Hearda wraps his hand around the rusted implement, hefting it experimentally. Already his mind seeing how best to swing it in the most efficient, and deadly, arc.
I...I have used...tools of war before... the savage part of his mind agreeing with him. Yes...we MUST use this in order to SURVIVE!
NO! I am in control here! You will do as I say!
The singing of the monster draws the warring factions of his mind back to it and he watches in horrified fascination as the warrior brings his own weapon down upon it, sparing a quick glance at his unresponsive cell partner.
Heart pounding, Feliks closed the distance to the cell door and quietly put his keys to work. Once he had the door open, he turned to the instruments on the table. He needed a weapon. A saw would do. He focused his mind on the satisfaction of catching an acorn thrown at him and called the saw to him.
5 foot step, use the keys
Casts mage hand to fetch a saw to his hand.
Taking advantage of both the old man's attempt to distract the creature, as well as the fact that a half-elven man seems to have embedded one of the saws in its head, a fact that is bound to be all sorts of distracting, Nathaniel exits his cell in as quiet a manner as he can manage and moves towards the table, taking one of the saws in his hand as soon as he is close enough.
'Here we go,' he thinks to himself as he brandishes what can rather loosely be called a surgical tool.
Dvarin watches, still silent, as the scene before him unfolds. His vision showed him where they were, and part of him feared that what he was witnessing was a hallucination, though the reaction of the others indicated that it wasn't. Still, they were all patients here, for whatever reason--best to let this play out on its own. He doubted that the others were going to have any trouble stopping the creature on their own, and he feared that if he used his own magic to send it running it would simply find reinforcements and alert the staff of their escape.
Amber: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19
Dvarin: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Feliks: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (4) + 12 = 16
Hearda: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Kalas: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Nathaniel: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (17) + 3 = 20
Oldest One: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Nurse: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Taking advantage of both the old man's attempt to distract the creature, as well as the fact that a half-elven man seems to have embedded one of the saws in its head, a fact that is bound to be all sorts of distracting, Nathaniel exits his cell in as quiet a manner as he can manage and moves towards the table, taking one of the saws in his hand as soon as he is close enough.
nope
'Here we go,'. he thinks to himself as he brandishes what can rather loosely be called a surgical tool.
Moving quickly now that the door is open, Amber flits over to the table covered in surgical tools. She is a shadow, a silent, gown-garbed ghost as she places one bared foot in front of the other. She inches forward, each movement agony. Then, she steps on loose glass, a lantern or something that had been knocked over and never cleared up. She bites her lip, to muffle her scream. She pauses, hand clamped about her mouth, fear bright in her eyes.
....HOW?
The creature starts from its wailing, and looks up from it's crouched position on the ground, but it smacks the moaning prisoner, ordering it to be silent so it can "swing with the sweet words." Amber reaches out. Her hand closes around a scalpel and she's surprised at how normal it feels to have the small blade in her hand.
Have I ever used one of these before?
She shakes her head.
Can't remember. Doesn't matter now.
Her eyes turn to the former 'doctor' and her grip on the scalpel tightens.
Near the last cell, the halfling makes his move. Heart pounding, Feliks closes the distance to the cell door and quietly put his keys to work. Once he has the door open, he turns to the instruments on the table. He needs a weapon. A saw would do. He focuses his mind on the satisfaction of catching an acorn thrown at him and calls the saw to him. Eldritch energies bind him with the saw, and he sees the ethereal flow coil about the blade and lift it through the air.
Carried by the ether, the saw floats above the creature's head and lands neatly in the halfling's hand.
The old man suddenly straightens "Help the others, while this lasts." he commands of the younger man as he passes him while walking through the door and to the table.
Separated now from the protean form of the 'doctor' only by the surgical bench between them, he does his best to talk calmly. "I can help" he assures the monster "I can stop them singing."
nope, it's not buying it
Even as he speaks his hand, resting casually on the edge of the table, plucks something up. He spies the tell-tale marks of corrosion about the tip of a syringe. Acid! His fingers clasp that one.
Desperate hope fills the creature's mad eyes. Really? It's voice is small, pathetic... almost innocent. And, for a moment, the Oldest One dares hope that the creature believes him. Then, it spies the syringe in his hand, and hope gives way to suspicion. What have you got there, duckling? That won't make the singing stop... That brings the bees under the skin... Do you want me to feel the bees?! Suspicion melts into blind rage. YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF YOUR CELL!? The creature rises, claws bared and ready to strike! YOU'RE NOT WELL! YOU'RE SICK! THE SICK NEED TO BE IN THE CELLS! I'LL KILL YOU!!!
From his cell with Hearda, Dvarin watches, still silent, as the scene before him unfolds. His vision showed him where they were, and part of him feared that what he was witnessing was a hallucination, though the reaction of the others indicated that it wasn't. Still, they were all patients here, for whatever reason--best to let this play out on its own. He doubted that the others were going to have any trouble stopping the creature on their own, and he feared that if he used his own magic to send it running it would simply find reinforcements and alert the staff of their escape.
From the other side of the table, Kalas feels a disgusted sort of pity for the monster. It is obviously insane. The evils it brings into the world will not be ended without its life being ended as well. He feels divine might flow through him as he makes his decision. His muscle tense as he pulls back the jagged saw and brings it down upon the creature's head with all of his strength, a complicated sadness in his eyes.
Blood spurts from the wound as the saw cuts deep down into the creature's skull. Like the monster's flesh, the fluid is dull and colorless, a muted gray that glistens darkly against its pale, rubbery flesh. It screams in agony and whips around, momentarily forgetting it's outrage at seeing the Oldest One out of his cage! More!? MORE PATIENTS!? How!? HOW DID YOU GET OUT! NO! This isn't a dream! It' can't be! This must be real! I'm PRETTY!! PREETTTTTTTY!!!!!!!! The creature howls, nearly wrenching the blade free from Kalas' hands as it swings a claw at the warrior.
The warrior gasps as the creature slices a claw across his belly,shredding his gown to tatters and nearly disemboweling him! The wound is deep, and he cannot suffer its like again! It pulls back, holding its red-stained claws in front of its face, mesmerized by the light playing off the liquid dripping from its talons.
In his cell, Hearda wraps his hand around the rusted implement, hefting it experimentally. Already his mind seeing how best to swing it in the most efficient, and deadly, arc.
I...I have used...tools of war before... the savage part of his mind agreeing with him. Yes...we MUST use this in order to SURVIVE!
NO! I am in control here! You will do as I say!
The singing of the monster draws the warring factions of his mind back to it and he watches in horrified fascination as the warrior brings his own weapon down upon it, sparing a quick glance at his unresponsive cell partner.
With speed and strength belying the decrepit appearance of his body, the old man leaps onto the table. He straightens, and muscles stand out like cords under the filth and airy robe.
"THIS is your cure, monster!" he shrieks, voice discordant. He stabs with the syringe, straight into the monster's blood streaked eye. Acid pumps through the steel of the needle, fuming bubbles breaking out around the injection point.
Should be easily enough to end up on the table, 1 to the left of the doctor. 5ft step - or avoid AoO, if you like.
Higher ground and flanking grant +1 and +2 respectively.
If mutation is not already activated, activate it - unless the creature is already obviously dead, in which case not much point.
Time to end this...thing. Felikx thought, grim. He didn't want to kill anyone, but a torturing monster? The world would be better without it. He abandoned all pretense of stealth and rushed forward, saw in hand, to slash at the creature's legs.
+2 for flanking, +2 for being invisible, and it's flatfooted vs. me. This will void invisibility.
Heardra feels his savage mind starting to take control of his actions, yet still guided by his human side.
We must strike NOW!
NO! NOW!!
His legs spring into action as he launches himself at the nightmare, his makeshift weapon flashing in the dim light...
[ooc]Move to position on map.
Attack the 'Nurse'
Kalas ignores his wounds and watches his new potential allies set upon the creature with makeshift weapons. Its madness led it to such acts of cruelty, but how far before we have madness of our own to match? He steps forward again and tries to grab the tool he had implanted in the creature's head. If he succeeds he yanks it out with a sawing motion.
Heardra feels his savage mind starting to take control of his actions, yet still guided by his human side.
We must strike NOW!
NO! NOW!!
His legs spring into action as he launches himself at the nightmare, his makeshift weapon flashing in the dim light. With primal fury, he stabs at the creature, throwing caution to the wind as he gives in to the more base instincts of his savage heritage. The blade rises and falls, cutting into the nightmare's gray flesh with ease, and silver-gray dark blood spills from the wound.
The creature howls in pain, gasping and clutching at its many wounds.
No!!!! Why!? I just wanted to help you! I wanted to make you better! It's voice is plaintive, child-like.
"Wait," says Dvarin, finally stepping out from the corner of the cell. "Do not kill it. Strap it to the table so it can't escape, but do not kill it."
"We are in an asylum," he continues. "I feared perhaps I was rightfully here but--I assume you all saw her face shift as well? And by her actions I doubt this creature is any saner than us. If we restrain her rather than kill her we could find out what is going on."
Hearda turns to face his formerly silent cell partner with a look of fury in his eyes.
She...IT must DIE!
The look of anger dies down to a simmer, and he lowers his saw-blade. "Yes...yes, we need answers here. A good plan to tie her up." He answers in a somewhat shaky voice. He then moves to release the poor soul still strapped onto the table, his eyes roving over the man assessing his injuries.
"It doesn't matter what it - or even she - once was. What matters is what it is! A monster. A strigoi." here he uses the Skald term used by the Ulfen for the Irriseni. "The best we can do now is to kill it, and if it was a human hope its gods can still save its soul."
Kalas frowns at Dvarin, "It is too far gone, I don't think we will be getting information from it. The best we can do is grant it the mercy of a swift death and pray for its soul. If it has one."
Feliks mulled the situation over.
"Friends, what do we do after? If it talks or doesn't, what happens to it? Do we leave it tied up to starve? Or break loose and come after us or someone else? Or for someone to find and release? It knows all that as well as we do. A clean death is best."
"May I suggest more securing the admittedly heavily injured... creature and less chatting about it?"
Despite his smile, crooked though it may be, there is a distinct driness in his tone as he speaks. Nathaniel may appear as if he is handling it all rather well but he is tense enough without having to wait around longer than needed.
"Perhaps we can use the table now that it is vacant," he adds.
"May I suggest more securing the admittedly heavily injured... creature and less chatting about it?" Despite his smile, crooked though it may be, there is a distinct dryness in his tone as he speaks. Nathaniel may appear as if he is handling it all rather well but he is tense enough without having to wait around longer than needed.
"Perhaps we can use the table once it is vacant," he adds. He brings the flat of the his blade down on the creature's head without further comment, or emotion. The creature must be bound and questioned. That is all. The blade descends on the back of the creature's head, the misshapen thing groans in pain.
Across from him, Amber is overcome by the impossibility of what she has witnessed. She screams in horror as the creature turns its fury on the man beside her and nearly disembowels him with a vicious swipe of its claws. Knowing that that could be her next she swings the scalpel in a slashing motion, desperately trying to kill it before i
The blade cuts deep into robbery flesh, and once more it gives a pitiful moan in that child-like and bemused voice. The stones grow slick with its darkly gray blood welling between the talons gripping its wounded arm.
Amidst the madness and violence, Feliks' small voice sounds. Friends, what do we do after? If it talks or doesn't, what happens to it? Do we leave it tied up to starve? Or break loose and come after us or someone else? Or for someone to find and release? It knows all that as well as we do. A clean death is best." The creature moans and nods.
I just wanted to make you pretty! Scaen never meant you any hurt! You can be pretty too!
The Oldest One follows Feliks' vein. "It doesn't matter what it - or even she - once was. What matters is what it is! A monster. A strigoi." here he uses the Skald term used by the Ulfen for the Irriseni. "The best we can do now is to kill it, and if it was a human hope its gods can still save its soul."
"Wait," says Dvarin, finally stepping out from the corner of the cell. "Do not kill it. Strap it to the table so it can't escape, but do not kill it."
"We are in an asylum," he continues. "I feared perhaps I was rightfully here but--I assume you all saw her face shift as well? And by her actions I doubt this creature is any saner than us. If we restrain her rather than kill her we could find out what is going on." Dvarin studies the pitiable creature of misshapen flesh, and recognizes it for a thing called a doppleganger. They are excellent spies and shapeshifters, almost impossible to detect. The stories all say they're liars without peer, often murdering people and replacing them to live out the rest of their lives and spread chaos and ruin wherever they go.
From the other side of the table, Kalas frowns at Dvarin, "It is too far gone, I don't think we will be getting information from it. The best we can do is grant it the mercy of a swift death and pray for its soul. If it has one."
Hearda turns to face his formerly silent cell partner with a look of fury in his eyes. A war seems to rage within him for a moment, but it soon passes. The look of anger dies down to a simmer, and he lowers his saw-blade. "Yes...yes, we need answers here. A good plan to tie her up." He answers in a somewhat shaky voice. He then moves to release the poor soul still strapped onto the table, his eyes roving over the man assessing his injuries. Medical skills return to him, procedures and treatments return to his mind as though a dream. But, while he might not remember his lessons, his fingers do. Soon, the patient's wounds close beneath numerous bandages.
The man stands, stretching his legs, and limps away from the creature. That.. that was... It.. wore my sister's face! It.. saw.. in me.. my sister's face! He falls to his knees, weeping.
Feliks felt sick all over again to heart the tortured man's cry. He took the just-idled restraints and fixed them to the mad doctor.
"Now you will tell us why we are here and where here is," he said, voice cold.
Hearda sees the small folk attend to their former jailer and nods in approval.
He knew the saying was a gesture of respect of the halfling people...but HOW did he know that? Had he works with them before? He did not know.
Pushing the mystery aside for now, he turns his attention to the weeping man.
He gently helps the man to sit up and looks into his eyes. "I know the pain is great, but you HAVE to listen to me. Focus on my words, not what is around you...keep looking at me. Now who are you? Do you know where we are at?" The calming words and tone are foreign to him, as if he rarely used them.
"I do not believe the creature is a vampire. And that would not justify killing her regardless," says Dvarin. "I believe she is a doppleganger. Presumably she killed and replaced the original nurse. Though that does leave the question of how long she has been at this."
"And there is still the question of how we all came to be here in the first place. This is an asylum, regardless of the state it is in. And I must confess--I am not sure how I came to be here. I am not sure of anything, really. I can only seem to remember my name. Dvarin. Are you all similarly afflicted?"
Dvarin turns to face the creature, though he looks aside to whoever is standing nearest to him and whispers "We talk to the monster first. Then you can deliver her whatever fate you wish."
"Doppleganger," he says, looking down at the monster. "You are outnumbered. We could finish you off now, if that is what you want. But there is no need for further bloodshed. Just answer a few questions, and no harm will come to you. What have you done with the nurse that you replaced?
As some of the others begin the task of questioning both prisoner and -at least apparent- jailer, Nathaniel simply moves about the room, examining it, searching for anything that might help them or interest them.
"Nathaniel," he introduces himself simply after the one calling himself Dvarin has done the same. There is a little pause before he adds, not without some hesitation, "Or Nathan. Or Nate." He shrugs in an attempt to appear casual, nonchalant. "Take your pick."
"An asylum you say? That is disturbing, especially considering we remember... well, not much other than our names." He takes a better look at the others.
"You do not believe we are rightfully here, as you say. But without our memories how can we be sure?" Then he looks at the creature. "Although that hardly looks like a properly licensed medical professional..."
The oldest one looks on at this turn of events, mouth open in shock. He started to speak, in a tone of disbelief. "It's a monster - or at least some witch! You can't show mercy!"
Giving up argument as a bad job, he concentrates his efforts on the prisoner. "Are you alright? Where does it hurt? Stay with me, young man. You're free now."
An asylum you say? That is disturbing, especially considering we remember... well, not much other than our names
The old man looks at his erstwhile cellmate carefully "What? You remember your name?" he looks around carefully "There's obviously some variation in our condition. Do any of you remember why we are here... or even where here is?"
As he waits for the fellow prisoner to respond, he looks up at the old man and before slowly shaking his head. "I...I do not remember...anything. I know my name...Hearda...and I remember..."
"...little else."
Kalas sighs and lets the tension leave his body, a pitiful creature, but it appears to have lost its will to fight any longer. Still... leaving it to licks its wounds could spell disastrous in the future. At the words of the others he contemplates his own place in events. "I do remember my name, Kalas, Kalas Eventide. There is little more left of my own memories than that. Of how I came to be here, or what connection I have to the rest of you there is no sign." He turns to the creature and follows Dvarian's words with his own, "And while we're at it, where are we, how did we get here, and why were we in your 'care'?"
"An asylum you say? That is disturbing, especially considering we remember... well, not much other than our names." He takes a better look at the others.
"Feliks Tzollicoffer," Feliks said. "And that's nearly all I remember. Much about what I can do and how, but nothing about how I came to that knowledge or anything else but the practicalities."
The man slowly comes to a stand, supported by Hearda's gentle hands. My.. my thanks. Gradually his resolve returns. I am Campre. I was an orderly here at Briarstone until.. this.. happened. He starts to shake, but catches himself on a pillar in the room. I .. I don't know what happened. The patients went mad, maybe they were.. like... He gestures towards the bound creature. I.. don't know... gods but this place is hell...
The creature on the table laugh, mimicking Kalas' voice again in a mocking tone. You're here. I'm here. We're all... HERE! It laughs, throwing it's head all the way back. I woke up, and I was pretty... I could be so many different pretties. I wanted to make you pretty, too. You were here. I was here. He was here.. You were going to be pretty.. such pretty pretty red.. Like rubies Its flesh melts again, skin splitting and sloughing off its form like a snake in molt. In its place, it wore the guise of the woman from before. Campre... help.. me... Her voice is low, sultry. I can help you....
NO!! no no no! Please! NOt.. not my sister! Please! Anyone! Anyone but my sister!! Campre wails and stumbles to the back of the room, but collapses over a pile of bags that clank ominously. The unmistakable point of a sword splits out from one of the bags.
But, Campre. I like your sister.. I like being your sister.
NO!! no no no! Please! NOt.. not my sister! Please! Anyone! Anyone but my sister!! Campre wails and stumbles to the back of the room, but collapses over a pile of bags that clank ominously. The unmistakable point of a sword splits out from one of the bags.
"Forgive me, Campre," Feliks said. He gingerly opened one of the bags that wasn't too far under the man.
"Listen to the lass! She's right!"
The old man, syringe of acid still in hand, stands ready to deliver agonising justice if the creature so much as breathes.
He twitches at the sound of weaponry, but his gaze - and grip - never wavers.
Feliks finds items that are... Familiar to him. They belong to him! He knows it as well as he nods the back of his hand. At the bottom of the pack, clink four vials filled s liquid that glows a soft blue
Hearda stares in horrified fascination at the monster who assumed the pleasing form, finding himself both repulsed and fascinated by it.
Gripping the saw blade tightly, he puts it to the creature's throat. "I only ask this once." His voice takes on a guttural tome, filled with the promise of death. "How did you come to be here? When were we brought here?"
His blade inches closer to its throat...
"I'm going to count to three." warns the old man, the stress in his voice evident. "One."
Feliks finds items that are... Familiar to him. They belong to him! He knows it as well as he nods the back of his hand. At the bottom of the pack, clink four vials filled s liquid that glows a soft blue
"These are mine," Feliks said. "I know them." he began to dress himself, tight breeches first. "I don't know what these vials do, though. Anyone?"
"Calm yourself Old Man," Nathaniel says softly, "and still that... righteousness of yours for a moment. I understand you do not particularly like aberrations. But think. That is what our current predicament is as well. All of us without our memories? Either an aberration or quite the coincidence. And I am betting on the former myself." He places a hand on the older man's shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. "And this creature may have information that will shed some light into all this. So, let it be, if for a little."
Having spoken his part, his attention is then drawn to what the halfling seems to have found. "What do you have there Feliks?" Although at first he looks at the vials he then notices the pile of bags, proceeding to rummage through them, looking for anything interesting or useful. Or familiar.
The old man looks at Nathaniel for a moment as his brain processes what was said. "You think there's more of them? You think... one of us?"
Shivering, his gaze darts from person to person, dwelling on Campre longer than the others. "It could be any of you."
The bottles are potions of cure light wounds
The creature in a woman's skin shrugs. It's an odd gesture. There's to much roll in the shoulder, and not enough in the chest, as though the creature isn't sure of how to actually do the motion, but has scene it before. Or, perhaps, is remembering how to do something it hasn't done in a very long time. I don't know how you came here. Just.. that you were. You were in the cells, and I could make you pretty. I came down here long ago. A lifetime ago. I've always been here. Always will. Always pretty. Always. Always. Always. Pretty.. Pretty gems.. rubies. I like rubies. I like it when brother drips rubies. So pretty pretty pretty stones. Always. Hallways. But some stones aren't rubies. Always filled. Hallways filled with pretty not-rubies.
The man moans from the bags. The building shook.. I... I think there was an earthquake, and then.. then the patients. They went mad! Well.. madder. Some started eating each other, others.. others weren't really inmates. They were... He points, shakily at the creature. They were just.. just pretending, laying in wait. Why would those mad creatures be here? Waiting? For a moment, the man is seized by a fit, he curls into his legs and wails in horror. The man is near broken himself, shattered by the horrors he has endured. I... I was doing my rounds. Came down here, it's part of my rounds, you see. And... I found my sister. Gods! Why is she my dead sister?! Now, he breaks down again, and loses himself in his sobs.
If someone deciphers the mad creature's ramblings, they can discern a few things:
1) it REALLY likes watching people bleed.
2) it found you in the cells
3) the stairs are blocked
The man is a little more clear:
1) there was an earthquake of some sort
2) some of the patients became cannibals
3) he thinks some of the patients were always doppelgangers and waiting for the moment to strike.
You're probably not going to get anymore out of the creature. The bags DO contain your gear, though. As well as any familiars you had.
"I believe this creature has told us everything it knows. Regardless it seems too far gone to get any useful information from. If you wish to kill it, go ahead. I won't stop you." says Dvarin, shrugging his shoulders. "I believe it found us here. So it is not the reason that we were imprisoned.
"Obviously some sort of arcane disaster has fallen upon this place. Patients eating one another, earthquakes, dopplegangers. And our own amnesia. These are all connected, though how has yet to be revealed," he says, walking away from the rest of the group, stroking his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He mutters something under his breath before turning to face them again.
"Your paranoia is delightful but unnecessary. Judging from the state of this creature the dopplegangers here are likely all insane; perhaps they are more sensitive to whatever magic has contaminated this place. Of course, I imagine at this point you will now accuse me of being a doppleganger. Perhaps I am. Perhaps you are. As we are all afflicted with amnesia one of us could easily be one without knowing so. Or one of us could be lying. Though I would again point out that being a doppleganger is not a crime worthy of death. If one of us one of the creatures, they are acting rationally, and have chosen not to strike against us. Unless one of us has the ability to detect evil or see through lies or something of that nature we have no way of knowing, do we?"
"Of course, there is something I am remembering. I am capable of determining someone's race. The shape of the skull is a remarkable thing; even disguised with magic, if you know what to feel for--along the occipital ridge, or the coronal suture, for example--can always reveal someone's true race," he says, feeling along the back of his head as he does so. "Perhaps you would like for me to test us all now, since I can discern if we have been infiltrated. I will not. Since the intentions of some in the party are apparently murderous, I think it best if we do not know more about each other than absolutely necessary."
"And in the mean time, we have a much more pressing concern. We are in an asylum that is currently under assault by magical forces we do not understand. Escape should be our first priority. Genealogy can come afterwards." he finishes, glancing over at the bags the halfing is looking through. "Those are potions of cure light wounds. And hopefully this is where our things are stored. I would rather not have to traipse through a haunted asylum in a dressing gown."
"That was not the reason I recall hearing for wanting to kill it. If you want to execute it for torture, be my guest. It has served its purpose, and has no more use to us. In fact, I would recommend killing it. If no one is willing to do so themselves, I'd be more than happy to. But the reasons I have heard for why it should be killed are that it is a monster, that it is an aberration, that it is a vampire, that it is witch, and that it is a doppleganger--not that it is a torturer," he says.
"There is one who might know. This creature cannot have seen this 'sister' before, yet knew how to take her form. That suggests some from of sinister mind power. Yet, we cannot simply take its word as a test - it might simply lie to see the 'rubies'."
"I don't like the idea of killing anything, let alone a sentient creature... but there are things from Outside this prosaic world of ours inimical to human life!"
"If you insist, we can chain it in a cell. I think it folly, but I suppose I can respect the desire to spare life. If you're going to kill it, then kill it and be done."