"Honestly, I say whichever ones desire to jump ship in order to live should be allowed to do so. However, I admittedly have a bit of a soft spot for causing others to fall from grace." Haruk says, flashing the monk a matching grin.
Albrέkt listens to the brawler's words;
"Rest aschured Hölle Laich all vill have zhier uses. Chattel or Speisekammer ...
The ironclad undead pushes the downed brawler's head away then moves to where the dwarf's body lies, lifting his battered head up with a armoured fist;
Der Zwerg... A Schmied vas he?
Activating his detect magic cantrip, Molasbar combines using it with a manual search to check over the fallen and captured for valuables.
The brawler nods his head,"Ya Yorgun did some smith work." Looking at Haruk, "I don't want to die over this. If this place is yours, sorry for intruding."
The half-elf struggles feebly against Sarianna's hold, "Don't tell them anything James! This killed our friends!"
James shakes his head, "Killed your friends lady. And I'd rather not join them."
Save for the priestess, who they needed for the middle of the ritual, Xanos did not care what became of the prisoners. They weren't interesting to him. At best they were ready meals for the vampires and scrap parts for later.
He considered the dwarf. A skilled smith was hard to come by. Then he considered the warrior. He was nearly powerful enough to reanimate the dead with an echo of their minds intact. These lot might not be a match for the Ninth Knot, but they were quite skilled by the general standards of Talengarde.
Perhaps they were an investment. "Have the bodies taken to my morgue. I may have use for them," he said via a Message spell from the other room.
Albrέkt eyes the brawler as he shows a defiance toward his former companion, flashing a jagged smile at the priestess.
At Xanos' behest he nods obediently and grabs both corpses... stooping briefly to dip his gauntleted fingers into their bloody wounds, before licking his fingers clean;
"Jawohl Old Vun. Der Schmied vud be uzeful if you kan zurückbringen him az unvergänglich .
The undead brute begins to drag the remains to Xanos' Corpse Locker.
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Haruk ignores the half-elf's words, focusing his attention on the brawler. "James, you seem like a reasonable fellow. I see no reason to needlessly kill you. If you swear fealty to us, not only will I let you live, you can take whatever loot you want from your fallen allies for yourself. I'll also pay you a weekly stipend. Does that sound agreeable?"
Once he gets James' reply, he turns his dread gaze to the young lady. "Listen, there's no need to be foolish. You've lost, it happens. The next move is yours. You can also swear fealty to us, or I can feed you to my hulking vampiric friend whose currently dragging away the bodies of your fallen. I'm sure he's quite hungry." Haruk fingers flash rapidly at Albrέkt.
James looks relieved, "That seems more than reasonable. I swear my fealty to you. Let's just consider this all a big misunderstanding." He looks over at the fallen. "I don't really think that I need anything. It's a bit macabre for my taste and they weren't bad fellows."
The half-elf turns pale, "I don't want to die. I swear fealty."
"Is this wise?" Xanos asked his companions via a whispered message spell. "We cannot trust them at their word, either of them. They will betray us at the first opportunity."
"They will have to be watched at all times, and never allowed to leave." Xanos whispered.
Haruk's words do give the hulking vampyr pause, as the subtle intent sinks into to his cold mind.
Albrέkt turns, eying the survivors hungrily, then leers a jagged smile at Sariana's words and the reply they draw;
"Fealty or nicht. Eventually you vil all valk der inevitable weg from der schäkes of mortalität . Zhis I promise."
He hacks a death rattle laugh, then returns to dragging the corpses to Xanos' raw materials store...
As Albreckt disposes of the organic loot, Molasbar works on the inorganic. Having stripped away their valuables, the half-orc catalogs it and prepares it for travel on their next trip into civilization.
After depositing the corpses of the fallen warrior and smith, the hulking vampyr feeds upon them, emptying the vessels of their cooling lifeblood.
Gulping down the congealed fluid, he savours it's tang knowing it will sate him for a short time, but soon he would need live prey; hot blood flavoured with terror...
The Horn served a purpose; here he could nest and butcher for a higher purpose... but it was not enough. His power was growing and the transformation into his final true form would require a fitting feast, one the minions, prisoners nor living member of the Knot could not provide.
He needed to return to Farholde.
There Albrέkt knew a banquet of innocent, vital flesh was housed. He would travel there, to gorge upon their blood and marrow and return to Der Knotten something better... and worse.
Returning to his companions, no-one can fail notice his feldgrau green armour and pale maw are stained with carmine streaks.
The vampyr bows and flashes a jagged smile;
"Mein Freunde. Vurd of zhier fehlschlag schud be taken to Farholde. It vil schpread fear in the kommon chattel und perhapz inspirieren more to zeek out zhis hive of niederträchtigkeit ."
He chuckles, a death-rattle sound, perhaps jocular only to worshipers of death and their ilk;
"Heh! Ve must keep der larder stocked ja? I vud bring der tidings to them. Speak to Der Siebte Knotten."
"You want to attract more attention?" Xanos asked incredulously.
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A large wolf with charcoal-gray fur gazes on the Horn. He sniffs at the air one last time. He could put this off no longer. He could not return a failure, and he could not continue in the wild.
He had to take the risk.
A hulking armored figure walked towards the Horn. As he neared, he removed his helmet, revealing the gray-green skin, black hair, and broad features of half-orc... one with a familiar style of iron circlet upon his brow. He approaches confidently, expecting to be challenged, but ready to react should things be different than he guessed.
Albrέkt eyes the necromancer curiously, his voice sounding confused in response;
"Ov korse. Remember: Das Grab öffnet sich uns allen. Ve aim to fill it Ja?"
The grave opens to us all - a principle tenet of Urgathoa's faith.
Albrekt's reply had Xanos closing his eyes for a few moments. He looked pained. When he opened them, he looked in the direction of the Maw, down below, as through he walls were not there.
"We have a visitor. Seems to be orcish."
Umurn clanks towards the lower of the two sets of stairs. If he was wrong about what was going on, he might as well avoid getting wet. If he was right, then the other Knot was probably watching all ways... and so he might as well avoid getting wet.
Of course, if there was another Knot here, they likely had other defenses... such as traps. He keeps a wary eye out as he approaches. It would do his king no good for him to have survived so long only to be killed by his allies.
Albrέkt leers a jagged smile at Xanos' news;
"Do you vish me to velcomme Der Ork?"
"Do as you wish. Just do it inside." Xanos said. He cast Message on the Vampires so they could communicate with the rest of the Knot if they needed to.
Albrέkt bows his head dutifully;
"Jawohl Old Vun.
He turns to exit alongside his fellow vampyr, addressing her with a smile as he does;
"I vill verhandeln der wolf Kleine Schwester. You haf der diplomatie ov a Boggard."
The ironclad undead chuckles his death-rattle laugh;
"Its is korrect zhat ve, Der stärkste ov Der Knotten meet zhis newkomer."
Albrέkt nods in agreement at his fellow vampyr and presses onward to meet the newcomer as he enters the first floor of the Horn.
The ironclad undead moves into position and waits... cold eyes flick, paying scant attention to any signs of deceptive magics or subterfuge;
:
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Umurn is somewhat surprised when nothing happens before he reaches the door. He sniffs at the air warily.
Someone was here.
Slowly he enters, peering into the shadows, looking for who waited...
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As the newcomer reached for the door, it slowly opened on it's own volition. Beyond was a darkened hallway lit by ruddy, muted flames shining from the other side of a series of arrow slits that lined the corridor.
In the distance he could make out two silhouettes, one male, towering and armored, the other female, lithe and graceful. Their eyes caught the firelight and reflected it back in sinister, unnatural fashion.
There is a trap in the wall on the approach to the door. It looks like it is probably some sort of pop-out blade trap.
It was not there the last time you were here.
There is a floor trap directly in front of the door.
It was not there the last time you were here.
Just inside the door, after it opens, there is some sort of trap in the ceiling. Likely a swinging pendulum of some kind.
It was not there the last time you were here.
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Umurn notes the new trap at the same time as he takes in the two figures. A sense of the dramatic, pointed teeth, and the scent of fire and--he sniffed at the air--death?
It was quite likely this was another knot.
He spoke, his voice as deep and powerful as his massive frame suggests. "One knot is cut, but a thread remains. Shall it be tied to another, or cast to the flames?"
He was not a poet... but the long weeks (months? He had lost track) alone had required some amusement to keep himself sane, in between hunts.
"I am Umurn. Umurn Silverfang. Things have changed since I fled these halls."
He bows his head just slightly, making certain the iron circlet on his head is visible. If they were not as stupid as his former companions they would catch his meaning. If they were not who he thought they were... he would have to hope he could flee again, for he was not strong enough alone.
Albrέkt takes in the countenance of newcomer, listening to his words, and noting too the iron circlet upon his head.
At Sariana's question he interjects with a jagged smile;
"Or Mistress..."
The ironclad vampyr elucidates in his voice - one hollow and rasping when compared to the primal timbre of Umurn.
"Ve do nicht all bow like chattel to der Herzöge Höllisch ..."
Umurn narrows his eyes. It was difficult to parse out the creatures' accent. Still, from what he understood, they at least had some inkling of what he meant.
He sniffed at the air again. Hmmm... blood and death, pointed fangs... yes, vampires. Certainly not allies of the accursed Kingdom... perhaps they were minions of the Knot here? They did not wear iron circlets...
"My contract was clear," he says aloud. "My first loyalty is to Asmodeus. My second to the master of the Knots. Did you not sign likewise?"
|
"We signed." Sarianna replies, holding up her own circlet before casually tossing it into the air a few times. "If you serve the Kardinal then you may enter. For now."
Sarianna stands back to let Albrekt lead the way upstairs. She follows behind the werewolf, examining him closely as they go.
Wolf kin, and devoted to Asmodeus. Interesting.
Albrέkt nods in agreement at his fellow vampyr's words, removing his own helm to display his own circlet;
"I zerve Der Lord ov Lies by way ov Herr Kardinal. Meine undying loyalty liez vith Der Blassen Prinzessin."
He beckons the newcomer to follow and leads him further in to Horn;
"Ve are Der Nessian Knotten. To vhich did you belong before you fled zhem?"
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Umurn follows warily, watching where the larger, armored vampire steps and stepping in his footprints. No need to trigger an unseen trap accidentally.
"I am all that remains of the Phlegethian Knot. When death came upon us, I fled more swiftly than the others. I have lived in the wilds since then, until I noticed others coming here to the Horn. Eventually I came to suspect another Knot had arrived to succeed where we had failed."
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Down the entry hall corridor and around the corner the trio wound. Behind the arrow slits Umurn could make out flames and skeletal faces. Sharpened spikes a foot in length jutted from the walls every few feet, alternating sides, and also heights. Some were high, some were low. They looked sinister, but their purpose was not obvious.
Above, small holes in the ceiling dotted the length of the hall. They were bored up through the thick stone for quite a ways. Faint light shone from above, occasionally shadowed over by figures walking above.
At the end of the corridor was a heavy portcullis which ground open to let them pass. Behind the portcullis was a mechanical automaton covered in thick plating, it's cogs and servos whirring as it watched them pass. Behind the golem, on the wall opposite the portcullis was another portcullis. Two leering skeletons strained against the bars, reaching for flesh. It ignored the vampires, striving mindlessly to slay the only living thing in the room.
The only door out of this room was reinforced with a latice of steel bands. It too opened on it's own as they neared.
On the other side was a guard station and two massive chain winches. The room was empty though, no guards were present here.
Next to the steel-bound door was a standard heavy wooden door that led to a room that looked like it might be the beginnings of a receiving room. The basics there there. A table, a few chairs, a rug, but it was spartan and unimpressive. It looked like a number of things had recently been pried off the walls. Urmurn's memory of this room was foggy, but he loosely remembered there being plaques on the wall that had once labeled trophies, but all the trophies had been long destroyed by the time he'd arrived the first time.
The only thing of note in the room was a spiked gauntlet int he center of the rug, balanced motionless on it's fingertips
"So I see," Umurn replies. "I will not return a failure, so I will assist here. I see you have done much to prepare against such attacks."
He nods slightly at golem as they pass it. "Certainly you are stronger than my former companions."
He notes the odd gauntlet in the next room without comment. "I am both warrior and priest of Asmodeus. It is his will that the Cardinal's plot succeeds, so I will fight here to ensure that."
At Urmurn's last words Albrέkt chuckles - a noise more akin to a death-rattle than the sound of jocularity;
"His vil? Perhapz. Perhapz nicht. I vunder if miene Mistress - Der Blassen Prinzessin hazt plans for you... in Der Neu Stromlos Epoch!"
As he speaks of a better, deader age, the ironclad vampyr begins to drool...
In the monitoring room, Molasbar says to Xanos "The newcomer might be an asset for us. Anyone who has knowledge of our knot would not be aware of any prowess he might bring to bear."
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"An excellent point," Xanos nodded. "We should keep his presence secret from the Seventh, and the Baron. They know the most about us, and I do not trust them."
"Let us make our introductions."
The necromancer drifted to the teleportation circle, spoke the command word and a moment later appeared in the first floor throne room.
Urmurn and the pair of vampires made their way through the receiving room into a massive chamber lines on all sides with carvings lionizing daemonic rule. The four horsemen were venerated here, but the room itself was barren. It was clean, but everything had been removed. All that remained were the carvings on the walls and the six massive stone pillars supporting the chamber.
The last time Urmurn had been in this chamber it had been the site of an battle nearly a hundred years old, full of broken pews, brittle bones, and a cracked alter. All that was gone now.
The only things in the chamber were three men, two human, one half-orc.
One of the human men was quite tall. His height matched the hulking vampire behemoth, but without the bulk of armor and muscles. This man's skin was dark, but his eyes were icy, pale blue. His head was bald. In fact, he appeared to have no body hair at all.
He wore simple but finely made dark grey robes and what appeared to be a butcher's smock. It was tied around his waist, but not his neck, so it hung folded in half from his belt.
The other thing that hung from his belt were chains attached to spiked gauntlets. The disembodied hands each stood on their finger tips arrayed around the tall man like small pets on leashes.
"She would find me claimed already," Umurn growls in to the larger vampire before they step through the door.
Three more, he noted. He sniffed at the air again, taking in their scents. Interesting... a varied group. These ones lived. Mostly. The one in the smock smelled somewhat of death, but not in the way of the vampires. The other half-orc seemed more the mobile warrior sort, he would guess, while the human smelled of glorious hellfire.
"I am Umurn Silverfang, warrior and priest of Asmodeus, formerly of the Phlegethian Knot," he states simply. "I will aid in seeing my King's work done here."
Molasbar appears after Xanos. When his gaze falls on the newcomer, his gaze is unwavering, taking in every clue about who and what he might be.
The half-orc examining Umurn seems to lack the pure bulk that many of orcish blood possess. He is dressed in clean finery that seems out of place in this wild place. His heavy coat is silken as are his garments underneath it. He has glass lenses over his eyes that aren't held there by frames, but seem to be adhered with magic.