Kivan moves up closer to the caster cultists and uses his own spell against him as he creates a field of glitterdust on him to try and blind him.
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Rough hands grab you and haul you from the back of the creature which brought you here. "Don't you worry, miss," a man's voice says. "We won't be 'urtin' you." True to his words, your captors aren't overly forceful when directing your movement. Certainly not the behavior you'd expect from common bandits - they'd have their hands all over you by now. "Keep quiet an' it'll be allright," says another, woman's voice. "I kinda envy you, you know. Such a blessing, your heritage. What we yearn for was handed to you. Still, only half the Divine Union is yours by birth. Just a little stay here and it's off to Ascension with you."
"'ush yer gabber, Quint! Ain't none of that what she needs t'know, now."
Your captors lapse into silence as they guide your steps. The terrain under your feet changes from grass to gravel that crunches softly under your boots. Focusing your attention, you hear the telltale jingle-jangle of light metal on light metal - either keys or a coinpurse is hanging from each of the guards' belts. You hear the creaking of a door on poorly-oiled hinges, and feel warm air on your skin. The air smells of bread. You've evidently been taken indoors. One of your guards lets go to close the door behind you, and you take this opportunity to lift the back of your blindfold slightly with your tail. You see a rustic room that wouldn't be out of place in any of the many villages that dot the rural areas of Brevoy. It looks like a single-room farmhouse. A potbellied iron stove burns cheerily in the corner, heating the room and a pan on which loaves of bread bake. A rough table with a checkered tablecloth, copper washtub, and straw mattress furnish the room. Prominently hung on one wall is a large oil painting of a massive red dragon, breathing flame from a mountainous perch.
Taking this all in at a glance, you swiftly drop your tail and let the blindfold fall back into place. The guards didn't seem to notice. You are led in the direction of the kettle. One set of hands on you lets go, followed shortly by a metallic dragging sound: The kettle is being moved. The other guard pulls you against her, holding your shoulders tightly to prevent any attempt at escape. Unbeknownst to her, escape isn't your first goal. You snake your tail against the guard's belt, and find a keyring - just as you hoped and expected. Silently, you lift the brass ring with the tip of your tail and stuff it up your leather breastplate where it rides against your navel. The metal is cold and pinches your belly, but you tolerate the discomfort for the greater goal. With the keys secured, you can surely slip from whatever cell they lock you in. It seems prudent to go with the flow for now instead of starting a fight - two vs one isn't good odds for a swift, silent kill, and a general alarm would be disaster for you.
Another set of hinges creak, and you are guided forward again. "Careful, miss. Stairs." The guards help you down a tight spiral staircase. You scuff your elbow on the wall a few times, finding it to be unfinished stone. The air cools dramatically as you enter the hidden basement, and the homely scent of baking bread is replaced by the much less pleasant mixture of dank earth, sewage, sweat, and blood. Your boots click on the stone floor as you are guided through the basement. In short order, the guards repeat their "one holds her, one opens the door" treatment on what you can only assume is your cell door. This time, you filch a dagger from your unsuspecting captor. You just have time to drop the dagger into your boot before you are shoved forward into the cell, which clangs shut behind you. You hear a lock turn.
"Sleep tight, miss. Gotta be fresh for the morning, many miles ahead of you."
With that, the guards leave. You hear a set of wooden doors shut, receding footsteps, then a dull thump as the trapdoor to the basement is closed.
It is the work of a moment to lose your bindings and the blindfold. The room is pitch black dark, but your enhanced vision makes short work of that problem.
"They got another," moans a thin, female voice. "Hey, who are you? Can you speak?" the second voice is a man's, and scared as well.
If/as you answer them, you pull the knife from your boot and the keys from under your armor. There are four keys, and one unlocks your cell door.
You discover yourself in a tiny underground prison with three cells and an unoccupied guard post. The guard post features a rough desk and a couple chairs. Empty bottles litter the desk, with a few fallen on the floor. Two barrels full of apples and potatoes, a chest full of unlabeled bottles, and a rack with a pair of curved short swords rounds off the contents of the post.
The two other cells are both occupied. In one, a male tiefling stands clutching the bars of the door as he watches you. He's thin, with a shock of black hair that almost hides a pair of demonic horns. His hands end in fierce claws. In the other cell, a female tiefling sits with her back against the back wall. She's plain-looking but not unattractive, with dark red hair spilling down her shoulders onto a threadbare blue dress.
Two sets of doors exit this area. You were taken in through the door in the south wall.
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The cultist in Seraphina's grasp shudders as caustic acid runs down his neck, burning and smoking as it soaks through his garments and into tender flesh beneath. "th--th---th---thaaaaaank - y -" he chokes out before his vocal cords are seared away. The cultist collapses in a heap.
The leader puts his foot in a stirrup and raises himself onto the level of horseback - just in time for twin arrows from Maja and Idris to thump into his back. Lifeless, the man crashes to the ground. The impact knocks the shafts further into his body, where they burst out of his chest with a spray of blood.
Shrieking horribly, the lemures rush to engage any remaining targets. One lands a scratch on a cultist, but the other two are simply distractions.
Nix takes advantage of this distraction and sinks his teeth into a cultist's thigh, finding the femoral artery and opening it. The intruder dies in seconds.
Milo takes a step back, raises his bow, and looses an arrow straight through the eye of his opponent. The last remaining cultist quivers momentarily, then folds onto the ground like a marionette with cut strings. Milo chuckles. "Boom! Headshot!"
Just like that, the ambush is over.
And finally the are vitorious!
Inside her cell, Pretty waits for a minute before making any move, focusing on any sounds of guards nearby, but also to process the information. The scared voice was not Swift's, she was sure about that, but in any case would be from a fellow prisoner, if not another tiefling. A quick thought crossed her mind about the enchanting creature, impressed by its skill in doing such a good copy of her friend's voice. It was a powerful enchantment, she knew. Also, the information she got on her captors suggested something ritualistic, and they were being too kind to her, to be honest, so the thought of mercenaries was abandoned, but the "many miles ahead of you" kept the guilt on the Surtovas, for now, as she couldn't help but to assume she was being sent to New Stetven, or even to Port Ice, since she did not know in which direction she was actually taken from the road.
Anyway, although she wanted to help the others immediately, she felt the need to be careful. Believing it to be safe to speak, she got free of the ropes, gag and blindfold, and then replied to the others, also in a lightly scared voice, knowing it is much easier to fool others that could not see your body reactions. "Yes, yes, I can talk! Please don't leave me! Where am I? Who are you? What do you want with me??!"
Pretty knows a prisoner would say anything and pretend to be a holy angel if they wanted to be freed, so she wouldn't show them she had means to escape, for now. If they were all locked up in the same situation it would be more likely they were telling the truth, since hope would not be in the way. Pretty also didn't need to worry with time, since she seemed to have until morning. So she kept a conversation, for now, without leaving her cell. Further questions are something like these:
"Are you tieflings?"
"For how long have you been here?"
"Any clue on what these guys want?"
"How were you captured?"
"Where do you come from?"
"Do guards come down here often?"
"How do we escape this place?"
"Where does that other door take us?"
"What do you do for a living?"
"Who are your parents?"
"How old are you?" She will put further efforts in this last two questions, convincing them to tell her, "we're gonne die anyway, since the circumstances she was born in were always a mystery, and as she still thought the Surtovas were related to this, it could be this is the explanation why she was born a tiefling, after all. The thought brought shivers to the seasoned rogue, for fear of what would that mean. It would do her no good thinking about that stuff now, so she put it aside and continued.
And last but not least:
"How good are your fighting skills?"
She scans them for deception, but having already decided she would free them impaired much of her ability, biasing her judgment. So yeah, they were prisoners, and tieflings, victim of the system, as was she.
When she's satisfied with the answers Pretty will leave her cell and show up to them. "Hey, I was thinking that we should get a cell with a better view, where we could see the ocean, what do you think?"
Her eyes wide with horror, Seraphina utters a guttural cry of frustration and disgust, rumbling deep within her throat in that manner she had developed. "What in the nine hells are they? They don't even die properly!" She stormed at the body before her, snatching off the ridiculous mask and scrutinizing the features of the corpse. Once she saw the face, she came back to herself enough to realize the others might be hurt.
"Milo, are you or Nix injured? Kivan, I think you have the healing wand? Or Maybe Maja can help? Oh!" She felt dizzy looking around so much and put her hands to her sore temples. She decided a perch closer to the ground would be safer and set to searching the bodies.
Once they had learned what they could and healed up, Seraphina turned to Milo. "It seems travelling with us has proven rather more perilous than the road alone. I would certainly understand if you decided to go on your way, we are likely to face a good deal more of some manner of rabid worshippers of an unknown, dark and twisted faith. It's a dangerous detour and you still have your fortune to collect." She shook her head sadly, still boggled by it all.
Kivan quickly begins filling up a bottle with the dead leaders blood, and gets a horse.
"Let's go."
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"Don't need t' put on any acts with us," says the male voice. "We're caught in here same as you."
"Whoever these creeps are, they're catching folk like us." says the female. "We're tieflings just like you. I'm Henna."
"Never had a name. Folks always call me Devil Man. I've been here three days, her two. I'm late of Restov, but I move around a lot - circus performer. Freak show, naturally."
"I'm from New Stetven. Never been much. Washwoman, beggar, maid. Nobody pays me after they figure out what I am."
The pair listen to your story, not interrupting. "That's horrid!" exclaims Henna. "They took me off the streets, nobody bothered to come to aid me. I don't know what they want, but they're rounding up folks like us!"
"They talk funny, though," comments Devil Man. "Always going on about divinity and holiness and s!$@ like that. What kind of holy cult catches tieflings? If'n they were killing us it'd make sense. They hired me for a show an' then carted me way out here, and just chucked me down here but don't treat us too bad. The guards come twice a day to feed us and take chamberpots. I don't know where that door goes, and I don't know the way out. No skill in locks, I'm not the escape artist act, but these claws of mine come in handy in a scrap."
"I'm scared," says Henna. "I'm no fighter. All I ever wanted was a roof and enough food. Never knew my dad, but my ma always said he was a knight. She died when I was ten, that was eight years ago. Fever."
"Kinda odd to be talking about parents," says Devil Man. "I figure most of us ain't come from a happy home. Never knew my folks. First I remember I was just little, got put in a cage and showed off for a few coppers per head."
The prisoners sound convincing, and after you've freed yourself they prove to be tieflings in the flesh, as described, and not a horrible abomination beast. Two of the other keys on the ring open their cell doors. Devil Man and Henna gratefully accept that little slice of freedom.
The room doesn't contain anything that's an obvious poison. The bottles smell strongly of gin when opened. The distillation doesn't smell of particular high quality alcohol, but that kind of poison takes decades to really destroy a man. The contents of the chamber pot are unpleasant, but don't really count as poison.
"You nicked the keys on the way down?" asks Devil Man. "A right scoundrel, you are. Look like a fighter, too. So, Pretty, what's the plan?"
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As Kivan fills up his trophy vial and Maja works her healing magic, Seraphina and Idris move among the fallen. Most of them are completely dead, but the first one that Seraphina savaged with her claws is still on this side of the Great Veil, although barely - and not for long without help.
Seraphina finds very little of value on the cultists. Their studded leather armor isn't noteworthy, and their swords are only of fair craftsmanship. With the masks removed, the cultists prove to be normal looking humans, all men. By chance, Sera gets a good look at the chest of the one who fell to Idris' mighty slash. The blow tore open his robes and armor, exposing flesh. The man has massive scars over where his heart is: Thick, pale red burls where the flesh has grown back from grave insult. Checking the other corpses, she finds similar chest scars on all the men.
While checking the body of the leader, Kivan notices the man's gloves do not match. Drawing upon his power to sense magical auras, he sees a fairly strong transmutation field over the man's right hand. Pulling the glove free, Kivan notes that it's a Glove of Storing. As the glove is removed, a small bag which was concealed within the magical glove appears. It contains 60 platinum coins.
"Thank you, Maja. Nix and I are as good as new!" Milo grins, all traces of injury gone. Looking from Seraphina's claws and scales to the disgusting creatures Kivan had summoned, and Idris's bloodied sword, he says, sounding impressed. "You're quite the team. Even if this hasn't happened to you before, you knew exactly what to do."
"Maja, you are right. Whatever those people are doing, it sounds like no good. Thanking you, Lady Seraphina, for killing them? That's some strange stuff. I've made a living on these lands for some time now, and this cult's squatting on my stomping grounds. I'd like to put an end to whatever it is they are up to and finding Pretty is a good way to start. The furs are cured, no rush to get them to market."
"Besides, I couldn't sleep at night, knowing such nasty people were doing terrible things to such lovely, innocent ladies. And elves." he jokes.
Milo helps ready the horses and stamp out the campfire in preparation for your departure. Once all is made ready, you set off on Pretty's trail. Pretty's captors have a decent lead on you, and it's unlikely that you'll outpace them on laden horses. Still, Maja's tracking skills keep you on the hunt. Whoever nabbed your companion will have to go somewhere.
You ride north for several hours, following the not-quite-correct stag tracks. The open plains offer no dangers to night travel, and the full moon peeking through the clouds offers just enough light to see by.
At one point, the stag tracks lead you into a shallow creek. It's obvious that Pretty's captors are using the water to conceal their direction, and it works effectively - the prints have been erased by the flowing water. They went either east or west from this point, but which way? Choosing the wrong direction surely spells disaster for Pretty. Milo isn't fazed, however. "Think they're clever, do they? Nix, show me!"
The ranger swings himself off of his mount and points the last visible track out to his wolf. Nix whines, clearly unhappy with the smell, but obediently trots to the creek and snuffles around. After a few tense moments, Nix starts to head west along the creek, looking over his shoulder at his master to make sure Milo was coming too.
You make slower progress down the creek bed. It is a further two hours of riding before you sight something in the distance - light through a window. As you draw closer, you see a lone farmhouse on the plains. In the fashion typical to the River Kingdoms, the farmhouse is somewhat fortified with strong stone walls and iron bars across the window. Access to the courtyard and the one-story farmhouse is controlled by a wrought-iron gate. Surrounding the compound are cropfields, freshly turned by the plow in preparation for planting. You see no inhabitants, and can hear no activity from this point. Nix follows the scent trail out of the creek bed and towards the farmhouse before Milo calls him back to his side. "Think that's where Pretty is?" he asks.
And soon, the party of might adventurers see the place where the enemies have taken her ally!
"How were you captured, Henna?"
"The plan is simple: kill the batman! Escape!" She handles Henna a short sword, keeping the other to herself, but realizes the woman cannot use it very well. Pretty is fearful that one of them actually intends to take part on the ritual, so she keeps an eye open, however stupid that idea might seem. "Yes I am a fighter, but you're also one, aren't you, dude?" Weird vocabulary she seeks, but calling the man Devil Man is not among her choices. She was called a demon once, by a lame wizard, and she did not like it. "I've learned how to wield a blade, tough light ones. Listen. They took us for some kind of sacrifice, so if we stay here we're dead. Fell free if you want to stay and die, but I'll live to see another day. Whatever they plan, if they are not telling us it means we would obviously not want it. Plus, I figure there's a devilish family behind it. I imagine the disappearance of the Rogarvia family has something to do with this, but that's just a guess. What I know is, we got a free ticket outta jail. If you find someone, kill them! Don't get scared, since they cannot kill you, on penalty of failing their unholy mission. We will try to avoid finding anyone on our path, if we can, but if we do, you already know how to handle them. Flank and destroy. Humans won't have a chance, unless they can summon very strong light. Do you have any powers we could use? Are you good at disguising yourselves?"
When that knowledge is gathered she moves to the door to the east, listening through the door before opening it.
They will follow through that path, seeking an outside exit. If it is nothing more than a storage they will go to the other one, after gathering weapons or useful equipment, like her own stuff. "Go slow, and try not to make any noise."
[/ooc]
Idris stands beside Maja while the cleric questions the cultist, holding her sword in her hand, making sure the man can see the blood dripping from it in the light of the fire and the moon.
"There are fates worse than death, as well, if you think you can keep information from us," the swordswoman adds after Maja asks her question.
"Thank you, Maja. Nix and I are as good as new!" Milo grins, all traces of injury gone. Looking from Seraphina's claws and scales to the disgusting creatures Kivan had summoned, and Idris's bloodied sword, he says, sounding impressed. "You're quite the team. Even if this hasn't happened to you before, you knew exactly what to do."
"Maja, you are right. Whatever those people are doing, it sounds like no good. Thanking you, Lady Seraphina, for killing them? That's some strange stuff. I've made a living on these lands for some time now, and this cult's squatting on my stomping grounds. I'd like to put an end to whatever it is they are up to and finding Pretty is a good way to start. The furs are cured, no rush to get them to market."
"Besides, I couldn't sleep at night, knowing such nasty people were doing terrible things to such lovely, innocent ladies. And elves." he jokes....
Sera felt her soreness and muddled thoughts melt away under Maja's soothing ministrations. "Oh that is worlds better, Maja." she said, kissing the cleric's hands in thanks. She nodded in agreement with Milo's opinion and managed a small smile in response to his compliments. "Thank you, Milo... and to Nix as well. Without your support, we may have been overwhelmed. We'll not turn away the aid of so savvy a woodsman as yourself."
Turning her attention to the still living cultist that Maja and Idris had revived and were interviewing,
"Let's not be long with him, we can tie him to Pretty's horse if need be and question him on the way. But we shouldn't lose anymore time, Pretty's life may depend upon it."
Once he was secured and they were on their way, she joined in the fact-finding. But as she suspected the strong-arm tactic might fall short, she decided to try another approach. "Well, you seemed so pleased to die, we thought it only fitting to return you to the world of the living. But it is a simple matter to return you to your previous state." She seized the front of his robes with her scaly talons and ripped them open roughly, then more gently, she traced a circle over his heart with a jade green claw releasing only enough acid to etch through the armor so it could be peeled away, revealing the strange mass of scar tissue over the man's heart. She placed her palm down over the marred flesh and paused there, raising her eyes to meet his. "Now what happened here, I wonder? You spoke of ascension, but I'm afraid it just confused me... Perhaps you can explain it in a way to make me understand and then I would want to come along and witness this glory you speak of."
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Sera chuckled lightly at Maja's reaction. "Doubtful they would stay hidden long if the evil cult's hideout looked the part. I have my vanishing trick, but it only lasts for a count of 30 or so. If we have any of Kivan's invisibility scrolls, that would be better."
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"I'm with you," says Devil Man. "I don't intend on seeing what these guys plan to do with us. I'm a decent scrapper, but not by training or choice. You look like me, you learn how to fight the old fashioned way: Having it beaten into you. Not so hot on disguise, my ugly mug's how I stay in bread."
Henna gingerly accepts the sword, clearly unskilled in its use. "I'm in too, but I don't know how helpful I'll be. I do have one trick, I can look hard at a person and see how bad they're hurt. Never came in much use before, but it's something, at least. I can dye my hair and wear it long over my ears, but people seem to figure out anyhow."
You hear nothing at the door. It's locked, but again one of the keys on your pilfered keyring opens it. You push the heavy wooden portal open, and your eyes are dazzled briefly as you adjust to the light streaming out of the room into the pitch black darkness of your cells.
You've evidently uncovered some profane temple. Four ranks of pews line the worked stone floor, their wood ancient, dark with oil, and bearing the nicks and dings of age and use. A plain stone altar dominates the far end of the room, bearing no symbols or decorations aside from a pair of brass candlesticks. Above the altar, on the wall, is a magnificent painting. At first glance, it's identical to the red dragon painting in the farmhouse above, but closer inspection reveals that in this painting the dragon bears unmistakable signs of demonic taint. Its red scales are lined with black, oily fur. The horns on its head are demonic instead of draconic in nature, and its wings are in fact those of an abyssal bat, although scaled and colored like a normal red dragon's. Above the dragon's heart is a massive scar and a visible bulge.
The room is lit by four braziers that cast flickering shadows across the painting. In this light, you could swear that you see the dragon's heart beating, and that its eyes are following you.
"What the f+*+ is this?" asks Devil Man, incredulously.
Two doors provide exits from this room, to the north and south. A trail of old bloodstains spatters its way from the altar to the south door. Incongruously, a cheerful fountain in the northeast corner burbles as water flows down a tasteful arrangement of colorful stones.
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Explosive runes! Pew!
"Heh," the man rasps through a rough throat. He seems to have difficulty talking even after benefiting from Maja's ministrations. "I serve no god. True power isn't begged, it's taken. Pleading for favor from the divine beings is for sneaking puppies, prostrating themselves in hope of scraps. No servant am I. We are all Masters of ourselves. We do follow an example, however. Ashardalon, the Master of Life and Death, the Immortal Wyrm, the Tamer of the Profane!"
When Seraphina exposes the man's scarred chest, he grins wickedly, exposing canines that have been filed to points. "Yes! My first Taking. I have bound within me the gift unfairly granted to an unworthy soul. I will need no coins for Charon when I cross the Styx! My pact is already made, my place reserved! While you weep in the Judgement Line of the Boneyard I shall soar on wings of pure power through the planes! This could be yours too, lady. You have great blessings within you which you'd need not Take. You have only to follow the Master's Example!"
Milo has a suggestion. "Let's see if Nix can find anything. She's a bit sneakier than me, though she can't jump over the wall or open the gate. If someone inside sees her, they'll be less suspicious than if they happen to catch one of us. I'll tell you what she's seeing."
"Here girl," Milo says, getting the wolf's attention. He points at the house, and tosses her a strip of dried meat. Nix slinks off towards the house, nearly invisible in the darkness. Although it is dark, a close look at Milo's face reveals a startling change: His eyes have changed from their normal green to the yellow of Nix's eyes. "There's nobody hanging around outside the walls, they've posted no guard. She doesn't see anybody by the gate, so she's going to look in. Ok, there's nobody in the courtyard either. There's shadows of people cast by the fire out of a window. Something's moving inside the house, probably whoever lives there. Huh, she's looking around like she's nervous. She's sniffing the ground, smells something familiar and something scary. She hears something out in the field. Ok girl, get on back! Run!"
A few moments later, Nix comes bounding out of the darkness back to the side of her master with hackles raised and an uncertain tail. "She smelled something wrong, and saw movement out in the field west of the house. Dunno what it was."
Thinking about the information she missed, it is clear none of them were on that road. Could there be more of us? Swift?
Pretty watches the room with care, not relaxing for a second even with the absence of enemies nearby. She sees the demonic dragon and quickly understands why the cultists want the tieflings. Her mood darkens and she opens her mouth to say something, but closes it immediately, thinking twice about it. They do not need to know the enemies could be working for a dragon...
"I don't know what it is, but it shall be no more." Stealthy, she approaches the painting on the wall, about to do something stupid, but she was never a wise one.
Pretty walks toward the picture with her dagger in hand, and if she gets there she will destroy the painting, cutting through the eye and heart of the creature, so if it was seeing them it would no longer, and if by chance it was alive, it wouldn't be anymore.
The rogue makes sure the door to the cells is closed (to prevent sound from escaping that way), and gestures the others to follow her south, to the door with the blood stain, hoping to find an exit, but even if they found a cultist they would at least have a good time there, underground and all, giving it a little twist. She gives the door a quick listen check and if nothing alarming is heard she opens it.
"You have a bond with her, I take it? How very useful," Idris comments.
"Let's make a quick and furious assault. Give no one any time to escape or make a warning. They have our friend and we cannot allow that!"
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Your dagger easily parts the canvas of the painting, splitting the fabric asunder with a quiet ripping sound. No evil emerges to confront you.
You hear nothing at the door, and shoulder it open. It's not locked, and judging from its thinness it's not intended to resist forcing.
You find yourself entering a workshop of sorts. Workbenches and equipment line the walls, and a forge dominates the southern wall. The forge is cold and dark, but the pile of clinkers underneath it on the floor give testimony to its frequent use. Several knives and surgical implements lie scattered around the workbenches. Tools for the creation and maintenance of the knives and blades are neatly stored on shelves, next to bars of steel, blocks of wood, strips of leather, and other components and tools useful in blade making.
The blood trail leads to a door in the eastern wall.
"By the gods," says Henna, softly. "Were we to be subject to these cruel blades?"
Kivan seems interested in speaking to the cultist, but seems more interested in going after Pretty. He whispers to each of the others.
"I think we have found out enough that we need to know now. I think we should bring this cultist with us, and when we get there knock him out so that we can rescue Pretty from this cult. then we can ask some more questions after."
"Should we check out the field or the house first? It seems these cultists would hold Pretty in the house."
Seeing the forge and knowing that such things make a lot of smoke, Pretty looks after a chimney or something like that, which would hopefully be enough to escape.
If there is no such easy luck in this world, she motions the others to get ready for the next room, feeling this would be troublesome. She puts an ear on the door, as usual, and gets ready to open it silently.
When Seraphina exposes the man's scarred chest, he grins wickedly, exposing canines that have been filed to points. "Yes! My first Taking. I have bound within me the gift unfairly granted to an unworthy soul. I will need no coins for Charon when I cross the Styx! My pact is already made, my place reserved! While you weep in the Judgement Line of the Boneyard I shall soar on wings of pure power through the planes! This could be yours too, lady. You have great blessings within you which you'd need not Take. You have only to follow the Master's Example!"
A terrible understanding dawned on Seraphina's face as she realized what the man was saying, "Taken... from a tiefling. And with this deed you have consigned yourself to the Abyss where you will likely spend eternity scrabbling for even a foothold against things more ruthless and foul than you could even dream. What a miserable niche you have carved out for yourself... How could you hope to stand against full-blood demons? You can't even overcome a band of mortal adventurers!" She scoffed loudly, shaking her head.
"Yes, let's make haste. Pretty may be earmarked for either sacrifice or initiation, but neither looks to be a desirable outcome."
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"I say we should move on the house... Pretty may not have time to spare and if we must face whatever has spooked Nix, better to do so with our full company."
Sera casts her shield again and then buffs herself with strength and anyone else who wants it.
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No such luck. Examining the soot-darkened ceiling above the forge reveals only a pipe of a mere one foot diameter providing an outlet for smoke. Your luck is mixed, however, for you do indeed find suitable blades with which to arm yourself.
You again hear nothing at the door, opening it slowly and scanning for danger. This chamber brings the purpose of the temple to its logical conclusion. The trail of bloodstains ends here in a drain in the center of the room. Slightly off to one side stands a wheeled table that would not look out of place in a surgeon's workroom. A shelf full of glass vials and jars sits in one corner adjacent to a small writing desk. Another corner is occupied by several large clay urns. Light would be provided by a lantern placed on the desk, but it is currently unlit, the half-darkness proving no challenge to your darkvision.
When examined, the urns turn out to be filled with fragrant herbs that you do not recognize. They don't smell like common food ingredients, either - they must have some medicinal purpose.
The jars on the shelf are unlabeled and filled with a variety of fluids. Disturbingly, several appear to hold vivisected hearts. opening and attempting to identify the jars' contents is mostly unsuccessful, with one exception. You find a jar about half full with a pungent, clear liquid that makes your head spin when you get a whiff. You don't know what exactly it is, but it's clearly used for knocking out people before surgery. A large dose of this to the face would be most unpleasant, and a sufficiently large dose might well prove swiftly fatal. It seems you've come across a solution to your desire for a poison.
Devil Man and Henna look around the room in disgust and fear, respectively. Honoring your request for silence, they give no voice to their reactions.
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Milo nods and grins at Idris. "I'll tell you about it after we rescue Pretty." Keeping a cautious eye on the farmhouse and a hand on his bow, he looks eager to continue the mission. "Storm in or sneak in, I'll follow your lead. You all work well together, no sense in me messing that up with contrary ideas!"
"Let's approach the east gate to try and avoid whatever is to the west. Come, there is no time to waste!"
Seraphina pats her mare's neck to encourage her as well as steady her own nerves and then led the way to the east gate.
She didn't not need to say anything else, with all they had seen. The rogue knew they would really want to get out of here now. So they moved to the door leading the other way. "I was hoping there was a escape route this way, but we haven't found it yet. Are you sure the cultists only came this way to bring food? Or did they passed in front of the cell to come here regularly?"
In any case, they should keep looking for whatever else is down here, so they move to the door heading north of the common room, once more with care.
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"Can't say for sure" says Devil Man. "Since I've been here they haven't come down for anything but taking care of us. Never even looked at this door, hardly."
Hearing nothing at the northern door, you open it as well. A tiny dormitory reveals itself, with two made and unslept-in beds, a cold brazier, and shelf full of clothing make up the total of the room's decorations. The clothing is evenly split between normal commoner wear and cloaked bodywraps of a dark silk material.
Exit is provided by the door to the east. You hear nothing beyond it.
Searching the room in a quick sweep, she finds the clothes and gets pleased about it. "Great!" She handles them both a suit of the cloaked bodywrap. "Here, wear this fast. If they spot us, at least we will have the advantage of the surprise until they figure out what's going on."
She also put one of the cloaks and gets ready to move on.
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After donning the strange garb, you and your new best friends move forward through the door. You find yourself in a small pantry and eating area. A well-polished wooden table dominates the room, flanked by matching benches. Five place settings are laid out neatly on the table. A shelf full of canned vegetables and pickles rests against one wall, sagging under the weight of its contents. Haunches of dried and salted meat hang from the ceiling, neatly butchered. They're too large to be rabbit or other small game. Another cold brazier sits near the end of the table, derelict in its duty of lighting the room and driving off the creeping cold of the underground chambers.
A door is set in the south wall. It is slightly ajar. The room beyond is as dark as this one, and you hear soft scuffling sounds and a voice humming from beyond the threshold.
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Peeking through the door reveals a tiny, unlit bedroom. The room is well appointed and furnished with fancy wood furniture, thick rugs, and shelves full of books. Standing with his back to you is a withered old man, naked save a tattered leather apron and a similarly worn mask across his face made of the same material as the bodywraps you took. He is extremely wiry, and you can see each cord of muscle and each pulsing vein and artery. The man appears almost dessicated. He is facing away from you, humming softly as he runs a whetstone down the length of a wicked razor. He does not seem to notice you.
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Wasting no time, you spur your mounts forward and charge the eastern gate. Idris leads the way, swinging from her horse to unbar the gate and allow passage through. With a clatter of hooves, you are through the perimeter wall and ride swiftly for the farmhouse.
The house itself is unremarkable, one story with wooden walls and thatched roof like innumerable other similar dwellings across the land. One main door provides entrance by way of a dingy front porch. The warped planks of the porch speak of unskilled construction and promise a noisy passage. The walls are pierced by several windows. The curtains are drawn, preventing reconnaissance, but the interior is clearly lit. Smoke curls from the stone chimney, rising into the late night sky. A root cellar abuts the house on its eastern side, access granted by way of wooden hatch on the side of the house. A small stone well flanks the structure.
You hear speaking from inside the house, but the walls muffle the words into indecipherable noise. Your hasty, mounted entrance was not stealthy, and there's a good chance the occupants of the house heard your arrival despite not posting sentries.
Idris points at the porch and as soon as Maja has cast a shield on her, heads for it at full speed, glancing through the windows as she moves.
Pretty's doubts came back into her mind, but she pushed them back to their resting place. It could be this guy was a prisoner, locked down here as much as she was, but then why would it be free to wander around while she and the others were on a cell? It made no sense. It could even be he was an undead, but a priest of some kind was more likely, being in a place like this, honing a weapon and all. Something told her to just get out, and run for her freedom, but she could not leave a lonely enemy alive. Specially one that would probably the responsible for all this.
She had made her decision before coming into this room, but the lack of light indicated this would not be as easy as she expected. Only knowing that she couldn't handle the monster could make her change her mind now. She gestured the others that there was 1 guy inside, and with uncanny grace moved to try a silent kill!
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You glide into the room, opening the door the bare minimum required for your agile form to slip through. As you approach the man, you smell a strong acrid odor. Before he has a chance to act, you bury your purloined knife into his back. The blade slips in with a grating sound as if you stabbed through thick leather instead of flesh. The wound bleeds considerably less than you'd expect.
"AAAAAArrcAHH!" he gasps, spinning around and clutching at his wound. The man's eyes flash over you, squaring your cultist appearance with the fact you just stabbed him.
"Cut the Surgeon, eh? Naughty! When I'm done with you I might just take those fingers for myself. Nimble!"
The Surgeon brandishes his razor, its edge polished and achingly sharp. His eyes promise you a long, lingering death on his table.
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Idris sees nothing through the windows, drawn curtains obscuring the view. Her boots thump on the warped planks of the porch, which protest loudly at the abuse.
Just as you reach the door, it cracks open. A middle aged man peers out at you. He's dressed in the tattered and threadbare clothes of a peasant farmer, with patches on top of patches. His hair is unkempt, with streaks of grey spoiling its blackness. His face is old and wizened, with a multitude of lines, caused by age and hard living, cracking through sunburned and leathery skin. In one hand he holds a lit torch, and in the other he brandishes a scythe.
"Back, Back!" he growls. "If it's taxes you're after, you're on a fool's errand! If it's food you're taking, you're in the wrong damn season! Get away from here, bravo, lest I forget I'm a gentleman and set my dogs on you!"
The door at her back is kinda closed, so she prefers to go all out while hopefully Devil Man or Hanna open it. She uses the momment while the man is still getting up to strike twice more!
"Sorry dad, I won't be staying for dinner! Devil, I could use a hand here!"
Kivan not so sure this man is telling the truth, and tries to get a quick word in.
"Look we just want our tiefling back. The men who you sent after us are dead. Just give her back, and we can both leave this without having to fight. That being said, do you happen to have the spellbook from the wizard you sent after us? I would appreciate getting that."
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"Milo, can you watch the back doors in case they try to escape with their captives?"
Sera moved up to the porch with the others, her claws plainly displayed. She watched Maja for her judgment on the man's soul.
"We won't leave without our comrade, and if you've harmed one hair on her Pretty head, I'll be taking restitution from your hide personally. Stand aside for we are coming through. If you do not move we will come through you." She flexed her jade talons, as they glowed with arcane energy.
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Your daggers sink deeply into the man's chest before he has a chance to act. Your aim is true, and you're sure one of your blades found the man's heart. You twist the knives as you pull them out, and the spurting fountain of blood from the wound confirms your aim.
"Well done," the Surgeon states. "You know your anatomy. Unfortunately for you that's not my only heart! Hah!"
True to his word, the man doesn't keel over dead like you'd expect. Rather, he advances on you, wielding his razor!
Your well-honed reflexive dodges keep you safe from the most serious harm, but the Surgeon still lands a slash across your arm that bleeds freely. Your blood mingles with his on the floor.
Devil Man bursts through the door and squeezes behind you, slashing at the man with a clawed hand that fails to pierce the leathery skin of your assailant.
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"You got it, Lady" answers Milo. The ranger and his wolf head for the other side of the house, an arrow readied on his bow.
Maja's probe of the man's soul is conclusive: His aura seethes with negative energy and is very clearly evil.
"You're all crazy!" the man declares. He clearly knows the jig is up.
The "farmer" tries to slam the door in your faces, but he's not quick enough.
Idris and Seraphina react instantly, slashing the undercover cultist with blade and claw!
Pretty shifts behind the man, calling its attention so Devil Man would be able to hit him harder than she would. "Not a problem, cadaver! I will find your other fifty four hearts if need arise!" Even her words call the attention to her, using I instead of we, meaning the other guy is just an asset and not really important.
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