Voyla pokes her head into the shack and takes a quick look around after assuring herself that there is no one waiting there to ambush her. It is immediately apparent that the shack has been completely cleaned out. Aside from the strange stains all over the walls and the general poor condition of the shack, there is nothing of note inside.
Climbing atop the shack, Voyla can see further into the moor; in the dwindling light it is difficult to make out any details, but she can see the dim moonlight glinting off of the distant eyes of a number of stirges crawling about in the treetops. They do not seem to be making any aggressive moves, but there are enough of them there to drain the blood out of the entire party should they attack en masse...
Bacarov and the others who are keeping eyes on the trees also begin to notice the stirges, as well as the strange, fleshy mounds they crawl in and out of. These must be the cocoons Warshawski mentioned... they are hard to make out in the dim light, but anyone can see the slight pulsations in them. As the group inches further and further into the moor, the number of stirges and their fleshy sacs grows more and more frequent, almost as if they have chosen to nest as close to the circle of stones as possible.
♤
♤
♤
Bugs. The cocoons are for the stirges. He didn't know whether to be relieved or not. His original thought had been mutants. But the life draining swarm of stirges seems no better.
"Stirges in the trees. I could set fire to the treetops. Burn the stirges in their nests...and it would solve our visibility problem." Bacarov whispers along the connection made by Dramin's spell. "It will limit the Weaver's escape options..." ...and ours.
"An option. But be prepared for them to attack as soon as we show hostility. I can use fire to burn them in flight. For now, press forward with caution."
》Cloak of Darkness active
》
》 darkvision you signs of weaver.
Returning to the scene of my near sacrifice wasn't high on my list of priorities. Yet, here I was with a magic dagger hidden in my boot and my bladed scarf wrapped around my hands.
I found the damn thing. Thank the Twilight Lady for small favors. I felt like s&~! going into battle without it.
"The first time I was here, the stirges left me alone. They seem dormant on their own so if they'll attack it will be at someone's command." I whispered to Bacarov.
"Try not to harm the stones. We'll need them to heal this place." I wasn't sure on the how yet but I knew the why. Those stones would end up being the key to this land's salvation.
"I have an idea. Assuming the stirges aren't smart enough to communicate ideas, if I go in by myself I can distract them and the rest of you can sneak up from behind. They won't know I've rejoined you."
Niklos continues his silent stalk with his ursine companion, seeking to place himself advantageously on the other side of the fray from the others. Duroj nervously sniffs at the air, hackles rising as the stirges are given away by their musk... and unsure what else lurks in the darkness.
"...someone's command..." Bacarov gives Warshawski a look when she mentions her idea, eyes all but saying we just got you back... But he holds up a hand for a moment and then calls to the others. "Anyone have a silence spell? We used it in a raid on some Mwangi blood magic smugglers a year ago. If we had that spell we might take the stirges out of the fight. No commands, no bugs."
Back to Warshawski, the Inspector comes to a conclusion. He says the following while he locks eyes with her. "Warshawski will lure the beastie out. The Weaver was keen to finish the work. I think the plan has mwrit. Any objections?"
"Eh . . . Don't like makin anyone the lamb, but it's her call."
Tension hangs thick in the soupy evening air as Warshawski steps forward, electing to act as bait. With dozens of stirges crawling or buzzing about in the twisted branches of the trees above, and with only moonlight sprinkling in through the canopy illuminating the way, it goes without saying that things could go south very, very quickly.
After a few minutes of grim silence, Warshawski sets foot upon the harder ground that marks the beginning of the circle of troll-stones. Through the gloom, a figure can be seen leaning against the central, altar-like stone for support. An old woman, clad in the conservative style of dress seen amongst the women of Ravenmoor but with a traditional Varisian scarf tied around her head like a cowl, breathes heavily and stares at Warshawski with bugged eyes. She clutches one arm close to her body, and thick, yellowish blood stains the front of her dress.
"Damned fool girl," the old woman hisses between ragged breaths. "Should've run and never stopped running. I should have stayed to watch you instead of leaving Leonard's last poor, idiot child. So easily distracted... What now, then? Kill a helpless old woman?" She coughs, though her feebleness seems somewhat overly theatrical.
"Make no mistake, spirit-seer, the Gossamer King will have his feast tonight, one way or another. If it's not on your soul, it'll be someone else's- maybe that Bartley girl. There's no stopping that, unless your friends want to slaughter every last man, woman, and child in Ravenmoor." She watches Warshawski like a hawk, as if anticipating an attack.
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Each mucky, squishing step towards that circle of stones took an eternity. Flashes of humiliation at being captured. Of pain at being beaten. Anger at being bound. Hatred for what this thing had done to so many... the emotions threatened to drag me down into my own personal hell of destruction.
This time, though, it was different. This time, the others had my back.
The old woman acted feeble and frail. I knew she was injured but I refused to believe she was down for the count. This was her place of power, after all. This is the place where she should feel the connection to her corrupted, bloated, disgusting god.
She jabbered on, expecting banter or an attack. She was ready for a war of words or a war of arms. I needed to give her something different.
The most frightening and disquieting spirits aren't the ones that scream or curse or even moan. No, the most frightening spirits are the ones that say nothing at all. That act as if you and the world of the living matter not one iota.
And so... I looked at the old woman. I smiled. And I danced.
And just to piss her off? I danced an old elvish dance I learned once from a lover.
♤
♤
♤
Bacarov watches her move off, the grainy grays of his newfound vision cast her in diminishing light and an aura of glass shards. In a few short moments, her for turns to barely definable shapes then nothing but a blur. He grinds his teeth, the soft sounds of Warshawski's steps ringing in his ears like a convict's heading to the gallows.
♬"Hangman, hangman, hold it a little while. I think I see my brother comin', ridin' many a mile..."♬
The sound of an old woman's voice cuts into his mental wanderings. He strains to listen not just to the words, but to the woman's tone. Threats to the Bartley girl...Abadar see the measure of Dalton and speed his journey... He listens more, cataloging the words. The ritual will be completed...no matter who is sacrificed...but is she bluffing? A wicked creature in the corner, defeat eminent...or will one of the other 20 or so fools be able to do this?
(is she feeling defeat?)
"...unless your friends want to slaughter every last man, woman, and child in Ravenmoor." Bacarov grinds his teeth, a frozen stone rolling in the pit of his stomach. To stop what comes after such a thing? To stop this evil from spreading to Magnimar? Yes.
Bacarov feels the cold spread from his middle and suffuse his body. The burning hands wand in one hand, his spear in the other, he skulks after Warshawski. He would have to be in closer range to see.
(moving within 30 ft)
Dramin hangs a little back. His hands quivering somewhat.
He recollects everything that has happened so far, and he realizes that his hands aren't moving out of fear but excitement.
I wanted something outside my books, something to make me feel alive... Here I am.
Dramin knows he can't compete with the silent huntings of the professional Marsh, or the eerily creepy Bacarov and stays back. He holds his bow and his scroll, but is ready to draw in a flash in case they need the enfilading fire.
Marsh had had it with this backwater hellhole. Sebastian had brought him out here to get out of the city for some fresh air.
Some f~&!in vacation, eh?!
He used the distraction to try to sneak in close enough to get a well placed shot on the weaver. As he made his way he watched for webs.
It'd be my luck she'd have a network of strands like a real spider.
- - - -
When you begin your dance, Alizna seems taken aback. It's certainly not what she expected- and although at first it seems as if she is going to do something, she seems content to watch with something between amusement and honest admiration. It is not until a strange humming sound rises up out of the stones that she appears threatened...
- - - -
Warshawski begins to dance- not her usual sort of obedience to Ashava dance, but an old, elven style that seems oddly fitting in this place. Alizna seems startled and confused, but also fascinated- understandably not having expected the investigator to choose this as her response.
But then two more surprising things happen, as the rest of the party, apparently unseen, position themselves for the coming fight, taking advantage of the gloom and the size of the stones themselves to move closer. The first thing is that, after a moment, the temperature around the troll-stones seems to drop sharply and suddenly; the stones themselves begin to react, vibrating softly and emitting some sort of low hum. It as if the ancient stones have come to life, awakened after centuries, perhaps millenia, of slumber. Is it Warshawski's elven dance that has awakened them, or the inevitable bloodshed to come? In any case, the Weaver appears even more startled, backing away from the stone altar she had been leaning against...
...only for the second surprising thing to occur, as an arrow, fired by Marsh, streaks through the darkness and tears straight through her. Straight through as in passing through a cloud, hitting nothing, sailing forth into the darkness and leaving only a sort of odd ripple across the old woman's face.
A ghastly shriek rips through the air from somewhere in the branches overhead. As the image of the old woman ripples and wavers, the trees come to life- stirges that had been docile until this moment suddenly squeal and begin flapping about their fleshy nests. Somewhere in the branches, something much larger stirs, crawling from branch to branch in a wild panic, but nothing appears to be visible up there.
- - - -
A quartet of stirges dive down from above, their bulb-like eyes well-adjusted to the dark. Each seeks a target, but it quickly becomes apparent that something is interfering with their movement- one dives toward Warshawski, the only visible target within the distance of their flight, but it seems to wobble and swerve as it comes close.
It manages to find its target regardless, sinking its proboscis into Warshawski's arm and thirstily sucking at her blood. The other stirges spread out, swerving outward to seek their own meals.
There is a rustling in the brush behind the stone circle, in the direction where Niklos is hiding. Another of the malformed half-human creatures bursts out from its hiding spot in the bushes and rushes into the circle of stones, bristling with spiny armored plates and quills- Warshawski immediately recognizes it as the one that had been guarding her at the shack before, and Dramin identifies it as the one that had run off with her in the fields in the first place. The mongrel glances about, looking for a target After a moment, it reaches down and grabs at one of the spines on its chitinous flesh- and rips the spine free, creating an impromptu dagger. Its mismatched eyes fix on Warshawski and it growls in anticipation.
A voice cries out from above: "Voyla! Voyla, I saw you with them- don't believe them! You know me! You are a child of Ravenmoor! These people want to burn us all! Reflect on your childhood... you know where your loyalties should lie! You have to protect us!" It is the voice of Alizna, undoubtedly- the same voice projected from the image of the old woman a moment before. The voice is followed by the sounds of some sort of arcane energy being gathered above.
The stirge's sting hurt like the blazes but I swatted it aside and continued dancing.
I could see them all rising. The souls of ancient elves, led by the horned king, surged from the ground and the stones. I could see the runes, glowing, on the ancient stones. The pure magic of the past shining through the profane corruption of the present.
I knew there were enemies. I knew that the mongrel that had guarded me wanted my blood. It didn't matter.
Let the others fight. For now, I needed to dance.
Arrogance and swagger.
The man trusted in Marsh to deliver and so he did.
When he sees arrow in his mind's eye and the blow upon the weaver he acts in a flash.
Enter the cyclopean gift.
Surprise Round
Dramin uses the scroll to cast Shield on himself.
We aren't falling today.
First Round
Dramin shuffles on over as far as he can then fires out a shot at the weaver.
He fears the shot isn't going to ring true, but he drops the bow post shot and Quickdraws his Scythe in case something bumps into him.
"Nice trick, but I see you in the tree b#+$*! Hey! I got somethin for ya!"
Marsh runs from cover and hurls a grenade like object at the weaver in the tree.
"Booo-yah!!! Burn baby burn!"
"The itchy b$+*~y spider climbed to her hidey spot."
"Out came the fire, Marshy burned the spidey out."
"Weaver was talkin s#+&, you'll never see Marlena again."
"But the Itchy b*@#@y spider, underestimated Vinnie again."
"How about it Warsawski, you an me can hit the road, song and dance routine s~!~! Heh heh!"
"Hey mutant! You wanna piece o'dis?! What? Do ya punk? Come at me bro!"
With the nearer target of the mongrelfolk presented, Niklos tenses and gives a practiced signal to his ursine companion before breaking from cover. Wedging the spiked abomination between them, the halfling and bear seek to make it pay a heavy price in blood...
"My loyalties are with good and dreams! Not with evil and nightmares! You are the one that forgot what we are, and what we must protect!"
She shoot as many arrows as she is able against the abomination Alizna has become.
♤
♤
♤
Vermin... Bacarov maintains his hiding spot despite the urge to charge the Weaver. He'd have to deal with some of the stirge.He bodes his time until two (or at least one) flaps into range. Hidden in the shadow of one of the stones he gestures with the Burning Hands wand and when the time is right...
- - - -
- - - -
Ignoring the sting of the stirge- and the flow of blood that follows- Warshawski continues dancing as if in a trance, twirling toward one of the troll-stones and touching its surface- tracing runes that only she can see. The entire area seems to vibrate with increasing intensity, and even those less spiritually attuned can feel that something is happening. The stirge doggedly climbs along her clothing, fighting to keep its grip, but suddenly, its body swells- it falls away from Warshawski before bursting like a blood-filled balloon.
The trees above become pure chaos as stirges swarm forth from their fleshy nests, the beating of their wings becoming such a cacophony that even Marsh's ranting is nearly drowned out. Every few moments, a stirge will explode into gore, bits of blood and entrail raining down in spurts.
Perhaps this is why Dramin's shot goes wide, his arrow arcing harmlessly into the trees; however, only a moment later, Marsh hurls his vial of alchemist's fire with a bit of both intuition and dumb luck- and it explodes against the invisible spider-thing's hide, illuminating it as the burning substance coats its body. The Weaver shrieks in agony, its scythe-like legs flailing as it struggles to keep its footing in the trees, but a moment later, Voyla's bow twangs once, twice, and her arrows both strike true. The Weaver tumbles from the branches, one arrow through its "head," and a second piercing the fleshy hump on its back... where Dramin knows its actual brain to be housed. It turns over in the air, a fireball plummeting from above, and there is a sickening crunch as it strikes the altar-like troll-stone in the center of the field and rolls away onto the dirt. Its legs twitch as its shrieking fades, and finally the limbs curl up inward as the fire consumes them.
At the same time, the halfling Niklos and his bear come charging out of the brush on the opposite side of the field, dashing around to take up flanking positions on either side of the half-human mutant, still startled at the sudden death of its master. Niklos' blade flashes in the flickering light, catching upon a soft patch of flesh between the monster's armored plates, but barely breaks the skin. Duroj finds a bit more success, sinking his teeth into one of the misbegotten creature's legs.
Still more fire leaps from the wand brandished by Bacarov, catching the stirges that had managed to make their way toward both him and Marsh. Both of the creatures are consumed in the wave of flames.
So quickly has the tide of battle turned! Aside from the stirges swarming above, the only foe remaining is the mutant caught between Niklos and the bear- it seems that this battle will end swiftly, so long as the investigators' luck holds...
- - - -
The mutant, growling in anger at having been wounded by Duroj's bite, swipes one of its twisted limbs at the bear. However, it clearly has little understanding of how to launch such a strike, as its hand lands squarely in Duroj's jaws instead.
The stirges continue to whip themselves into a storm overhead, while a few slip out of the maelstrom to dive down and desperately attack. The one that had started toward Voyla earlier continues its approach, landing on the priestess' shoulder and sinking its proboscis into her flesh. Three more stirges flit down, one headed for Duroj, while the other two once again target Bacarov and Marsh.
All around, the sound of wind whipping through the trees is accompanied by the beating of stirge wings and the sounds of their bodies suddenly and inexplicably bursting... and the thrumming of the troll-stones grows ever stronger.
Voyla can't very well attack the stirge draining her blood, so she decides to hold on and help Niklos and Duroj.
"Help me! Take this thing off me!"
♤
♤
♤
He watches with satisfaction as.much the Weaver burns and dies. "I told you, Ghlaunder's whore! We would hunt you and we would burn you!" His shadow cloak swirls about him as he laughs softly. "Now for the rest of this rotting cancer of a town..."
Bacarov turns away from the pile of flames and finally bears witness to the full scene. He's is uncertaian. It's a feeling he's learned is a part of this case, like the skin crawling he experienced when dealing with the skinsaws back home. But this...this magic...the haunting aspect of what is happening is far from being controlled. Like the land itself vomiting forth it's malevolence... No. It's vengeance.
The bursting warmth of blood across his face and the incessant buzzing of the swarm clouds his mind. He can't focus on the happenings surrounding Warshawski. He growls to himself and grips the Burning Hands wand. There's two more of the stirge heading towards him and Marsh.
Focus imbecile... He staggers away from his hiding place near the troll stone, cursing his back and his weakened leg. "Vinnie, kill the mutant! No prisoners!" He maneuvers himself alongside Vinnie, drawing the approaching pair if stirge into a tighter cluster, the brings up the wand.
With the mutant firmly wedged between the two smaller combatant, Duroj roars and begins a heavy fusillade of blows...
Duroj Power Attack Bite: for
Duroj Power Attack Claw: for
Duroj Power Attack Claw: for
...the ursine beast savaging the mutant and removing it as a threat. Niklos stepped beside his companion... not ignoring Voyla's cry - but similarly not ignoring the oncoming threat of the approaching stirges. He keeps his small sword before him wardingly...
With an army of ghost elves on our side, I knew we could win this thing. We could make this right.
Now, I just needed to make sure the balance didn't tip too far to the other side. There were good people in this corrupted hole. They needed to be protected.
While the others fought, I made my way to the horned king.
"How do we purify the land and free the people who have been oppressed by this evil?" I asked, trying to help him see that some of the humans were as innocent as his people once were.
Dramin sees the woman screaming when the stirge clasps on.
Funny, I figured she'd be used to them.
Move into a position to fire on Voyla's Stirge. No penalty for firing into Melees
I really shouldn't be making jokes and laughing before I fire.
He chuckles to himself, the bow bouncing slightly.
Voyla, trying to ignore the pain of her blood being drained by the stirge crawling atop her, takes aim at the mutated beast as it is caught between Niklos and Duroj, but perhaps due to the pain of her wounds, misses with both shots. Luckily, the passing of the arrows seems to open the creature's defenses, and Duroj rears up on its hind legs and tears into it with full force, ripping chunks of flesh from the half-human abomination with each swipe. The mutant collapses, gurgling, as Duroj wrestles its dying form to the ground. Free from that threat, Niklos wields his sword cautiously, preparing himself for any approaching stirges; as one draws near, he hacks at it, striking it and cutting deeply into its belly, sending it fluttering away in pain and fear.
The chaos overhead reaches a crescendo as Bacarov's wand expends another charge, catching another pair of stirges in its fiery wrath even as more of their kin explode abruptly above and around the party. Warshawski seems strangely unaffected, focusing instead on her communion with the spirits that remain unseen by all but her.
Marsh sees the mutant fall quickly to the fury of Niklos' trusted ursine companion, and instead turns his attention to Voyla, still under attack from the hungry stirge. As Dramin's shot goes wide, Marsh quickly draws his trademark weapon and moves close enough to take a swing.
However, in his caution not to cave the young priestess' head in, he pulls his blow too early and misses.
- - - -
Every intelligent opponent seems to have been felled for now. However, even as the ground is littered with their viscera, stirges continue to buzz about, seeking targets and thirsty for blood, even as their invisible attackers distract and slaughter them. The stirge that had attacked Voyla continues to drink of her blood. The priestess feels a wave of weakness as more blood is drained through the razor-sharp proboscis.
There is a sudden series of sharp, cracking sounds, and the troll-stones begin to shudder. Hairline fractures carve their way across the surfaces of the stones, and a few of the stones shatter completely. However, the magic they emanated does not cease, but actually seems to grow stronger, bursting out of the crumbling stones in staccato waves, the force of it causing the ground beneath the investigators' feet to tremble. Stirges continue to die suddenly and plummet from the air in greater frequency, until suddenly it feels as if someone or something has snatched the stirge right off of Voyla and crushed it between its invisible hands...
...And suddenly it is very quiet in the circle of stones.
As the spirits won a victory I felt an odd sort of power reach through me. I knew my holy lady, the blessed spirit of the twilight, was granting me new power. A new connection to the restless souls beyond that which I had known before.
I was humbled.
I was terrified.
I was a little turned on.
"Bacarov!" I shouted as I marched over to him. "The souls of the elves say the cult leader and the rest of the followers will be at the stolen stone from this site, propped up in the center of their field of corruption."
"They think they'll start the ritual early. Unless we get there, someone else is going to be sacrificed in my place. But the leader is the connection between this plane and Ghlaunder. If we can kill the son of a b~%~$ we can end this. In Ravenmoor, at least."
Voyla, her jaw clenched, goes to where Alizna's mutated body lies.
"I knew her. I was clothed by her. She was one of my people. I curse the evil god that turn her into this abomination."
A tear falls from her eye.
"I am at your debt, and I need your help. We must go and purge the rest of the evil that corrupts this place. We must save the innocent. We must hurry!"
She starts running towards the ritual place, fire in her eyes.
♤
♤
♤
"Kreigler." He Spits On the ground.
Bacarov holds up a hand, grasping for Voyla before she tears off into the unkown. "Don't be a fool. Repay your debt to us now by not getting killed uselessly." His tone is agitated, cold and harsh. From the pocket within his satchel he produces the lesser restoration wand he'd taken from the mayor's home. He looks Voyla up and dkwn, his grayed dark vision giving him varying shades of the young woman that lent an ethereal aspect.
"You were bit..." he says simply and waves the wand in her direction.
CON Repair
To her and the others he says, "The mayor is our target. But he will have his lunatic fringe with him. 20 or 30 fools crazed enough to follow him." Bacarov frowns towards the ground. "There will be more blood, more tallied to the butcher's bill. Reconcile yourselves to that fact. If we're to put a stop to this madness, death will be the price."
Someone sacrificed in Warshaski's place. May the Golden Scales dip in your favor, Dalton. I think they'll want Marleyna. He grips the spear, a feeling in his hands eager to grasp the neck of the lying toad Kreigler. Unbeknownst to him, a sheen of rime extends along the haft near his hands. I'll have your head on a pike, Kreigler. Your eyes are going to stare into the darkness and see true horror. I'll grant you that vision before you die.
"We move now, but we move intelligently. They will have watchers on the edge of the field, so either we draw attention away from one direction, then make the approach while they're distracted? Or we bull our way in and hope to fight thru the masses. I advise the formwr." He gestures towards the direction of the corrupted fields. "Most among them won't be prepared for the kind of fight we can present. But we must stay focused on two goals; killing Kreigler...and preventing the death of whomever they've chosen to sacrifice."
He looks to the others for any ideas, but he is eager to get moving.
When he hears the weaver let out its death cries Dramin just collapses into a slump on the floor. The day had been long and it felt like it kept on going.
He felt the troll stones, and the air here. It was different, it was almost alive.
He decided to take a moment away from everyone else, away to finish something he had started before. I need this. I need this moment. He opens up a book and just reads for what seems like an eternity. While he knows full well that it is nothing as such, he just pours over the words written down and just meditates on what he reads.
He hears Bacarov shouting about Kriegler. He hears Voyla screaming about debts and other menial things. But they come out in such a way that he feels as if there was cotton in his ears. He frantically reads forward and comes to a realization, he was capable of reading past the arcane stopping block that was written into the book. Perhaps he had grown and learned in these past days, and in turn had allowed himself to push past the mental block in his mind and studies.
He smiles knowingly, One mountain crushed, and one small weed dealt with. He didn't know which one was what, nor did he care.
When he hears Bacarov plan and heal Voyla, he decides now would be the best opportunity. He carried on him something that many would find fairly unholy, and even heretical but he was always intrigued by the magic that it held. He takes a quick look around and pulls out a tiny vial of devil's blood. Desperate times they say. He opens his spellbook again and begins to write into it, not caring about the negative energy swirling about the quill and what was in his head. We need all the help we can get.
Moments later he gets up and heads back. He doesn't hear the whole plan but he speaks up. "We cannot fight an entire town, especially when we don't know what is human or not and what is evil or not." He stretches and starts reading some more, this time to refresh his mind with some new spells. "We need to find out who the sacrifice is. They can easily bluff us here. This place is loaded with those flesh-shifting abominations." He looks toward Warshawski, "Any idea who it may be?"
I turned the ancient, eleven dagger around in my hands. I could hear them singing in my blood, elves demanding purification and truth.
"They wanted me because I was connected to the spirits. And possibly because I have a vagina." I told the wizard, looking into his eyes. "Who else do you know that is female, magically inclined and currently unprotected?"
He rolls his eyes at her.
"And to think I almost ripped you in half thinking you were a copycat. Do you actually believe it to be her though or is it a ploy? I'd rather not think on pure instinct thank you very much."
As the enemies fall Niklos cleanses his blade of blood on the fallen mutant, before sheathing it. He touches foreheads with Duroj in a moment of solidarity before leading his companion over to where the others have congregated. Keeping his countenance grim and unreadable, he offers but the following in addition to the words being exchanged "Speed and stealth... a commotion could create a hole to be exploited... or a path could simply be lanced quietly. The chaff will be sent with the wind... it's merely the wheat that needs grim harvest."
Voyla stops when Sebastian stops her, and gasp as he heals her.
"Thank you, I had forgotten I had this wound."
When he speaks she sees him in his eyes, and wonders how a man like that could exist. And when he mentions "and preventing the death of whomever they've chosen to sacrifice" she smiles and nods, without saying a word.
A Dramin comments she answers.
"Not all of the town. I am one of them. Most of them are good people, maybe strangers for you as you are stranger to them. Most of the people in this town are innocents to be saved. But the ones in that abominable ritual are criminals that should pay the ultimate price, in Desna's name."
At Niklos comment, she nods, and smiles to him.
"Okay, enough talkin. They aren't gonna kill that little girl if I can help it. You ready to move out?"