He hopes at least a few will come, but his fear is drowning out his brief stretch of reason and he cannon the wait any longer.
He half runs toward the way Tricia exited.
|
Yuri watches as several of the others run headlong into the darkness. His eyes close and open slowly. He looks around and is disappointed that this encounter didn't dissipate into a dream. He remains with his hand on Patrissa shoulder.
"Well, some names. Names are a good start. Mine is Yuri Patcha, patient disciple of Abadar, follower of the...we can go over the rest of my titles later. I'm sure we all have plenty of questions. Cole, do you have any idea what our new friends are running towards?"
Almost overwhelmed by the sudden flurry activity, Tinder's head pops from one new person to another. well this has turned out wonderfully! So many interesting folks! A new place rich with local history! I seem to remember something about some creative and brutal murders here some time ago, that must be what they are speaking about. But how can I watch all that is happening at once? I mustn't let the other two out of my sight!
Tinder jumps to his feet tucking the tar bomb under his arm and hurries to the door way, peeking through while still half watching the grumbling and crying and comforting and posturing group. Taking note of the door frame and the join at the top of the doorframe.
"And madman you spoke of games, let's make the first move."
"I like the cut of your jib. Let's do something. I don't like sitting on wood."
He stands up, putting his cards away and stretching his back.
"Well, some names. Names are a good start."
He follows Mikau, turning over his shoulder to speak to Yuri.
"My first name's Sazerok, and I'm a motherf**ker."
Loudly, so everyone can hear:
"I'm the one who killed all those bandits in the city square last year. I'm f***king amazing. You're gonna like me, cucks."
He takes a piece of paper out of his bag, holds it up high over his head, and casts Spark on it, settling it ablaze. He lets it drop to the floor before proudly pointing at it.
"Look at that s**t. That's some magic s**t. I'm a magic man covered in tattoos—that's a freakin' must-have."
He takes another piece of paper out of his bag and casts Spark again, triumphantly throwing the remains to the ground and stomping them out.
"I can literally just keep doing this forever. I've got magic blood, cucks."
Tinder applaudes enthusiastically from the doorway
Cole, do you have any idea what our new friends are running towards?"
"Well, if I'm remembering correctly, that's the way to the great hall, the main entryway of the building."
"Man of faith, Cole, you don't seem resigned to sit and wait while fate tears you apart."
"Right you are lad, let's go."
Cole follows Tinder and Mikau, and they head through the west doorway.
The hobgoblin speaks up as well.
"I'm coming with you, Cole. You and your goddamn big mouth."
Looking around, the half-orc decides something must be done. He stands up and walks off toward Gerken.
"We might as well do some exploring to figure out what's going on here."
As the others begin to look around the room, you see that eight enormous marble pillars fill this great hall, holding aloft grand balconies. Years of dust cover the floor, and muslin coverings are draped over the railings of baroque staircases curing like lazy serpents up to the raised landings above. A rusted chandelier above sheds the dim light of a few guttering candles. An impressive grandfather clock more than ten feet tall rests against the center of the western wall, its face decorated with guilty souls suffering Asmodeus' torments: evisceration, force-feasting of coals, scalding blades tearing them apart, and other less savory punishments. The clock stands between a set of impressive oak doors and a lone oak door of equitable splendor, identical to the one you just walked through. The largest set of doors is at the south end of this long hall. They are barred against the night.
As soon as you enter, you hear (as if from far off) the sound of a young boy cackling maliciously. All of a sudden, books start flying off the shelves, including one at each of you.
Gerken, you're able to dodge out of the way of the oncoming book. Halgrak wasn't so lucky, and it hit him directly between the eyes. It falls to the floor between you. Other books have fallen across the room, including one which happened to fall open on the desk near the back.
Rows of dusty benches, several askew or knocked over, are lined behind a waist-high partition separating spectators from trials . A dusty wooden jurors' box, rickety from generations of termites and time's cruel fangs, stands against the south wall. A high bench covered in muslin rests agains the east wall. Two thick tables once stood facing the bench, now one has been smashed to kindling. An evidence table rests against the south wall .
The others seem mildly surprised by Sazerok's performance, but not as shocked as they might.
"I'll stay with you . . . you make me feel safe."
She smiles innocently up at Yuri.
"Looks like old Mord has it in for you! Maybe for all of us, that a%!@%!*."
He heads to the west door.
Trico, Sazerok, Tinder, (Cole, Margrim)
Curious, Mikau walks over to touch the invisible wall.
Tinder runs over to the clock and begins to climb the side trying to open the face and get a look inside.
"Marvolous how it still is ticking after all this time! Fascinating, quite fascinating! I wonder if there is some sort of spell to keep this going, and to keep those candles burning up there on the chandelier?"
Calling over his shoulder "So Cole, what happened after the trial, unless humans have changed their decorating preferences since I last studied them, isn't dust something to be avoided? Or is it all the rage nowdays? Do you have kings importing dust? Where is the economic center of the dust trade? Have there been dust wars that I've totally missed? Think of the nicknames people must have now! Dusty, Featherduster, Speck, Mote, Achoo! This is great!"
|
|
Yuri looks towards Patrissa, frozen for a second. He catches himself and turns his attention to everyone who hasn't started moving. He's counting the dwindling group to himself.
"Scripture says those who wait will...get...ate..." Yuri stammers. "Or...uh...Let's move a bit. Our fiery friend seems confident. Yes?"
He stands and starts in Sazerok's direction, carefully noting the other's reactions.
"And for the benefit of those who weren't here, can someone tell us anything about the trial?"
"I'm getting out of here one way or another. Don't need to hear that clock sound again."
Grumbling and ignoring the others who have now joined him in the hall, Trico heads to the set of oak doors adjacent to the large clock. As he approaches Trico takes another emphatic swing with his heavy flail into the center of the clock. Without waiting for anything else he heads through the set of doors.