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Lort chuckles for no apparent reason, "Stunned into silence by our display of prowess, foul goblin? You ought to be. We have dispatched your master in short order and will do the same to you. It may be that there is something you can say or do to save your wretched life, but I doubt it."
Lort scratches the thick hairs covering his chin, "There's no telling for sure, however. If you are gong to try, though, you should try soon."
Lort's chuckles again and those who can see through the darkness see him grin broadly as he turns to his companions, "This thing probably doesn't speak common, does it?"
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Albeit seeing the goblin flee, Lort can't keep up with the goblin's speed, not with armor donned anyway.
Torvic turns to glance Khalos. "Yes, in fact I do remember it now! the dwarf says, still overwrought. "That despicable derro had me tortured here in this chamber. Unimaginable things, horrible, horrible things. It's as if the nightmares I have begin to take shape again."
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Gunari looks at Torvic with a saddened face. "You poor man... dwarf... dwarf-man. *hic*" From seemingly no where, he pours a tankard of the Drunken God's offerings. "Perhaps a tankard of Cayden Cailean's finest will help you forget the nightmares? he asks, offering the tankard to Torvic.
If Torvic accepts, he "pours" himself (and anyone else who wants one), since no one should ever drink alone.
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When he's done scanning the room, Lort grabs an ale.
"To Cayden and Kurgess. May they watch over us as we continue this endeavor. Torvic, you have my fullest sympathies on being forced to endure this mad creature's ministrations. Is this room bringing back any memories on where to go from here? Or do I get to just pick another door? So far, it's been fun."
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Ozren moves to Torvic and places a hand on his shoulder. I am sorry for your trouble friend, but the storm often brings wisdom and strength in its aftermath. You have survived, your time is now what you make it. He nods once and moves to the side of the room and sits cross legged on the stone floor.
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Now that the noises of the derro and pathfinders have tuned down, they all can hear faint, rancous music coming from the other corridor. Among the music they can also hear screams, surely the product of battle or torture.
Lort makes a quick yet thorough search through the chamber, looking inside the small rooms as well. He manages to gather a set of intriguing looking papers, old by the looks of them, containing a lot of technical pictures and dwarven runes. Edgar and Torvic both acknowledge these papers to be old schematics for art pieces, native to the dwarven gallery.
Torvic nods to Khalos as he proceeds to stand next to the Derro. After a few select words he smashes the skull of the derro with his axe. "I thank you all for your kind words. Words I've probably been waiting for way too long." he says in a low voice. "In short, I remember this derro poking around my mind, making me intoxicated, hallucinated. I saw dread visions, portrayals of my greatest fears, twisted faces... images that still seem to haunt me. But this derro... he was only a vessel, a tool, no the mastermind behind this wretched operation. Whoever is behind my nightmares must pay, both for poisoning my mind and defiling my ancestors' sacred gallery."
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Lort turns to his companions, "My friends, fighting or worse takes place just over yonder. I for one will not let whoever is at the mercies of these foul creatures suffer a second longer than necessary. Certainly in light of what has happened to Tovic here. I say this ends now. What say you?"
Regardless of their response, Lort moves with haste towards the sound of the screams
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"If Zatoma wants to go ahead, he'd best hurry up. We're not leaving friends out there to be slaughtered again."
For the first time since the fighting began, Lort wears a grim expression. He leaves his tankard barely touched on the floor next to Gunari as he moves to follow Zatoma. Striding along with his greatsword in hand, Lort makes as though he would use it on the tip of Zatoma's tail if the eidolon lags behind.
Lort keeps an ear out, listening to the sounds as closely as he can for whether or not someone is in more immediate peril.
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The team marches onwards, climbing the winding stairs in the corridor, still hearing the screams and shouts coming forward.
No one detects any other noises in addition to the screams. They are, however, sure that the sounds are coming right behind that corner. Lort's and Khalos' expert ears hear an echo, meaning the space beyond is large.
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Dozens of whirling, twitching humanoids fill the massive chamber, dressed in outlandish costumes. Masked derros madly waltz about, ducking in and out of the light shed by a few battered candelabra. Others wave banners of tattered cloth of whirl feeble, guttering torches, their dim light an unnatural blood red. Some mites wind between the derros' legs in a chaotic mimicry of peasants' country dances, while other intoxicated mites awkwardly gather dirty plates and goblets from tables. More creatures crowd an elevated gallery at the chamber's east end and appear to be a mockery of an orchestra, each musician vying to outdo his fellows in thunderous cacophony.
The pathfinders see several human bodies sprawled among the dancing creatures in the middle of the room. The bodies seem to be eviscerated into bloody ruins, beyond any hope of recovery or salvation.
Miraculously, the derros and mites don't seem to take note of the pathfinders approaching.
Torvic peeks behind the corner to see the ruckus. "By my ancestors, what's going on in there?" he whispers in disbelief.
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"We must not hesitate. Let's eliminate them while we still have the upper hand with the element of surprise! Zatoma, you know what to do." responds Khalos.
The serpent responds with a silent nod, not looking back but focused, ready to charge at the first enemy to expose its neck once given the signal.
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Lort advances and slices the closest mite to instant death. Suddenly all the other participants in the macabre feast realize they are in danger and begin to disperse. A few mites and one derro, the tallest, however seem to remain and turn their hostile gaze upon the intruders.
The remaining mites surround Lort, one attempting its curse on the half-orc, the other trying to poke a new breathing hole to Lort. Both mites fail miserably, as is common to the mite race.
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The first mite's blood seems to dry and matt Lort's beard together as the mighty half-orc's greatsword continues in its ponderous arc . Out of the corners of his eyes, Lort can see that Zatoma and the derro at the end of the room will both get a chance to act before his sword finally lands the blow.
Looking forwards at the next (most likely) doomed mite, Lort fancies that he sees a mixture of respect, admiration, regret and absolute terror in the creature's eyes. All this makes Lort smile as his hands strain against the hilt of his enormous, deadly blade.
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Knowing Lort has the mite well under control, Gunari moves right by the blue creature, daring it to strike him, confident that the Drunken Hero's protection will save him . He moves all the way up to the derro, to M6.
With a clarity that belies his previous insobriety, Maximoff coolly proclaims,"You can surrender now, derro, and we will give you a quick, clean death. Fight on, and I shall cut you to the Pain. Once , twice, so many times that you will cry for me to end it. And perhaps, I shall. Or perhaps I heal you, and let you live, that we can start over. What say you, you foul, evil, sadistic bastard!"
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Fresh blood sprays Lort, some of it his own, and the half-orc clearly revels in the guilt-free slaughter. Upon hearing Gunari's words, though, his brow furrows, Wow, I never knew he had such a dark side. Lort reviews the eviscerated humans on the floor nearby, Then again, a cycle of torture and healing may be exactly what is needed here.
"Keep your cool and your wits, friends, that derro is behaving a little oddly. I'm not sure why it hasn't used darkness like its friend downstairs did: it may be preparing some kind of trap that relies on our ability to see it."