Recognizing the symbols on the man's clothing, Numair bows and gets on one knee before him. "May Asmodeus be with you, Master Thorn! I am yours and the Dark Prince's humble servant, Numair Alazario. Cardinal, I thank you for your most gracious welcome and hospitality, not to mention safe harbor in a hostile land. How may I repay your overwhelming generosity?"
At Gil's question, Numair doesn't hesitate in responding quickly, "Cardinal Thorn serves glorious Asmodeus, Gil! And he deserves our thanks and respect."
On hearing Numair’s words, Felrin also drops to one knee and bows his head, thinking, At last, someone who can teach me the true path of the Dark Prince!
”I too wish to give my thanks, for our freedom and your protection. I am Felrin Vennax. How may I serve the Lord of Hell?”
"Cease your grovelling, you curs." Izabelle says, disgusted by their sycophantic display. "The man has slaves if he wants his boots licked."
She folds her arms, fixing the cardinal in her gaze. "I doubt you called us here just to have us sing your praises. You have a need of us."
Thorn inclines his head smiling at Numair and Felrin. Indeed gentlemen. I am the last high priest of Asmodeus left on the island of Talingarde. Once the Prince of Nessus was rightly revered alongside the other great powers.... once.
He stands up behind his desk and looks past the group behind them. But now - the king of this wretched island has become a mere puppet to the Mitran fanatics who wish to destroy any religion that does not bow to their insipid sun god. His lips curl up in a mocking sneer as he talks about the Mitrans.
Walking up between Felrin and Numair, he lays a hand on each of their shoulders in turn, his grip gentle but firm Rise Asmodeus' faithful. You will have ample opportunity to serve. Yes, I have knowledge of all of you, your pasts and what landed you in Branderscar. I offer you all a chance to avenge the wrongs done to you.
Leaving Felrin and Numair behind, Thorn's black eyes fixate on Giltharon who finds it quite difficult to look away I understand what you went through... for I have faced it myself. As the Cardinal speaks, he pulls on the sleeve of his robe to reveal his own runic 'F' brand!
They seek to raise their petty God above all others. For their blasphemy, I am going to burn Talingarde to the ground! Thorn's words sound deeper and more menacing as he continues to speak. Gone is the smiling handsome visage, replaced with someone who is obviously filled to the brim with anger and hate. From it's ashes will rise a new nation - one that serves its rightful master... the Lord of Hell!
The room darkens slightly as the sun outside the window disappears behind some clouds. Adrastus stands before the group, his chest slightly heaving as he pauses in his tirade and looks at the six individuals standing before him. A sudden popping sound behind the group startles everyone but looking back, it turns out to be a smiling Tiadora stretching her arms lazily above her head. She grins at the group and offers a rare wink A bit jumpy, are we?
Thorn raises his hand in a 'that'll do' gesture at the grinning woman and lifts his chin at the closed door. Leave us Tiadora. I'm sure our guests can find their own way back. Tiadora offers a small pout and shrugs her shoulders as she sashays out of the office closing the door behind her.
Heading back to his desk, the Cardinal continues in a calmer fashion with his back to the group I seek to build a new nation but you are indeed correct Izabelle - I cannot do this alone. I seek servants worthy of our Infernal Father's majesty. Two of you are already aware of his power. For the rest of you, Thorn turns back around and waves a hand around at the rich decorations around the office. His rewards are many - wealth... fame... power... as he pointedly looks at Twigs, Giltharon and Izabelle each in turn. You can have all this and more. Serve me well and I will raise you up in the eyes of gods and men. Join me and I will make you royalty of the new Talingarde!
Meeting Thorn's gaze as he stares at each of the group in turn is like gazing into a dark abyss - a deep, dark place where one could easily lose their soul for all of eternity. The office, its furnishings... even the rest of the group seem to fade away as darkness threatens to envelop your senses - your only focus on Cardinal Thorn and his voice. Put aside forgiveness so I can give you vengeance. Put aside peace and become my harbingers of war! Today, swear fealty to me and the Dark Prince. What say you, my chosen ones? Will you swear your allegiance or will you burn with the rest of the blind fools?
A rare smile crept onto Gils face as the Cardinal laid out his proposal. He had been without purpose for so long, and now finally here was a chance to better his position, do more than simply get by.
"I was raised to serve. That road didn't end the way I had planned, but it seems there's more than one way to get what I want." He rose from his seat, still smiling, a question on his face even before it was uttered. "What importance does Asmodeus carry in this arrangement? I have never given worship much thought, what with the available options being rather, well, limited. I never much saw eye to eye with Mitra, even before the...unfortunate circumstances that befell me." He crossed his arms, the smile gone. "I may come to worship Asmodeus as you do in time, but right here, right now, were I to swear allegiance to your God it would be a hollow gesture."
"As for you Cardinal, treat me as a Barkan would and you have my allegiance."
Cardinal Thorn grins wolfishly at the mention of hollow gestures. Worship takes many forms young Doran. No one is going to ask you to utter hymns of praise for worship's sakes... no... our Dark Prince asks only for one's obedience in his pursuit of order to complete the tasks at hand. You will be the sword and I shall be the hand that wields it in the name of Asmodeus!
Numair stands, and his glare falls on Isabelle first. For the first time, the constant (if false) friendliness and smile is replaced by a sneer of complete contempt. "Cur? Funny. I'm not the one who smells like a dog."
Turning back to Cardinal Thorn, Numair responds, "You have my allegiance to your cause. And my service to the Lord of Hell is without question."
A fearsome grin slowly spreads across Felrin’s face, his eyes lighting up with a ferocious intensity as he hears of Thorn’s plans, and understands the man’s deep hatred for the very Mitrans who have forced Felrin to spend his life hiding, fleeing, forsaking his family and denying who he is. A new nation? Under the rule of Asmodeus! This is a greater opportunity than I could have dreamed! Oh, how I will make the Mitrans suffer! They will all kneel before him…before they burn.
As Adrastus lifts a strong hand from his shoulder, Felrin rises to his feet and responds, his tone growing more heated with each sentence, ”I swear my loyalty and my life to you and the Dark Prince. I accept your offer of vengeance, and will tear it from the Mitrans with my teeth!
"Royalty or uh... burning. Let me fink about dat, chief." Twigs says, guffawing. "Yew can count me in, too. If it's an oaf yew want it's an oaf yew'll get. I swear on my 'onest soul I do. I fink I'll make a fine prince, I will."
He lopes over to Numair and Giltharon, draping his hands around their shoulders. "Look at us, eh fellers? The new upper-crust!" he says, straightening a cravat that isn't there. "I always thought I was cut out to be a nob."
Malum ponders over the Cardinal's request. Hmm, vengeance would be nice. Perhaps we can eventually shape things around here... having halfling slaves again would be nice, and it seems that he is willing to have slaves in his household. Fealty to this cardinal fellow and Asmodeus is no easy matter. Especially as I serve another... how to proceed. "I can swear fealty to you and your master Asmodeus, but my first allegiance must be to my lord Dispater. In any event I doubt he would have any objections to taking vengeance on the Mitran scum. Is that acceptable?"
As Twigs finishes speaking, he notices a slight smile playing across Thorn's lips ah but even an 'oaf' can have uses Twigs. The others might not see it yet but you just might be the most important cog in this machine by the end of it...
Adrastus Thorn nods as the priest speaks of Dispater. The King of Hell counts Dispater amongst his closest allies. I doubt your Iron Lord would be displeased with you serving Asmodeus in this venture. Their goals often coincide as they work towards the same end result along different paths.
He turns to Izabelle expectantly awaiting her response.
"A master..." The word seems to hang in the air. Izabelle frowns, staring into Thorn's eyes like a dwarf appraising fine gems. "Little do I know about Asmodeus, but of what I do is this: In his world, the strong rule the weak. That is a cause I can support. He is one that I could serve... But you, Cardinal. Do you have strength enough for me to serve?"
Izabelle casts a glance at Tiadora. "She seems to think so. And the look in your eyes tells me it might be true. I guess we will out soon enough."
"But know this - I do not suffer the weak. For as long as you have the strength to command me, I am yours. I care little for politics and religion... But so long as we fight to lift the mighty to their rightful place, then I will gladly carry the banner of Asmodeus. I will cull the meek and tear the weak heart from this nation's bosom and offer it up to the dark god in bloodied fist. I will bring this kingdom to its knees."
She smiles, running her tongue over her teeth as she savours the thought.
Cardinal Thorn grins openly at Izabelle's words A leader needs to be more than just strong, my dear. Strength and fear and can inspire others to follow you begrudgingly but find their weakness and appeal to that and they will be yours forever. It is a lesson you all will learn soon enough... he trails off mysteriously.
He walks back to the desk It seems we're all in agreement then. Let's make it official. Tiadora! The contracts please.
The door to the office opens behind the group as Tiadora steps back in to the room holding a dozen long pieces of something resembling leather from... you're not entirely sure what kind of an animal or perhaps something worse... Two copies are handed to each member of the group by a rather pleased looking Tiadora. Written in dark red ink across the top are the words "The Pact of Thorns" followed by the terms of the contract.
The Pact of Thorns
Behold on this day __________ in the eighth age of this world a perpetual Compact is made between Cardinal Adrastus Thorn (hereafter the Master) and those who would be bound to him as his acolytes (hereafter the Bound). Both the Master and the Bound shall hold fast and true to this Compact through all trial and tribulation. By blood and soul the Bound commit to the Compact and swear that it shall never be undone.
The Bound shall know and understand the Four Loyalties.
The First Loyalty is to mighty Asmodeus, first among the fallen, prince of the nine hells, our father below. They shall do all that can be done to further his glory.
The Second Loyalty is to their master - He who is called the Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, High Priest of Asmodeus in Talingarde. They shall do the Master no harm and obey his every commandment as long as those commandments do not clash with their First Loyalty.
The Third Loyalty is to their companions - the other Bound who serve alongside them. The Bound shall deal with each other fairly and honorably as long as doing so does not clash with their First or Second Loyalties. All treasure, wealth and reward garnered in their exploits will be equally shared with all of the Bound who aided in its acquisition.
The Fourth Loyalty is to themselves - for Asmodeus is the Lord of Ambition and all who serve him should strive to become great and powerful in his service as long as doing so does not clash with their First, Second or Third Loyalties. By their weakness, ye shall know the unworthy.
The Bound swear that they cleave to and uphold the Four Loyalties even in the face of death and damnation.
The Master swears that as long as the Four Loyalties are upheld, he shall reward the Bound as they deserve for their deeds.
Thus it is written and thus it shall be.
We being of sound mind do so swear this of our own free will. Let they who violates this Compact know all the wrath of Hell unending.
Signed,
____________________________
As the group peruses the contract, Thorn steps up to Twigs with a silver platter holding a bowl, a quill and a silver ritual knife. He smiles at the gangly rogue Two copies, one for myself as Asmodeus' representative and the other for you. Signing in blood is traditional... as he holds out the silver knife.
At his turn, Numair peruses the contract. A provision that we do no harm to him, but none stating he will do the same. I would expect nothing less from the High Priest of Asmodeus.
He takes the knife, slashes it across his hand, and dips the quill, signing his copies of the contract. "It is as I would expect the contract to be, Master."
Malum rolls up his sleeve and draws blood from the 'forsaken' scar to sign the contract. "Done, and done!"
Felrin takes the proffered knife and looks at it admiringly, before drawing it swiftly across the back of his forearm. The blade scrapes against the bony ridges that emerge in scattered lines from his skin, but cuts him deeply enough to cause blood to flow down his arm and hand and drip off the tips of his fingers. He lets the blood run into the bowl, takes up the quill and signs both copies of the contract. Inspired by the holy symbol worn by Cardinal Thorn, Felrin adds an inverted star, drawn with five quick, bloody strokes, to each of the contracts.
"I am yours, Master."
Izabelle skims the contract, somewhat ignorant of exactly the power it holds. The words wash over her - she was not used to such things.
Knife in hand, she stares down at the bowl. Words and writing... These things were as good as foreign to her. But blood she knew the power of. Blood was strong. Blood is binding.
A single slash, the blood dribbling down her arm from a clenched fist. She had no signiature in the words of men. In its place she smears a red crescent with the end of her bloodied finger, looping around for a single flick through its center.
"It's done."
"Hmmppffh, cutting oneself to sign a contract, since when did ink stop being good enough?" Gil took the knife, looking at it for a moment, lips curled into a frown. Then he cut himself, a grimace and soft groan accompanying the motion, a thin line of blood flowing from the gash. Realizing it would not be enough, he dug the blade back into the wound, moving it around until finally blow flowed in the correct amount, all the while gasping softly and hissing through clenched teeth.
Placing his signature on both contracts in quick practised flourishes using elven letters, he raised his arm and held his shoulder to staunch the blood flow. "There, another pawn joins the board. I trust there are some bandages available when one demands blood for ink?"
A still smiling Tiadora wordlessly wafts from person to person collecting one copy of the signed contract. She leans in close to Giltharon as she collects his copy and whispers a few unintelligible words softly in his ear.
And so it is done - with the formation of the Nessian Knot! proclaims Cardinal Thorn when Tiadora delivers the signed contracts on his desk. Thorn plucks at the sides of his sleeves and looks over each member of the group. His demeanor comes across as a stern teacher rather a generous host. Your first command - he begins holding up a rather long slender finger - Stay within the manor. You are still being hunted by the Talirean soldiery. Leaving the grounds of my estate would not be... wise.
He walks behind his desk and opens a drawer as he continues speaking. All unlocked doors in the manor are at your disposal. Feel free to make yourselves at home. Rest up and prepare yourselves well. Turning to Tiadora, he adds See to their needs Tiadora.
Tiadora's response is a simple Yes Master with a bowed head.
Adrastus brings out a box from the drawer and walks back to the group holding the box out at no one in particular but very obviously indicating that the box is meant for the group.
Once someone takes the box, he curtly nods Your training will begin in a few days. Dismissed!
Tiadora ushers everyone out of the office and closes the door behind her after respectfully bowing to Cardinal Thorn. Her green eyes twinkle as she turns back to the group. That went very well, I think. He is a powerful man and you lot are lucky to have piqued his interest!
She looks about with a finger on her lip until she spots a man in the usual slave livery and beckons him towards the group with her finger. Our guests will supply you a list of the things they need... bring it to me - looking at the group, she adds a stern - Within reason! I'll see to it that the items you request are delivered to your rooms before your training commences. Was there anything else you needed?
Remembering Tiadoras previous display of an unbelievably keen hearing, Gil muttered under his breath, confident she would hear his reply even at the distance.
He smirked, confident that he would need to do worse to make her disobey her...their master.
Receiving Thorns command, he replied "Yes Master." without the slightest hint of pride or contempt. To his new companions it seemed he took service atleast as serious as the Asmodeus worshippers, not to please a God but to honour tradition embedded in him from the moment he could talk. As contrary to the elfs personality as it seemed, there could be no question about its authenticity.
When the Master offered the box, Gil quickly moved to accept it, equal parts curiosity and desire to serve urging him forward. Clutching it coveteously, he looked it over. "What is it Master? A test?" he turned it in his hands, still finding no seams and becoming certain he already knew what the answer would be.
Once they took their leave and found themselves out in the hallway once more, his usual demeanour returned, his answer to Tiadora delivered in that same old self-important tone. "Luck had nothing to do with it. We earned his attention by the example of our actions. I'm sure even Twigs did something suitably noteworthy. If one were to call it luck, it would merely be the luck that the Master is so perceptive." He produced that same near invisible smirk again. He was enjoying making counter arguments to everything Tiadora said, a subtle taunt which was none the less plain for all to see. When he had still mingled with nobility, it had been his favourite way to degrade the other nobles. Even if noone was in doubt of what was happening, they could never accuse him of being openly disrespectful.
Tiadora had barely issued the order before Gil was at the slaves side, one hand at his own back, the other raised with index finger pointing to the ceiling "Right slave, take this down, and quickly. You don't want to make me repeat myself." Pacing down the hall, he started reciting items to be aquired "The finest Curveblade you can muster, a locksmiths tools, an easily concealed dagger..." Pausing briefly he called back "...Oh yes Tiadora, some ogre sized weaponry and armor would certainly be worth considering...Now, where was I, ah yes..." Continuing down the hall, he started naming items for himself once more.
At Cardinal Thorn's first command, Numair follows Tiadora's lead and bows his head, acknowledging with a simple, "Yes, my Master."
Numair joins with Gil in looking over the box once the audience with Thorn is done. "What do you make of this, Gil? Let's see ..."
knowledge arcana
knowledge planes
knowledge religion
spellcraft
"In blood, yew says?" the rogue says, pale. "Give us a look then, guvnah." Twigs examines the contract for some time, tongue sticking out from between his teeth. The more observant among you will notice his eyes are not moving a he squints at the pages, and you begin to question if he can truly read it or not. Finally, he pricks his finger tip and signs an "X" on the dotted line. "...Blimey, that smarts."
Giltharon turns the metal box around on all its sides examining the different surfaces. It appears to be a rather fancy and expensive paperweight - a cube measuring about 8 inches per side. Something can be felt rattling and moving about inside as the box is shaken.
Five of the six sides appear to be purely decorative and made of a rather dull metal. The sixth side appears fancier than the rest, inlaid with slightly raised intricate golden lines and curves that can be pushed down or moved within grooves.
Numair joins Giltharon in examining the box and as the duo turn it this way and that, one of them inadvertently aligns one of the curves with something else...
There's a loud *KLACK-SPROING* from somewhere inside the box as a panel covering a side adjacent to the fancy side falls off revealing a recessed compartment with a complex setup of tiny gears, cogs and tinier levers that start falling to the floor.
Embossed in the Common tongue within the panel are the words "Pursuing your goal with breathless haste will ensure you rush right past it. Whoever is in a hurry shows that the thing he is about is too big for him. Fix what was broken in time. Keeper of this gift shall reap just rewards."
Felrin returns to the sitting room, to consider the incredible turn in their fortunes, and the powerful hand of Asmodeus reaching out to turn their fates. As he sits, he absent-mindedly fingers one of the odd, bony protrusions that stick out of his skin, this a large-ish one above his left elbow. Struck by inspiration, he moves to the sideboard, where wine, bread and cheese have been laid out for them, and selects a sharp knife from the cheese board. He returns to his seat and, after some careful considering, applies the tip of the knife to the spur of bone, carving a precise, geometrical pattern into it, his eyes aglow as he works.
His decades spent doing the fine work of clock-making serve him well in producing the design that has come to him, and when he is satisfied with his handiwork, he lifts his arm to Numair. "What do you think?", he asks, displaying a five-pointed star carved into the bone, faint lines around it suggesting licks of flame.
"I think you better take care to cover that up in public." Gil said as he entered the room, holding the box and its displaced components. "You were a clockmaker? I think this challenge may be for you then."
Placing the parts on the little table, he went and poured himself some wine, before taking a seat next to the others. "About all this fanciful talk of pooling resources for wands, I am going to have to say no, atleast for my own share." He shifted his weight, leaning into the chair and crossing his legs, resting one hand on the chairs armrest. "Its nothing personal of course, it never is with me..." He looked at Twigs milling about in the hallway "...Well maybe on rare occasions, but not this one. I plan to spend my share being prepared, ready for anything." He leaned forward, pointing at them with the wine glass. "Until I see more to reassure me that this,"team", is going to work out, I'm not spending a single copper on any of you."
Spotting the slave which he had sent off to get measuring tape to take his measurements, he got up. "Its only good business, I'm sure you agree." He said, walking out of the sitting room.
Felrin looks at Gil and says, "I have hidden who I am and what I believe long enough. I will wear this mark proudly, and any who get close enough to question it will wish they hadn't."
As Gil drops the jumble of parts on the table in front him, Fel studies it a moment, then says, "What's this? The master's box, and you've broken it already? Well, it should be a simple enough task to fix it, and...interesting, it looks like this spring energizes this little lever, which when tripped would cause...and when these gears engage they'll move the counterweight on this track...how ingenious, the fixed track keeps the weight from swinging if the box is rotated..."
Felrin's defiant, angry air of moments ago fades as his obvious fascination with the mechanism distracts him, and he pays no attention to Gil's views on the division of loot.
"'ain't that...?" Says a voice over Gil's shoulder as he hands the box to Felrin. The thief polishes a silver goblet, squints at it appraisingly and stuffs it down the front of his trousers. "dats the boss-man's box, dat is. 'e ain't gonna like dat one bit." he says, continuing to lift as much silver as he can carry.
"And how, pray tell, do you suppose he is going to like that then?" Gil asked, pointing at the thiefs freshly polished loot. As he did so, the slaves grip an the measuring tape slipped, the tool falling to the ground. With an annoyed scowl, Gil hit the man in the back, causing him to tumble after the escaped implement. "Watch it slave!"
Felrin returns to the sitting room, to consider the incredible turn in their fortunes, and the powerful hand of Asmodeus reaching out to turn their fates. As he sits, he absent-mindedly fingers one of the odd, bony protrusions that stick out of his skin, this a large-ish one above his left elbow. Struck by inspiration, he moves to the sideboard, where wine, bread and cheese have been laid out for them, and selects a sharp knife from the cheese board. He returns to his seat and, after some careful considering, applies the tip of the knife to the spur of bone, carving a precise, geometrical pattern into it, his eyes aglow as he works.
His decades spent doing the fine work of clock-making serve him well in producing the design that has come to him, and when he is satisfied with his handiwork, he lifts his arm to Numair. "What do you think?", he asks, displaying a five-pointed star carved into the bone, faint lines around it suggesting licks of flame.
"Nice, very nice. Positively fiendish, I would say! You should obtain some red ink, my friend. Lay it in there when the wound is still fresh, and the red scar will be truly set off nicely. I may do the same, in fact. Once I have had time to practice my designs, of course."
At Gil's words, Numair responds, "Of course, Gil. You must invest your hard-won coin as you see fit. You do understand, then, that should we purchase said wand, you would not see the benefits in any way. Even if you lay dying and bleeding. Just business, you know."
He leans forward and smiles wider. "If it were me, I would buy-in when the 'gettin' is cheap'. After all, if this little group fails to work out, you're only out a few dozen gold out of several hundred. Wait until later, and if you choose to 'buy-in', it is entirely possible the price will be higher. But that's just me."
Felrin tinkers with the box putting his skills as a former clock maker to good use. While not a clock, the box's mechanisms seem quite familiar to the tiefling. He loses himself in the maze of turning gears and levers ratcheting in place while the others lose interest in watching him after a few minutes.
After what seems like a few moments, Felrin looks up, a bit surprised to see that a full hour has gone by. The box sits on a table in front of him with the last few cogs in his lap. The final gear is set delicately in place and the mechanism lets out a soft *whirrr* as it disengages the lock on an adjacent side panel that falls off.
The newly revealed side displays a pictogram of what appears to be a man (stick figure), a circle by his feet, what looks like a candlestick and coins in one hand and a weapon in the other. Underneath the pictogram are 5 runes and a button that can be depressed. The runes appear to be movable, each on its own track that enables them to be moved around in any sequence one desires. Each rune likely depicts a letter in some language alien to Felrin.
Malum will peer at the runes to see if they are familiar.
Common, Infernal, Draconic, Aklo, Halfling, Abyssal
"Well said Numair, however even I wouldn't be that harsh, I would expect though that if Gil was bleeding and dying and we used a wand that he didn't want any part of on him to save his life that Gil would owe us, say double the normal value of a charge from the wand? After all he wouldn't be getting the friends and family discount as it were. But maybe Gil just doesn't plan on getting hurt or to the point of death. A wise man might see the value in being prepared for things of misfortune. After all, while the Cardinal might view us as useful pawns, I strongly suspect we are not going to be doing things that are safe and secure."
Malum contemplates the slave's behavior at Gil's outburst. The slave seems quite subdued.
Malum will attempt to ascertain why the slave seems so docile.
Hmm, that is somewhat disconcerting. Apparently these are specially trained Asmodean Slaves. Hatched from special devil eggs and raised to be servants.
Izabelle bunches the furs of her new mink coat, having returned from the gardens. She's cleaned up quite well thanks to the ministrations of the house slaves, almost able to pass for 'civilised' would it not be for her refusal to wear shoes.
"Have you figured out that thing yet?" she asks, stretching her arms forward as she stifles a yawn. She didn't like being cooped up, but there was plenty to do and lots to eat, so she was happy enough for now.
Felrin looks up at the sound of Izabelle's voice, then looks around the room, as if surprised to discover there are others sharing the space with him. Looking more closely at Izabelle, he pauses for a long moment, as if he doesn't know her without her dark hair in tangled knots and her body covered in the half-cured hides of her prey. Soon, however, recognition dawns in his eyes, and he responds, "What? Oh, yes. This. Hmm. Well, I've put it back together, and I think it did what it's supposed to do, but I'm not sure what we're supposed to do with it. There's this drawing of a man, holding some things, and then some sort of puzzle below him. I'd guess that we're meant to arrange these runes in a particular order and push the button, though I'm not at all sure what's supposed to happen after that. Or what order the runes are supposed to be in."
Turning the box so the others can see the stick figure and the runes, he asks, "Can any of you read these symbols? I'm not eager to just push the button and see what happens."
Gil shrugged, the now more wary slave managing to keep hold of his measuring tool. "I can take care of myself, and would rather pay a tax on the off chance I need it."
As the conversation fell upon the box and its cryptic markings, he shrugged once more "I speak Elven, and Common because going without it isn't practical, but beyond that I've no desire to learn more." He lowered his arm, raising the other to be measured. "I'm no theologian, but isn't Asmodeus associated with Infernal? Or is it Abyssal? Either way, I would think it likely to be one of those."
Giltharon's indifference to the runes changes as he catches a glimpse of one of the letters. It's a familiar elven script although it looks quite archaic and no longer in modern use. The runes initially spell out the letters P-L-A-C-E-T... which soon changes as Felrin and Malum idly twirl the runes about interchanging their positions.
"Hold on..." Gil suddenly blurted out, fending off the slave and quickly moving to the table. "Yes, I thought it looked familiar after all." It would seem there was something which could elicit an actual reaction bordering on excitement from Gil. "P, L, A, C, E, T...well thats less than helpful, I cant think of any words spelled with those letters. Atleast not all of them. Pact?"
Felrin turns the box back around and studies it a bit. The words mean nothing to him, but the picture now suggests something. ”Hmm, this looks a little like a guy stealing stuff. He’s got a candlestick and coins in one hand, and a weapon in the other. I’m not sure what the circle means, but I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be a robber or thief.”
Rotating the box once again so if faces Gil, he says, ”Since you can read this, can you come up with a way to make the runes spell a word that means thief?”
Numair approaches, a little intrigued by the box. "Elven? An odd language for an infernal puzzle, isn't it? Yes, he does look a bit like a thief, doesn't he?"
"I pointed out what each symbol meant." Gil scoffed, snatching the box and arranging the letters to spell thief "There, done. I suppose now we press the button." He said, his tone more suggesting fact than a question.
The hours pass by as the group tinkers with the box in the sitting room. A servant politely clears his throat and announces that dinner would be served shortly in the dining room.
The formal dining room is just off the sitting room and also has an entrance from the main hallway near the stairs. At least twenty chairs surround a long table which has been prepared for the evening's repast. Dinner tonight consists of roasted fowl garnished with some unknown and slightly pungent herbs. The wine flows freely should anyone choose to imbibe.
Tiadora and 'the Master' are nowhere to be seen as the group seats themselves but there are plenty of slaves to cater to all needs. As the food is brought out, Malum spots two other people, a man and a woman, enter the dining room - ones he hasn't seen before.
The woman rivals Tiadora in beauty, her fine hair a shining platinum to the point it almost appears white. Her piercing blue eyes take in the group as she glides to an empty chair. She nods wordlessly at anyone meeting her gaze as she sits and snaps her fingers at a nearby servant and points to her wine goblet.
The giant of a man pulls out the chair for the woman as she sits before seating himself beside her. Dressed in furs, he seems not as comfortable in the current setting as the woman does. Slightly pointed ears betray perhaps a mixed heritage as he openly stares at the group, his mannerisms and demeanor an open challenge to the newcomers. He utters a non-committal grunt as a servant fills up his glass and reaches across to the center of the table to grab a platter of meat and pass it to the woman, before taking the largest remaining piece for himself.
Malum takes the 11th chair and starts eating the food and drinking the wine.
When he spots the two newcomers he rises and does a short bow.
"Greetings fair one, I am called Malum. I don't believe we have been introduced before as I'm sure I would remember one as breath taking such as yourself."
Gil snatches the box from Felrin’s bony hands and arranges the letter in what they believe to be the correct order. When Gil says, “we press the button,” Fel waits a moment. He raises an eyebrow. He utters a quiet, ”Well…?” then reaches and takes the box from Gil.
Setting it down carefully on the table, he looks around at his companions once, and mutters something scarcely audible, though the words ”Dark Prince” can be made out. He then takes a breath and pushes the button.
Felrin approaches a seat at the table opposite Malum, and can’t help but notice the cold shoulder they’re all getting from the two strangers in the room. Curious who they are, and interested in drawing a reaction from them, he pulls two chairs back from the table.
As he goes to sit in one of them, he blinks his eyes once, quickly, and an exact duplicate of Felrin appears by his side. They sit in the chairs as perfect mirror images, and both turn their heads to look at the newcomers’ end of the table. After ten seconds or so, one of the Felrins vanishes, leaving the original staring impassively at the platinum-haired woman and her giant companion.