The deputies are afraid and confused as they don't know what is meant.
"Bony, would you show them?" Moira asks.
Karthus puts the cap of his cloak back and laughs.
"Means no matter what you do, you serve." Karthus tells and puts his cap on again.
The deputies are scared to death. "I choose life. I'll be a loyal servant." the first one hastily tells. The others join in to agree, though it is possibly no real loyalty.
Moira throws the keys into the cell. "Stay out of my business. When you see me in town you choose another road. When someone complains about us, you ignore them. Have fun with your miserable life. she orders.
"Let's go, I think we're done here." she tells her companions and leads outside.
"I think, I had enough fun for today. I'm going back to the Ash house. Maybe take a drink before. Is there a tavern left where we haven't pissed off the owner?" Willow asks.
"The new decrees affect all taverns. But the Arch and Lark has almost no customers. They might still have us. And if not, we'll have a word with Fordaneil." Moira suggests and leads the way to her least despised tavern.
Fordaneil Cembers is indeed not happy about the new decrees, but as she doesn't like most of the locals, she is excluded from the towns gossip and hasn't made the connection between the new rules and her current guests.
She serves some wine and hors d'oeuvre.
Moira enjoys the time at the Arch and Lark, where she has the full attention of Fordaneil, who is such a suck-up when she sees golden coins. Fun times together with Willow and Bony, but Bony as always doesn't get to enjoy anything as he lacks the physiognomie to do so.
"To Arch...ibald the great!" she toasts, remembering just in time that mentioning the Archbaron might ruin the fun here. She doesn't really know the Archbaron, but she likes what she has seen of him so far: the coins.
After a long and pleasant time, she moes back to the not very comfortable Ash House. But as long as she has no offical function in town she likes bein gout of the way of potential mobs.
It is an uncomfortable and stormy night at the ash house. It rains and the chill air blows even into the last corner. After a few hours it even starts dripping through the ceiling.
As the new day dawns, the wind dies down and the rain goes back to a drizzle. Fog banks lie over the fields here and there.
Cimri calls all together, to go for a visit to the Archbaron's home. Sharp gables and tall, narrow windows lend the archbaron’s manor an abbeylike quality, as though this were more a place for study and solemnity than leisure and laughter. A motif of rampant stags with antlers bloody from battle repeats among iron rooftop finials and on a crest above the stone entrance.
Several guards patrol the grounds and stroll atop the rooftop terrace, crossbows in hand, and halfling slaves scurry about the grounds and within the manor. At the manor’s door, a halfling butler greets the group and escorts them to the archbaron’s office on the second floor.
The archbaron’s office is appointed in midnight ebony and crimson satin. Towering bookshelves, glassy-eyed taxidermic creatures, and curtained alcoves line the walls. At the far end of the room, a large desk and throne-like chair sit beneath a coat of arms displaying battling, bloody-horned stags. Behind the desk, a wide window overlooks the manor grounds.
A spare-looking man with slick salt-and-pepper hair, Darellus
Fex is the Archbaron of Longacre. A relatively minor lord of a comparatively small barony, the archbaron is nevertheless the most powerful person in Longacre and its environs. He represents Queen Abrogail II and the Chelish government at the local level, and his
word carries the force of law.
The archbaron stands up behind the desk as the group enters his office. “So you’re the agents Razelago has recommended? I can’t say you’re what I expected—but that might be a boon in the days to come. I am Darellus Fex, Archbaron of Longacre. Razelago tells me you’re the ones who reported our local priestess’s... lack of patriotism. As such, I thought you might be well suited putting an end to the threats to Longacre and the rule of law—my rule. If you’re amenable, of course.”
"Assuming, that Razelago is paying us from your funds, you laid a solid basis for us working together to achive your ends." Moira replies.
"And our common interest in rooting out those do-gooders, who just want to erect the tyranny of their own beliefs, furthers that."
A knowing smile hushes over the archbaron's face. "I will pay you each 150 gold a week. Plus a bonus now and then, for extraordinary achievements. And of course you can keep what you take from these 'do-gooders' as you call them."
"But there is one thing. Queen Abrogail has decreed that in this time of national crisis, all agents of the crown must reaffirm their loyalty to their lord, House Thrune, and Cheliax by swearing the Hellfire Compact. If you’re to serve in the queen’s name, I must insist."
"What's a hellfire compact? You gotta sell your firstborn to hell?" Moira asks.
"Nothing of that kind. The vow is legally binding, but has no spiritual ramifications — despite the name, no clergy, deity, or devil is involved."
"The vow is little more than a formality, but one that the queen has commanded must be observed. Indeed, I myself have sworn the Hellfire
Compact to reaffirm my own loyalty to House Thrune, Queen Abrogail and the Empire of Cheliax."
"Then let's get over with that formality." Moira replies.
"Then please come with me." Fex tells and leads the way out of his office, down a corridor and into a parlor.
"I got two more aspirants to work in my service that alsowait to swear the Hellfire Compact. Please meet Fauhra Opal and Ilvara Kaelmourn."
Two drow and a skeleton stand in the parlor.
The first of the drow is elderly, but her poise still holds all the elegance and regality you would expect from a female drow. Her blue and black dress is of quality craftsmanship, as is the heavy black cloack around her shoulders, but it is her poise and bearing that commands the most attention.
She greets the Archbaron with a curt nod, seemingly ignoring the rest of the group.
Close behind her stands a skeleton, dressed in full, but rather ancient, drow battlegarb. The metals have dulled and discoloured with age and the metal straps have all but rotted away. You may even spot a bit of rust on the armour here or there.
The skeleton does not seem to register to your entry - or at the very least, does not seem to react to it.
Next to the first pair stands another drow. She is much younger, and her features might even be described as rough - for one of the elven kind. She wears a dress as well, though much more utalitarian in make, which is slitted up to her waist on one side, revealing long boots on long legs. Of note is a cape around her shoulders made out of raven-colored feathers.
Her bearing is also less regal than that of the other drow. She holds herself well, but looks a bit agitated or impatient as she scans the faces and eyes of everyone who enters the parlor.
Purple elves? But if they are not interestied in talking, I don't need to remember their names. Moira thinks on seeing that strange couple. The steleton arouses her interest though. But there are more important things to do so she turns her attention on the archbaron.
The archbaron pulls back the thick curtains of a nearby alcove, revealing a golden stand gripping a chunk of black crystal that smolders like a gigantic, hellish ember, filling the room with a crimson glow the color of blood. Fex explains "The stone is an ember drawn from the forges of Phlegethon — one of the layers of Hell—that burns with hellfire. Each of you — one after another — must touch the crystal while swearing the Hellfire Compact. Yes, there is pain associated with the vow, but it is not lasting."
"Who wants to go first?"
"If you're ready, place your hand on the stone and speak after me: 'I swear my absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax.'" Archbaron Fex instructs.
The regal-looking drow strides forward, not even waiting to see if anyone else is starting to move forward. The skeleton ambles after her. She places her hand on the ember, and without even twitching, intones: "I swear my absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax."
She removes her hand from the stone, which visibly smokes. The woman does not seem to mind, though, and with her chin held high, she moves away again. The skeleton, once again, ambles the same route.
Not to be outdone, Moira steps up next. She puts her hand on the stone and proclaims "I swear my absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax."
Pulling her hand away, she turns to Bony, her face and lips forming 'Owww!' but without voice to not show it to the Archbaron and those dark-elfs. Looking at her hand she notices a scar shaped like the Chelaxian symbol on it.
Speaking a word, Moira calls for magical healing. Which helps with the pain, but also makes the scar disappear. I really hope that doesn't mean I have to do that again.
Willow stands there, looking who is eager to go next, but as the others are stalling she steps up. "I swear my absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax." she says, while touching the hellfire stone.
Feeling the burn and the unholy energy run through her body she forces herself to retract the hand slowly. Looking at her palm she says "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Karthus has no intention to swear allegiance to some Archbaron.
He just waits for everyone to touch the stone and hopes that Moira tells them he's just a stupid skeleton slave of her.
"So why's it necessary to burn our hands on the thing?" Fauhra says in accented common. "Can't we just say the words and sign a contract? What's the... " the drow seems to be looking for a word, for a moment.
"...Significance of the stone?"
Standing to one side, head tilted, watching all of the different people and seemingly listening to something.
A few moments pass before Clarice moves to replace Willow.
She places her hand, and the blade of her scythe onto the stone. More moments pass before she nods, lifts the scythe and then says the words,
"I swear my absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax."
Clarice moves away from the stone, smiling, as she inspects the palm of her hand.
"The closer you are to the infernal power our beloved queen's might is based on, it will hurt you less. But if you're following one of those unspeakable deities, it will hurt you a lot. It's a litmus test for your convictions." Fex explains to Fauhra. "You're afraid of a little pain?"
Afraid of pain?" the drow girl asks, before shaking her head in disbelief. "But, test, I understand." she says, and places her hand on the gem. "I swear my absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax."
Her brow knots as the gem burns into her palm, but the look of pain quickly turns into a genuine wide grin. She turns back to the Archbaron.
"Satisfied?"
"Indeed." Fex replies. "Welcome to my service."
He moves over to the glass cabinet and takes out a bottle of bourbon. "Let us celebrate this occasion." He fills six glasses, puts the bottle away again, and takes one glass. "Help yourself."
Once everyone has a drink he brings out a toast. "To our Queen. May her rule over our wonderful country be long and fruitful."
Fauhra picks up a glass, toasts along with the rest, and downs the glass in one gulp.
As she slams the glass back down on the table, she introduces herself to the rest of the group. "My name is Fauhra Opal." she says.
"Sae'uth ulu thalra dos, F'sarn zhaunus" she adds, in a language both melodious and gutteral all at once.
The elderly drow also walks up, takes a glass, but does not deign to raise her glass to the toast, before taking a slight sip of it.
"To Queen Abrogail Thrune II." Willow toasts.
As Fauhra introduces herself, she asks "I'm Willow Glengoyne. Would you repeat what you just said?" while you could notice in her eyes the working of magic.
Clarice sniffs at the bourbon, takes a tentative sip, and then drinks deeply. She smiles at Fauhra and introduces herself, "I'm Clarice, this is Daddy."
"To the Queen." Moira toasts, watching the elderly dark elf with suspicion.
"Sae'uth ulu thalra dos, F'sarn zhaunus" Fauhra says while staring Willow defiantly in the eyes.
She then turns to Clarice. "That's some interesting biology there, little girl."
"F'sarn nich ensiera ech'sarn droch indrechsa?" Clarice replies smiling, rotating the scythe slowly.
"Pleased to meet you too." Willow answers with a smile.
Fauhra's grin widens.
"F'sarn githinia lu'oh nindel sarol gumash inbal avvus dos" she says to the little girl.
The elderly drow notices Moira's attention, and raises a questioning eyebrow in her direction.
"Prapara nich dechnerea F'char." Clarice replies shrugging her shoulders, still smiling, watching the blade of the scythe.
What's going on in that head? She hasn't said a single word, besides the oath. Moira thinks, but doesn't want to be the first to talk to her.
"Everyone knows, that tieflings are brought by a fiendish stork." Willow throws in.
"Xal dos shlu'ta inbau ukta ulu tesso uns'aa. F'sarn isintolen"
She reaches out and ruffles Clarices hair, and then laughs heartily at Willow's remark. "I wonder what those stork would view like.", she says.
"Is there something on your mind, girl?" Ilvara asks of Moira, in impeccable common. Her voice is sweet as honey, but holds the promise to turn on a dime.
"Uk anika'saph haska ulu jaluss byr taga uns'aa." she says, ducking away from Fauhra, suddenly somewhat awkward "Dos shlu'ta xo'al joros ukta ka dos ssinssrin."
"It's that reddish bird, with the crooked beak, that stands in the shallow sea on one leg." Willow continues her tale.
It speaks! Moira is startled. She didn't expect it to go this way. "I'm just wondering. You haven't spoken a word until now." Moira replies.
Fauhra sees Clarice ducking away, but thinks nothing of it. "Perhaps these stork, they view like bats? Bats with beaks carrying little Tiefling babies." She smiles at her own joke.
"Reddish birds at sea? I don't know those." she admits.
"Don't be fooled by appearance. Inside Tiefling, same as you. Everyone just wants to belong." She says to Willow in her thick accent.
She looks back at Clarice, and thinks for a moment. Then she asks
"Ji, lu'oh xun Usstan telanth ulu dosst ilharn?"
Ilvara takes another sip from her drink, taking a long time before answering again as she seems unhurried.
"I saw no need to." she simply states after a few long moments. Long, delicate fingers place the still half full glass back on the table, and then rest on the rim of the glass for a moment longer.