Constantine rolls his eyes at Sirio's denigration of beauty and the aesthetic movement, focusing on the horror show that they're descending into. The diabolism on clear display here is one gut-roiling thing, but its covering with abyssal goo is another entirely. If there was one thing that Milanites and Asmodeans could agree on, it was that demons were bad news. And swarms? Constantine spares a glance to poor Emma as he watches Hannelia land with cat-like grace on the piano. With precision, she sends an arrow through one of the awful goo-covered mites' skulls. Constantine makes a quick calculation before determining that the swarm is the biggest threat and that his sword won't do much against it. In a deft motion, he allows his blade to clatter to the ground , draws an alchemist's fire from within a padded pocket, and hurls it at the swarm.
"Hell no," he says, aware of the irony of the utterance.
Now its Sirio's turn to roll his eyes at the pun. He drops his own shield, a small buckler, and draws his own jar of alchemist's fire.
"They're from the Abyss, Mr. Fioritura. Hell could not tolerate such a lack of discipline." Sirio snaps, as his wrist snaps the firebomb from his hand.
Confident his friend's firebombs have the swarm handled, Roger moves forward to engage the smarfs, man to man and blade to blade! From the long end of a stabby stick because there's too much goop.
Hannelia lands dramatically atop the piano and immediately looses an arrow from her crouch, dispatching one of the warped mites! Roger uses his glaive to decisively repel a boarder that never gets the chance to board, or anything else!
Constantine and Sirio, opposed as they are in so many things, manage to find a certain common ground, and that common ground is: burn it with fire. First Constantine then Sirio launch bottles of fire at the patch of writhing insects, and who is to say whether it's Heaven or Hell that guide their hurled vials? Either way, they are accurate-- and a good thing it is, too. The fire is juuust sufficient to immolate the bulk of the twitching host, and what manages to survive scurries into dark corners.
The two surviving mites tear themselves free of the goop with high-pitched screams that seem to be a mixture of pain and fury both.
Rather than drawing forth weapons like the smarfs you've fought so far, these two stagger nearer, convulse, and then retch purple-tinged bile over you from twenty feet away!
Twin competing desires to either give Sirio a celebratory fist-bump or a frustrated slap in the face for his pedantry wear away as the party turns the tide of the battle quickly in their favor. For better or worse, one of the smurfs seems to have some sort of similar line of thinking and opts for the vomitous approach. It's disgusting, but Sirio can deal with it, Constantine hopes. No intentional touches were coming Sirio's way while he was covered in abyssal bile.
"The lack of discipline left something on your face," he retorts back to Sirio as he speeds around Roger, feeling delightfully unencumbered with his new armor. As he dashes around the corner, he draws a cold iron dagger and slashes it at the recently-freed smarf, hoping to end its threat before it could do anything else.
He'd still have to go back for his sword, but the current threat needed to be dealt with first.
Feeling undeniably pleased with herself for her smooth and successful entrance down onto the piano, Hannelia makes full use of her view down at the last remaining smurf ahead of her. Snatching another cold iron arrow from her quiver, she lets fly again before dismounting the group's makeshift mode of transport and planting her feet lightly on the ground.
Swift death from arrows and from cold iron! Working with admirable teamwork and-- dare we say it-- discipline-- all the mites are dispatched in record time... though bile clings to Sirio's face...
Caught off guard by the movement of the piano, Emma isn't able to react in time to be of much help during combat. By the time she's stepped back from the piano and readied herself for combat, her companions have already dispatched the surrounding targets.
Still, that doesn't mean she can't try to be of some assistance after the fact.
"Constantine, after our experiences with this manor, I do believe I'm in favor of burning it down once we're finished here. I will happily look the other way. Oh, oops, someone must have left a candle burning and it fell over, the whole thing went up, there was nothing we could do, it was all so fast," Emma mutters as she glances around at the carnage. She does a quick glance over her companions, assessing them for injuries, and winces at the sight of the bile on Sirio's face. "Ah, damn. Hold still Sirio - let me see if I can help some with that," she instructs the man. They may not always see eye to eye - but that doesn't mean she's willing to just stand by if he's in trouble and she's in a position to help.
With the room covered in abyssal bile, Constantine drags his cold iron blade along with him as he walks back up the stairs towards his dropped sword. While it would be prudent to keep the dagger on hand, he still preferred to fight with his sword. His father's sword. As Emma helps Sirio (the Order of the Godclaw would be pleased), she calls down to Constantine.
"I'm inclined to agree with you, Lady Blackford," he acknowledges. "If the townspeople had found this altar when they hung the original owners, it would have likely been put to the torch a century ago. But best if we can find the remains of the murdered and give them a proper burial, or else the pain of this place will never truly be banished."
To be fair, they had secured most of what remained valuable within this place, save for those too innately heavy to carry in their packs (like the bathtub). The only reason to maintain this structure would be if its individual elements could be used to enrich the town. And given prejudices within town--increasingly justified as they drew closer to the (hopeful) end of their investigation--Constantine doubts that many would want to benefit from tainted goods.
Constantine knew better. There were some things that were truly cursed. Some horrible acts left psychic impressions that reverberated well beyond their initial pain. He had felt them, seen them, within this place. It wasn't everything, but it was enough.
"I was all on board with plan burn it down awhile ago, but now their's that lady Hannah made friends with to think of, right?"
Sirio sighs after Constantine makes his quip. He scrapes away at the vomit on his raiment.
"This was a fairly expensive robe at one time."
As Emma helps him he gives her a polite, "My thanks, Ms. Blackford. You didn't have to."
"And while the final decision is up to you Mr. Fioritura, nobody is burning anything down until we sit and have a proper discussion." Sirio growls. Then he lightens and continues optimistically, "I think with a bit of elbow grease, this could be a beautiful place to settle down for our friend. It's got a lot of potential. This could be a lovely wine cellar someday... After, of course, we give final rites and rest to the imperiled souls tethered to this place. I would not be so certain that simply burning it to the ground would be the kindest course of action for those tortured souls."
He picks up his buckler from the ground and grips the handle. Just in case.
Sirio seems none-the-worse for his bile bath, except for the state of his robes. He regathers his buckler, and another debate seems like it might be in the making-- but the door to the southwest abruptly flies open, revealing a tall, husky man with dark hair and an impressive mustache. Didn't Mayor Trinelli say something about the missing merchant having a mustache? Hmn. Clothing that might once have marked him as prosperous is now disheveled and bears countless stains and soiling, and the expression on his face is a fixed, unholy glee. Three smaller shapes grunt and shuffle around him at waist-height.
"Well! Well! Look at you! What fine upstanding souls! Come all this way to make the past give up its sins, ha! Look at you, dear me-- now, try not to make this too difficult, I don't want to damage you too much, I'd prefer you all intact--!"
Hannelia had the feeling that things had gone a little too well, the efficiency with which they had dispatched the swarm and demonic mites impressive. Her fears were confirmed when the door on the far side of the room flew open to reveal a man who from Anilda’s description can only be Wormgnash. Three further demonsbile-coated creatures crowd around him but she has never studied the planes and has no idea what they might be - other than dangerous, no doubt.
Taking advantage of their close proximity, Hannelia steps a bit closer before chanting through the words of a spell. She points a finger and the floor beneath the group becomes slick with grease.
The clumsy little demon things seem ungainly and awkward, and their misshapen limbs scrabble in the grease before they slide down. One of them manages to stay upright, as does Mustachio. He laughs heartily at the grease's appearance, slapping his hands on his belly in a forced satire of mirth.
Sirio makes a disgusted grimace at the man's... unrefined countenance. He murmurs a quick spell and shifts into two as he steps forward.
"You'll have to excuse my associates and I. Would you care to elaborate on your problem so we can figure out how best to assist you?" Sirio replies drily. He menaces his morningstar, reminding himself that he's armed.
"Ye've got a lot to answer for, but first we'll handle these little piggies aye?" Roger, however wise forming a wall with Sirio might be, lets his rage get the better of him, and he moves forward to strike at the foe. At least some caution means he still fights from range with his cold iron weapon.
A mighty blow from Roger skewers the yellow-hued demon-thing, though doesn't kill it outright... the cold iron of his glaive's head sizzles into the warped flesh, making the creature squeal in pain. It's badly hurt, though still alive.
Your mustachio'd dance partner chuckles disconcertingly. "Ha, ha, yes! A good hit! A strong body, I see. You'll do, you'll do...." He backs out of the grease-- but otherwise just stands there, as if eager to see what you'll do next.
Before he can make his way back up the stairs to retrieve his sword, Constantine realizes that there is little time to rest. He hears the door open, and barbs are immediately exchanged between Sirio, Roger, and who Constantine assumes is Wormgnash. Hannelia makes the motions of spellcasting while Sirio splits into two and Roger slashes his latest weapon forward. The dueling urge to press the attack with his smaller cold iron weapon or to fall back and prepare for an all-out assault competes in his mind, and he chooses the latter, crossing by Roger and Double-Sirio while sheathing his dagger, and picking up his sword. On the way, he glimpses within the door the three demons swimming in grease and the mustachioed man beyond.
The demons he recognizes immediately. "Dretches," he utters. "But there's something off about them." He quickly tells what he knows as he takes his sword in his hand. As he does so, his eyes flit further up the stairs to Emma. "Lady Blackford: Do you still have the wand? If Iomedae will bless my blade through your hand, I can cut through those vermin with no issue."
When Constantine happens to glimpse the mustachioed man through the door, the fellow also gets a glimpse of him...
"Oh-ho, another strong body! Yes, let's test the three of you--"
The mustachio'd man's eyes burn a moment with sickly purple fire, and Constantine, Sirio, and Roger all feel an assault on their spiritual essence!
Pain lances through each of them, as some part of their life force itself seems to be under attack!
The little dretches struggle to their feet, heedless of the danger of Roger's glaive.... he makes the point quite eloquently, finishing the job he started with the yellow-hued one. Rather than leaving a corpse, the thing pops like a burst bubble, leaving a brief whiff of the smell of rotten eggs.
The two dretches stagger out through the grease towards you, or try to.
The blue-tinged demon wobbles out to engage Roger, moaning incoherently and with dim hatred, but since it had to stand up as well it isn't able to attack him. The more red-colored one seems to be having trouble keeping its footing in the goop...
...and promptly falls on its face as well. Laboriously, it gets up again, clawing the doorframe for support in this.
"Cover me! I'm taking a drink." Roger attempts to keep poking and prodding wildly with his weapon with one hand to keep the enemy at bay, but it's mostly the grease doing that work. He pulls out a potion, pops the cork with his teeth, and drinks to his health.
Constantine is able to quickly relay to the others that dretches have a host of minor abilities, like causing fear and creating noxious clouds... and numerous defenses, like all true demons. Immune or resistant to nearly all the elements, and their hides repel mundane blades-- only those forged of cold iron, or aligned with the forces of good, have their full effect.
Sirio holds his pentacle aloft and shouts a blessing. Something regarding the Father of Law. He then steps to one side, revealing a charging paladin.
"This is your last chance to roll over and accept a painless death, demon scum. " Both Sirios say.
In combat, time is a funny thing.
It's never on your side - you have to move quickly, lest your inaction lead to being overcome before you can decide what to do. But to simply act without thinking can be just as disastrous. Truth be told, Emma had never been particularly good at making snap decisions - not like her mother had been. She could recall several times where the older woman had, in the heat of a battle, called out orders to her compatriots without breaking stride.
Things unfold quickly - the dretches and the mustachioed man are clear threats. She isn't sure who the mustachioed man is - someone missing from the village? Is it Wormgnash? It's not as though their foe would be announcing his name, after all. This could very well be him. Would any of the others know for sure?
Constantine calls out to Emma, asking for the wand. It'd been long enough since she'd received it that Emma had almost forgotten about it entirely. But even as he calls out, Sirio moves out of the way, revealing a clear line to one of the dretches below.
And just like that, her way forward is clear. Even before Sirio finishes speaking, Emma has tightened her grip on her sword and has begun to move. Though she wishes she could take the time to bless Constantine's weapon, when an opportunity has opened itself so enticingly, it would be unwise to pass it by.
Sirio deftly steps to the side as Emma passes by, and she lets out a yell of defiance before striking out at the dretch.
An Asmodean and an Iomedan working together.... but then, so did Asmodeus and Iomedae, together, help defeat Rovagug, no? Sirio moves to one side, and Emma takes the moment.
She slams into the dretch with the full weight of her run down the stairs behind her, and nearly knocks it off its feet! It's still alive, but hurt. Roger, meanwhile, hurriedly quaffs a restorative.
Satisfied with the efficacy of her spell because it has restricted the demons’ ability to close with the party, Hannelia turns back to her bow. With Roger’s glaive keeping them at bay and Emma calling for a route to charge the nearest foe, she struggles for a clear shot. Bearing Constantine’s advice in mind she makes sure to take another arrow tipped with cold iron. With a prayer to Desna to grace her with good favour she pulls back the bowstring, taking careful aim to avoid her friends before releasing.
Her concentration on a tricky shot means she is unable to focus on the pulse of energy Wormgnash sends out and she doesn’t know what kind of fell power it was, though the results were concerning given her companions’ reaction.
Hannelia's arrow is a dead shot and catches the foremost dretch in its misshapen chest-- it staggers half a step, its physical essence seeming on the verge of collapse but not... quite...
The grinning man on the other side of the dretches positions a little to better see you all, shaking his head. "Oh don't you know, darlings! However many you kill, the Abyss always has more-- that's what mortals are for, haha!"
Again his eyes flicker with unnatural malevolence-- and this time, it's Emma, Sirio, and Roger who feel targeted.
Roger and Sirio are perhaps braced, this time, for the malevolent energy-- as for Emma, her immediate sense of clarity and purpose seem to bolster her as well.
Constantine feels the abyssal rip and tear as he runs by. As the shock ripples through his soul, his mind instinctively wraps abjurative energies around him like a swaddled infant . He feels Wormgnash's wicked spell wrench his soul, but the effect is somewhat dulled: just enough that he's not left completely gasping.
With all that on display, he doesn't blame Emma at all for charging straight on by to try to end things faster.
Having now felt the effects of whatever spell Wormgnash cast and observed its effects on the others, Constantine tries to figure out what was going on. But in the absence of clear spellcasting components, it's difficult to discern exactly what had happened. Was Wormgnash psychic as well?
No matter.
Thinking tactically, Constantine realizes that the others would likely mow through the dretches before he had a good chance to get up there. And Wormgnash appeared to be some sort of spellcaster, such that all of his armored defense would mean little in the face of his abyssal assault. So offense would be the key. He takes a step back on the stairs to be in line with Hannelia, nodding favorably as she lodges yet another arrow in a foul creature. He holds his sword in front of him, channeling the frustration that he had felt throughout the exploration of the manor into the blade. That barely-contained rage boils within the bonds of the metal as the occultist envisions plunging it into the smug mustachioed man's gut.
There yet lived one Sarini in this godsforsaken house who would root out its lingering evils. And he had friends.
The dretches do not seem terribly smart-- but maybe possessed of a basic, if simple, cunning. The one still standing on the grease seems to hesitate, as if recalling dimly that it fell last time, and it groans wordlessly while pointing at Emma.
For a brief moment, Emma envisions failure-- her friends dead, her helpless to save them, all her mother's lessons letting her achieve nothing more than death in the end-- but she casts off the mental vision with a shudder.
The other dretch tries to claw at both Emma and Sirio.
Despite her charge, Emma's guard holds... but for all Sirio's attempts to channel Hell's trickery to protect him, a claw finds its way past his guard and rakes along his belly-- deeply. Red blood pours forth to stain red robes...
Her magical reserves low, Hannelia racks her brain for another trick to deploy but nothing springs to mind. Her list of resources is mostly catered towards healing magic or weapons unsuitable for the narrow confines of the current conflict, just the same issue she has with her bow. Her last shot did manage to find its way through a narrow gap to hit its mark but the demon still stands, albeit clearly wounded.
With the creature lashing out at Sirio and catching him in the face, her mind is made up for her as the Asmodean staggers from the vicious slash across his midriff. Drawing forth a scroll of curative magic she moves her hands through the by-now familiar gestures of the spell, aiming to give the priest the option of taking vengeance from a more favourable position.
Shuddering from the mental onslaught of what failure could look like - all the thoughts she'd been trying to keep hidden for this fight - Emma does her best to steel herself. Still, she can't deny that she feels a bit shaken from what she's seen. She finds herself blinking a bit rapidly in the aftermath.
And then she eyes the mustached man - Wormgnash. There's not much she can do just yet against him - but it's him, she's sure of it.
She's already taken some hits - channeling her holy energy, Emma focuses on trying to repair some of that damage.
Perhaps it's because of her feeling shaken - it doesn't feel as effective as she might've otherwise hoped. But it's better than nothing.
She moves to attack the dretch in front of her--
And once again, it feels as though her efforts are for naught. Come on Emma, get a hold of yourself!
Despite making her last shot, the demon is still standing, even if it seems obviously wounded. Emma can't land a telling blow and Hannelia can't get to Sirio in order to heal him any quicker than he could do the job himself so she decides the best course of action is to take aim and hope she can thread the needle once more.
Roger steps forward once again, and with keen drunken piratical senses, lays an attack into the dretch*. Jolly is anything but the word for his expression though, as he worries that blighter in the back'll keep casting that spell that's wearing him and company down fast. "Can anyone do something to interrupt whatever magic he's up to?"
*blue to be specific.
Sirio staggers away from the demon and claws at his belt until he finds the pouch with his healing potion in it, downing it as quickly as he can.
"Doesn't seem that way." Sirio replies to Roger.
"Ohhh where'd you go, darlings! Running out of my view so soon? Tsk!" booms the man, no longer able to see Sirio or Roger through the open doorway. He shakes his head a bit, eyeing Emma, then starts to try and pick his way forward through the grease...
He appears to be more adroit than his servitors. He makes his way forward through the grease, drawing the rapier at his side until he stands in the doorway behind the little demon. "There, now I can see you all again..."
A third time his eyes glitter with inhuman malevolance.
"I suppose now I have to finish this the old fashioned way..." he drawls, swishing the sword a bit in the air.
Constantine tries to throw another shield up to absorb the abyssal energies that scorch his soul, but his mental focus dedicated to abjuration is insufficient. He sways on his feet at the assault but remains standing stalwart. He also hopes that--given Wormgnash's drawing of a sword and accompanying words--maybe he doesn't have any more of that trick left. For all their sakes.
If he does, then he does, and Constantine's preparations won't matter much. Until then, he'd need to keep winding up. He coughs and shrugs his left shoulder, slipping the shield off. "All right, mother," he whispers. "Please fight with me."
Constantine's shield floats in front of him. The wild rose from the gazebo that he had tucked inside of it earlier grows more vibrant, and a few paint chips peel away, revealing a faded, laughing dog beneath. Then the shield floats around Constantine, securing itself to his back. Ethereal rose petals now float around the occultist, occasionally coalescing ever so briefly into the features of a shield-maiden.
The blue dretch looks horribly wounded but still clinging to its existence on this plane. It shlumps forward to clear the doorway for its foul companions, then swipes at Sirio.
The dretch lashes into Sirio with claws and teeth, but succeeds only in dissipating the double that stands next to him in a puff of brimstone.
The other one tries once more to get out there and kill something...
...and skids yet again to its knees. It groans, and then clambers laboriously back to his feet.
Sirio steps back into the ring with the demon. "Disgusting creatures. Go back from where you came!"
He swings a mighty blow at the (blue) dretch! Even the name is disgusting.
As the demon falls, he murmurs a spell and splits into two again.
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As Sirio takes revenge on the dretch that had been causing a nuisance, sending it back to the Abyss, Hannelia responds to a plea for aid from Constantine. The Sarini had been holding back, preparing himself for the ordeal ahead but had taken some nasty wounds, not wholly visible from Wormgnash’s energy power. ”Blades are better suited to these confines,” she says, thinking of the difficult shots she has been forced into.
Withdrawing the scrollcase from the side pocket of her pack, she unfurls a magical healing spell. She works through the incantation which is becoming very familiar, though she can’t deny that it has literally saved lives in the last few days. As she finishes casting, she offers her palm to her friend and he meets it with his own, the restorative magic flowing out of her and nourishing Constantine. Hannelia looks him in the eye. ”Now, go and take back your house.”
"There might be an infinite number of those beasties somewhere, but there sure aren't any more for you! Let's get 'em!" Roger makes his first attack on the foe. If this gentleman's was only infected with the goop, well, he seemed too far gone.
Sirio banishes a demon the old-fashioned way: cold iron and muscle. Hannelia quickly tends to Constantine's ragged breathing and pains... and Roger draws first blood on the leader of your enemies! He's shown his teammates the way-- can his guidance give Emma a solid hit against this accursed foe?!
As the dretch before her is felled, Emma lets out a breath and focuses up, looking at the man standing beyond it. Keeping her shield at the ready, she narrows her eyes at the man.
Gods, but he does look like a twisted individual - the crazed look on his face, the disheveled state of his clothes and hair, the general sense of...unease...that seems to permeate from him.
"You," she says simply. "Wormgnash." She points her sword towards him, her grip firm and arm unwavering. "You've done enough, foul one. This is the end of the road for you. On my honor, you will be stopped this day - you will commit NO further atrocities! IOMEDAE! Grant me the power to defeat this corrupted one and prevent the spread of his evil!"
Calling upon the holy energies of Iomedae to strike Wormgnash, Emma lets out a cry and steps forward to engage their foe.
The Inheritor works in mysterious ways.
Emma's words ring with conviction as she steps forward and tries to drive her point home with steel as well as words.... but her blade's angle is just enough to catch the tip of the metal in the doorframe, and she loses a precious second wrenching it back free again.
Wormgnash laughs, a bit of spittle flecking Emma's face.
"What a speech! Yes! Very good! I'm sure they applaud in the town square when you hold forth about honor and so forth! Yes, I'm sure they like you in town. You'll do. When I come back being you, why, they'll love me, won't they? Now then-- hold still for this-- I can't go putting too many scars on your face--"
He lunges forth, first with his blade; Emma turns the rapier aside with her own sword deftly. For a moment their blades lock with his strength against hers-- and then he snaps forward and tries to bite Emma's face. But fortunately, she reels back catching nothing worth than the putrid smell of his exhalation, which stinks of rot.
Constantine Fioritura, once Sarini... your ally stands in need!
As Emma and Wormgnash trade speeches, Constantine feels emboldened, especially as Hannelia gives him that extra bit of encouragement. The once-Sarini surges forward and swings his blade. It's a powerful swing, whistling through the air and crunching into the door frame, missing Wormgnash but making a statement nonetheless. "You'll rob no more bodies, you filth. Now get the @#$% out of my house!"
"Ohhhh, now it's your house?" says the man with a giggle. "Are you sure you want it? You seem a little conflicted. Anyway.... finders keepers...
"...and the same is true for bodies!"
The dretch is not so interested in banter as its master. It just does its best to claw at Emma, albeit at an awkward angle through the doorway.
The doorway stymies its ability to get its hands in there-- but it manages to dive in for a bite to Emma's shin, anyway.
Reeling back from the strike, Emma hisses in pain and on pure instinct, calls upon the holy energies of Iomedae to counter the damage that's been done. She can't do that forever - her power is limited. But for now, hopefully it will be enough to keep her in the fight long enough to see this through.
Even as Wormgnash makes his strike against her, she can feel the wounds closing up.
Iomedae preserve me, this might be more difficult than I'd thought. Focus up, Emma!
"Wear me?" Emma repeats in a disbelieving growl. The thought of that is enough to make her shudder slightly "Is that what you're currently doing to that form you have? Such foul magic! What manner of beast are you? You will not get a chance to wear me in such a fashion!"
And with that, she strikes out against him once more, hoping that this time will prove to be more successful.
Emma strikes and finally has the satisfaction of connecting! Her blade flares with a sudden bright glow when it contacts Wormgnash's flesh, and the man hisses in pain, as if that had hurt just a little bit more even.
He stops laughing, gazing at Emma with slitted eyes; she steps backward with her guard raised, and gives Roger an excellent clear shot to bring a powerful blow raining down! The strike rocks him back on his feet, and when Roger brings the glaive back, purplish ichor weeps from the deep slash...
No banter, now. Wormgnash's lips curl back from his teeth in a snarl...
That’s more like it, Hannelia thinks as first Emma and then Roger land blows on Wormgnash. As much as he looks like he is playing it down, she believes the blows hurt and his attitude doesn’t seem as cocksure as it did previously. Buoyed by their success and without obvious alternatives she selects one more cold iron arrow, nocks it and sends it towards the demon-spawned man, hoping to wipe the grin even further off his face.