A pale man with sharp features looks with disdain upon this newcomer. The young man is well-dressed, but looks like he has been through hell recently. "Gods you stink," he says callously.
He goes on, however. "I am Araxus. It sounded as if you were arguing with somebody back there. Who was it, and what are you doing in this place?" He is well spoken, and his manner suggests good education, high birth, or both.
"I told you. They cater to ALL sorts down here!" Slidell murmurs to Araxus, in a stage whisper that clearly carries down the hall to the newcomer.
"I am called Stormraven, your host and guide for your understreet adventure this evening. Ah! I see that you already availed yourself of our famous 'mud' baths! Invigorating, aren't they? If you will allow me?" The mage says, waggling his fingers with a raised eyebrow.
Unless the newcomer strenuously objects, (And possibly even then), Slidell manifests another use of his ever-constant 'all-purpose' spell, cleaning the worst of the muck and slime from the newcomers hair and clothes. The mage adds a puff of scent of roses at the end. Because. Mage. And he's really not fond of the sewer smell.
While he magically cleans the newcomer, he also gives him the 'once over', to determine what he can about him.
Slidell is obviously suddenly FAR more concerned about the state of the man's clothes and hair than he is about the newcomers potential for mayhem.
"You know, with a little time, I could work WONDERS with you! Those broad shoulders,... I'm seeing snakeskin! Nothing but snakeskin!" Slildell chatters on, his voice suddenly higher pitched, and more,... effeminate.
Already not knowing what to expect from Mysterio’s compatriots, the first thing that becomes apparent to Odhran is that they are all just as shady as him. Not to mention strange, for that matter. Amadeo in particular catches his eye, his countenance speaking volumes about his heritage; he had never met a devilspawn in person before. The pile of dead goblins is also particularly hard to ignore, though it immediately strikes him as a sign of how dangerous these strangers might be. Their spectrum of introductions however, catches him off guard.
Seem to be some colorful folks down here…
Odhran does not even find the time to deny Slidell the chance to show off; before he can even lift a finger, the coagulated muck covering his body seems to vanish, along with the worst of the smell. With the layer of putrid brown no longer obscuring his form, the state of Odhran’s wardrobe becomes much more apparent. The tall, rugged man wears simple cloth garments colored in earthy tones (or is that just more muck?), that do not entirely conceal his muscular arms and shoulders. A lazily modified set of leather armor covers only the vital spots, and is barely noticeable beneath his clothing. His belt adorned with various armaments – not so much. And if not for the dirt that weighed it down, his long hair might be sticking up.
Are those… flowers I smell? Well, certainly better than some secondhand blankets, I guess.
Stunned at first by the sudden display of magic, he seems to relax somewhat when he realizes exactly what had happened. Begrudgingly admiring the mage’s handiwork, he murmurs his thanks to Slidell. Regardless, his narrowed eyes betray his lingering suspicion. (Or perhaps they just always look that way.)
“Just yellin’ at some Hellknights that were in a hurry,” Odhran finally answers to Araxus, having decided that it wasn’t something particularly worth hiding, “Apparently they thought it’d be more convenient to stash me down here than in some holdin’ cell. Or maybe it was all jus’ a joke to them. Wouldn’t surprise me, either way.
“At any rate, I’m lookin’ to get out of here, and since I trust that you folks aren’t plannin’ on livin’ down here forever, I figured I’d tag along. At least, I’m supposin’ that’s what that Mysterio fellow was suggestin’. Was kinda hard to tell.
“Oh, and the name’s Odhran, by the way.”
"We are... escapees from a circus sideshow, obviously," Amadeo explains, "We have reason to believe friends left markings for us to follow: chalked arrows high above the floodline at certain intersections, all pointing to a way out. Another pair of eyes to search and a sword to fend off some of the nasty creatures in this putrid place would be welcome to me, at least. What about the rest of you?" Zeb the monkey jumps across to the newcomer to investigate him until Amadeo snaps his fingers. The little creature returns to its master, chattering quietly in monkey.
"Are those hellknights still down here, or did they toss you in and depart?" Araxus asks warily. He tries to conceal his fear at a confrontation with the hellknights under an acerbic assertiveness.
Raising a brow at Amadeo's circus story (not that it was particularly unbelievable, coming from him), he gives Zeb a brief pat on the head before answering Araxus. "They tossed me in and then ran off. Seems like they were needed elsewhere. Dunno if they can be bothered to come down here themselves."
Left mostly alone in the sewer tunnel with his lights, Damien will take a moment to look for any further markings and listen for pursuit. There had been sounds of a battle earlier if he recalled.
"Odhran! Of course you are. Who else would you be? So glad you could join us! So Sorry to rush, but we ARE on a schedule. If you would be so kind as to stay in line, the tour is THIS way!" Slidell gestures grandly out the door and indicating the general area where Damien is standing.
"Yeah, yeah," Odhran replies, moving right along. "So, where exactly are ya circus folks headin'?"
"Out of the sewers," Amadeo replies emphatically. "Speaking of which, we need to get moving. Hellknights might be down here, too. I bet that's where yours got called. They're gonna be happy if they pulled this duty." He moves to the corridor where Damien searches. "Any luck?"
A clear-eyed halfling steps forward to offer a hand to Odhran. "I'm Camris. Welcome. It will be good to have a new companion down here and you'll fit right in with this circus. Be wary, though. We've already hit a swarm of nasty acid-beasties and a miniature goblin tribe. These sewers might hold more creatures than Westcrown proper!"
When you went to greet Odhran, you noticed an intersection just past the man's involuntary entry point. Recalling that the marks were to be chalked at intersections, you moved that direction and searched. Though scuffed by something, you found one of the rebel marks just about shoulder level in the corridor that leads straight on. (I moved the lights appropriately in the interest of saving time.
"Wherever these chalked markings lead, although I am beginning to wonder if we have been sent on a fool's errand. I can understand wanting to make the markets inconspicuous, but they should not be so obscure that those who need to follow them cannot." Araxus's patience is wearing thin at the whole situation.
Amadeo grunts. "I generally find blaming stupidity (or innocence, if you prefer) sufficient. Malice is seldom necessary. Of course, somebody might be deliberately effacing the marks..." He grins at Araxus.
"It's a pleasure." Odhran shakes Camris' hand almost guiltily, having failed to spot the halfling up till then. He sizes him up as he does, wondering if he is an escaped slave or something of the sort.
"Yes yes. Certainly more than enough accidental ignorance going around. No need to go looking for boogie-men to blame things on." Slidell Agreed.
"On the other hand, There also seems to be no shortage of intentional idiocy either. Best keep your eyes open. Just in case." he adds cheerfully.
Holding up his small candle-bright ball of light, he peers through the dank dimness towards the glimmer of Damien's dancing spheres of lights.
"Finally! I was beginning to believe that we HAD been sent on a wild sewer-rat chase! So,... thataway then?" He asks, pointing his heavy cane towards the tunnel the mark indicated.
The party moves down the passage in the direction of the sign with Damien's dancing lights providing illumination. The tunnels are quiet save for the constant burbling and splashing of 'water' in the channel by their side.
In a minute, they arrive at the intersection of four tunnels, three branching off of the current path.
Odhran stays toward the front of the group (), squinting too hard to notice anything substantial.
Damien is happy letting his dancing lights spell run. After all, how would he get to view these wonderful environs and add his helpful point of view if he couldn't see a thing?
Of course, leaving it to Amadeo to find the markings in the dark may not really change much considering how completely distracted Damien is with that small spot of burnt clothing and flesh where the Beetles of Base nipped him.
;P
Slidell holds aloft a finger, where a small blue-tinged light the brightness of a candle, a dim candle, glows cheerfully. He peers around the intersection, looking confused, as if expecting a road sign and finding a literal fork (eating utensil) in the road.
"Hrm..." Amadeo carefully examines the three passageways for a sign, to no avail.
"Damien, would you be so kind as to bring your lights over here a bit closer? Ah, yes, thank you,..."
"Hullo, Master Odhran. Sorry, I was communing with the Inheritor, and I didn't realize we had a fellow adventurer. Welcome to our motley band." Camris bows curtly.
"Now what have we got here?" He strains to listen and look down the tunnels.
"Ow. I think I burst something." Camris shakes his head.
"If you don't mind, sirs, I shall endeavor to carefully inspect the walls to see if I can find anything interesting."
Araxus examines the junction with the others. "They should have just given us a map. This is ridiculous."
As the party spreads out and searches for the mysterious symbol in each corridor of the 3-way split, the murmuring trickles of the dungeon resolve into the murmur of voices emanating from the tunnel they came from.
A faint flicker of light appears in the distance behind just as Camris spots the scratched mark on the rightmost of the three tunnels, rather lower than the others and more in his line of sight. Examination proves definitive: the sign indicates to take the right-hand passage.
Gesturing at the growing light, Damien moves quickly in the direction Camris indicates.
Softly, he says, "Perhaps we should try to be as quiet as we can be."
Damien pushes his dancing lights to maximum range in the direction they're headed to reduce the chance those behind them will see their light.
Amadeo nods. "I will scout up front and stop if I find anything of interest. If you see me in your lights, come up and stop." He hastens on ahead down the long, dark corridor using his preternatural vision to pierce the darkness.
Damien steps aside and lets the new meat shield move into position.
Patting his shoulder, Damien says to Odhran.
"I want you to know, I really appreciate you. Truly." An odd smile appears on Damien's face. "In case you died before I could tell you I just wanted you to know going forward, you may just assume. Whatever manner your death comes, I appreciate you."
Damien casts Resistance on Odhran.
Odhran blinks. "Uh. Thanks. I think."
Camris (and Slidell, over the halfling's head) can occasionally catch glimpses of flickering light in the tunnels behind, and all can hear the occasional clank of arms and armor. The Hellknights (if that is what the hunters are) seem to be able to keep pace with the party.
With Damien's light ranging ahead, Odhran can see the path ahead. It is generally quite smooth and well-maintained. (Westcrown has excellent sewers.) This is fortunate for the trailing members of the party, who have the single light of Araxus' dagger to show the way. Shadows glide along the wall and on the surface of the oddly smooth liquid that fills the trench alongside the walkway.
The tunnel itself twists and turns, doubtless avoiding the odd foundation or substructure of the city above. It seems to slope down for a bit.
After a few minutes of quietly traversing the passage, Amadeo appears in Damien's point light, hustling back to the group. "Intersection ahead," he pants quietly, "And a door. I didn't see an obvious sign. Do we have time to stop? Should we hazard the door and barricade it behind us?"
"It seems like a good idea. Perhaps the Hellknights will pass us by." Then Araxis adds quickly, "So long as I am not the one opening the door. That did not turn out well the last time."
"Ah, another door to unknown mystery. Why do I feel like we will see plenty of those in our time together? No matter, I concur with Araxus we should try the door. Then we'll ask our cheeky wizard here to use his tricky spell to help make the door appear as if we had not opened it, and it was not disturbed, so our pursuers will have no reason to begin breaking it down. Just a thought," Damien says with a shrug.
"Or we could keep going. It's not like we've had the best luck finding these signs anyway. Getting lost might get those pursuers off us. Either way, let's make it quick. In fact... I could go on ahead in the darkness and make noise, drawing them past the door. Doesn't look like they can see in the dark." Amadeo shrugs. "Your call. Either way, we need to hurry." He beckons, leading the way to a plain wooden door standing closed in the hallway.
"That MR cheeky to you." Slidell mumbles with a sniff.
"Try the door. See if it is locked. Erm, yeah, maybe NOT you, Araxus." Slidell agrees with his fellow mage in a whisper.
"If it is locked, we should not waste time with it. Just clean the dust off the handle, and let those behind us waste time busting the thing open." He suggests with a smug smirk.
"Might as well give it a shot," Odhran says, evidently volunteering for the job. "If it doesn't open we'll just have to hustle." Without further ado he steps forward and attempts to open the door.
The door, old and decrepit as it looks, swings inward noiselessly. Araxus' weak light is lost in the darkness beyond, which yawns silently. The space beyond feels open for a long way. This room is definitely much larger than the goblin's closet.
From the darkness comes a faint susurration, regular and very slow.
"I think I hear somethin'..." Odhran remarks with a frown as he peers into the dark room. Squinting wasn't making it any easier to see. "Whisperin' maybe?"
"Thou hast sharp ears, my guesssst." A sibilant whisper issues from the darkness. "Guessst or ssseeker, which be ye?" It pauses a moment. "Whatever thou art, make hasssste to enter. Those who follow are ssssssseekerssss indeed. It is thee they ssssseeek. I offer thee refuge for a very ssssmall price."
From over Odhran's shoulder, Damien says, "Go ahead now, new friend. I have a feeling his small price will be a better deal than the one those behind us will offer."
Damien recasts dancing lights into the room past Odhran.
Damien's lights appear in the opening past the doorway, their light dwindling into darkness beyond. The first section of floor is crafted of the flat, interlocked cobbles of the rest of the sewer's structure, but a dirt floor, carefully scraped and leveled, extends far past the cobbles. Sharply defined gouges and shallow drag marks mar the dirt.
"Ah, yesss.... light. Come insssssside and close the door behind you, then move clear of it. I will ensure the rabble do not enter. And if they do..." A rhythmic hissing like a boiling, overfull teakettle follows. "Come in children. I am ssssssssorry I have no refreshments to offer. The voice drifts to the left, still off in the darkness.
"Just as long as it ain't my soul or somethin'," Odhran mutters as he cautiously steps into the room. His hand hovers over the pommel of his sword, just in case.
"Ssssssssoulssss? They do not glitter or gleam or chime beautifully againsssst sssstone and sssscale," the voice replies from somewhere in the left side of the room, "Of what ussse are they?"
Odhran can see no source for the voice, though Damien's light reaches the base of the walls - stone around the door, dug and smoothed dirt elsewhere. As he enters, he can see the floor slopes down and dirt ceiling up as if to make room for something large.
Once they are inside, Araxus ventures a timid, "Who are you? And how do you seem to know so much about us?"
"It isss my bussinessss to know thingsss. Now move from the door and keep quiet before we have more guessssstsssss. They are coming."
Damien strides into the room without pause. He motions for everyone else to come in and shut the door.
He waves his hand and dispels the dancing lights so that Araxus' light will be the only illumination reducing the chance of discovery that way.
Despite the ease and boldness he displays, Damien is on high alert, and his eyes move casually around trying to discern any clues as to the nature of their host.
Slidell looks into the room with obvious curiosity.
And obvious caution.
It looks like his caution is at war with his curiosity.
In the end, the outcome is inevitable.
"Step into my parlor,..." He whispers merrily as he steps eagerly inside.
Once the door closes and Damien douses his magical lights, Slidell conjures a light of his own, but it is tiny and dim, a mere candle glow compared to the multiple burning torches of Damien's spell.
The wizard turns his back to the door, his body shielding any chance of the dim candle-glow giving them away to their pursuers.
While he waits in the near-deathly silence, Slidell takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then inspects the room himself, trying to figure out who, or what, their mysterious benefactor is.
The party hears something large rasping along the wall toward the door, though nothing is visible there. The sounds from outside suddenly muffle as the door is blocked by the unseen thing.
*Shhhhh* it hisses to the party as footsteps, voices, and the clash of carried weapons become audible from outside.
The sounds stop at the door, then there's a thud as somebody throws themselves against the wooden panel. It rebounds squishily and there are sounds of excited discussion outside.
A hair-raising rumble begins below the threshold of human hearing, rising slowly in pitch and volume until a low, roaring growl fills the room. The discussion outside ends abruptly and footsteps hasten away rather more rapidly than they approached.
*They have decided that you are either not in here or dead. Sss-sss-sss-sss," the thing laughs, its alien voice low and raspy "That is what they get for not believing the thingssss common folk ssssay. Sssssometimes, the rumors are true, no? Now, my friendssss, what bringssss you here? Do you seek knowledge in exchange for yellow gold? Is that why you find the Ssssseeer?" The origin of the voice moves along the far wall and back to the deeper part of the room, away from the door. "Come, ssspeak! I rarely eat customerssss."
There are rumors among the denizens of low places in town of wisdom to be found in the sewers -- if one has gold. The Seer of the Sewers is rumored to be able to guide, advise, and disclose knowledge from sources uncanny and ordinary, for a fee. Few dare to venture below to discover the truth and nobody claims to have seen him. Or her. Or it. Nobody knows.
Well, it could be, uh... hmmm. Invisible but maybe scaly? Nope, doesn't make sense or ring a bell in Slidell's Mental Monster Index.