so others can identify her, as it's anyone guess what face you'll see when you walk in each evening.
79	Malamenmar is a polite and talkative guy who runs a quiet inn on a mountain road. But once a month a mysterious man comes into the bar and Malamenmar drops everything to cater to this guy. If pressed he will reply that the man is a very dear friend and he values his comfort highly.
80	Ranold & Ezra Nikos are brothers. Outgoing Ranold tends bar, reserved Ezra handles the supplies and finances. The strange thing is that the two are never seen in the same place at once.
81	A blind bartender that doesn’t realize his formerly-white rag is dirtying the glasses, but he still keeps perfect track of who orders what.
82	Kurdran Brewhammer - This Dwarf is the last remaining Brewhammer, legendary brewers that were known far and wide for a huge variety of beers. Kurdran is a retired adventurer who loves battle and action. He has a tall orange mohawk and a big bushy beard and is extremely proud of his family heritage. He's very friendly and loves to tell tales of his various adventures, but if provoked he is a fierce barbarian. With a swig of beer, he's ready to brawl!
83	Captain Andor Gray is the innkeeper of Sparrow's Rest. He was the captain of the Night Wind, a smuggling ship, but is now earning a mostly honest living. He retired after a shipwreck that killed most of his crew. He still keeps "Pickle", a green parrot, who can usually be found in the common room. The bird will squawk "awk stay outta the grog awk" whenever someone refills their mug from the cask that Gray keeps out, free for the sailors who can't afford better. You can almost always find a fence buying goods there (no questions asked), and rumors say there's a hidden tunnel from the cellar that leads under the city wall to an abandoned quarry.
84	Joost is the friendly innkeeper of the Crown and Crescent inn. He's either a very tall dwarf, or maybe a half-dwarf (no one's sure, and he won't say). He has rust-colored hair and a braided beard, which he tucks into his apron.
85	Kósh is the half-orc innkeeper of the Outside Inn, just outside the city of Redcliff. He named it, but he doesn't really get the joke. Surprisingly, the inn does good business, even though it has few amenities except for a large stable and a good location if you're just passing through the city.
86	Zhirella is the attractive female half-elf innkeeper (and madame) of the Golden Bush tavern. It's very popular for its high-class courtesans.
87	Egan 'Rusty' Ironmane is the dwarf innkeeper of the Silver Eel Tavern. He was formerly a fisherman and before that a soldier.
88	Hard'ach "Hardy" Sl'avis - A dragonborn with the mannerisms of a dwarf, he inherited his tavern from his grandfather, Sil'bahn. He has a knack for making spicy meals for his patrons, and is quite a friend to make, knowing all of the goings-on in the town.
89	Cressida and Corinth Vor Haishen - a Dwarven couple with an adopted minotaur for a son far taller than either of them. They'll give you a discount if you can tell their son a story that'll keep him entertained for a bit, and want your input on where to send such a curious young boy to learn more. An academy, a monastery, they want input!
90	Skaesgolr the Tired - Skaesgolr the Tired of the Uthgardt will tolerate near enough anything, a fair fight is welcome, but assassins and thieves are not. He has much pride, and still believes he honours Uthgar, both with his past, and his present. His greatest achievement, a Giant sized great axe, it can be seen broken and damaged, hung in it’s ruined majesty on the rear wall above the bar. Anyone who challenges his idea or faith in his God will be challenged to a fight and/or be made to leave. Growing tired of finding the next great challenge, he claims that if Uthgar wants him to die in some great battle, it will have to find him - here he will wait... warm, well fed, with a belly fully of ale and a sack full of silver.
91	Molly Rexxen - A red-headed human female who always wears a bandana over her hair. She's a retired high level fighter who was once a soldier, and was ridiculed because she was a woman amongst the guard. When her city was surprised attacked by a neighboring band of monsters, she devised a plan and led the charge that protected the city with no casualties. After this, she turned down a promotion and quit to build her tavern and create an adventuring guild.
92	Modeus Jackson - a retired high level bard who runs "The Pocket" Inn. Often humming as he works and any action he does seems to follow the rhythm to an unheard song. In fact anyone who stays in "The Pocket" for long enough will find their actions more rhyrhmic than usual, joining in a symphony of synchronized cultery clanking, mastication, foot tapping under harmonising musical conversations and even melodious arguments. Modeus takes extra delight in serving Bard patrons who bring their own instruments and will offer discounts and advice in return for a quick performance.
93	Krall Razorthorn - Former half-orc warrior turned tavern owner, he exchanged his armor for a tuxedo. He runs a high class tavern called The Silk Sheik Tavern, specializing in dainty cocktails and high end drinks.
94	Borgrarg - Having amassed a fortune adventuring, this dwarf opened Drink. The tavern hasn't make so much as a copper piece in 4 years. He's been drunk all this time giving away drinks to anyone who walks in the door. Lucky for him, he's located in a small village, now known for its sobriety.
95	Marty Oggbin - smallish, middle-aged human, with a slight hunch on his back. Born and raised locally. Marty is forever the optimist and mysteriously manages to spin any traveler's downtrodden tale. He often gives away food to those most in need.
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