Quickly, efficiently, we pulled the bodies inside the warehouse. Pulp hustled off to recall BOB, Reece, and Spiritz, from their posts as lookouts.
Before they got back, I checked the casualties. One of the men in the warehouse was definitely dead. The rest were comatose, and looking bad. Though it brings agony and suffering, Pain often brings the mercy of unconsciousness to those upon whom it feasts.
I triaged, broke out my healing kits, and stabilized and saved the lot of them. I did not check the reaction of my fellows or particularly care their opinion of what I did. I am trained to save lives, and that was what was needed. Were these aberrations or inhuman monsters or undead, you would see me the first to set a torch to their shuddering flesh. But these are humans, and chaotic or not, evil or not, there is that part of me that I refuse to shut off, that part that fixes the living. My training at the Academy did not delve deep into Philosophy, so I will not waste ink debating a belief there the potential for Good in all manner of men or like-men.
Xel’Xaran was close at hand, carefully binding my patients as I finished and keeping them inert. I don’t know who, but one of our side went and summoned help from our ally Guild here in town. It may be that we hailed a passing town guard and sent him. Seemingly in no time, there was a small team of strong, no-nonsense Guildsmen at the door, standing by for orders. One among them, Sorben, was a man of our Guild from Callia. Sorcerer type. We made introductions, sized him up and he our group, and quickly conferred with him.
At our request, the Guildsmen of Mid-Plain loaded up the prisoners (including the watchman among the goats) and carted them off into the night, no doubt to be interrogated. Sorben remained with us.
Our search of the warehouse turned up another hidden ladder down into an alchemical laboratory. As before, in Callia – no evidence to suggest what was being made here. We found more of those cryptic, coded notebooks, filled with symbols and rough diagrams and mentions of a “Substance” being produced by some secretive process. I had the sense this time, to cast Detect Poison. Whatever the true nature of the greenish, flaky residue and burned-black grime, it is not and was not ever a Poison.
The thugs we fought were evidently waiting for someone, someone who was not us. We made a daring decision to take their place and await the possible arrival of the smugglers or their comrades. Will volunteered to replace the watchman in the goat holding-pen, and serve as our lookout. The rest of us holed up inside the warehouse, door closed and lights dimmed and hidden, not sure who or what was to come.
Journal of Dr. Marcus Grant
Healing Cleric of Pelor, Order of St-Jude Academy (Silabrek)
14th Day, town of Mid-Plain, territory of Ælim.