Simon does the opposite of the words "get closer" - moves away as far as possible from the direction of the sound and is clearly preparing to shoot magic charges.
Lucian hearing bits and pieces of the conversation about a large food store, draws his blade and approaches the stone door.
Malaric noted the strange, sub-sonic rustling that accompanied the dark warrior's steps. Gone from sight, it was only this strange note diminishing that gave the wizard a sense at his slow approach to the door...even so it was maddening to even try and pinpoint the precise intersection of echoes.
Lucian heard a much crispier textured voice now, resolving into "Well hell. I'll be damned you say?" The chipper voice spoke with a certain matter-of-fact attitude towards eternal forfeiture of self that struck the wrong note with you.
"Yyyyyeess." a seductive and very fine voice explained "But your family will be saved...at least another month. If you would sign here..."
Blade in hand, Lucian approaches closer, hoping to get a look at the principals of the conversation.
"What was that?!" the seductive voice hissed. "You fool, the hatch! You put only one nail, didn't you? I told you it needs two...one isn't enough. *ahem* The voice changing and becoming more authoritative "Stop right there, whoever you are, this is a Private Matter of Writ...within my own domain." Whatever that meant.
Your gaze collapsing the parallax of the bright gap in the door, the room comes into focus. A purple-hued imp, perched atop a giant lead '6', was puffing its micro-chest in your general direction. A scrubby little halfling was by his side, pen in hand (along with a fresh batcha soma that gall-nut ink) ready to strike a deal with an infernal contract written in fresh blood, upon freshly carved and delicately stretched human skin.
Whoever you are, man, don't sign this contract. A month of your family's life is not worth your soul. It's too small a deal. Simon, seeing that it's just an imp, snorts and relaxes. You're just the lowest of the devils, not the lord of any domain. And right now you've met your Master. He takes step forward.
Suddenly you all hear a buzzing. One of you slaps own face with the palm and realizes that you have just crushed a fly. One, two, three, ten, one hundred... a thousand? A huge number of flies. They gather in a huge buzzing cloak on Simon's shoulders... No, more like bat's wings! And on the head, these same flies form something like horns.
Simon begins to speak infernal... And his voice is like thunder before an impending storm.
Мое имя Симон и я чародей такой силы, что подобные тебе служат мне пачками, когда я того желаю. Посмотри на эти крылья, ПОСМОТРИ. Ты знаешь, КТО дает такую власть. Ты знаешь, КТО стоит за мной. Всмотрись и молись, ибо гнев мой запределен. Последнее мгновение для тебя, существо - служи нам, или я раздавлю тебя как муху!
With these words, Simon Eltan catches a fly in two fingers (it seems it got on his fingers by itself, obedient to Simon's will) and slowly squeezes it, looking at the imp.
Syrina leans back against the wall, staying in the shadows. Watching as Simon attempts to bully the imp into submission. Waiting to see what the creature does, she tries to note whether the halfling finishes signing the contract or not.
The imp hesitates, scrutinizing the terrible form of Simon and his Pact-magics. It shrugs its pinkie-knuckle sized shoulders, responding "Oh yesss, you look quite powerful. The flies! A nice touch, I saw a cornugon do that with worms once. Yours is better. So, you command my...sssservices? What is your bidding..." a hint of excitement mixed in the words.
Syrina takes a more passive approach, investigating the details of the contract itself. The blood painted on stretched skin forms words in common...its extremely dense. Its the kind of reading that takes complete focus and effort to move from one phrase to the next. A legalese labyrinth, vague loopholes disguised as concrete authority. On a first read, the deal seems to be one month of food for this halfling's family (referred to here as Pilster Pebblehuck, Esquire) in exchange for his eternal soul.
Excellent. How much do you know about the catacombs here? What awaits us ahead? I need a scout and a guide. Simon arrogantly turns up his nose.
Astrid stays along the back, her quarterstaff in her hand, and waited quietly until she was needed. After weeks of scraping by to survive on her own, she was grateful to let others handle the worst parts of exploration and survival and just trail along for a time.
Syrina pretty much ignores the imp under the assumption that the filthy little creature should just get a sword through the brain and be done with it. Others seemed to think it could be useful. A shrug of her shoulders.
Unfortunately, her spot in the shadows makes it too difficult to study the archaic and rambling legalese of the contract. And if she were being honest with herself, her knowledge and interest in such things was fairly limited. Unless it contained the words 'wanted' and 'reward' it likely wouldn't hold her attention for too long.
So she simply waits, watches, and wonders how long they have before the zombies start pouring through the paltry printing house defenses.
A diabolical smile curled on the edges of the purple imp's mouth "We need to go deeper...yes..." taking flight. "Many interesting things below. Come I show you..." floating through another carved marble archway to the north. From your perspective, the adjacent room through the archway doesn't seem to contain much...crates and burlap sacks, some kind of longer term storage area perhaps. There is however still that curious sound of rushing air, it seems stronger nearby.
"Wait, our deal!" the halfling protested, tapping his inkpen on the skin contract.
The purple head peeks back around the archway a moment "Yes, yes...negotiations are concluded. Sign it!"
Pilster begins to sign his name...and the earth begins to gently rumble.
Glancing at the contract, Lucian sees the poison pill clause and rushes in to slap the contract out of the hands of Pilster's hands.
Pointing his blade at the imp, the ranger growls, "Don't even think of signing that contract, you'd be exchanging your entire family's soul as well as yours."
Keeping his sword trained on the imp, glares toward Simon, "And you, you pompous ass, would follow this little fiend right to our dooms...you do realize it is just playing along, right?"
I recommend you choose your words, warrior. But for the first time, I forgive you. And of course I understand everything.
Mal steps from the shadows, "Hey Pebblehuck, as a fellow halfling, are you getting a good deal? What are you getting for your soul and the souls of all your family? You should get something really big. Like getting out of hell, like forever."
What in the Spire is taking so long? Do we wait or move up?
Pilster considers the evil wizard's words "...no, no, the deal was just me. I would sacrifice myself for them..." not understanding he had been tricked. His eyebrows crinkle in halfling analysis, with the eyebrow movements ultimately producing "Well say. Out of hell? Yes. Yes I like the sound of that better actually." Peering cautiously off towards the archway "Perchillux? Are you still there? I want to make some revisions..."
The seductive micro-voice from the adjacent room responds "Out of Avernus? But why? The River Styx melts away your worries, the warm sands and minefields keep your step lively, and did I mention there's even something for gearheads? Blaze Rods on the Death Course! Vroom-vroom! Not to mention good home-cookin' just like your grandma used to make, in fact I'm about to roast some abyssal chickens right now. Nevermind infinite torture and slow-paced disembowelments, that's a thing of the past. We're much more progressive these days. You stay, we'll set you up with a nice family vacay package near the Lake of Pestilence. Wednesdays they have a great all-you-can-eat buffet."
Leaning on the strength of the newcomers Pilster insisted "No, I do want them out...and..and for good, gorsh dangit!" nodding to himself, satisfied with the extra value placed on his soul.
*bbbbbbbbBbBbBRRRRUmble*
The ground tumbles again, and for a split second everyone is thrown into the air as the marble block known as Stars Seen, Tales Told shifts downwards in its earthen foundation a few feet. Cracks splinter the walls, but especially the floors...which now seem to exude some smokey, steaming hot airs from below. Pilster hits the marble floor hard, a thin rivulet of blood coursing out of his left nostril as he picks himself back up.
The imp concedes "*sigh* Very well, you're the boss." *fwooOOSh* the original contract bursts into a bright flame, the blood letters evaporating quickly. Distant screams and horrible lamenting accompany a new script, spelling out a new deal to fit the demands of the clever halflings. "...aaaand there. Just so."
Back down the ways the priest stumbles...
What the devils? Let's GO!
He takes off at a run.
"Could someone just kill that rat with wings." Syrina grumbles after the building shifts yet again. "Time 'pears ta be runnin' short, so best we be movin' on." She starts to follow Grim only to stop and ponder Pebblehuck one last time. Bringing her grisly self up close to the halfling she places a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You spend much time in these catacombs?" She asks. "Is there a place where they hook up with t'other tunnels runnin' under the city? If'n ya help us, might be a chance you an' yer family git outta this place alive without sellin' your soul to a cheap little hellrat."
Mal shakes his head at the halfling. He takes a step back and draws his shortsword after putting someone big between him and the imp. He holds the blade behind him. This imp was annoying and delaying them. The Sharite had a better than even chance to destroy it, but he didn't know what his new companions say about his pragmatism.
Oh, I wasted effort on an idiot. It's worth remembering that I should only talk to powerful devils. Muttering this to himself... Simon suddenly gathers magical energy and unleashes it on the imp!
,
Round 1:
Lucian, Reya <--UP
Imp
Syrina, Lulu, Donal, Mal, Simon, Astrid, Grim
Lucian charges the imp, slashing with his blade three times in quick succession with the imp barely dodging the first two strikes before the third lands.
"You spend much time in these catacombs?" She asks. "Is there a place where they hook up with t'other tunnels runnin' under the city? If'n ya help us, might be a chance you an' yer family git outta this place alive without sellin' your soul to a cheap little hellrat."
"N-no more than I have to...the shadows tell tales in this place, moreso down here in the old stores. There was a rumor that a dwarven graveyard was down here, that the ghosts haunted us for turning their old fortress into a printing press...but I think that was just something to scare the new copy-writers. Na, just solid stone all around as far as I've seen...yep, good ol' reliable dwarven stone." tapping his foot on the ground to prove it while protecting his little candle from blowing out.
As if fate intended to prove Pebblehuck wrong, as Lucian charges into the archway, his left foot slides out from underneath him as a chunk of the marble floor plummets freely away! His leg threatens to get caught in the gap as a hot blast of hell billows past everyone's face, the stone seal now broken to the sky below...the gloom stalker has only a split second to ponder the desert landscape hundreds of feet below, reacting only on pure instinct to save himself...
Reya doesn't have time to stop herself before falling prey to the same fate, a second large mass of the floor wholly crumbling away and plopping into the River Styx below...
...but the hellrider halts herself, throwing her balance backwards as she unsheathes her silver sword...
...clipping the imp on the stinger.
Lucian slips down to one knee, as his other leg squirts out the terminal end of the floating island once called Elturel. The imp couldn't be happier "Yes! One by one! Deeper you go! Awha-hah-ha-*hork!* but her glee is cut short as Lucian's longsword decapitates the devil...severing the little spinal column as easy as plucking a cherry from a tree. A geyser of green neck-goo paints the white marble thoroughly as the winged rat flaps uncontrollably all over.
*CLANG*
Oddly, when the body hits the floor, there is a very loud metallic sound. It must be coming from the thing's oversized purse.
At the same time, the revised contract Pilster was signing turns into a mass of writing centipedes which quickly rout to gaps in the floor and walls. "Nooo! Shucks. Now what am I gonna do?" the soul-dealer laments.
In addition to the sound of the sky coming through the holes and cracks in the floor, you also detect an insect-like chittering and weird splashing sounds. You might be able to fit your head out one of the holes for a peek (Reya, Pilster, and Malaric could fit their whole bodies for that matter). While certainly a dangerous chamber, with the excitement of combat over, it appears easy enough to carefully move around in here...probing each step for sure footing.
"Yer gonna help us find a way outta this big stone coffin." Syrina growls at the wayward Pebblehuck halfling. "An' then yer gonna go back up and lead the others through if'n there's time. Cause you're a brave, heroic man willin' to sell 'is soul to save 'is family. If'n you're willin' ta do that, I reckin' you're able ta keep yer soul and help lead 'em ta safety."
She points to the hole with the odd sounds of splashing. "Now poke your head in there and tell us what ya see."
"Alright alright...hmm..." prodding here and there on the floor and slowly making his way towards the nearest hole. Dropping to his knees, Pilster goes ostrich-style through the gap, applying his face directly to hell. The head immediately comes back up "Oh dang. That isn't good...buncha big horned things slathering acid all over the stone. Its like the whole buildings slipping down out of the earth like a rotten tooth out its gummies! Lemme count how many..." sticking his head back down. "Two...four...*squorlshh*" the body jerks randomly before going limp, then tumbles through the hole.
*ScreeeRch!*
Those close by see the headless Pilster corpse buffeted by the smokey wind a moment, plummeting a few hundred feet in moments before some giant winged screeching demon sweeps past scooping it up in its talons and peeling away towards the chains.
You faintly hear (presumably) one of the acid spitting things shouting "Wmiz va haf zmulc, rytal ar wcurpuwmyr?"
Another answers "Xe val'z tiry za qfyww. Jfwz cudd uz."
Getting a look at the devilish thing that follows after Pebblehuck's consumer as it swoops past the gaps, those with knowledge of devils convert the description into an educated guess: a black abishai. Of course it could only be...with a body like a devil but head of a dragon, scales a glossy black like obsidian, and an unwavering devotion to The Avaricious, The Many-Mawed, The Nemesis of the Gods...the dragon goddess Tiamat.
Stepping away from the gruesome remains of Pebblehuck, Syrina glances at the unfortunate window of head removal and clicks her tongue. She
"Well that's downright unfortunate." She says pushing her hat back from her forehead to scratch at a bit of dirt, while trying to steady herself against the constant shivers and lurches of the building. She glances upward thinking of the folk still upstairs. A moment of concern washes across her haggard heart.
"Pebblehuck the Unlucky said there weren't no other ways outta these catacombs." She drawls to her companions, a bit of frustration flowing through the words. "With the buildin' losin' its grip on the world, I reckin' we may be the only hope for them who's still upstairs. Should we carry on, I can't say there'll be time to come back and git 'em. Maybe, it's better to go back up and try our luck at findin' another way around that horde o' flesh eaters and take any who wish to come with us? What do ya'll think?"
> It must be coming from the thing's oversized purse
Simon comes over and picks it up. At the same time, he releases his cloak consisting of swarm of flies. Unwrapping the purse, he nods. Yes, it seems better to move on top. I can fly if anything, but most of you can't.
Donal looks over the situation, notes the dead halfling and the hole to the Hells, We are wasting time. Can we get through before this place collapses?
Simon, the purse is empty except for a single very large, decorated disc of metal . The disc is 13 centimeters in diameter, ~2.5 cm thick, but very light for its size...maybe 150 grams. It is made of the same otherworldly iron found in Sylvira's gyroscope and Traxigor's tuning fork. Upon both sides of the disc is infernal script, but it seems to be a magical formula rather than spelling out any recognizable words.
You sense a horrible darkness from the thing invading your already crowded psyche, an overwhelming eternal torment. It is as if by merely touching it, you are somehow complicit in some terrible crime against humanity. But meh, you're used to that sort of thing so it isn't that big of a deal. This powerful sense of something suffering within, combined with the magical script leads you to conclude this is obviously a magical item.
Meanwhile no one seems to know the answer to Donal's question, the only way to figure it out might be to try.
Mal looks under Simon's arm at the unusual disc and says, "Eww. Interesting. That's a Soul Coin, one of the more popular currencies of hell. It contains a trapped soul which is denied the natural passage to the realm of its choice of god in the afterlife. It might have some abilities." The Sharite doesn't look too brave to lead the exploration.
If you don't mind? I will carry it, with a goal to setting the soul within free to ascend to Judgement at Kelemvor's throne, he makes to take it gingerly with caution, hoping to house it in the same pouch that holds the sacred funerary coins of His God.
Sounds like we had best flee or prepare for battle!, he says looking around and cocking his helmed head.
Simon smiles at Grim as politely as possible. Perhaps because he likes his Battle Brothers. Perhaps because he had seen them turn very formidable opponents into mincemeat in seconds...
I would like to explore all the magical properties of this coin. Let it stay with me for a while, if you don't mind. I promise that when we return to our world, I will give it to you in any case, if it will still be with me.
He looks confident and firm, with a slight smile of a person who should be trusted.
"Well, we've come this far. I reckin' we might as well see what's at the end." Syrina says, drawing her blade and creeping carefully down the crumbling hall.
Very we'll, Grim says, before following up and backing Syrina.
Already the insidious magics of infernal wealth wedge Grim and Simon apart, without even knowing the coin's true value. What was commerce in hell, anyways? Customer service is obviously right out. Whatever use these Soul Coins might have, it must be more than just jingling in the pockets of some wasteland barter town overlord...the allure of this wealth calls to both good and evil.
Syrina tip-toes across the cracky marble, careful not to break her momma's back. Grim follows much less gracefully with his shiny gleam and heavy adamantine armor. Another chunk of stone breaks away under the Doomguide's foot, but he braces himself on the nearby wall. Ultimately, the daring explorers find only a mega-letdown in the final chamber leaving a sour taste in their mouths about the entire expedition. A tunnel, yes, but one only an imp could fit through. The final stores here are likewise not exciting, consisting mainly of dried gall-nuts and some outdated tools related to book-binding.
Still, let's break through the zombies before we fall down. Simon heads for the exit, inviting the others to follow him with a wave of his hand.
Leaving the terminal end of the marble tomb, you ascend to sturdier ground. You pass again the small hatch with its two nails and through the pamphleteer's archives. Its about that time hell's gravity claws another tug at the building, rocking it cock-eyed and throwing you all to your knees. Years of the little pamphlets pour from their tilted shelves, burying the fungus infested corpse of Sami's friend.
Frustrated, Reya picks herself up "...we need a change in plan. Sami said there was another entrance maybe near the Shrine. If I recall, the tunnels all point from High Hall outward like the rays of Amaunator's sun. So...two points make a line. One point at High Hall, the other point at Harkina's house...the old marketsquare fort. An entrance would then be anywhere on that line."
Harkina nodded "I guess that makes sense...yeah. Well, what are we waiting for..." The woman was still showing strength, despite her boys still missing. But, as the nightmare realm known as hell would have it, another restless burden would be thrown into everyone's faces...putting that inner resolve again to the test.
Returning to the main printing room with the survivors, you find an avalanche of dirt at the front entrance. Apparently the building has dropped enough to bury the front door underground. Caskfeet is frantically clawing at the soil with his hands, sweat bursting from every oily dwarven pore on his neck. Lulu hovers near him quickly, putting a consoling trunk on his shoulder. The dwarf brushes it aside angrily "Sami's still out there, ye daft flyin' tusker!"
Few of the other survivors have the mental endurance to handle this latest twist of fate, crying and rocking in place or just holding their loved ones. There was no hope in their eyes, no prayer came from their lips. They had given up on both a long time ago. They likely don't even realize they are about to plop into the River Styx far below, with every memory and experience of their lives forfeited to Zariel.
"Blast and damnation!" Syrina exclaims upon seeing the tiny exit from the catacombs below and once again upon seeing the state of affairs back at the semi-surface.
"Appears there's no time to loose." Her voice grinds over the muttered moaning of the forlorn survivors. "This place is falling further into the depths of hell. Any who want ta try and keep on livin' should help us and come with us. We're gonna break through the zombia horde and reach the citadel, where there's a better chance of gettin' outta this place. Those willin' ta try, grab somethin' ta fight with and at least die spittin' in the face of this gods bedamned place."
Grabbing the most able bodied people of the group of survivors she directs them into moving crates, barrels, and anything else, helping her create a sturdy enough platform to reach the closest skylight.
Mal clicks his feet transforming the swooshes into feathered wings. The Sharite up to scout the skylights. Considering the last halfling sticking his head through one of them got decapitated, the dragonslayer is much more cautious.
He floats to the ceiling quietly looking through the skylights for threats. Ultimately, he wants to identify which skylight would be the best to escape.