Pandir splashes one of the potions over herself, and her leaves rapidly grow back.
Grog moves up to the corner, ready for more combat.
Grog finds a few conspicuously marked pages that seem of some importance among the pile of tomes the demon was in the process of destroying. With Katala’s help, the group eventually pieces together some interesting information.
The notes all speak about succubi, a type of lust demon. The highlighted passages, curiously, are all about how to please succubi: from what souls it craves to more mundane and carnal pleasures.
One particular fragment catches Katala’s attention. Succubi offer profane gifts to mortals. These gifts grant a shard of demonic power to whoever holds it, but also allows the succubus to dominate that person completely. If, however, the receiver is in possession of a holy token and recites an enchantment upon being gifted the profane object, they can turn the demon’s magic against it and force the succubus to do anything they want—the author of the original tome was very keen on using the opportunity to banish the creature back to the Abyss.
Pandir ponders over the dry ink inscribed the dead tree pulp. "Why were they so intent on destroying the pulp? Maybe we can use it to cleans the hermitage. Oh, wait. We would need a possession and an enchantement." Pandir stands upright. "A useful clue. Maybe for later."
Once the investigation finishes, Pandir heads towards the northwestern door.
Assuming nothing is amiss, she opens the door.
"People write things down because they can't remember or they want other people to learn them. But.... Is it true? Sounds pretty dangerous to me. Don't some demons resist enchantments?"
"Oi, mefinks da' we might be facin' dis bloody sucky in bat'le," Grog says, before heading to back up Pandir.
Pandir opens the door and finds a very small room with a simple cot, a small desk, and a open scroll. The text, illuminated with a dramatic stormy landscape, seems to have once spoken about Gozreh. Now, however, it is defaced with scrawling and demonic symbols.
As they move through the rooms, the group finds similar scenes in each and every one of them. A few chambers are stained with blood, though no corpse nor blood trail can be found. The utter silence of the monastery takes a sadder, more desolate tone. The Wayward Wonders are alone among empty bedrooms that must have once housed more than twenty pious monks.
"I'm not sure that I really want to know.... but where are the bodies? Did demons eat them all?"
Pandir finds all of this so confusing. First worms who wore skin invaded town. Then a gnome clearly misunderstood how nature works. And now more consumption.
Still, there is at least one more room to look into before the central room. And Sister Venus always advises her to keep looking!
"Or be wearin' them," Grog said darkly. The monastary was clearly more of a house of victims than a base for evil.
When the group opens the door, they are greeted by a heated discussion between two monks—a fiery-headed woman and a bald man with jaundiced skin.
“Harlock is as good as dead. I’m the oldest member of the order after him. Ergo, I should inherit his position. And thus these chambers belong to me,” the man spoke in soft but decisive whispers.
“You’re the oldest, eh? So the whole place has been going to absolute s&%* on your watch and you think you can claim authority over anything? I’m the youngest here, the second to embrace the Abbess. I should be flaying you for your sins, you—“ the woman stops mid-sentence when she sees Grog’s bulk open the door. “By Gozreh’s red piss, who are you? How dare you invade this holiest of places! Bak, make them suffer!”
2. Katala
3. Finch
4. Red monk
5. Yellow monk (Bak)
6. Grog
Pandir dashes inbetween the two bickering monks. "Ah, I see. Apologies! I am lost! Where are we? Who is the Abbess?"
She acts dumb long enough to get the drop on the bald monk. She nonlethally flails at him.
Hearing discussion Katala had thought that maybe they wouldn't have to fight.... When she hears an 'attack order' though she calls out words to her electric arc cantrip, targeting both people.
[ooc]Basic Reflex save for half damage[/dice]
"If you'd like to discuss this we could stop fighting before we kill you. We're looking for Harlock. You say he's as good as dead? That usually means not dead yet. ??"
Grog enters a guarded stance, growling at the humans to stand down.
Edit: But the growl seems to have been lost in the sound of combat.
The monk named Bak takes Pandir’s first blow without flinching, then avoids the second effortlessly.
“A corrupted plant. How sad.”
No sooner are the words out of his mouth than he is hit squarely on the chest by Katala’s bolt. Finch comes from the side and stabs him on the stomach, snickering.
“You impudent curs! Lessa, you deal with this rabble!” He says, taking a few steps away and casting a potent healing spell on himself.
The woman curses and raises her left hand, creating a conflagration of flames at the centre of first chamber.
Then, laughing, she throws a punch at Pandir’s face, but misses.
2. Katala
3. Finch
4. Red monk (Bak) -13HP
5. Green monk (Lessa) -7HP
6. Grog
Katala sees the flames and is glad that she doesn't have to move through them. She quickly calls out the words to her Electric Arc cantrip spell again, targeting both enemy again.
"Oh! Hot!" Pandir bounces away from the flames.
"So you don't know who the Abbess is? Neither do I!" Pandir bounces about atop the bed, only to bounce against the woman in red.
Something snaps in Grog, and he barrels into the room on heavy feet, charging through the flames with a terrible roar of pent-up anger, and bodily tackles Lessa.
He then grabs the monk by the neck, using his powerful build to shove her face-first into the wall, screaming into her ear. "DROP DA SPELL AND BE QUIET!"
Grog comes in like a wrecking ball, but is met with uncanny resistance from the monk called Lessa. She dodges his attempt to shove her, spits on his face. Spitting on an angry orc is not a wise action, however, as the hand almost choking her clearly indicates.
“Drop dead, you ugly thing!”
Lessa sees right through Pandir’s movements, even whilst busying herself against the massive hand on her neck. The leshy's second attack hits the woman on the face.
Katala’s lightning bolt, meanwhile, jumps through both hermits once again, managing only a glancing blow on both of them.
Finch, in an extremely foul mood, pushes through the conflagration and tries to stab him twice, with no success.
Bak, slaps Grog. The shape of his hand grows dark on the orc’s face.
Lessa tries to escape the grapple, while snickering and saying: “burn, bastard, burn! For the glory of the Abbess!” Though she is unable to free herself, she still lands a painful kick on Grog’s stomach.
2. Katala
3. Finch
4. Yellow monk (Bak) -18HP
5. Red monk (Lessa) -16HP
6. Grog -16HP
Finch dives and pirouettes her way through the flames unscathed, and then continues to stab at the obvious cultist wrestling with Grog.
Pandir puts all of her energy into taking the fiery Abbess worhsipper down. Reminds her too much of the Blight.
"Die for whatever evil deity you call on then!"
A foreign and unfamiliar dark feeling surged in Grothog, a black wave of hate and frustration welling within him.
They wanted to kill his friends. They did not get intimidated. Nothing else would work.
'Why are they like this?' he wondered, as the fires licked his ill-fitting dwarven plate, and he (as if in a dream) let go of the priestess's neck, hand reaching for his deadly pick. 'They are the ones forcing me. I am not evil. I am a victim, I am defending myself. All of this is right.'
He drew his pick, and, feeling a strange distance and sense of sick voyeurism, as if the hand landing murderous blows was not his own.
Even the pain of the sorcery felt ephemeral--for though the body suffered, the mind was so far gone that the flames barely registered. The orc's small eyes were glassy as he spilled blood with mindless repeatative motion.
Grog’s pick went inside Lessa’s shoulder the first time, then on her flank the second time. She screamed in pain, the burning hatred inside her eyes a stark contrast against the orc’s cold and beady eyes.
Lessa is yelling a crazed chain of invectives, threatening the murder of the Wayward Wonders’ brothers, uncles, grandmothers, daughters, and any other blood relation less than twice removed when Pandir struck her on the throat, then on the stomach. Finch jumped in for good measure, making sure the already half-unconscious monk solidly crossed the gates into the realm of the dead.
Bak raises an eyebrow and seems to almost sigh in relief. He takes a step back.
“Hallowed be Gozreh, the impudent heretic is dead. You have done me a favour and for that I will let you live,” he says.
The wall behind him erupts in a sudden storm of stone, lightning, and blood forming a terrible portal. Katala sends her lightning bolt just as he crosses the threshold and disappears—whether it hits or not, no one can say. The portal collapses at the same time as the flaming sphere.
Silence reigns.
"Ah... but Gozreh?" Pandir squats, deep in thought. "I am so confused. He thinks she is a heretic, but he attacked us?"
"No idea. This whole place is a mess that's impossible to understand. Probably the effect of the demons! Search for anything dangerous. It'll take some time to bind up all of the wounds."
The monk fell in a bloody heap, letting out a spray of blood soaking the orc. The fires licking the warrior's body faded, as the male monk withdrew.
His warrior instinct, the instincts of a predator who would pounce and tear limb from limb, urged the warrior to take an attack of opportunity, but the urge was muffled under a strange ringing sound in the orc's ear.
"No idea. This whole place is a mess that's impossible to understand. Probably the effect of the demons! Search for anything dangerous. It'll take some time to bind up all of the wounds."
Grog sits down, letting his friends, now safe and sound, heal him.
"Ah, yes."
"There you are, Friend Grog. I also have an elixir of life on hand. This 'Abbess' must be stopped before we can purge this hermitage of weeds."
Katala will just use Assurance and treat everyone.
Grog thanks the talking plant acrobat with a grunt, and stews in silence as the strange plants and herbal pastes disinfect his wounds and invigorate him.
"There you are, Friend Grog. I also have an elixir of life on hand. This 'Abbess' must be stopped before we can purge this hermitage of weeds."
Just as the plant piped out these words in her strange voice, Grog's heavy hand reached to touch her head.
"Be kareful," he said in a strained voice. The small beady eyes observed the plant-thing with a strange affection. He turned his eyes to the other girls: smart Katala, and vicious Finch.
"We'z gonna win," he says, without much fanfare. Despite the distance and apparent despondent air of him, the orc seemed to have an unshakeable trust in his fellow circus-mates. "Lez go."
Pandir stands up and moves towards the central door. "We must be ready." She squats for a moment and stands still to gather herself. "Okay, I am ready."
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While Katala and Pandir treat their friends’ wounds, Finch goes around the room, dedicating herself equally to sneering at various objects of worship, looking for things she might be able to palm for coin, and looking for anything that looks useful.
Bak and Lessa had apparently been too busy bickering to truly claim the chambers, and as such most of Harlok’s belongings remain scattered around the room. To Finch’s disappointment she finds no copies of The Lust-Crazed Abbey or any similar smut with religious themes. To the joy of the group, she does find a book describing the hermitage rules.
One particular bit stands out: the inner sanctum of the hermitage, protected by the impregnable gates, can only be accessed by followers of Gozreh or by guests in possession of an anointed pearl token.
Together, the Wayward Wonders quickly realise the pearl they had found the librarian’s cell.
Katala, by now finished with mending everyone’s wounds, remembers the book fragments she read on the library, describing rituals against succubi using holy objects.
Grog nods as the party reads out the hermitage rules, and heads to the library to rummage through the priest's robes.
He ignores the book, and grabs the golden-engraved pearl between two large fingers. He marches back to the party, and stands before the gate to the inner sanctum.
He pauses.
"Rest?" he suggests, glancing at Katala.
"If it can burn I have my staff, and I have my cantrips. If everyone else is ready I think we can handle whatever is behind that door." She stands beside him and waits for the others to comment.
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Grog says nothing for a long moment, observing the gate of the sanctum with the pearl in his hand.
He then turns to his party. He takes a deep breath, and looks at their faces.
"Ow'aight," he starts, voice starting with its usual gruffness but rising. "Wez nervous yez? Wez confus'd yez? But nobodyz elz iz 'ere yez? No more 'eroes; itz just uz."
He turns to the gate and back again, and adds, "If dis waz a story, a right shoiny knight shou'v been 'ere, aww right'us and 'oly, but all 'dem are dead. No more 'eroes. Iz jus' us. Wez got no godz or gre't destiny, but we 'ave ourselves. Da's wut Myron sayz: 'Everyone cud be interestin', and I trus' in Myron"
He raises his fingers carrying the pearl, and says, "Fer Myron."
He then pushes the pearl forward, and readies himself for battle.
"For Myron." Pandir bobs in front of the door.
Friend Grog makes a good point. Are we the heroes?
The Wayward Wonders discover the gates need nary a nudge before opening, now that they find themselves in possession of the token. If some might have been expecting a scene of carnage behind the doors, however, they are, in a way, disappointed.
Lying on a chaise longue is a person dressed in an unadorned silk gown which, despite its simplicity, is clearly of excellent making. The corner of their mouth twitches in a smile.
“Welcome, my heroes. You cannot imagine how much I longed to finally meet you.”
Shadow and light, silence and noise—the elements play around this person, tugging the Wonders’ eyes, ears, and noses so everything they see, hear, and smell promises safety, peace, and pleasure.
There are people around them. Someone waves a gigantic feather fan next to this person. Someone else massages their back. Another reads something out loud—perhaps poetry, but, truly, no one cares about their feeble hushed words when the person speaks.
“The servants have run amok, as you have seen. I had no choice but to hide here, with the ones most faithful to me. And hope for a saviour to come before we all starve to death. Now you are here. I am saved.”
They extend a hand, waiting for someone to help them stand up.
Pandir cocks her head to the side.
"Oh. Well friend. Ah, we are glad to save you?" She bounces ahead, looking for the mayor's daughter. "Perhaps you can help us find her." She offers to help the person off of their chair.
Katala takes in the strange scene and smiles, "Of course. We're here to save you. And Harlok, and Mayor Abber's daughter. If we're all together we can leave before more dangerous enemies gather."
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Finch looks incredulously at the scene beyond the gate, her eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as Pandir and Katala start fawning over the obviously suspicious stranger. She kicks Katala on the shin, hissing, "Oi, snap out of it—you know about magical f*ckery. Don't listen to this iffy b*tch!"
The clown turns to menace the shady figure with her dirks. "I'm not bein' paid to rescue you, so you can f*ck right off. Besides, you're definitely the leader of this here demon cult, and most probably a demon yourself—one of those sucky-buses that humps people in their sleep. Best go do that elsewhere."
Grog steps in, and his gaze is steady. He drops the pearl, and hefts his pick, steadily approaching.
“The servants have run amok, as you have seen. I had no choice but to hide here, with the ones most faithful to me. And hope for a saviour to come before we all starve to death. Now you are here. I am saved.”
"I'm not bein' paid to rescue you, so you can f*ck right off. Besides, you're definitely the leader of this here demon cult, and most probably a demon yourself—
The memories of his boss's death and the torment of his friends sets his adrenaline surging. The sulfur, the deaths, the worms-who-wear-people, and the demon sits lounging all moved to kindle his soul to flame
He picks up the pace, and lunging at the sitting creature with his pick in a vengeful strike.
"Friend Grog! What are you doing? We're here to rescue her?" Pandir watches her friends fight.
The person Finch baptised “iffy b*+!~” flinches at the accusation. Finch and Grog clearly see it as a ruse—and a bad one at that.
“What is the meaning of this. I am wound—” before they can finish their sentence, Grog lunges and strikes them.
They raise their arm just in time to avoid the pick digging a new hole on their head, but the blow still knocks them back.
“Kitty cat, please, help me! Hug me! Save me from these brutes!”
Though shocked and somewhat disoriented at the sudden violence, Katala moves forward and embraces the probably-a-demon. Her friends can see small wounds opening over her body at the same time the creature’s arm mends itself.