Melfoil walks over to Clarice and the half-woman and swirls his finger through the viscera, much like a child playing with tinned spaghetti.
"I don't think she needs her jaw anymore, Clarice. Although, there are a number of reports that suggest that corpses audibly grind their teeth up to 48 hours after death. My theory is that they are experiencing their last meal, if you will. Their spirit enjoying one final earthly delight before being pulled down to purgatory."
Melfoil catches himself excitedly gesturing with two loose ends of intestine as he speaks.
"But...uhhh, to your question: Yes, I can help you with that elven script"
Melfoil reads the script on the podiums aloud and everyone listens to the plot-relevant revelations:
The script engraved on the six bone podiums appears to be a snippet of some kind of research paper, or perhaps even a transcript of a lecture of sorts. The text flows from one podium to the next, however it seems to begin and end somewhere in the middle of a sentence. The text reads as follows:
"...which is a mistake I believe may have shaped our understanding of life as we know it - though, for the better or worse, I cannot say. It is often said that when the Creator (he, she, they, whatever you would fancy) deigned to bless the universe with His/Her/Their designs that the first thing that was molded was the heart. This, I have come to deduce, is a fallacy - likely driven by our mortal obsession with all things romantic.
The true order of natural beings is something - bear with me here - entirely different. Firstly, came the lungs - for to truly be welcomed into this life, one must first breathe it in. Secondly, came the liver, for He/She/They quickly realized the foolish mistake allowing such a fragile thing to absorb so much of the world with no way to filter it (I believe this is a big reason for some of the more questionable traits amongst mortal-kind, but that's for another day). Thirdly, we were blessed with eyes, so that we may gaze upon His/Her/They're creation. That was a worse mistake than the last one, so those were taken away again and saved until last. Thirdly (again), we were given a stomach, with which to gorge and grow strong. Fourthly, the tongue, so that we might give Him/Her/Them praise for the bang-up job they've done so far. Then the eyes, as you know, and finally all the rest - the things that don't really matter, and have really served more trouble than their worth - the brain, the heart, etc., etc.
This may all sound a little silly at first, I agree, but if you look at the research- hey, hey, what are you doing? Put me dow-..."
Leon is quiet as the party moves though the lengthy hall. He is struck silent by the sights of mutilated victims housed in near replicas of the cells he and his compatriots were left to rot in. Finally he speaks though not to anyone in particular "Disgusting. These monsters have no sense of honour, leaving the defeated to writhe in pain until madness takes them. I'd put them out of their misery if I had a weapon at hand."
***
When the hallway opens into the room of podiums, Leon watches as the little ‘Clarice’ walks straight into the remains of the unfortunate soul hanging above her. He’d laugh if the sight of the woman wasn’t turning his stomach. Leaving the Elf and the Goblin to discuss the podiums Leon steps up to the woman, careful not to step in her pieces on the ground. He examines the body and the bindings trying to ascertain the best way to bring her down.
Upon closer inspection, the woman is seen to be hanging by the ligaments and tendons in her arm, protruding from her wrists. Something wicked is afoot, however, as even Leon's mighty strength can not seem to rip the flesh that binds her. Perhaps they could be sliced with a dagger of some sort...
Clarice takes a few paces away from Melfoil as he gleefully played with the intestines. As he read the inscription and translated it, Clarice paid close attention to what he said....
"OOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Clarice exclaimed. "How positively cryptic!.... And well-- quite... morbid." She laughed nervously... She had always liked puzzles, although not the terrifying kind.
Clarice grabbed the organs one by one and placed them in the podiums in order that was mentioned.
First she placed the lungs on the first podium. Second she placed the liver on the next podium. Then the eyes on the third. "Oh wait wait. My mistake!" she quickly grabbed it back, careful to not squish it with her claws, and placed the stomach on its rightful place. Followed by the tongue on the fourth, then the eyes on the fifth. Finally she grabbed all of the left over organs, yanking the intestines away from Melfoil's grasp, and placed it all on the 6th podium, putting the corpse's jaw at the top, like a cherry on top of a bowl of ice cream.
Clarice didn't seem to mind her dress being covered in blood.
The corpse jittered and twitched with each organ that was rest upon its rightful podium. With all the guts arrayed correctly, the woman gasps out one huge, wheezing breathe, lifts her chin, then "looks" over the group with an eyeless stare.
"Creator's titty-f~$*in' christ! G@~-d@$n that hurt like a B*@#&! Now, lemme look at you folk. Hmm, hmm. Ah, buncha nobodies. Shoulda guessed it. No one important or handsome comes for Schmelga." She takes another, ragged breath.
"Well, if you're s'posed to be escapin' this place, I guess you'll be needin' your weapons and such? Look't me now, face me, face me, and head back down the way y'came. Y'gotta be lookin' this way though, y'hear? Any other questions?"
“GAHHHHH!!!” Leon nearly leaps out of his skin when the woman he stands before, dead moments ago, begins spitting curses. “God’s above woman are you alive?” Leon asks of the bound woman and, turning to look at them over his shoulder, his fellow escapees. There he sees them standing by the podiums that now have organs resting upon them. Before they can respond, the warrior’s eyes grow large in his head and he turns back to the gutted Elf. “You know where our weapons are? How? Why are you here and who put you here?” As Leon interrogates the talking corpse he walks towards the podiums. Stopping next to the one on which the heart lays, he holds his hand over the organ. “Answer truthfully or you can go back to what little existence you held before we arrived." The brute’s words are cold and the threat is clear in his eyes.
|
Maldrek, who's been submerged in silent contemplation of the gore and horrors of the place they were jailed in, raises an eyebrow as the woman starts to scream prophanities and speak "Well, I am no expert on human anatomy as our elf is... but I am pretty sure humans aren't supposed to work after you break them." the tiefling says as he prods the figure with a long finger "No matter how well you return their innards to them."
Maldrek stops prodding, filled with both disgust and curiosity "Now, Schmelga, isn't it? We indeed would appreciate having our belongings returned, but I find more pressing knowing 'where' we are. You can't escape if you have no clue where you are escaping from. And we helped you, so you owe us at least that much..."
The tiefling adds the last part with a sly smile.
Clarice jumped back, startled by Leon's cry. She looks over at the undead, who is now talking to them.
She excitedly glanced over at Melfoil then back at the undead, then back at Melfoil, then back at the undead again. "IIII KNEW IT! I KNEEEEWWW ITTTTTT!!!!" She continued to stare at it, trying to figure out how its talking without a jaw.
Melfoil is dumbstruck by Clarice's swift decoding of the riddle. He had barely finished uttering the final words of the elven script before she had begun with the solution.
"Clarice you brilliant wretch!"
Soon the corpse speaks and, caught up in the gaiety of the post-puzzle-solving celebration, Melfoil bends down and kisses Clarice's wrinkly noggin.
"I knew that your cranial gigantism was more than just a deformity. There's a bona-fide brain in that skull!"
Then, just as quickly as Clarice had captured Melfoil's attention, she had lost it again as Melfoil stared up at Schmelga in morbid examination. It was clear that the scarce amount of organs and bone that she still possessed had been chosen deliberately by her tormenters, likely as part of some occult nonsense. Perhaps there could be more use to be found in her discarded parts?
While Schmelga spoke to Maldrek and Leon, Melfoil studied the rest of her off-cuts to see if anything stood out as particularly important.
Schmelga listens intently, though he featureless face is impossible to read. She looks from one ranting macho-man to the next, squints, then lets out a raucous, squawking screech - or, no, wait it's a laugh. Yes, a laugh.
"Big boys you are, ain't ya? Threatenin' Schmelga. Does it always take two men to bully half a woman? I bet this little green monkey is impressed by it, eh? Did it ever occurs t'ya that I was havin' a nice li'l nap before you arrived? Y'ever tried breathing with yer lungs outside your body? It's... uncomfortable." Another awful sound, like a cat dying or a raptor in heat. "Why am I here? Hell if I know! Heresy they told me. HERESY!? Hubris I could understand. Sluttery, I could understand. But heresy? Bogus, if y'ask me. I's just openin' the people's eyes! Hmph."
Schmelga begins to grumble, muttering to herself for a good ten minutes. She looks up, realizes you're all still here, and sighs.
"This is Purgatorium's prison - they keep the... difficult souls down here under ol' Wardy's supervision. Pacify us so we don't cause no trouble 'til judgement day. Not too bad once you get used to it, really... I got a nice spot here - gets to talk to all the escapees and such. Well, the ones smart enough to solve this "intellectual puzzle"." She snorts. "Anything else, you babies?"
Leon’s meaty paw falls to his side as he lets out a disappointed sigh. “I hate this place.”
Walking back to the irritated corpse Leon puts on his fake smile/real grimace. “So Schmelga… Seriously Schmelga is your name? Why can’t people down here just have normal names?” He poses the question to the Elf and to his allies not aware or not caring how rude a question the might be.
“Like me and Clarice. Anyway Schmelgma, what’s waiting for us back down the hall with our loot? In other words what should we be prepared to maim and/or kill?”
As Leon put this final question to Schm - the strung up Elf, his smile is now ferociously real.
"Other than the Warden? Uhh, hmm, maybe another escapee? Or those gross worm guys. Look like intestines to me. I should know..."
She doesn't seem to have much more of worth to say on the subject, unless you're willing to delve into specifics.
“The chain-fetishist with the beautiful axe? OH YEAHAHAHA!” The big man booms out with a lilt of laughter. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing Her again to get her away from Little Boy Blue.”
Leon begins walking backwards not taking his eyes off the gutted Elf. “Farewell Schmelgy if I ever see you again it’ll be too soon!”
Making it to the mouth of the hallway Leon shows no sign of slowing down or waiting for the others to follow.
Finally managing to teach Melfoil the intricacies of walking backwards, as well as saying whatever they may to a gradually unintelligible Schmelga, the group finally leaves.
At first it may have seemed like a trick - not a stretch, considering the Elf's nature - but in time you come to realize that you are not, in fact, simply walking back the way you came. The meat is darker, and drippier, there's less bone cells, and the sconces are placed on the other side of the corridor. Leon, being the first to set off, is thus the first to slam back-first with a loud squelch into a pillar of meat.
Turning around, the group finds a message-board of sorts etched into the pillar:
"LEFT - STOMACH
RIGHT - CONTRABAND CELLAR
Sick dungeon, loser.
David was here.
This place is only half as disgusting as my MIL's cooking."
There are other... more colourful statements scrawled in various places.
Clarice, shocked by Melfoil's kiss on her forhead, wasn't sure if she should be offended or flattered. "A LADY MUST NOT BE SO BRASHLY KISSED BY A MAN, EVEN IF ITS ON THE FOREHEAD....... but it felt good. BUT THE NERVE OF HIM... Maybe just this once... I'M A LADY AND I MUST NOT TOLERATE SUCH THINGS She kept thinking about it for the next few minutes, completely missing everything that everyone else is saying.
Only until Leon started walking out that she finally snapped out of it. She followed suit through the door. "OH! Before I forget, I must say thank you and goodbye to miss.. er.." She exclaimed. She stopped again to think, "Oh my... What was her name again... Shcmelly? Sherman? Shelga? Schmelmie?-- OH! THATS RIGHT" She smiled to the undead, curtsied and said "Thank you kindly for your help! As she walks backwards through the door she continued to wave and finally said her goodbye " Au Revoir, Madame Smegma!"
********
Clarice reads the message board "I suppose we should turn right then. I'm quite curious where the left goes but our weapons should be the outmost importance
She starts moving towards the right corridor.
It seems positively wasteful to Melfoil to leave a room full of body parts without taking at least one souvenir. So as he's ushered out by the group, he decides to make Schmelga's unattended lower jaw 'disappear'. I mean, what's she going to do? Bite me?
Melfoil attempts to cover the theft with an awkward half bow-half nod and scampers off with a parting "Milady" before Schmelga yells more obscenities at him.
*******
Catching up to the rest, Melfoil reads the directions on the pillar. The corners of his mouth moisten when reads the word contraband.
"I agree, I think right is where we want to be. Though," Melfoil addresses Leon and Clarice "maybe we should go...quietly?"
Jaw in hand, Melfoil leads the way towards the Contraband Cellar.
Unfortunately, his attempts to remain stealthy are consistently and thoroughly ruined by Leon's bravado, Maldrek's tangents, and Clarice. Just Clarice. It is enough for the frustrated Melfoil to turn, stamp his foot, and yell (well, about as loud as one might ask a question of their grandfather), "Would you all be quiet!?" In a cruel twist of irony, it is this final discretion which alerts the sleeping guard nearby.
Embedded in the ceiling, almost imperceptible from the rest of the mass of flesh, a reddish-pink worm-like creature begins to unravel. It coils down from the ceiling to land on the floor. It finally detaches from its resting area with a squelch and a rush of foul-smelling ichor. The creature rests upon the floor for a moment, twitches, then springs into a readied position, unfurling two arms, equipped with a blue scimitar in one hand, and a heavy steel shield in the other. Its eyeless, mouthless, noseless "face" emits some strange, guttural noise, and then you realize - it's after your lives.
BATTLE!
As the horrifying monster revealed itself to the party, Clarice leapt onto the fray without a second thought. Its smell nor its facade did not deter her from attacking quickly. She had just left the cell and she will NOT go back there without a fight!
With a charge of electricity coming from her hands, she aims to grab its hand, hoping to disarm it.
"Oh good heavens!
Melfoil starts to sweat. The creature's menacing warbling sets his blood pumping and mind racing.
Stay in control Melfoil, weigh up the situation. You can do this. you have the entirety of your vast intellect to outsmart, outwit, and outmaneuver this monster. This is your moment. This. is. your. time.
Melfoil throws the jawbone at the creature.
Clarice's attack stops the monster in its tracks, causing it to tremble and jitter. Melfoil's attack is a little less spectacular. The jawbone tinks off its head and falls to the floor.
The wormbeast readies its counter-attack:
But its efforts are stymied by its recent electrocution
|
|
Maldrek turns to Melfoil as the elf throws the jawbone "Wait! Don't-... did you just f#&@ing throw our only weapon? AAAAARG!"
The tiefling cries with a mix of disbelief, grief and anger. He cries for a loooong second before snapping his fingers and a second after the are surrounding him turns pitch black.
"You have exactly six seconds before I make you regret screwing with me, worm. Step aside and give me my belongings!" says a deep voice from inside the magic darkness
Maldrek, not one to be outdone by an elf, decides to shroud the party with the power of edge - thus making everything more difficult for everyone except for the immediate enemy.
Leon, too flustered by the shocking turn of events, finds himself unable to act.
The darkness that falls around the room calms Melfoil somewhat, and helps him to formulate his next angle of attack.
"Don't worry Maldrek, I've got plan."
At once, Melfoil starts to sprint in wide circles around the worm-beast.
"Like the common earthworm, it's sensory receptors-"wheeze"are likely to overlap" wheeze"which should make them more-" wheeeeze "easily confused by-" COUGH "rapid stimuli and then we could-"
Melfoil trails off mid-sentence, out of breath and hoping he's made himself clear to the group.
"We... We're all going to die..." Clarice's face visibly becomes paler as she witnesses her companions flail around like fools. We can't do anything without a weapon.... damnit, Clarice think. THINK! She eyes the blue scimitar the worm is holding and groans painfully... Well.. here goes nothing...
With a loud screech, Clarice attempts to disarm the worm, hoping to grab its sword.
"REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
Not giving the broccoli-with-teeth much thought, the beast is quickly stumped as Clarice grabs its wrist and flips up onto its arm. It attempts to jam the scimitar back into her face, but misses. Clarice gnaws its fingers until it gives a squeal and drops the scimitar, at which point Clarice does a frontal flip over its wrist, snatching the scimitar from mid air.
The worm looks too flabbergasted to respond.
Clarice stops for a second, her eyes bulged, surprised at herself. "WOT-- D-did I just? Wha-" She looks at the scimitar on her hand, then back at the worm, then back at her hand, then back at the worm again. "HUUHHH??!??"
She immediately snaps out of it, and prepares herself for her next move.
The screech of Clarice galvanises Leon into action. Surrounded by darkness but knowing there is a foe that needs to be dealt with, the man growls “Screw it, let’s do this!” Leon closes his eyes, balls his hand into a fist and bashes it against his chest. He hits it again. And again. He hits his himself harder and faster playing a rhythmic beat against his chest to the point that it swells and begins to bruise. A final beat plays out... then is replaced by a muffled cry of anguish from Leon Gadran as he begins his transformation.
His eyes shoot open, no longer the pale blue that he inherited from his mother but a pitch-black inherited from a different ancestor. His obsidian mane now flows down to the small of his back and his flesh is now a deep crimson. Then the painful part begins. The sound of popping and breaking bones reverberate through the stifling darkness followed by another hushed cry of pain from the tortured warrior as his body begins to double in size. His muscular form now stands at near 12 feet, his loose garments are stretched to their limits and the crimson skin would be visible through tears in the cotton fabric had the darkness not been so enveloping. A series of grunts and cries mark the final steps of the metamorphosis; Sharp protrusions begin to cut through the flesh of Leon’s forehead until two thick, dagger-long, horns extend out and curl up to the ceiling. His fingers then elongate and the nails become thick, black talons.
With his transformation over in an instant, the monstrous Leon takes a deep rumbling breath. “If you bastards can see me… surprise.” Leon hurls himself forward on thick trunk-like legs, claws brandished in front of him seeking flesh to rend.
"Why's it so bloody dark!"
Recovering from its humiliation, the worm creature lunges at Clarice once more in an attempt to regain its weapon.
Perhaps it hasn't quite recovered.
Maldrek makes a dive for the jawbone and attempts to jam it point first into the worm's side, but its irrational, wriggling movements twist its flesh away at the last moment.
Clarice swiftly casts another spell and the blue blade starts to emit an electrical force. With effort Clarice holds on tightly to the blade and attempts to swing it at the worm.
Enraged that his first onslaught was unsuccessful Leon lashes out with his demonic claws once again.
“F+~*ing worm!”
"WHY IS IT SO DARK!"
At some point along all of the shouting and cursing at the darkness, Melfoil begins to suspect that the group might need a little more direct support. He sizes up the silhouette of the worm, plants his feet firmly, and shoots a firm jab at its head.
"This is not ideal..."
Confused and feeling overwhelmed by the madness (and the lack of weapon), the worm decides to flee to re-arm and perhaps alert other guards.
Perhaps the universe has taken pity upon the group, or perhaps it is simply attempting to quash this anomaly of failure, for as the worm twists away and begins to scramble, its shield gets caught on Leon's claws and rips off its arm, sending it sprawling. Maldrek takes the opportunity to jam his "weapon" into the creature's brain... which just happens to be located in the middle of its stomach. The beast gives one final warbling cry, then lies still.
Once the darkness dissipates, the party are returned to the peaceful gloom and silence that they had once come to detest.
With the creature dead at your feet, each of you is suddenly stricken by a strange, unnatural urge. At first, looking at the ripe, pink worm flesh, one might confuse this new feeling with that of cannibalism.
Eat. Consume. Feast.
But the longer you think of it, the stronger the feeling gets, and the more you realize it isn't simply the desire to consume flesh. It is something... more. You must feast, you must consume the essence of the slain. The compulsion quickly becomes overwhelming, this is good for you, this is the right thing, the question is... do you give in to your desires, or do you flee?
As the darkness fades and vision returns to the wrathful Leon the first thing he sees is his compatriots, their gaze turned to the slain worm. A hunger roils within him but the rage is stronger. Stomping over to his allies and standing between them and the worm the crimson demon towers over them. Leaning down he roars right in front of their face and with the venting of rage Leon’s returns to his human form. “That was f#!%ing horrible. Whoever shat out that darkness how about you give us some warning next time. Gods I’m hungry!”
Turning to the worm Leon crouches down, scowls and grabs for the severed arm pulling it towards him. Having the meat so close it’s nearly irresistible but a niggling thought fights its way to the front. This isn’t me. This place is doing this to me. The thought reignites the rage in the tainted warrior but he tempers it using it to fuel him. “I’m not doing this.” He stands and looks back to the others. “We are not doing this.” Walking away from the meat, Leon kicks the worm’s shield into his hands and waits.
Melfoil joins the group, who are now standing by the dead worm.
"What a fantastic display of prowess by us all! Victory never smelled so sweet...and succulent."
Melfoil was never known for his strength of will and was soon caught in the group's shared desire to gorge. After an uneasy silence, he feels compelled to speak, lest he give into impulse.
"You know, some ancient civilisations believed that eating the bodies of the slain conferred a certain physiological amelioration, a remarkable increase in
strength and power. There, uh, exist detailed descriptions of how the flesh feels on the lips and tongue," Melfoil swallows slowly " how the blood-slick chunks slide pleasantly down the throat and grow into a spreading, satisfying warmth in the stomach. The taste is rich, like a wine..."
Melfoil pauses. The smell of the monster's flesh is all he can concentrate on.
"...But Leon's right. It's probably not something we would want to do, right?"
Leon's commanding presence is halting Melfoil, for now. But he watches the others carefully for any hint of movement towards the corpse, himself on the precipice of giving in to gluttony.
"Why don't we all just walk away together?"
"Clarice" watched as the worm was sliced in pieces, time appeared to slow down as blood splattered across her face. She breathed in as the... aroma ... overpowered her. Her stomach growled, her mouth watered at the sight of flesh just at her reach.
This feeling... This... craving ... It was not unfamiliar to her... But she doesn't know why. Rather... She can't recall why. And at that moment the words of her companions were but muffled noises as she continued to look at it, marvelling at the delicacy in front of her.
"Clarice" clutched her new blade, knelt down, and made her move to carve it.
Seeing Clarice approach his meal, Melfoil forgets all human decorum and launches himself, face first, at the worm. He holds Clarice at arms length while her spindly goblin arms thrash around impotently. Melfoil opens his mouth wide...
"Clarice" growled at Melfoil, guttural noises coming from her mouth. She looked at him, her eyes wild with rage "GRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHKKKK
"HAAR ALKHUUL DHUUL GHEC HHAACH, DHEL'DEC OCH. A DECH MECH O" She hissed.
This was clearly not the Clarice everyone knows. She bore her teeth towards Melfoil, her breathing heavy. Her hand slowly charges up with fire, ready to attack Melfoil... Until finally, Clarice snaps out of it.
Her face turned into an expression of horror. She quickly rescinded any magic she attempted to summon, and looked up at her party. "I-I dont know what got into me... I... I'm sorry that you had to see me like that. I-- thats never happened before... Forgive me, Melfoil." She turned around walked away, behind the party with a noticeable distance. "If you all would excuse me, I shall stay away from everyone for now. Once you're done with that thing we can continue on... I'll follow from a safe distance"
Spitting in the face of racial equality, Melfoil uses his long arms to keep Clarice from what she had deemed rightfully hers.
Once the first taste of flesh passes his lips, Melfoil realizes it is too late to turn back. As he eats, the elf's pallid complexion slowly becomes... somewhat less pallid. At first the influx of energy seems to be purely physical, like the results of a week-long detox and daily exercise with none of the effort. But it swiftly becomes something more, something spiritual, like a nourishment of the soul. Keep this up, you think, and you can take on the world.
Melfoil doesn't get the chance to eat the whole thing, however, for as he feasts the corpse rapidly deteriorates. From flesh to rot, rot to bone, and bone to ash, all over the span of twenty seconds. In the end, it is as if it were never there to begin with.
"Clarice": 0
Melfoil: 1
Leon Gadran: 0
Maldrek Dellisar III: 0
***
With all that horrific business behind you, the group sets off once more to the Contraband Cellar. In an effort to keep somewhat alone (and to avoid a repeat of their previous stealth attempt), Clarice offers to scout ahead.
Following the goblin's lead, the group enter into a low hallway, darkened by an odd lack of torches, that curves away to cut off any view of the following room. The hallway is especially humid and wet, with the group's boots often sinking into the flesh with a squelch, and drips from the ceiling resulting in many disgusted scowls and the wiping of hands on pant-legs.
Clarice suddenly stops, and an inattentive Maldrek almost bumps into her despite her upheld hands. The group looks up to where she's looking to find a wormbeast, much like the one they had just encountered. It is hanging half-way out of its specially-carved space in the ceiling, dripping with goo. The creature squirms a touch, but eventually returns to stillness.
Looking around, the group realizes they've walked right into a death trap; hundreds, if not thousands of wormbeasts surround them, all dripping, some squirming, embedded into the walls and ceiling. Though the majority appear completely identical, there are some with strange growths, or more accurately, incomplete body parts, as though they are in the early stages of metamorphoses. One such incomplete worm, its guts hanging wrong from head to stomach, explains the phenomenon; a malformed face, mouth open in agony, protrudes from its flesh. The worms, thus, are not a species in themselves, but instead some horrific alchemical or magical transformation inflicted upon former prisoners. Here a grasping hand, there a pair of elf ears, over there a bulging set of eyeballs.
Edging around the dangling-yet-asleep wormbeast, the party picks up pace as you all race to be free of this nightmare, trying not to think of just what, in fact, you were stepping on. Unfortunately, as you round the final corner with the next room in sight, something stops the group cold.
"pl...eas...e..." A man, his upper torso, head, and right arm protruding from the wall, calls out in a rasping, injured voice.
"k...ill... m...e..." His plea is utterly sincere and utterly pitiful. He seems completely incapable of moving his arm, or closing his non-existing eyelids, and as so it is not difficult to assume the intense power-of-will being employed to simply have his voice heard. He stares hard at the group, begging for the sweet mercy of death that only the living can give. Death, however, is not always so... quiet.
Nodding to Maldrek in solidarity, Leon’s attention then snaps to Melfoil and Clarice as they fight for the flesh of the slain beast. Seeing his compatriots nearly come to blows while trying to consume this ‘thing’, Leon feels compelled to leap into the fray and knock some sense into them. Taking his first step stops that idea dead. The toll the transformation took on his body has left him exhausted so he must leave the pair to make their decisions. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel compelled yet disgusted to watch in awe as the scrawny Elf devours the unfortunate creature. “O gods, that should not be put in your mouth knife-ears.” The hardened fighter says, though muffled by the hand he holds over his mouth to keep himself from gagging.
When the big man sees little Clarice flip from sophisticated to animalistic he can’t help but flinch in shock. The uncontrolled savageness is all too familiar to Leon and he can’t help but feel… sympathetic? He makes a note to himself to keep an eye on the Lady Clarice.
***
Leon adopted the usual brooding demeanour he often used when squelching through the halls of Purgatory. He thought on how he came to be here; what was to come next; what is he to do about the gluttonous Elf and self-hating Goblin, luckily the Tiefling though didn’t concern him as much. The sight of the wormbeasts almost ruined the mood but then he just saw it as more fodder for his brooding though he did decide to do it a bit more quietly.
Finding the pleading half-man finally pulled Leon out from the depths of his mind. The sadness he felt laying eyes on this poor soul gave way to anger as it usually did for Leon. The anger and contempt for this place and the way it twisted its victims into becoming part of its sick game drove Leon past the group, shooting them a glare with the clear intent of Don’t move. Focusing his rage he stepped cautiously towards the man. Putting a finger to his lips, Leon looked right into the man’s eyes and a part of him broke. I didn’t think that could happen anymore. Damn.
Cracking open the balled up fists his hands had become, Leon splays his fingers. Knowing that the man could not help but cry out, like all scared creatures do seeing death come for them, his hands fly to the man’s throat and mouth with terrifying speed. A broad and calloused palm is clamped down over the man’s mouth and nose denying any chance of oxygen to selfishly keep him alive. The other hand gripped the man’s throat crushing it with all the strength his murderer could muster. Leon never drops eye contact with his nameless victim, trying to convey some silent apology, that what he’s doing is for the best. Sadly, all the man sees is the cold emotionless gaze of an experienced killer.