Copping a heavy blow to the head, the swordsman blinks as blood trickles down over his eyes before slowly collapsing to the ground.
Dieuwer falls to the ground, and the elemental pauses, waiting for commands. Arctus the tonsured magician holds up a hand. "Archer, knock and hold an arrow against that fallen elf! Elemental, ready a finishing blow!" He turns his gaze towards Hames and Simeon. "I propose truce, brigands; we all take our wounded or dead and take our separate ways. Or... I add another dead to your number." His eyes flash with self-satisfied triumph.
Simeon lowers his spear and leans against it, staring Arctus right in the eyes. "A truce? Don't make us laugh. Our cleric over there can raise Dieuwer from the dead if we have to. The mighty Ambrus is down. Your swordsman is down. You don't stand a chance against the three of us. Tell you what. All we want is the halflings. Surrender, and we'll leave you tied up and alive. We'll go our way, and you'll see another dawn."
His eyes grow hard and his voice becomes laden with menace. "Or resist us. Kill Dieuwer and really piss us off. I'll end you slow. I've got all night to spend with you. Piece by piece I'll make you eat your own flesh till either your belly bursts or you die of blood loss."
His smile is wicked. "So. Ready to surrender?"
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Gabriela spins into a low crouch. Picking up on Simeon's cue, a lazy smile plays at her lips as she positions herself for an obvious charge at the bowman.
"Of course, killing you all is a bit much work." Although her attention never leaves the archer, it's clear Gabriela is speaking just as much to Arctus. She idly flicks a bit of dust from her mithral chain shirt. "Since you're apparently in a talking mood now that you think you've won some small victory, I'd take the big guy's offer of surrender and stop considering ways to make us want to kill you more."
Arctus hesitates, then hesitates some more; the earth elemental quivers with readiness, an immense earthy forearm poised to crush Dieuwer's head. Then, with a mighty cuss, it explodes into smoke and disappears as the summoner collapses to sit upon the ground. He mutters a harsh order to the archer, causing him to relax his arrow and drop his bow and similarly fall to the ground.
A few halflings applaud, a few others hush them and inch towards dropped weapons.
"Smart man," says Simeon, and marches over to where Arctus sits. Within a moment the blade of his longspear is but inches from the mage's neck. Looking over to Hames and Gabriela, he nods to the halflings. "Maybe free some of them so we can use their shackles on these two?"
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Gabriela ends her deadly dance with a flourish as she sheaths her scimitar. "More common sense than decency, I see, but at least you've got that."
She calls on her magic to heal Dieuwer, patting him on the back as she does. "Had me worried for a moment there, but you pulled off both distractions as beautifully as we could hope." She winks at the Half-Elf and helps him to his feet, nodding toward the tense but peaceful situation.
"We need to free the little folk, restrain these bastards, and break down their camp. Simeon suggested we throw the shackles on 'em, which sounds about right to me."
Gabriela picks up the archer's bow and tosses the unconscious guard's sword towards the shackled Halflings before healing the swordsman, while keeping a knee on his chest.
"You're welcome. You should also thank your bald friend there for changing his mind, and - most importantly - give thanks to Sarenrae for this blessed chance to change your slave-trafficking ways."
With that she moves to a nearby rock and watches the reversal of the captors' role, idly twirling an arrow through her fingers. She hums a quick tune and looks for signs of any powerful items among the Chelaxians.
Hames takes a quick breather, sitting on the green grass. "Ai, ai... That was stressful" He feels like he lost a year or two of life after that encounter. It was hard to believe that the battle wasn't necessarily over.
"I will take care of freeing the Halflings," says Hames, "Where's the key for their shackles?" The Cleric directs the question to the other Cleric.
"Sergeant Elric Tanner, Serial Number oh-one-three-nine-dash-seven-three-one" he replies evenly.
Arctus produces an iron key and tosses it to the ground in front of Hames. When profferred, the halflings are necessarily eager and set to undoing their shackles, which are easily placed around the extremities of Elric and Arctus. The careful work required to undo the baby's shackle is difficult, but necessary.
With the soldiers bound, Simeon takes his friends aside and out of their earshot.
"Look." He scratches his neck. "You know we can't leave these two behind as witnesses, right? We signed their death warrant when we decided to attack. Now... I know you might not be comfortable with doing what needs be done, so why do you go ahead and leave me behind? I'll take care of them, make it painless, and then catch up with you shortly."
He looks from one of his companions to the other. He seems, if anything, resigned to this strategic necessity.
Hames will just watch for now, surveying the battlefield, not particularly interested in the 'spoils'.
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As the soldiers are bound, Gabriela moves among the freed Halflings, helping to distribute the Chelaxians' mundane traveling gear (rations, clothing, bedding, etc). She also gives them 10 gold and one of the healing potions from the slavers' loot (about half her own share), and tells the Halflings to continue straight East to the border at the fastest pace they can manage, staying away from the common roads and pathways.
"Three witnesses." Gabriela says when the group reconvenes, nodding toward the swordsman she revived. Her tone and demeanor are stern, her gaze fixed on Simeon. "I understand the need for secrecy," she glances down the road in the direction they're traveling, then back to the helpless prisoners. "But these men surrendered..." She pauses again for a moment, clearly debating the thug's words and the necessity of the situation. "A swift death is certainly a mercy for some, but I doubt it's the kind of mercy these men expected when they laid down their weapons. The Hellknight and his loyal magician might be beyond redemption, but the other two were likely just following orders - their greatest crime is lacking better leaders with good intentions. I'd like to give those men a chance." As she finishes, Gabriela's voice grows softer and more plaintive, breaking once, as she nearly begs for the soldiers' lives.
Unable to reconcile the conflicting motivations for security and justice, Gabriela growls in disgusted frustration and stalks off down the road. She finds a slightly secluded spot just off the path to sharpen her sword and skulk, leaving the decision for the others to handle (as well as any less-than-desirable actions they may decide on).
A good few of them clasp your hands, tearfully nodding their thanks. The young boys among them are eager, some clutching new weapons taken from their captors. An old halfling gives a creaky salute as he struggles to his feet.
The entire group spots Arctus, furious at how his life hangs in the balance, attempting to covertly mutter some ritual. A kick or the like swiftly stops him. The remaining soldier just gulps and tries to look redeemable.
Hames pokes through the tents of the enemy camp, silent and keeping to himself, but otherwise listening to the conversation from afar. When Gabriela goes off on her own, the Cleric comes over to meet their prisoners. He moves slowly, striding smoothly over the grass, stroking his beard. "I think some of us regret what we did the last time we had a prisoner," says Hames, speaking aloud, "Letting him be eaten alive by badgers." As he moves among the prisoners, he points a finger towards the fallen form of the Hellknight, casting Stabilize.
"Even Asmodeus is a child of the Maker of All. And while I do not know whether they're on the side of Chaos; for truly Chaos is the enemy of the Apsu; I would be willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. But only on one condition." Hames now approaches Arctus, looking down on him. "I am wondering, what do you know of The Badger Lord?"
Simeon watches Hames stabilize the Hellknight with some level of amazement, and when he approaches Arctus and asks his question he simply shakes his head and tries to take the cleric aside.
"What are you doing?" He actually looks distressed. "Trying to convert followers of Asmodeus? It'll never happen! Look, if we don't cut their throats the first thing they're going to do is run to the authorities, and then they'll send twelve of those knights after us. We've got to cover our trail. Don't you see?"
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The tonsured man looks at Hames disbelievingly. "I have not the slightest clue of which you speak, madman, rebel, fool. Two more points. His Infernal Majesty is the purest incarnation of Law imaginable. And if I am to have any hope of a glorious afterlife, it will not be served by some last-minute weakness." He spits on Hames' shoes.
"Ah fer feck's sake," growls the thug. Moving with surety, Simeon swings his longspear in a vicious arc about his head as he strides up to Arctus and then swipes it across the man's throat, cutting deep and true.
His throat gutted, Arctus tries to breathe through the blood wetly before falling to the ground, dead.
"Right," says Simeon, nodding to the body as if it had finally completed its part in an inevitable contract. He doesn't even flick the blood off the end of his spear, but jutting out his lower jaw, turns and marches toward the other archer, clearly intent on doing the same.
Hames lets this happen, although having a grander plan for the prisoners and truly believing that the party is worse off by having them dead.
The soldier and the summoner's souls depart from this planes with minimal ceremony.
The slaves are freed, provisioned as best as possible and given directions.
Dieuwer forces himself up from the cold, hard earth. Although he isn't anymore in danger of dying, that doesn't mean that he's not still hurting all over from the battering he got. "This... This'll be the last time I'll altruistically help anyone. Not worth the pain," he says and grabs a wand from his belt, and using its magic on himself a few times.
"Much better. Well, let's keep moving, shall we?
Hames unceremoniously turns in the direction Gabriela has gone and goes that way.
It's a tense week, travelling across country and avoiding main roads to avoid being linked with the deaths of the Chelish soldiers. But eventually you feel safe enough to travel along the main Chelish highways and, eventually, you make your way to Egorian. The city sits on a bend, surrounded by blood-red lillies, its gothic and spiked architecture threatening the sky with its very existence. You are unhassled as you move through the city gates, and eventually find yourself at the sign of the Dancing Devil, depicting an appropriately capering infernal fiend.
"Ask for Mot at the sign of the Dancing Devil," Dieuwer recalls that the message had instructed them to do. It seems to him a rather odd place for a meeting, but there isn't much that he can do about it. Asking random passerby wouldn't likely do much good, so he spends a minute looking around for anyone who looks like they could know something about their contact.
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It's been a long week, with the group's mood having turned to sullen and withdrawn following the altercation with the Hellknight. Still, Simeon seems unfazed by it, and hums and goes about his business breaking and making camp without any overt reflection on what had taken place.
Upon arriving in Egorian he assumes a subtle, most tense posture, becoming more aware of their immediate surroundings and always keeping a weather eye on the local militia and alleyways. It's with some relief that they arrive at the inn, and nodding to the others, he shoves open the front door, intent on making his way to the bar and asking after this Mot.
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Gabriela rationalizes the Asmodeans' deaths with the Halflings' regained freedom, her sullen demeanor gradually giving way to her usually upbeat and talkative nature. By the time they'd come within sight of the city, she seemed unperturbed by the grim fate of their prisoners.
Sauntering into the Dancing Devil after Simeon, she nudges the big man once at the bar before nodding toward the toughest-looking table in the common room. Placing a single gold piece on the bar she orders a light meal with a common drink. "And if you'd be so kind; let Mot know our party's come at his Lord's behest."
The tavern is dingy, but homely; a few well-worn treasures and paintings line the walls, the bartender cleans his glasses with enthusiasm rather than sullen resentment. At your asking, he jerks a head towards the door to the back room.
Entering it, you see a plain sitting room with a large table; at the head of it sits a man with black hair and blue eyes, dressed in merchantman garb of middling wealth. He looks up at you and nods in recognition. "The lord's behest? Right. Let me say from the start, I am not being paid enough to offer pleasantries. Got it? Good."
"My name is Mot Kelthant, I have been employed and charged with briefing you on your mission. I am responsible for delivering the information I have been given, I do not state that I myself believe any of it. So. The 'Badger Lord-'" his words do air-quotes around the phrase even if his finger's don't "-wishes you to assassinate this man, Lord Harlemont Anders." He passes over a crude sketch of a well-dressed man with a grey goatee. "He is a bureaucrat with the Chelish government, and more relevantly is a priest of the 'Badger Lord'; or rather he was. To advance, he is planning to devote himself fully to Cheliax and Asmodeus, revealing hidden tomes of the 'Badger Lord's' knowledge. This cannot be allowed. He is to be killed, if possible in a way that 'exults' the 'Badger Lord'- leaving a large badger symbol, relic, etcetera."
"Aside from a few leads, that about summarizes the information I have been retained to impart to you. Are their any questions? Or does violence require little more than a name?" He turns his nose up a little bit at you.
Hames follows the group and listens, silently perturbed by the Badger Lord's supposedly divine nature.
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Standing, idly twirling a gold piece through the fingers of her right hand, Gabriela looks down at the man as a Hawk might passionately watch a pigeon strut along the ground. "You seem well established here at the Dancing Devil; might we rest few days in Egorian before hunting down these leads?" Her lips shape a faint smile, and her voice is friendly "Have you no more information on this Chelish Lord yourself? Potential whereabouts? Known associates?"
Gabriela takes a saucey step closer to the informant and bends slightly at the waist, leaning a bit closer; her left hand rests easily on the hilt of her scimitar, while her right hand comes away from her side spinning a dagger where the coin was a moment ago. She smiles. "Who are you, Mot Kelthant, to so easily relay this information? You're not afraid of the violence your own name might warrant, according to others?" Despite the thinly veiled threat behind her words, Gabriela's tone is more playfully competitive than promising any truly imminent danger.
She takes a step back and tucks the dagger back into her belt, gaze never leaving the apparent merchant. "Any folks who deal directly with both sides of it'll tell you; there's a time for questions and a time for violence - our first concern is exactly where the one meets the other."
Mot smiles brightly. "Ah! Thank you for reminding me. You have until Sunday to kill him."
"Lord Anders is a patron of the arts, and will be personally sponsoring a production of the Humorous Tale of Lord Zander and the King of Tails, from his private box on Sunday evening. He also possesses a small manor." He proffers some directions. "The Badger Lord also requires this house to be burnt down, if I was insufficiently clear. I can direct you to an oil salesman and a Chelish tomb which supposedly houses fire magic."
The man surveys Gabriela evenly. "I am a middleman, born and raised. Far enough from the edge to secure my safety, close enough to ensure my profit. And that question is your problem, I believe... ma'am."
Simeon stands at the back, broad forearms crossed over his chest, listening and content to let the others do the questioning. He doesn't seem to overwhelmed by the task, and if anything his stomach is rumbling hungrily rather obviously.
Dieuwer frowns. This little adventure was getting more and more complicated, and he doesn't like it. "So apart from having to leave possibly incriminating evidence away, we're also under a strict time limit and have to burn down a dead man's house just to spite him. Wonderful," he says, througly displeased, but resigns to his fate. "So Mot, where does this oil salesman do his buisness? I think I'd rather spend a bit of money than go tomb-robbing based on rumours that may or may not be true."
He offers directions and a name, 'Kelthys'. "They are rumors I have 95% verified. I believe them credible."
Simeon speaks for the first time. "Who gave you these instructions?"
"An intermediary. I do not know from where he received his."
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"Don't be a Dour Dieuwer!" Gabriela says with a smile, clapping the man on the back. "Sure they're some odd details, and more work for us, but leaving a message from the 'Badger Lord' shouldn't be too much trouble, and our man Mot's already pointing us toward the means for the spiteful burning."
She nods to the middleman as he gives his assurance on the leads. "Exploring the tomb would be so much more fun! Besides, interactions with merchants can be traced - our knowledgeable informant here is in it thick enough, but who's to say about this 'Kelthys?' Probably best if we keep anything that could tie us to Anders' death, and the destruction of his manor, between us and dead men only."
The half-elf shrugs. "Well, if Mot has verified that there's magic in the tomb, then we might as well check it out. I'm telling any vengeful ghosts that it was your idea, though."
Hames carefully listens to these things, staying oddly silent ever since the incident with the prisoners. He does, however, add at least one cent of his own, a missive for his comrades.
"Just tell me where you want me.."
Acquiring the Tools of Burning
Searching the Manor
Assassinating the Lord/Crashing the Performance
Once they're away from Mot, Simeon will guide the others to a quiet corner where they can hunker down, drink ale, and eat some hot food. Leaning forward over his flagon, he eyes the others.
"So. What first? Looks like we need the tools to do all this burning first. I'm up for either the tomb or the merchant - it's all the same to me."
The group heads out into the city, following directions until they duck into a blind alley and find a manhole, indistinguishable from any other except for a small symbol of a bearded dragon breathing fire. Pulling it up and heading down leads to a surprisingly dry and pleasant stone chamber with an immense puzzle door to the west taking up most of the wall, with eight engraved carvings and attached to each three buttons with symbols atop then. At the far end stands a button to press once all answers have been entered.
Echoes from the shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought’s strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?
A sleeping man|Flayleaf|A bird
I’d neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?
A map|A cottage|A bloody sword
A poison of the soul, passion’s cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?
A woman staring at a man and a woman|A mother rocking a child|A king on a throne
She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?
A child playing|A red book|A knight helping up a fallen foe
No man has seen it, but all men know it. Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?
A proclamation|A cloud|A man with an empty chest
The bones of the world strength towards the sky’s embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what I do speak?
A mountain|A longbow|A theater
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?
A desk|A noose|A man stabbing another in the back
The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?
A treble-clef|A tree|A dog