Tawg responds to Hilda. "I don't mind the bugs if you don't mind me eating a couple of them."
On a rock that sticks out of the middle of the stream sits a crab. It seems to stare at you in a knowing way.
Grengar crosses without putting a step wrong, finding all the most solid places to stand.
Everyone crosses safely without incident and in good time. This is sure to put more distance between you and the guards as you head towards the Old Moor road which you're sure isn't too far away now.
A while later while passing a brackish pool, you notice a giant toad-like creature hiding in the weeds at its edge. You spot it before it can attack.
This creature is a giant toad. It attacks with its long tongue, grappling and trying to swallow whole its target.
This creature is a giant toad. It attacks with its long tongue, grappling and trying to swallow whole its target. It has a poisonous skin that damages the mind if touched or attacked by unarmed and natural attacks.
There is another danger on the moors, one well known to locals. An aggressive, territorial and grumpy giant toad nick-named Lashtongue prowls the wilderness. Scarred from numerous attempts by local hunters to slay the monster, Lashtongue has so far evaded any effort to bag him.
Araton follows with the group, walking towards the Old Moors Road. The sound of barking had grown quiet but his thoughts were still to the dangers pursuing them. There is a suddenly a movement and Araton's eyes flicker to the disturbance to see this large, grossly warted frog creature lurking in the brush. Memory comes back to him of the servants gossiping about another boy that had gone missing along the moors. Grimacing, he went to draw his blade.
"Damn it, it's Lashtongue. Damn thing just won't die." Araton hisses out, moving in quickly to engage the local legend. He slashes with his longsword, hoping to reopen old scars once more.
Tawg joins the party in jumping to attention when they spot the large toad. Still feeling bruised and battered from their recent escape, Tawg fights his urge to run in and simply takes his longbow off his shoulder and notches an arrow. "I've eaten bigger grub than you for breakfast!"
He's obviously still winded from the rush of adrenaline of the last few arrows, and the arrow harmlessly falls off the front of the bow.
With initiative on his side, Gildevar follows after Araton and assails the oversized freak of nature from the side. He calls on the profane to smite this beast - how dare it attempts to waylay them?!
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Seeing the massive toad and hearing the thing is notorious enough to have a name, Hilda sighed as she drew her great sword. "Stupid beasty. If you just waited there would have been dog and guard for you to eat. Now you have to die."
She closed the distance with the toad and then lunged for it.
Ceres grins, wolfish and pleased, and reaches her arm into the water. A large crab, its mottled shell tan, pink, and white, and covered with moss, emerges from the water, and scuttles up Ceres' arm, crossing over her shoulder and crawling into the woman's mass of writing hair.
"I've missed you, crab."
The toad - Lashtongue apparently - breaks their reunion short, and Ceres shambles forward, her hair reaching for the beast, entwining it, and squeezing.
"Grumblejack not eat Lashtongue. Taste bad. Lashtongue not eat Grumblejack. Too big." Grumblejack explains that he was aware of the creature from before his capture. It seemed they had avoided each other in the past.
The toad's hiding spot had failed and it was too slow to react to the onslaught of attacks. Despite Tawg dropping his arrow before he could fire it, several other attacks wounded it before Hilda swung with her greatsword and sliced it almost in two. It dropped with a slight splash.
Its guts splayed open, something humanoid but mostly unrecognisable pokes out of its stomach.
A foolish merchant has been eaten by Lashtongue. Most of what he had in his pockets is ruined and covered in bile. But a gold medallion worth 125 gp and scattered coinage worth another 45 gp are found.
By the time Tawg has picked the arrow back up, the giant toad lays dead, splayed open. Tawg sniffs at the air and licks his lips, moving in to investigate the creature's innards, slurping down some of its intestines.
Tawg tosses the coins and medallion away from the toad so he can continue his meal. "My masters liked these coins," he says with a mouth full of innards. "You like them, too, right?"
Ceres resists the poison secreted by the toad's skin. Tawg is not so fortunate.
While happily munching away, Tawg feels just a bit more dull than usual...
The beast is suddenly taken out in a series of blades and brute force, its cleaved body slipping off into the muck with a sickening slurping noise. Araton's face turns to a scowl at the smell of it before Tawg reaches for the intestines and begins to eat the creature. He almost pales, though it is hard to discern on the already perpetually tired, almost sickly face that he has.
"Asmodeus provides the strangest allies." The nobleborn thinks as Tawg's teeth squelch a particularly juicy part of intestine. Moving over towards the medallion and coinage that the dead merchant had, they would rise up from the ground by an unseen force as he whispered a small command. Despite the slather of innards and glop that clung to them, there was something worthwhile there.
"More coin to support our effort. Let us continue on our way." Araton said, patting Tawg on the back and wiping off the intestinal goo upon him. At least Araton now knew a little better for who to send to do the really dirty work.
When the toad dropped, more or less in two halves, Hilda turned to Tawg. "Now, let's get you patched up a bit more."
With that she picked a single beetle from her hair and placed it on Tawg's bare skin while chanting some words that sounded more like gibberish than anything else. When she was done a sickly green light came from the beetle as it melted away into Tawg's skin.
You take the merchant's gold. He clearly doesn't need it anymore.
Tawg suffers only a little from the poison, feeling the dulling of his mind. He's sure to feel fine if he can get a few days rest.
Continuing to trudge on through the moor, you haven't heard the dogs for a while, having gained a substantial distance from your pursuers. Perhaps you even lost them at the stream crossing.
Only half an hour later you come upon a track you can only assume is the Old Moor Road. After an hour or so of following the road you see a light far ahead. As you get closer you can tell it is a door lamp hanging next to a servants entrance.
Perhaps feelings of relief fill you as you come towards the manor. Perhaps apprehension at what lies inside. Either way, Tiadora is waiting for you as you approach, as if expecting you. She no longer looks as if she is dressed for a funeral. That act has fallen. Instead she wears a diaphanous
white gown that makes her look almost angelic. When she speaks, any illusions about her angelic character are quickly dispelled.
"Dearest, you took long enough," she says pitilessly. "We were beginning to wonder if you’d ever make it. Oh, and you brought friends. The master commands all of you to appear before him but before that, you must be made presentable. Slaves!" She claps her hands. A dozen young attractive men and women all wearing very traditional servant’s livery appear quickly, their heads bowed. "These people are our guests," she commands imperiously. "See them to their rooms. I want them cleaned, dressed and refreshed. Quickly." There is something in that last word that sounds like a threat. Certainly the slaves take it that way, hustling to perform their duties.
Araton's body aches; not from any real number of wounds but from the exhausting toll of the escape. The moors seemed to stretch on endlessly in every direction but the only way was forward. At last though, the ground gave way to hardened and travelled track and a smile began to spread across Araton's face. It had to be the Old Moor Road.
"We're nearly there." He said with a cough, his eyes darting to the side as he mumbled gently. [smaller]"I'll be fine.[/i] In the darkness of the dead of night, he carried onwards until a spark of light appeared in the distance. Their salvation. The paladin's steps quickened as he moved forward, faster with inspiration in his steps. The lantern hung by the servant's entrance of a great manor. Opening the door, he let his hellish sight adjust to it before making his way into the place properly.
Soon he spotted Tiadora, the woman who helped engineer their escape and served their mysterious benefactor. The white, soft, and beautiful gown contrasted with her dark personality. Out of the dire situation of the prison, Araton stood up straighter and cleared his voice.
"There were complications, nothing that could not be taken care of." The mention of slaves earned a raised eyebrow from the nobleman. Slavery was illegal in Talingarde, which meant that their benefactor was quite the connected fellow. Such a roster as well meant they were powerful as well.
"Many thanks to you and your master for their patronage. I believe I speak for all of us that we are quite interested to make our acquaintance." Araton looked to the others and gave them a nod, one of thanks and of caution. Whoever could arrange such circumstances as to get them all out would certainly want something in exchange. Being led by a slave, he would head to a room to change out of the bloodied guard uniform he wore and into something proper.
When Hilda reaches out with the beetle, Tawg recoils slightly. Not many hands of affection had been laid upon him. He watched the beetle crawl for a moment before it melted into his skin, his eyes wide with amazement. "This magic stuff is good." He nods approvingly. He gives Hilda a smile laced with toad innards and makes his way along with the group.
-----
Damn long-legs. Why they gotta have things so far apart?! Though big for his race, he still only came up to most humans' chests, and it made it difficult to keep up on what Tawg considered a long journey. When your entire world is a 3-foot cage, any distance is a trek.
When they arrive at the manor, Tawg's eyes fall on the pretty lady and he moves to the back of the party when she begins to speak, somewhat taken aback by her presence. When slaves are mentioned, Tawg moves again to get a better look at them. He had a lot of experience with them, as they were used to muck the cages, remove dead combatants, and be bait if an animal got loose. He looks to see if he recognizes any of them. Maybe one got free when I was captured! He eagerly follows, eyes darting from slave to slave, as he makes his way to his room.
Ceres hair lifts as if agitated, but as for Ceres herself - she if filled with delight. She gives their patron a bow. "My thanks to you and your master. I look forward to meeting...him? Her? And in them letting us know how we can repay our debt."
Turning, Ceres grins and looks over the slaves. "Slaves! Which of you are attending me! I'd like a bath drawn. I'll need a comb - a fine comb. Eh, your strongest comb. And some perfume. And... a cake or some other trifle. And probably something more substantial, like a roast. When was the last time we ate, anyways?"
Ceres hands her sack off to the nearest slave. "I'll need our money cleaned. You can eat the bread - it comes from the famous Brandescar Prison!"
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Hilda looked curiously at both manor and the slaves. "Never seen a slave before. Why did you become slaves? Doesn't sound like a fun job at all. Maybe I need a bath, and some new clothes, but my hair is fine." It was, in fact, greasy, stringy and a straight up mess, "The beetles don't like water."
"But can you get me anything? Then I really want some good clay, the fine stuff they use to make porcelain. I want a new mask. I smashed the old one when I thought they were coming for me because of the killing." She grinned, as if it was a good memory. "Ooh, and some beef. I always liked beef but it was too expensive. Only ever ate it at new year. Just sear the outside, for the flavor, inside is best raw."
Like finishing a chapter but knowing the conclusion is still a long way off, Gildevar approaches the mansion with a certain hesitance. Whoever 'got' them here surely is just as capable as the Mithrans at throwing them in a prison. Whether this one is one as straight-forward as the word implies or one more elaborate and altogether more nefarious remains to be seen, but Gildevar can't help but feel a little paranoid.
He gets pulled out of his thoughts and musings when Hilda comments on the slaves. Why did you become slaves? Gildevar can't help it and frowns, wondering if she's being for real. Should he listen in on her thoughts? It's tempting, but his mind is weary and what focus he has can't help but drift towards the thought of getting into a hot bath.
Exactly how long has it been since he got to enjoy the fruits of civilization? Without a moon and sun to keep track of the days, the young man has completely lost track of time. Perhaps it's better not to know. Perhaps he should just accept the offer. "A bath sounds wonderful, yes, thank you."
To the slaves he says nothing unless they ask him how hot the bath should be - "hot enough to warm my bones, not so hot as to turn my flesh a pinkish red, please" - or other such 'important' questions. They're there to serve him, after all, and surely this 'Master; has taught them how to serve.
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Up in his room, Araton undressed and sunk into the heated water that the slaves had prepared. His frame, while now strong and limber, still showed the signs of his crippled and sickened youth. Scars from disease decorated his form, along with the old scars from the ritual where he dedicated himself to the glory of the Prince of Hell. Gingerly, he sunk into the water and let out a soft sigh of pleasure before staring up at the ceiling. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the slaves for now and lingered in the heated water.
They had escaped Brandenscar, a prison that no one had ever escaped from. In their wake was a slew of bodies and bloodshed. The sergeant and the warden were both dead. The guards were in disarray. Yet while they escaped the walls of the prison, they were not truly free. The tiefling's eyes flickered down the brand on his arm, the runic "F" that stood for Forsaken. They would be hunted across Talingarde and anyone who had connections with them before would be watched, betray them, or both. They were alone...except for their mysterious benefactor.
"Traded a prison of stone for a prison made of obligation..." Araton thought to himself, his black nails idly moving through the steaming water. The water rippled and a small smirk came to his face as he nodded gently. "You are right uncle. This is an opportunity. We serve the strong until we are stronger. Then we renegotiate." The chorus of voices in his mind agreed softly, at least the one's that didn't scream for him to suffer endlessly. "No point waiting any longer."
He would rise from the water, calling for the slaves to come once more to dry him off before bringing him his change of clothing. The fine fabrics, a mix of black and a red that brought him back to the bloodied battles of the prison, felt divine upon his skin. His dark hair was down up in a knot at the back and while he still seemed somewhat sickly, the bath had certainly refreshed him. He would let the slaves guide him once more to meet the others and see who it was they owed their lives to.
Tiadora nods as you are all led away to separate rooms by several slaves each. Tawg doesn't recognise any of the slaves, though there were several captured human slaves that once served his masters.
"Fear not dearest. You will get the chance to repay this debt." She hints to Ceres with a twinkle in her eye.
The slaves barely respond, speaking in dull monotone voices. "We were chosen by the mistress to serve. We serve." They smile happily and do all that is requested of them, bringing you any food or drink that is requested and drawing baths and assisting in making you presentable.
The slaves are enchanted like Blackerly briefly was. Tiadora's magic has permanently altered their minds. They are barely people anymore.
The accommodations are comfortable and the slaves are silent and efficient. There are fresh clothes perfectly sized to each of you in your rooms and there is opportunity to wash up. The drinks brought to you are mixed with healing herbs to help your wounds. Each of you also receive a platter full of hot, delicious
food and fresh water.
After several hours, once you are clean and refreshed, another servant comes to summon you to meet your benefactor.
Tiadora is waiting again before the Master's study. "Much better dearest. He is ready to meet you." She opens the doors and ushers you through into a beautifully appointed office richly decorated with dark wood and sumptuous brocade tapestry. Sitting in a leather high-backed chair is a devilishly handsome fellow who smiles as you enter.
Cardinal Thorn
There are several smaller chairs nearby in front of the desk.
Entering into the room, the hours of refreshment and ease had a serious effect on the noble. While dark shadows still lingered under his eyes, his head was lifted with the pride one would expect from the aristocracy. A black tunic and breeches, the former decorated with beautiful silver filigree work upon it. Slung over his shoulder was a black fur cape lined with a red velvet on the inside. Fine, dark leather boots adorned his feet, ending in points above the toes as the common style would. On his side was a scabbard for his scavenged blade, a leather cord tied around the handle to signify his peaceful intentions. Should he arrive at the same time as the others, he would give them a small but honest smirk before pulling back a seat for either Hilda or Ceres. Only then would he take his seat at the desk and stay up at the handsome man. His eyes lingered for a moment to the fiery star upon his chest; the unholy symbol of Asmodeus. The voices whispered louder in his ear, full of excitement.
Even though he doesn't recognize any of the slaves, Tawg notices that they act different from the slaves in the pits. The ones in the pits were more scared, compelled to perform their duties. These slaves seem almost eager. Tawg approaches one. "Hi," he says with a little wave. "My name's Tawg. I'm from the pits up north. Do you know anyone from there? If you see anyone, tell them I say hi." Arriving at his room, he finds the bath drawn and, after a little hesitation, he eases into the water, in a tub much too large for him, letting the warmth comfort his aches.
When his bath is done, he hops out to find clothes laid out on the bed. He takes a few moments trying to put the shirt on, but the numerous buttons and laces quickly confound him and the slaves step in to assist. Once he's dressed, looking much like a reluctant child on their way to church with his family, he is presented with a warm meal that smells much more appetizing than almost anything he's ever eaten. He snatches the plate away from the slave ,so as to not accidentally bite their hand off, and scarfs the food down. After getting changed into a new outfit, the old outfit now covered in broth and meat, he takes one final drink before resting on the bed until summoned to meet whoever it is that called them here.
Tawg is shown into the study, frilly dress shirt buttoned up as far as it will go, his big head squeezing out of the top, with dark linen pants and feet still bare, an uncomfortable look on his face. His eyes fall on the bald man and immediately feels a bit more comfortable. This type of person was often seen placing bets at the pits. Tawg waddles over to a chair and hops up onto it, gently swinging his hanging feet.
Ceres finds a dress waiting for her once she removes herself from her bath. It is not a fancy dress by any means; a simple cotton dress, died blue, covering the shoulders and with a long hem. It cinches at the waist with a simple blue tie. Her benefactor seemingly new Ceres well; this was the type of dress she would have favored before her transformation. Simple, well-made, rather conservative.
Her crab - still unnamed - clicks across the floor from the bath where it had remained for a bit while Ceres dressed, and Ceres crouches, leaning her arm down, her fingers touching the ground. The crab crawls up Ceres' arm and disappears under the woman's mass of rippling hair, long and black, flipping about as if in a breeze.
The scars - rope burns, literally - on Ceres neck and wrists burn, and the witch has the urge to unbutton the top of her dress, exposing her neck, and the rope-scars covering it. A sense of pleasure emanates from the crab, crowding Ceres' mind, and the slaves avert their eyes. Ceres smiles, and makes her way to meet their benefactor, giving the man a proper curtsy as she sits in one of the chairs facing his desk, a murmred thank you to Araton as he pulls a chair out for her.
Before cleaning herself up Hilda ate, scarfing down several portions of the brought food and gulping down the drinks.
The bathing was a bit of a chore. When Hilda arrived the slaves had already drawn a bath and stood ready to attend to her needs. She quickly disposed of her filthy clothes to then carefully dip her elbow in the bath. Having never taken a warm bath before, she just did what people supposedly did to test water before putting a baby in.
Deciding the temperature was to her liking she stepped in and sat down, careful to drape all her hair over the edge of the bath so it stayed dry. Deciding she'd need a full wash she started to move to bring her whole head underwater. As she did a cascade of glossy, black beetles descended from her hair and along the side of the bath sending the slaves scampering.
When Hilda finally arrived downstairs she looked like a vastly different woman than the one from the prison. Her long, flowing black hair was no longer matted and greasy and her complexion looked healthy, like after she'd snacked on the guard but without the blood. The long black and white dress she wore complemented her look perfectly, an effect that was greatly diminished when she came closer and it was obvious the black wasn't her dress but instead the scores of beetles that used to make their home in her hair.
The only thing out of place is that she still wears her spiked gauntlet, even though it's been cleaned and polished to a sheen.
She then took a chair across from the bishop, oblivious to Araton's gallantry.
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Gildevar couldn't help but notice that the servants had not listened to his clear instructions upon slipping into the water for it failed to warm his bones. Yes, the dirt came off quite easily, and yes, the water was steaming, leaving Gildevar with something to mentally chew on. What exactly had the time in the prison done with him?
Part of that question was later answered when a servant combed his hair and showed the result by holding up a mirror for the young man. Those once round cheeks, flush with life and kissed by youth, had made place for an awfully emaciated sight. Bony cheekbones riding up to a pair of dark eyes ruined by fatigue: it would take more than a night's rest to fix this.
"Thank you, you're excused", he says to the servants with the hope of getting some privacy. His eyes keep on drifting to the mirror as he takes his time getting dressed, and what he sees is cause for worry. Bony legs and arms, stained and marred by bruises and nicks, slip into comfortable muted grey pants and a shirt made with love and care by talented tailors. Their eye for attention shows in the neat dark grey trim, and Gildevar quietly thanks them for the clothes that successfully hide his sorry state, and for the fact they are blessed with plenty of pockets - both on the outside and inside.
Weary and carrying a plate full of thoughts to chew on, he makes his way to the meeting and sits down at whatever chair is not taken yet. All he wants right now is sleep.
"I believe you to be the first to ever escape from Branderscar Prison. Well done! Of course, you had help from the outside," he says with a wicked smile. "But enough with the pleasantries. You must be curious as to why I’ve helped you. Rest assured this is no random act of altruism. I have brought you here for a reason. My name is Cardinal Adrastus Thorn. I am the last high priest of Asmodeus left on the island of Talingarde. Once the Prince of Nessus was rightly revered alongside the other great powers. Now, the king of Talingarde has become a puppet to Mitran fanatics who wish to destroy any religion that does not bow to their insipid sun god."
"For their blasphemy, I will see the same people who imprisoned and condemned you suffer. I understand what you went through for I have faced it myself." With that, he pulls down the sleeve of his robe and reveals his own runic ‘F’ brand, the same symbol that you were branded with by Sergeant Blackerly on arrival at Branderscar, marking you forsaken. "I am going to burn Talingarde to the ground and from the ashes I will build a new nation that knows its rightful master. I cannot do this alone. I seek servants worthy of our Infernal Father’s majesty. Have I found them in you?"
He rises from his grand chair and his eyes flash with hellfire and divine purpose. "Join me! Serve me well in this holy endeavor and I will raise you up in the eyes of gods and men. I will make you princes of the new Talingarde. Today, swear fealty to me and to Asmodeus. Put aside forgiveness and I shall give you vengeance. Put aside mercy and be made powerful. Put aside peace and become my harbingers of war. What say you? Will you swear your allegiance or will you burn with the rest of the blind fools?"
Araton listens within his seat, fingers steepled together as he listens to Cardinal Thorn. The words of the last high priest in Talingarde resonated with him and despite himself, a dark grin was beginning to spread. Where the priests of Mitra had failed to heal him, his Uncle Rozas had guided him to the true power of the Dark Lord. Even with his body incompletely transformed into its prime, Araton was stronger than he ever could be. He could've been a proper lord, he could've led his fallen house to greatness again, but it was all stolen from him.
[b]"A crusade..."[/i] whispered his uncle's words into his ear, that devilish smirk growing that much wider. If there was such a thing as destiny, then it was his dark path to be sitting at this table across the way from Cardinal Thorn. With his speech done, Araton's hand rested flatly upon the table before he lifted his head.
"A hellish crusade for Talingarde? To right the wrongs of the past? Yes, yes I will join you. I will serve you and Asmodeus with all my being." Araton says without a hint of deceit in his voice. This had to be the path he was meant for.
From one frying pan into the other. The thought wants to give birth to a frown, but Gildevar manages to suppress it before it shows. That, and he's altogether too tired to express his feelings. Still, paranoia gnaws at him and he can't help but feel that they might be exchanging one cage for another. If Thorn truly has the Archfiend's blessing, what else can he do but submit? And prove himself to be worthy of more - not so much to Thorn, but to the Lord of Hell himself. But to do that, Gildevar definitely will need more time. To recuperate, to train, and to rebuild all that he lost: wealth, friends, and applicable influence.
You're overthinking this. Listen to what he's offering you: a chance to join the forces of Asmodeus in overthrowing the yoke of Mithran oppression. Feeling like his brain is scrambled and in need of hours upon hours of blissful oblivion, Gildevar purses his lips and nods at Cardinal Thorn. With a weary voice crackling with anger and hate, he too swears fealty. "I will stand with you and bask in the glory of the Lord's blessing. I will kneel before you and submit to the machinations of our Dark Prince. I will fight alongside you and put an end to the Mithran tyranny."
There was a time in Ceres' life when she would have trembled in the presence of such a monster as an Asmodean high priest, prostrating herself with in fear, and in hopes of saving her lowly life. Now though, Ceres was a monster, and she was done with supplication. That said, she was no fool - Adrastus was quite powerful, and she had nowhere to go, no other options available to herself.
Ceres thought of her daughter, stuck in a Mitrian orphanage, and her hair twitched, as if agitated, one long curl wrapping itself around her neck and gently squeezing. Focus.
She forced a smile to her face and looked up at the Cardinal. "I'd be honored to help you burn this land to the ground. And to send every priest I can find along the way to meet their god - as painfully as possible. I just ask that my daughter is spared, and that I can have her at my side when you are crowned."
Tawg sits quietly, taking in the bald man's speech. He's good with words, too! As the man's fiery speech continues, Tawg's attention bounces around the room, having never seen anything like the decorations. When the man says "be made powerful", Tawg is suddenly drawn back in.
One after another, his new friends commit themselves to the bald man. He nods along. When it's his turn to speak, Tawg adjusts himself in the chair so he's sitting up straight. "They saved me from death, so I trust them. You helped me to escape, so I trust you." His eyes narrow and his face becomes stern. "I will follow them in joining you if you can promise I will feast on Markadian's heart."
Hilda hears the others swear fealty to the bald man one after another. She, however, hesitates. When she speaks she appears more eloquent that before, "I can't. I already belong to the Rasping Count. It is he who my soul belongs to. I will join you against Talingarde and follow your command, as long as I decide the fate of my remaining kin. But I can't sign away something that is no longer my own."
"Good. Good. Succeed with me and all that you desire will be yours. You may save what families you have from the Mitrans and their destruction." He frowns at Hilda's refusal. "What belongs to the Rasping Count belongs to Asmodeus as well. For he is the Lord of Hell and each of its layers in turn."
With everyone accepting to serve the Cardinal and his plan for the reshaping of Talinguarde he smiles. "Excellent. Let us make it official. Signing in blood is traditional." He brings out a quill, a silver ritual knife and two copies of a contract written on some unidentifiable leather and written in dark red ink.
The Pact of Thorns
You are expected to sign you names at the bottom in your own blood, using the ritual knife and the quill.
With a well-trained eye for linguistical pitfalls and traps, Gildevar inspects the contract and runs the implication of signing it through his mind a couple of times before committing to it by using the knife to get the necessary red ink out to sign it.
Without saying a word, he leans forward and scribbles his signature on the odd-looking vellum and then sighs. Whether it's a sigh of relief or defeat is not entirely clear. What is clear is that this is the start of a new chapter - and now it up to him and his companions to ensure that the book doesn't end up being a throw-away novella.
If Ceres has any reservations about signing the contract, she doesn't show it. Taking the knife from Gildevar, she draws it across her palm and signs, her handwriting barely legible, letters scrunched together and looping lines shaking, unstable, the moniker of someone that has rarely signed her name. A ping of sadness emanates from the crab, and Ceres mutters, "Oh stop it. You'll have your fun too."
Scooting the chair closer to the desk, Tawg tucks his feet up and stands on the chair to get a look at the contract. He leans in close, looking it over line by line. When he gets to the end, he nods and leans over to whoever is sat next to him and whispers, "What does it say?"
Araton rises and moves alongside Tawg as he approaches the contract. When the goblin asks for what it says, Araton explains it fully and plainly. There was no attempt to try and confuse him, not after he had proven himself a comrade. In fact, the lot of them were a strange assortment. How foolish of Talingarde to have helped them bond through the chaos of battle, a bond now reinforced by the promise of riches, power, and terrible death should they fail.
"You can mark it with a simple "X", Tawg. It matters not if your name is there, simply your intention." Araton explains, even helping guide the goblin should he need it. Once it was secured, Araton would sign his full name eloquently with trained percision after cutting along the back of his hand. The fresh blood caught the light as it began to sink into the fine parchment. Giving a slight bow to his new master, he would return to his seat.
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Tawg trusted what Araton said. He grabs the dagger and cuts a clean spot on his arm, the pain not affecting him at all. He takes the quill, placing the tip in the stream of blood, and scrawls an X at the bottom of the page. Handing the quill to Araton, Tawg looks to the bald man. "This will be a special scar."
"Well done, Talinguarde has no idea what is coming for it. When it does, it will be too late. Hilda, are you to sign and join your allies in this crusade? Or would you prefer a smaller, less important role? Perhaps you would like to assist Tiadora?" he offered an alternative.
Gildevar bites his lower lip and anxiously awaits Hilda's answer. With how smooth everything had gone so far, he'd hate to see things getting messy in this moment of ascension. Would making a suggestion right now be too much? Unsure but not wanting Hilda to do something that might cause them problems later down the road, he scrapes his throat to attract the attention of both Thorn and Hilda.
With a voice tainted by weariness, he suggests the following. "Perhaps an addendum could be of use here? What if Hilda were to sign this most unholy pact and sign a vow to collect a worthy soul for Barbatos so that all those involved will get their rightful due? Surely Barbatos wants what Asmodeus wants ... this would please all parties - our Lord Asmodeus, the Bearded Lord, and the Rasping Count." Throughout all of this, Gildevar can't help but feel that he might be overstepping.
Hilda had read the contract twice, both times taking their time as her reading skills weren't as good as those of some of her comrades. "I'm.. I'm not sure I can sign. I want to join your crusade, I do, but as I said my soul is no longer my own. Still it is important."
Hilda then pierced the skin of her right hand with her own spiked gauntlet, then, with the blood pooling in her hand picked one of the bugs and crushed it, mixing the crushed beetle with her blood. She then used the liquid to sign the contract. "This way my lord will know what I've done. I just hope he understands."
Thorn doesn't seem to care about the beetle being mixed with her blood. He smiles as the last signature is added. "Well done. Here is your first command: prepare yourselves. Stay within the manor. You are still hunted by the Talirean soldiery. In three days we begin your training." He takes his copy of the contract and leaves the other copy for yourselves to keep and dismisses you from the room.
Tiadora is waiting with a smile. "Escaping Branderscar was merely the first test. This time you should be prepared, or you will fail. In three days you face my Master's test. Instruct the slaves as to what you require and it will be obtained for you."
In addition to any loot you acquired from Branderscar, the Cardinal has given each of you 100 gold to equip yourself with whatever you see fit.
The next three days are full of luxury, fine food and drink served by the slaves. Tiadora even offers you one of the slaves as a ‘companion’.
During this time of recovery and preparation, you learn that you are not the only ones in the manor. Another four individuals inhabit a separate wing.
Ceres wakes feeling the best she's felt in... weeks? Which makes sense, now that she thinks about, given just how the last few weeks have gone.
She calls for a servant and takes breakfast in her room, where she spends the next hour eating as much as her wiry frame can handle, and speaking in hushed, intelligible sounds to her crab. Next, she peruses the Warden's spellbook, casting read magic to help in interpreting what magic the man was familiar with.
She'd visit the others, or not, depending on what the secrets the spellbook held...
Warden's Spellbook
Spells and Formulae Inside
Ceres discovers the wizard spells that the Warden had as well as a few alchemist Formulae that he had recently been teaching himself.
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In his private room, Araton secures the armor to himself with the final strappings before standing before the large mirror in the corner. The slave offered to him stands silently in the corner, their help no longer needed or required. The armor gave the sickly yet mighty half-elf's frame a more noble appearance.
"A crusader..." Araton murmured with a voice unlike his own, his eyes staring into the corner. The visage of his dead ancestor, a shadow obfuscated whenever attention was brought to it, lingered in the peripheral and whispered into his ear. He could sense the pride and the jealousy his great-uncle felt and it brought a smirk to his face.
"My success will be yours, uncle. Today, we shall prove ourselves worthy." Araton said with conviction, sheathing his blade after testing its weight and securing the bow to his back. With one last breath, he turned and made his way down from his room towards where the Cardinal would be expecting them and where their next test awaited.
Not caring for the companionship of a mindless goon, Gildevar waves away the offer and embraces the fact that he can be alone again after months of sharing a cell with other inmates. Not hearing anyone's breathing, snoring, and other less pleasant noises produced by necessary bodily functions, is a blessing and it helps to raise Gildevar's spirits over the course of those three days.
Other than being a loner and enjoying the sound of quill on parchment, he also takes the time to explore the mansion whenever it is dark outside. He occasionally opens up his seventh sense and taps into the surface thoughts of those around him. This is still a new experience to him and he won't let his newfound blessing go to waste.
On the second day, after being given the gauntlet and the costly reagent needed to bless it with the might of Asmodeus, Gildevar drops by Hilda's room and knocks softly on the door. A pale face and sunken eyes greet her, and his voice betrays just how tired and weak he still is. "As you requested, Hilda, these are now imbued with the blessing of Asmodeus. If you need anything else, like say scrolls of divine spells, do let me know."
After the signing, the party sits down with Tawg to help the uncultured Goblin purchase the supplies he will need going forward. With the slaves sent off with their tasks and the others heading back to their respective chambers, Tawg is left on his own to wander about. He first looks for Grengar, realizing he wasn't at the signing. Not finding the giant, he makes his way towards the kitchen, getting stopped by a servant who retrieves the ale he asks for.
Still meandering and drinking, he overhears discussion about another four people staying at the manor. He quickly retreats back to Hilda's room and knocks frantically on the door. If she answers, he asks her if she will join him in finding out who these people are. He's tentative but intrigued.
Ceres spends the first day of her new life perusing the warden's spellbook, trying to make sense of his arcane scribbling. It is difficult and tedious work, and yet, with her crab perched upon her shoulder, the witch makes some progress. First, the syllables and symbols come into shape, clicking into place in Ceres' mind with each click of the crab's jaws and pinchers. Next, with a co-opted bowl courtesy of the kitchen, Ceres burns the spellbook's pages in the bowl and mixes a little bog-water with it, creating a brackish sludge, which the crab settles in for a spell before Ceres removes it and tipping the sludge back, Ceres consumes in one eager gulp.
Disappointed that two of the Warden's most useful spells have alluded her, the next day Ceres sends a slave to fetch her a scroll of charm person and identify, and tries again.