Price barks a laugh at the Cardinal's quip even as she responds to the devil, "It is a small matter touching on business opportunities... we can discuss it later. Thank you for your counsel, Dessiter."
The inquisitor leans against the sideboard near Timo. At a convenient lull in the conversation, she poses her final questions to Thorn. "Cardinal, just two more questions. First, as part of my 'reward' for services rendered at some point, are you willing to assist me in tracking down the traitor that betrayed my team? Second, is the hospitality and assistance we've received so far indicative of the generosity of your rewards if we become your next knot and are successful in our tasks?"
Ineluki listens with only lukewarm interest in all the talk of laws and contracts. While he leans toward such a system in theory, he has no great desire to hash out the intricacies of such agreements. He does wait patiently, however, for the others to collect all the data they need to make informed decisions. He only has one question at this point... "Must we sign in blood? and if so, does it need to be our own?"
The promise of knowledge. The sweet temptation to sink his teeth into the forbidden fruit of violent revenge. These two alone are fuel enough for Asturu to step forth and sink down onto his knee, but if they are to succeed, if they are to destroy the church of Mitra, to be given the chance to rebuild and reshape Talingard? The man's tired mind was spinning.
Asturu falls down onto one knee and with solemn voice professes.
"I, Asturu Renaro, do truly and sincerely acknowledge, profess, testify and declare in my conscience before Dessiter of the Phistophilus and the world, that our Sovereign Lord Asmodeus, is lawful Lord of this Realm, and that I, Asturu Renaro, pledge myself to the Four Loyalties. So too do I swear that the triumvirate of Mitra neither of his three-part self, nor by any authority of His Church, or by another means with any other, has any power or authority to depose the Lord Asmodeus, or to dispose of his church, worshippers and devotees. By word, blood and soul we are now bound!"
The image of a specific inquisitor of Mitra now burned on his mind's eye. He couldn't wait.
Thorn engages in polite conversation with those who don't follow or care about the legalistic discussions.
"So I am to understand that our souls are not forfeit upon signing this, yes? That we might retain that valuable possession for our own use?" He turns to Dessiter, "Once I grow a bit stronger, might I be able to find you, to make a... special arrangement for my own soul? I have heard tell of individuals that bind their souls to a specific fiend for a fraction of their power." then turns back to Thorn, trying to think of who he might be
"Hmmmm.... So, should the situation arise, does this contract require me to sacrifice my life for my companions, if it might benefit them in the slightest? After all, if the benefit of the group comes before the loyalty to self, that would seem to imply that my life is secondary to the comfort of the group. It seems to mandate that we should forego trying to find 'a better way' that may or may not work, in exchange for the expediency of simply sacrificing a member for a slightly improved result- and all of us must comply with such, regardless of our opinions in the situation at hand. Or am I missing something?"
Daidalos does not know of Thorn, at least not by his name. Earlier, someone had said it was their understanding all of the Asmodean priests had been burned at the stake by one of the Markadian kings; this is an accurate summary of common knowledge.
He nods to the first of Daidalos's questions. "Correct. I'm not interested in your souls but rather your assistance and skills. Should you care to bargain with Dessiter or another of his infernal kin at some point in the future to see what they'd be willing to offer in exchange, that will remain your prerogative."
Dessiter adds in a stage whisper, "Or we can talk right after this! Just a few simple forms."
Thorn rolls his eyes slightly but continues. "The contract does not require you to sacrifice your life for others, no. We're not worshipping Iomadae here. That loyalty does mean, however, you must work together and not plot against one another. Even the arch devils themselves plot and scheme against one another. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with that, but for the purposes of our endeavor it would prove a distraction and waste of resources. No stealing, no murder, no backstabbing, and no keeping of secrets as they pertain to this endeavor."
When Dessiter is done and Price asks her other two questions of the cardinal, he answers both in the affirmative. "That is the one thing I promise you above all else: revenge. I have two tasks you must complete before we can begin to move against the Mitran faith, but I've one knot already embedded in the Church. Quite capable. I can have him begin looking for clues.
"As for pecuniary compensation, I have much wealth but it has all been accumulated for the single purpose of restoring Our Dark Father to his proper place of worship on this island. Which is to say, yes, you will be well rewarded for your accomplishments."
That done and if there are no more questions, Thorn reaches into the desk, withdrawing a dagger and several quills. He gestures towards the contract and indicates it should be placed on the desk. "Master Asturu, you do indeed have a way with words. I can see why the Mitrans found you so dangerous. Inelukii, to your question, yes, it is customary that such contracts be signed in blood. Dessiter could explain it better but it has something to do with the uniqueness of each person's blood acting as even better proof as to the identity of a signatory. Regardless..."
He sets further words aside, draws the dagger against his palm, dips the dagger into the drawn blood, and signs in a flourish. A fresh quill is handed to each of you, he wipes the dagger with a cloth, and passes it to whomever is first to volunteer.
Her questions answered, Price was about to ask the Cardinal for a quill when he produces them. She chuckles softly. Ah, infernal efficiency. Without pomp, she cuts her hand and signs, binding herself to this enigmatic man and - less controversially - to the Forsaken with whom she had suffered.
Timo stands from leaning on the wall and takes the dagger from Price thankful that a decision has been made. "All that legalese was beyond me, but if it was good enough for you, its good enough for me." He then swipes the dagger across his palm without hesitation. He dips the quill in his own blood and signs, legibly and without flourish. Timo then wipes the dagger off, places it on the table and stands and addresses Thorn. "Just so you know, if you betray us, I will consider that a void of this contract and I will kill you." He then proceeds to take his place back leaning against the wall, adopting a nonchalance demeanor,
Daidalos, his questions answered, nods.
"And so the deal is signed. May the Dark Lord reign forever." he slices his palm, and signs the contract- ∆aidalos A Icarum, "Do we have any more of that wine?" he asks casually with a grin.
"Just so you know, if you betray us, I will consider that a void of this contract and I will kill you." He then proceeds to take his place back leaning against the wall, adopting a nonchalance demeanor.
Price has to admire the warrior's conviction. She grins as Timo returns to their spot by the wall. In a hushed voice she says, "You sexy bastard... that threat was a real panty-dropper."
While the others continue to sign, Thorn smiles blandly in response to Timo's threat, a perfect picture of calm geniality.
The entire situation was a bit surreal, but perhaps most twists of destiny were a little surreal. Asturu eyes his finger and doesn't exactly relish the idea of cutting himself, still feeling the recent history of trauma aching through in his flesh. However, what must be done must be done and he uses the tip of his dagger to cut the tip of his right index finger, a writer's most precious finger, and signs the contract.
Price has to admire the warrior's conviction. She grins as Timo returns to their spot by the wall. In a hushed voice she says, "You sexy bastard... that threat was a real panty-dropper."
Timo fires back with a smirk that seems to say 'I know I'm good.' He then responds in an equally hushed voice, "Still waiting to see those moves you mentioned back at ole 'B'. The only question is your room or mine?"
Price turns to face the tall warrior even as she casts her eyes to the voluptuous women in the room and in the vague direction of all the attractive slaves in the manor. All playfulness gone, she replies, "Are you sure? You've got your pick of any number of comely women. I feel like the goose at a swan party." There is no self-pity in her voice, just an honest assessment.
"I've never made or signed a contract before, binding or otherwise. First time for everything, I guess."
Ineluki smiles and takes the blade and cleans it carefully before gingerly cutting a line across his palm. He cups his hand to make a well for the blood, which he dips the quill into... He carefully scribes his name in Elven script, writing it out in full... Inëlûki Desmodeis.
Whether it's real or imagined, the cut on his palm tingles when he finishes his signature... He looks down at his hand, blinks twice, wondering what to do with the rest of the blood there... Wiping it on his new clothes seems ... inelegant, at best. Instead, he lifts his hand and drinks the liquid pooled there, licks the rest clean.
Mmmm... not bad, if I do say so myself." He grins.
With the last signature applied to the contract, Thorn smiles affably, murmurs a soft 'thank you', then nods to Dessiter. The contract devil steps forward, sprinkles a powder over the signatures then blows to scatter the residue, which vanishes into the air as it leaves the parchment. "Be it known by all here and in the Nine Hells that I, Dessiter of the Phistophilus, confirm that the souls in this room have all applied their signatures to the ratficiation of this contract. Know ye that any violation of the terms, by master or servant, shall incur the wrath of the Infernal Court. All praise to his Infernal Majesty."
He rolls the contract and places it into the folds of his robes where it disappears. Flashing his unnaturally white smile, the devil adds, "Congratulations. It is done." He bows as he steps backwards, returning to the shadows of the room (though he remains fully present and does not depart).
Thorn nods with a smile, his demeanor calm and almost fatherly. "And my thanks as well. Now, before I release you for your meal and a well earned night's rest, I do want to clarify one thing."
He steps away from his desk as he speaks, "For those not steeped in the rules and laws of the Church of Asmodeus, ignorance can be forgiven just as knowledge can be learned. It will be my pleasure to teach you or to make the necessary resources available to you. But, unless you are pledged to His faith, you are not required to worship Him. You may pray, or not, to Whomever you choose. As long as you abide by the terms of our covenant, all is fine." His smile passes over Inelukii, Daidalos and Asturu as he walks by them.
"But if you are pledged to His faith, then it would seem a certain reminder is in order..." The smile shrinks to a thin line as his path takes him to Affyria, Price and Timo. "We are not equals. I am not your peer." His voice remains soft, almost purring as he continues. "I am Adrastus Thorn, Cardinal of the Church of Asmodeus, High Priest of Talingarde, and in this place my word is second only to His. I am your superior and your master." The dissonance between the coldness of his words and the soothing warmth of his tone is almost physically jarring.
He stops in front of Timo. "Now, I understand. You're a blunt instrument, young and stupid. You've not been properly initiated into the Faith, running about with backwater cultists, charlatans and pretenders. That changes today. Your threats are as meaningless as they are hollow. How you choose to interpret the contract is irrelevant. That is the purview of Dessiter and other fiends. As to what you think you can do about it..." He takes a step back and, rather than strike Timo, invites the opposite, holding his arms out to either side.
"Go ahead, take your sword and strike me, and this one time do so without consequence to your position in His faith or the terms of our covenant. Kill me and become His herald."
Tiadora looks positively bored. Those who are able to see well enough through shadow notice Dessiter watching, a brow arched curiously, but making no move to interfere. Thorn just stands there, waiting.
Timo draws his sword and hesitates. "I know not what game you are playing here, but it seems you have me in catch 22. I just signed a contract saying I would do you no harm and would obey your command. Yet here you command me to harm you."
Timo turns his attention to the demon in the shadows. "Dessiter, tell me, if I strike him as he commands, am I in violation of the contract?
From the shadows comes the fiend's sibilant laughter. "A wise question, my lord. However, his grace has waived the loyalties of the covenant and, while I would normally advise such be memorialized in writing, we would seem to have ample witnesses. Even as cardinal, his grace cannot release you from the first loyalty to His Infernal Majesty, but as he commands you strike him, doing so violates none of the Infernal Laws. So... The normally relevant loyalties of the covenant do not apply. You would not be violating its terms."
Affyria glances at Cardinal Thorn's hand, but says nothing. She pulls off her elbow-length glove, revealing an extenseive network of self-harm scars on her lower arm. Without hesitation, she cuts into her flesh, red blood welling up from the cut. She signs her name slow and meticulously, every letter of her name perfectly drawn. "Hail be to the God-Fiend, may we never disappoint and may he see fit to shower us with eternal glory."
After the signing of the contract, Affyria's face is an unreadable mask as Cardinal Thorn reminds them of their place. She holds eye-contact for a moment, then diverts her gaze down to the floor. When he offers Timo the opportunity to strike him down, you can hear a sharp intake of breath from her. It's a test Timo, don't take him up on it.
With Dessiter's clearance, Timo shrugs his shoulders. "I do but as you command," he says nonchalantly before his face becomes a mask of rage and he drives his blade at Thorn's abdomen with as much force as he could muster.
Price watches, as stonefaced as possible.
The anti-paladin's blade drives forth with all the skill and power he can muster. Thorn doesn't move and doesn't flinch. Had such a blow been directed at the guards of Branderscar, it'd have disemboweled them.
But, with a sound akin to mud sucking on a boot, Timo suddenly feels the flesh of the cardinal's stomach thickening around the blade's point and arresting it before it's penetrated more than an inch. And then, impossibly, the sword is physically pushed out of the man's body even as he stands there with his arms out to the side. A thin trickle of blood rests on the sword's point and the three Asmodeans, with a better vantage, see through the cardinal's garb a small wound that closes before their eyes.
Thron looks down at the blade, tsks three times at the sad display, and lowers his hands back to rest at his side. A warm, broad smile flashes back to his face, he winks at Timo, and he begins to cross back to the other side of the room.
"Now then, I've offered charity in facilitating your escape." A finger of one hand is extended. "I've offered grace and hospitality in welcoming you here, feeding you, and providing you refuge." Two. "I've offered you honesty when I could have deceived." Three. "I've offered you wealth and power." Four fingers. "And let's not forget revenge." Still, the soft spoken, fatherly voice. "For some of you, that has been sufficient. For others..."
His path has carried him back past Luke, Daidalos and Asturu. Now, on the other side of the office, his fingers close back into a fist, the smile fades and his eyes turn to flint as he stares at the fire in the hearth. Finally, his tone shifts to ice. "I'd have preferred to avoid a vulgar display, but... Well, it seems efforts to be gracious have been misinterpreted as an invitation for idle threats and pubescent jokes. Miss Price, you fancy Sir Zoci's sword. Alright. Let me show you mine."
He turns, raises a hand, and barks a few works of magic.
Price's back straightens at hearing her name, knowing with dread that the iron fist hidden beneath the velvet glove was about to be revealed.
Timo's face turns into an expression of absolute pain as his chest begins to shudder and heave. Blood begins to stain his new clothing as something thumps and thuds against the inside of his chain shirt. Suddenly, with a fountain of gore, something red and pulpy blasts out of out of Timo's chest and flies into Thorn's outstretched hand.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
It's Timo's heart.
The anti-paladin, still alive, is able to look down at his chest along with everyone else and witness the empty cavity where the organ once dwelled.
With casual contempt, Thorn tosses it onto his desk as he begins to cross the room once more, patting at his robes in an almost absent-minded manner. "Now where did I put that..." He pulls out a parchment, "Is that it? No... that's for my rash. What about, ah, yes..."
Standing next to Timo, he unfurls the scroll and rattles off another spell as he rests a hand on the tiefling's head. Before your eyes, another 'miracle' takes place as a new heart reforms in Timo's chest, begins pumping, and the flesh closes around it once more.
Almost as quickly as he was on death's door, Timo is restored whole. Though now, Thorn no longer bothers to contain his fury.
"You are free by MY grace! You live by MY sufferance! You! Serve! ME!" His voice is like a hammer blow. Sharp, precise, driving each word home without quite yelling. "I am His voice given flesh! I am His will given form! His instrument! And you threaten me!?" He leans in, his voice almost a whisper. "Do it again, and I swear by all that is unholy you will wish your death be as quick as I just showed you."
He glowers at Timo and Price, waiting to see if the point has been understood.
Price is appalled and doesn't try to hide it. She had seen priests exert their power before... but not like this. As lofty as her guesses of Thorn's powers were, based on his cadre of devils, she had seriously underestimated him. Suddenly, the aging manor seemed a more horrid prison than Branderscar ever could be.
Price lowers her eyes, curtsies deeply, and holds it. "Yes, Your Grace." She squeezes every ounce of contrition into her words as possible.
Before Timo's attempted killing, Daidalos thinks for a moment, and opens his mouth, "My lord, you said that he would not be punished by standing in the contract or in the church. What about-" he trails off as the greatsword is plunged into Thorn's chest,
punishment not related to either. Damn it. He'll get us all killed sooner or later if he doesn't- oh, karrabast. DEATH CLUTCH? That's the same spell Tar-Baphon was so fond of. Hmmm... a regenerate spell? Fascinating. So, he's capable of casting high-tier spells, and is willing to blow an expensive scroll for little more than a display of power. Furthermore, I don't even see a wound through that hole in his clothing, so he must have some form of self healing, and feels no threat from us. How to turn this to my advantage- ah, but of course.
Daidalos, standing off to the side, starts clapping slowly, breaking the quietness pervading the room, "Bravo, my lord. Could you teach me that spell? It was quite the display. Death Clutch, isn't it? The same spell used to shatter the Shield of Aroden? Out of curiosity, we seem to be missing one of our number. What happened to Morthos? Is his heart hidden around here somewhere as well? But you mentioned a meal. Is there anything else you have for us to undertake before then, my lord?" Daidalos ends with a small bow in a show of deference.
Timo drops to his knees gasping for breath and clutching his chest. While healed, the shock and awe of the event still sits with in him. Timo's face flush with equal parts anger and embarrassment as his eyes flash red showing his tiefling heritage. "I don't know how or when, but one day he will pay for that...
As he catches he breath and the shock starts to wear off, Timo states coldly while still on his knees, "We have a complete understanding. I am yours to command."
Thorn continues to stare at the two, as if his gaze were peeling away their flesh and burrowing into their souls, and then, with a start, stands straight and flashes a smile. "Fantastic! I'm so glad we have this little misunderstanding out of the way. Just watch, we'll all become the best of friends..." He catches Tiadora staring at him drolly and he waves a hand dismissively, "Okay, maybe not, but it's of no matter."
He goes back to sit in his chair, the last of the electrical impulses beginning to fade from Timo's heart, still twitching on the desk. "I think that's enough for tonight, yes? You're dismissed. Eat, rest, we'll meet again in the morning with a fresh start."
Tiadora places a surprisingly gentle yet absolutely frigid hand on Daidalos's shoulder. If he looks like he's about to say anything else, she squeezes and shakes her head.
Daidalos nods in understanding, and gives Thorn a bow as he leaves the room.
EDIT: As he leaves, he looks towards Dessiter in the corner, and, remembering that several devils have telepathy, thinks towards the contract devil, Will you still be here come morning? hoping that his attempt at contact succeeded.
Price nods to the Cardinal then looks to Timo, ready to offer him a hand if needed. "Can you stand?"
Thankful for her concern but not willing to show any further weakness, Timo waves off Price. "I'm good," he says with a poor attempt at one of his trademarked smirks. Timo then rises a little wobbly and turns to the door, his gait becoming more sure with every step.
Ineluki gives a passable bow to Master Thorn before turning to leave. On the way out of the room, Ineluki sighs and leans against the doorjamb for a moment, his mouth moves as if he's talking for a moment, but no sound emerges.
After having his say, he slips out into the hall. He watches Timo for a long moment, whether it's he's disconcerted by Timo's experience or in awe of it is hard to tell. "How you doing, Timo? That must have been quite harrowing... I'm not sure I'd be able something like that with such aplomb. If you need anything, like an ear to bend, or anything like that, just remember you're not alone."
Eventually, he finds his way to the dining room, where he eats quite a bit for such a slight young man... .
Price understands the warrior's desire to do it on his own. Were their circumstances reversed, she would have done the same thing. The inquisitor leaves the office at a deliberately measured pace and maintains it all the way to her room. It was an old calming trick: pace slows breathing, breathing slows heart-rate. By the time she closes the door, she is physiologically calm. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for her mind.
She hurls a stack of garments from the wardrobe to the bed, lays out the sewing kit, and gets to work furiously tailoring the clothes. As her hands set to their familiar task, Price thinks through the wealth of information gleaned from the encounter when she isn't berating herself for her incompetence. She had relaxed her guard too much. She began to think of the manor as a haven, but it wasn't. And the result was humiliation for her and a nearly fatal lesson for Timo. Stupid.
A couple hours later, about the time she puts the final stitches in a work-a-day frock, she concluded her mental summary. Now, was the time for next steps. Need to question Daidalos and find out about that spell... but not here. Not where his ears are everywhere. Price throws on the common frock and checks the fit. Satisfied with her handiwork, she takes the dress she was just wearing and one other along with the sewing kit and heads out.
Downstairs, she finds a comfortable sofa in a central location. Setting out the dresses, she begins working while casually monitoring the goings-on in the house. It all starts with reconnaissance.
After the meal, Daidalos returns to his room (after talking to anyone interested, and possibly meeting with Dessiter) and has his servant lock the door. From there, he pulls out his spellbook and begins to write, using the ink helpfully provided on a desk, keeeping a logbook of events.
When it comes time for bed, he allows his assigned slave to undress him and help him into his bed. For someone who hadn't slept in a real bed for living memory, the experience felt like sleeping on a cloud and he quickly drifts into unconsciousness.
The brute vulgarity of the act left Asturu feeling a sense of .. what exactly? he wondered. His first reaction was one of shock, but he understood why Thorn did what he had done. Was the punishment custom tailored to Timo's natural inclinations? Perhaps.
Asturu needed to reflect on this and more. Using this rare bit of me time, he went to his room and spends the next couple of hours writing before slipping out of his attire and into bed. Sleep came oh so easy this night.
Affyria muses to herself as she takes a seat at the table and eats some of the meal. The food was good, and she was hungry, but her mind wandered. It was a test, a display of power, nothing more. He used Timo's arrogance against him, but it was meant for all of us. He wants us to realize that he is our better. And the way his wounds close so rapidly, he's probably protected by powerful magic, or he might be the subject of an infernal contract himself. But, he's played his hand pretty openly, and with giving us a glimpse of his power, he's also given us a glimpse of who he truly is. I look forward to tomorrow morning, and learning more of what he intends.
To anyone of her compatriots sharing the meal with her (assuming there are no others around), she says, "We have to be wary. I don't doubt Thorn intends to do all he preaches about, but the fact is that he sees us as little more than tools in his toolbox, like he used Timo as an opportunity to lord his power over us. There's no befriending him, or Tiadora, we'll have to accept him as our master. No matter our own ambitions, they will have to take second place, for now."
Tiadora sees those who wish to the dining room then leaves those who choose to eat to the care of the servants. She nods slightly to Luke's whispered comments, and to Timo she shrugs, "I could spare you any one of them, plainly, though none have skill with a blade. Thorn wanted domestics, not guards. If you wish to beat one, though..." She shrugs again. "Just one though."
As might be expected, the food is fantastic. Breaded river crabs from Farholde, sweetbreads in a brown butter sauce, auroch tenderloin with a Chelish wine reduction, a salad with Qadiran nuts and Varisian herbs... the meal is notable not just for the favors but that many of the ingredients are banned in Talingarde.
For most of you, your assigned slaves wait outside your rooms. For Luke and Price, they are inside in a more "relaxed" state of dress.
As the early hours of the morning creep on, all of you can feel exhaustion in your bones. Tiadora appears near Daidalos before he slips back into his room and says Dessiter had to leave but promised to meet the young arcanist again soon.
The following morning, breakfast is ready including freshly squeezed juice, chilled milk, scrambled eggs with truffles and chives, a different cut of auroch, and reefclaw meat on toast with a poached egg and a tarragon infused sauce. Breads and a few sweet fruits are also offered.
After a pleasant, if less energetic, night than Ineluki was planning, due to his extreme fatigue, he wakes and heads downstairs for breakfast. He's almost a little disappointed by the lack of sweets, but he says nothing to disparage the provisions.
"How did you all rest last night? It was glorious to sleep in a bed again and enjoy a few carnal delights as well. What a relief after our recent incarceration! I could get used to this, though I am guessing we won't be guests here long."
He downs a prodigious amount of food while chatting with the others.
At breakfast Price appears in a fitted work-a-day dress with her hair held back in a loose braid. She eats well, enjoying the delicacies. Wrapped in a web of reserve, she speaks sparingly. "I slept well, thank you. My bed was quite comfortable."
When she retires to her bedchamber, Affyria sends the servants away. She is in no mood for frivolous entertainment.
In the morning, Affyria raids the dressing room for something befitting her style. When she finally does appear at the breakfast table, she does so dressed in a tight-fitting corset and a near floor-length, heavy-looking black split skirt lined with crimson red satin, underneath with you can see leather knee-length boots with numerous buckles. Her make-up is meticulous once again, and she wears silver hooped earrings. When she looks over the food on offer, she brightens up immediately.
"A breakfast fit for royalty. I must say, whatever you say about our esteemed master, he sure does have mighty fine tastebuds," she grins as she loads up her plate with meats, bread, and fruits.
Daidalos comes to the table well-rested. He's wearing a black tabard and robe, with bracers of leather strips and still barefoot, seemingly unaffected by the chill of the stone. He sits at the table next to Price, and enjoys some of everything, but especially eats bread and fresh fruits.
"Well, I must say this is possibly the nicest living circumstances I've ever had. Quite the step up from yesterday, wouldn't you say?"
Quietly and in a non-intrusive manner, Asturu slips into the room and onto an empty chair. A simple nod suffices as a greeting and he immediately pours himself a glass of water before digging in. In between neatly measured forkloads of reefclaw on toast, Asturu found the time to comment on Daidalos's observance. "Whatever luxury is given to us now is nothing but a carrot on a stick. Enjoy it for the gift it is, just don't get used to it."
He then continues on munching, knowing his body was aching for sustenance and protein.
"Reefclaw." Price amends, pointing to the delicacy balanced on her fingertips (in a passable imitation of Grumblejack), "Reefclaw on a stick."
Through the house, a soft chime is heard, and any servants near you approach humbly and let you know Thorn expects to see you in an hour. As with the night before, any needs or requests are seen to promptly. Tiadora occasionally moves through the house as well.
When you gather in the reception hall outside of Thorn's office, Tiadora and several slaves are waiting. Since last night, a couple of tables have been brought in and they are groaning under the weight of gear. Tiadora waits until you've all assembled before she explains.
"His Grace recognizes he can be severe in his application of Hell's laws, yet hopes to have a productive and mutually beneficial relationship with you. To that end, he offers these gifts."
No, not really... So, rather than give you a list of what you find, I'm going to let you decide what your PC receives. Each of you has a "budget" of 200 gold. Whatever fits within that budget, it is set aside for you in a separate pile on one of the tables. In addition, each pile (which is to say, each PC) receives:
A silver unholy symbol of Asmodeus
An iron circlet (functions as a hat of disguise)
After you collect your gifts, Tiadora ushers you into the Cardinal's office. Rather than sitting at his desk, this morning he is standing in front of a bookshelf, perusing a book he just pulled down. When you enter, he looks up with a smile, rests the book on his desk, and comes over to greet each of you personally. It is as if the incident of last night is completely forgotten.
“Tiadora saw to your gifts, yes? I hope you enjoy them. The iron circlets allow you to move amongst our enemies as one of them. The silver amulets will remind you of your true loyalties. And the other items – well, you need them now." The last is not so much ominous as it is a suggestion that the time for leisure has passed.
Price raises a surprised eyebrow as much at Talidoria's words as the gifts on the table. She fingers the iron circlet with real appreciation.
Before the Cardinal, Price curtsies, "Thank you, Your Grace."
Affyria peruses the table, filling a backpack with some sundry supplies, as well as a crossbow and some bolts.
As they are brought in before Thorn, Affyria inclines her head in reply, "Very smart, very kind, master. I assume you have a master plan in place, and I am eager to learn of our part in it."