A stone bench lines the southern wall of this chamber. At the far side of the room, a basin of water sits atop a stone pedestal. Despite the dust and cobwebs in the room, the water in the pedestal looks clear as crystal.
Cassander peers into the next room. Broken stone benches line this narrow room. The air is cold and stale, and thick layers of dust cover the floor, benches and a large alter at the far end of the room. A short form appears to be sitting on a bench facing the altar, but it, like everything else, is choked by dust and cobwebs.
Anevia looks into the anteroom and limps over to the bench in the room. Her expression appears drawn. She sits down. "My leg...it's hurting a bit more. I'll just sit here and rest it while you're looking around." She drops to the stone bench and hunches over, staring down at the stone floor.
Horgus sidles over toward Trezsia. "Maybe this would be a safe place to let those that...er...hold us back...stay?" he suggests.
"WHAT?!" Anevia shouts, surging off the bench and nearly toppling over. "You want to abandon us?!? I shouldn't be surprised that a man who won't even publicly acknowledge his own god wouldn't have enough of a soul to be saddened by the abandonment of another god's shrine!"
Horgus stares at her wide-eyed for a moment, then recovers enough to snort derisively. "Hmph! Well! I was just saying what I'm sure everyone was thinking! I shouldn't be surprised that someone who consorts with thieves and thugs would use these heroes' strength to save their own skin!"
The Penitent follows the angel man and the wounded woman into the room.
He tilts his head curiously as the woman speaks, a motion curiously reminiscent of a dog hearing the voice of its master.
His ever-present smile slips for a moment. He begins to approach the woman tentatively but pauses at the words from the man near Trézsia.
He listens to the exchange between the man and wounded woman and after a moment his eyes fixate on the man. The Penitent's smile returns but the humor inherent in the expression does not reach his eyes.
"When you turn from them, when you forsake them, you always feel their gaze upon you," he murmurs, dropping into a low crouch, "you will wither under their judgment for all your years and you will plead for forgiveness that you will never find..."
He looks up, his smile a pulled rictus of bared teeth, his eyes fever-bright.
"...while nothing you do from then on will ever end the shame and regret."
He looks around the room, warmth returning to his smile.
But that is no matter for those of good hearts, yes? I am in the company of-
He pauses, looking around the room.
"I forgot what I was going to say...but I will keep watch for these thieves and thugs, instead."
The larger room is undisturbed. This is especially obvious because of the disturbance the group has made to the dust in the anteroom. In the light from Cassander's holy symbol, the Penitent can see the still form hunched over on a bench before the altar. It is humanoid in shape, but so completely covered over with dust and cobwebs it is difficult to determine much from twenty feet away. The figure seems short for a human, and somewhat wider in girth than the Penitent himself. The amount of undisturbed filth on the form indicates it has been there for more than a few years, completely unmoving.
The altar's form is visible, but the details are likewise hidden by years of neglected maintenance. The stone benches throughout the chamber make it look like nothing so much as an abandoned place of worship.
Cassander listens quietly to the Penitent's sermonizing. While a servant of the divine himself, he always found deeds more powerful than chastisements which only tend to make their subjects dig in their heels further. Better to show the way than to preach it, he thinks to himself.
He moves toward the basin and regards it with some wonder. "Some magic must keep the algae at bay," he muses aloud, hoping to change the subject. "This water should be foul from years of neglect and stagnation." He casts detect magic upon the basin and its contents.
As a cleric, you do happen to know that this could be holy water. You're just not quite sure, in this case, that that's what this is.
Trézsia glares at Horgus and nods at the words of the Penitent. "Take credit for your own thoughts, not for others. Leaving anyone down here was never in my plan, nor that of most of our comrades, methinks." She sets a gentle hand on Anevia's shoulder as she passes into the larger inner room. "None shall be left."
The angelic man's actions draw another nod, though she remarks, "Not all magic is wholesome. When you are finished, let me check for the influences of things demonic."
"This could be holy water, but I cannot discern it clearly. It radiates magic nonetheless."
Cassander moves into the larger room to examine the still figure.
The Penitent moves toward the basin, seemingly ready to enthusiastically plunge his hands into the water. He pauses, however, at the words from the angel.
He frowns for a moment, still eyeing the basin. After a brief moment, he shrugs and slips through the doorway in the wake of the angel, seemingly intent as well on examining the hunched figure on the bench.
Aravashnial looks angry as he hears Horgus' words, but he closes his open mouth before any sound escapes, looking suddenly uncertain as he leans against the outside wall of the shrine.
At Horgus' sally, Anevia's face turns bright red. Muscles along her jaw twitch and her hands open and close from angry fists for a moment before she swallows and her face turns pale. She sinks back to the narrow bench, hunching into the smallest ball she can manage as she stares at the floor.
Horgus looks momentarily frightened, then slightly ashamed as he looks away.
Cassander moves into the room to examine the figure as Trezsia and the Penitent follow closely. Trezsia's words of solace as she passes Anevia's withdrawn form elicit a faint nod, but little else, from the bowyer. Cassander thinks the figure on the bench before the dust choked altar might be the remains of a dwarf, which makes sense if this is a shrine to Torag.
Trezsia pauses for a moment at the doorway as Cassander and the Penitent move into the room.
Trézsia cries sharply, "Stop! Friends, stop where you are. There is evil in this place. Give me but a moment to discern, but approach nothing and touch nothing!"
Cassander stops short at Trezsia's warning. He draws his sword and regards his surroundings carefully.
The Penitent freezes in place a few steps behind the angel. His smile widens, though his visage appears more reminiscent of a dog baring its teeth, rather than an expression of joy.
"Demons," he whispers, his tone carrying an undercurrent of excitement.
His gnarled and scarred hands curl into fists, wiry muscles cording beneath tattooed skin.
"That thing."
Trézsia's off-hand flies to point at the figure seated before the altar as her other cluches the haft of her weapon.
"Evil."
"Is it alive?" Cassander wonders aloud. "Or perhaps one of the undead? Or was some ancient and foul magic worked here?"
The figure remains still as a statue.
"Steer clear of it if you must explore," Trézsia says, stepping into the room with the great two-handed axe held ready.
Xion's scowl for Horgus is open and unconcealed, but she doesn't add further commentary after Treszia reprimands the old man. Instead, she weaves her way through the crowd and moves up alongside Cassander and the paladin. "Perhaps I can tell more, let me have a look." She, likewise, casts her sight to her third eye and studies the pool and the statue both, not getting close enough to activate any trap the statue might be connected to, but no closer than anyone else has already been.
She frowns and shakes her head. "Whatever it is, I can't get a steady look at it. I think whatever that statue is, it's causing some kind of interruption." It's just a theory, but it sounds as plausible as anything else at this point.
"A relic to a foul god or demon, perhaps," Cassander muses. He approaches the crouched figure for a closer look.
"Are you quite certain it's a statue? Evil wears many disguises, does it not?" Trézsia looks to the Penitent for confirmation.
"If it's alive, then smashing it might be in our best interest, given the circumstances."
The Penitent cocks his head to the side at the words from the scarred warrior. He watches the hunched figure on the bench intently, padding slowly closer to take up a wary position adjacent to the angel.
"Evil wears many disguises," he parrots softly, watching.
The dust covered mound suddenly raises a barely discernible head in a shower of debris and raises a hand to strike at the priest of Iomedae. It's mouth is distended in what looks to be a scream, but only a dry, dust cloaked croak emerges.
The creature is short and stout, skeletal, and has the remains of what once might have been a full beard.
Cassander lets out a groan as the dead man's blow catches him by surprise.
The skeletal creature's bony claws catch Cassander's arm, and its attention seems centered on his holy symbol. Its other claw reaches toward a dust and cobweb covered rope or necklace hanging on its chest.
The Penitent howls in jubilation from near the doorway, "DEMON! Unhand the angel, you now face redemption!"
He springs forward into the fray like a hound loosed upon the hunt.
The skeletal creature looses another dust choked croak and step forward, its empty sockets seem focused on the priest and paladin's holy symbols as it attacks each of them with a filthy claw.
The creature, despite his loud and joyous outburst, acts as if the Penitent is not even there, his focus is so narrow.
Cassander grimaces and swings his sword at the creature.
He steps back from the skeletal creature.
Trézsia steps into the place vacated by the injured angel and holds her axe ready to strike when the Penitent does, hoping the man's apparent shortage of sanity does not preclude sound battle tactics. Not really believing it, but hoping.
Howling in exaltation, his eyes are fever-bright as the Penitent lunges for the creature. His momentum carries him into the room as he grasps at the demon, wiry muscles bunching.
"Your touch is filth, demon!" the Penitent cries out, "I will find your corruption and pull it from you!"
Cassander swings but misses as he takes a step back from the skeletal creature. The Penitent moves in and sweeps the dust choked thing into a crushing embrace. The move is so sudden that Trezsia's swing is a little wild, and her axe fails to connect with the monster.
Tasnim (NPC): Tasnim moves up behind Anevia, her longsword at the ready.
Xion (NPC): Xion steps carefully through the doorway and swipes at the creature, opening an avenue for retreat into the narthex.
Xion's halberd manages to land a blow on the creature, but it's ire still is focused on the grip that is preventing it from pursuing Trezsia an Cassander. Xion looks concerned. "I didn't land the strongest blow, but I've barely scratched the creature!" The creature writhes in the Penitent's grasp.
The creature's rancid claws now hold the Penitent fast.
Cassander raises the symbol of Iomedae reverentially. "Get thee back to the grave!" he calls out.
Trézsia carefully aims her axe at the horror hugging the Penitent.
The Penitent's eyes widen as the demon clutches at him, wiry muscles cording in exertion.
Howling, the Penitent takes hold of the demon's arms, lithe muscles bunching beneath his inked and scarred skin. With a massive effort, he pulls from the demon's grasp, reversing its grip on him and wrestling it into his own control once more. Savagely pulling at the creature, he tries to position it for his comrades to strike a blow that will finish the demon.
"Strike now," he yells through gritted teeth, "show this...demon...Truth!"
The creature, hampered by his grip on the Penitent, is unable to completely dodge Trezsia's blow, though he appears to take no actual damage from the hit, and seems to have shrugged off much of Cassander's Channel.
"I fear to strike the bringer of Truth as well as the one who needs redemption," Trézsia murmurs, preparing for another blow, "Methinks that would be a grievous mistake."
The skeletal creature didn't seem harmed by the blade of her halberd, so perhaps a more blunt assault is needed. Xion tosses her weapon to the ground and lashes at the undead with her claws, beating at its bones as best she can.