"Thank you... girl." Elias says awkwardly, as if he were looking for a name and realized he didn't have one for you. He gratefully sips the water, spilling out of the corners of his mouth.
"I... I'm not sure how many." He struggles to say. He eyes Constantine as he does. "I've seen the spider as well, but... I haven't the foggiest about it." he eyes Constantine's fidgeting anxiously.
"Is he alright?" he asks Majara more quietly.
Then louder he suggests, "I don't know what's going up there, but I imagine the sooner we leave the better."
Constantine looks over at Elias, his head tilting a little bit. "Oh. No. I'm not." He smiles. With flecks of blood still on his face, it's almost certainly unnerving.
"But neither are you," he continues. It was fairly obvious. Constantine's mind was still in the process of snapping. It wasn't like his hand had been cut off. It still remained to be seen what would be left of Constantine when this was all...
Done?
Constantine tilts his head the other way and points to the robes and masks underneath the table. "Are they killing their own, too?"
Wouldn't they eventually run out? Or would they just move out to the next closest village? Take over the Chitterwood? Imagine another Goblinblood War with faceless stalkers in the mix. The fields would choke with blood...
Majara doesn't answer Elias's muttered question right away, giving Constantine a long look of her own before saying anything, and turning her eyes back to the cleaning of the crude amputation using Hannelia's waterskin.
"He is....... sensitive," she says after a long moment of putting fresh, clean cloth on the just-washed wound. "He senses-- spirits. Things like that. There is apparently a great deal to sense here. But he is on our side."
She says this with a certain firmness as if trying to make it a reality.
"That is the best I can do for your wrist right now. You should drink the potion, it will help some. Miss Blackford, will you help him walk? Elias, this is Emma Blackford. Not Iomedae. And that is Hannelia-- Zuke taught her what she knows. Roger and Constantine are both solid warriors to help us root out this rot."
If Constantine doesn't succumb to it first.
With Elias leaning on Emma's strong arm, Majara moves to Constantine and peers narrow-eyed up into his face.
"...wash your face," she orders after a moment, and thrusts Hannelia's waterskin up at him. A splash of cool water is hardly a cureall for incipient mental fracturing.... but she supposes it can't hurt, and her preferred method of a strong sleeping brew and a week of bed rest is hardly feasible just now.
Constantine blinks at Majara's order before opening the waterskin and pouring some of the cool water into his cupped left hand. The water looks like thick black ichor pooling in hand, but he trusts that Hannelia wouldn't be carrying something like that. He splashes it, lukewarm against his face, rubbing it around and hoping he looked better instead of wrse.
"Thank you," he projects, trying to direct it only to Majara.
"Aye, wish we made fellows in finer time." Roger tips his hat for his part of the introductions.
Waving a hand in acknowledgement of Majara's introduction - short, accurate and to the point, very much like the gnome herself - Hannelia returns to Elias' side. The bodies have all been exhumed and Constantine's question of who exactly they were hangs in the air. "Keep your potion," she says, "it will no doubt come in useful another time." She takes Majara passing the waterskin to Constantine as her cue that the gnome has finished cleansing the man's stump as best she can.
Focusing her mind and calling up the words to her healing spell, Hannelia lays her hands lightly on Elias' chest and chants through them.
Life-nourishing magic pours through her body, the rush of power more familiar now but still Hannelia feels a slight thrill, and she channels it into the prone figure of Elias Kyle. His missing hand does not miraculously regrow - that would take a level of power way beyond what she has at her disposal - but some of his more superficial wounds close and bruises fade from angry welts to mere reminders of past injuries. Full recovery probably requires a healthy amount of bed rest but the spell should at least get him back on his feet. "Can you stand?" she asks, offering a hand and giving him a minute to feel out what his body is now capable of. "Because I agree, let's keep moving."
Constantine looks over at Elias, his head tilting a little bit. "Oh. No. I'm not." He smiles. With flecks of blood still on his face, it's almost certainly unnerving.
"But neither are you,"
Mr. Kyle makes no obvious reaction to Constantine, other than slowly looking away.
When Constantine riffles through the cult robes, he can sense that no one has worn them. He sees spiders on a loom and the hands of an old woman when he touches the robes.
Elias screws his face at the mention of Zuke, but he grunts with some difficulty, ”I s’pose I should ask you how the old bugger is doing. I didn’t hate him quite as much as this one I oughtta say.” he motions Majara with a dip of his stump. Then apologetically adds, ”Sorry. I haven’t been very good to anyone these past few years.” to Majara.
”Emma Blackford,” he chuckles, shaking his head ”...spittin’ image of the Goddess if you don’t mind my saying so. ”
He examines Roger as the name passes his ears. Flickers of recognition or searching pass his eye, ”‘Jolly ol’ Roger?’ You from Saringallow?” he sputters, grinning. ”I think I heard o’ you. D’jyou really sail through the Eye like what they say?”
He breathes a sigh as if several worlds had been lifted from his shoulders when Hannelia heals him,”Aye, I can stand. Thank you Hannelia.” He rises, leaning on Emma.
He coughs and asks absently as he stumbles together with you up the stairs, ”How did you get here without them looking for you?”
Just as he asks that, you hear a familiar voice call out from outside. ”Connie? Mr. Constantine? Ms. Emma? Ms. Hannelia?” The sound is muted, but you can hear the words clearly enough, probably because the owner is shouting and the back door is open. She keeps repeating herself, with some desperation in her voice.
Elias Kyle freezes and his eyes go wide. He seems only to be able to muster a single utterance.
”oh.”
Constantine pays some attention to Mr. Kyle's words, but is mostly trying to make sense of the loomful of spiders and the old woman's hands. No, none worn here, simply made. So they're not sacrificing their own? No, that couldn't be determined. But these were ready for donning. And there were many of them.
Many more than those cut down so far. Tried not to cut down. But the blood...
He hears his name, but he had been hearing lots of things. But the voice...they hadn't met many women in town, especially not those who would call him by Connie and then string through those formal ways.
Shel?
"Shel?" It comes uncertainly in the minds of his friends within 20 feet. "Should we speak up? Or have we been found out?"
He looks over at Emma, wondering if she still detects evil here.
Hannelia nods in acknowledgement of both the hand she gives Elias to rise, and his confession that he hadn’t been much good to anyone in recent years. The former was self-evidently true, even if he did need Emma to support much of his meagre weight. The latter tallied with the little that Majara and Zuke had said of the man. Even so, one would have to be quite astonishingly heartless to wish his recent treatment at the hands of the cultists of Ghlaunder on anyone and Hannelia’s heart goes out to the wretched figure he still cuts in spite of her healing magic.
She is just about to reply to his inquiry when a worried shout from above interrupts her. ”Well, I guess that answers your question,” she says grimly. ”We had a little encounter with the spider and some of the cult which resulted in a lot of unconscious and tied up cultists before moving quickly over here. I guess our head start has just run out.”
Hannelia hears Constantine’s question inside her head. She’s still getting used to this way of communicating but it’s infinitely preferable to the linguistic challenge outside. ”Yes,” she agrees quietly, ”I think so.” She looks round the others. ”And I think we need to go and see what’s going on. We’ve already had to put her in a really unfair position so we owe it to her to see what she wants. And we’re all going – splitting up would be a terrible idea when we don’t know what to expect. It’s not unreasonable to imagine that she’s there under duress so best prepare for that possibility,” she adds, a hard expression on her face that promises retribution for anyone who would use a teenage girl that way. "As for calling out,” she shrugs. ”I can’t imagine it would take too much imagination to work out where we were going, if we weren’t seen anyway. Plus there’s a strong trail of clues for whoever wants to discover our whereabouts. The rumours of this place being haunted may keep the villagers away but it’s hardly going to deter the cultists so it was really only a matter of time before someone caught up to us.”
She pulls at her ponytail, weighing up the options. ”That said, I’d rather not advertise our exact whereabouts, at least until we’re up the stairs – we know there are at least two exits up there. But I don’t want to worry Shel more than necessary either. If she is there by herself she’s presumably got good reason for coming.” Hannelia finishes her stream of consciousness with the position she has arrived at. ”So I think let’s all go upstairs and then let her know we’re here. Anyone with her would probably move in and look around if we don’t reply anyway – it’s what I would do in their position at least.”
Sadly for Hannelia, Roger was a different sort of man. When he heard "Connie", his body was tense, and a moment later he was in action.If asked later to explain himself, he might come up with some fancy reasons, and perhaps his brain was fast enough to piece the following ideas together, but not in so many words. "Connie" implied she was a friend. And the voice was a "She". And the voice was in trouble. For all he knew, this was a girl, being chased and about to be eaten by a spider monster, and the only thing that would save the day was action, immediately.
And so Roger was charging up the stairs blade in hand, to make for the voice by immediate reckless measures.
Roger rounds the corner out of the back of the house to find a woman slowly walking in the direction of the bodies in the back yard. She startles with a short scream and puts a hand over her heart. "Oh my Dream Tender stranger! Ya nearly scared the life outta me. I'm sorry, I don't remember your name. Are your friends with you? Connie- Constantine? Is he there?"
As the rest of you make your way outside, those of you who had met her recognize the woman as not Shel, but Anya Lupescu. "It's- I need your help." she says. There are lines in her face, hardened by fear... but also resolve?
Elias shakes and makes a wordless noise of fear and surprise for the second time today.
"I'm coming clean here. I am part of the Inner Circle to the Slumbering King." She draws out a scythe from her hip. She holds it out in a placating gesture, slowly setting it on the ground. "It's a long story, but we need to go to the center of the Maze. My daughter-" her voice breaks for a moment, she holds tears back, "My family, The whole village. Mayor Kreigler. None of us are in control. Please. You're our last chance. There ain't much time."
Elias cries, "No, she's lying! Don't listen to her!"
She pleads urgently, "Please, you gotta believe me. We're running out of time! If we don't make it to the maze..." She looks over her shoulder, then above your heads past the fungus infested corn.
Majara's attention is torn between numerous troubles-- Elias Kyle, and Constantine. Both need attention. And comfort. The latter is something she has never been good at.
The sound of the vocal interruption is almost a relief, though another complication. Lips pressed into a thin line, Majara hurries after Roger to be sure he cannot get too far ahead, alone.
The heartfelt plea-- if such it is-- earns a narrow-eyed gaze from Majara.
"You know what is going on, then. We are not your timetable, but our own, so you'll need to offer more information than that if you wish us to cooperate with you... after your cult already tried to kill us. And we also know that not everyone in this village is precisely what they look like. How do we know you are indeed a human and not a shifting monster?"
"Miss Blackford, your senses might be of use here... though I suppose if she is one of the cult her heart might still read as foul."
"Or we could just run off," mutters Hannelia as Roger legs it out of the room while she was still deliberating. "Was I talking in your heads or could you hear me?" she asks Constantine and Emma quietly, a sarcastic edge to the question. She quirks her eyebrow up at the occultist to let him know that she's the target of her comment, not him.
"Come on then," she says, "it's probably what we were going to do anyway. Go ahead, Constantine. Are you ok with Mr Kyle by yourself, Emma?" she asks. Though he can walk, he doesn't look particularly steady on his feet.
As they head up the stairs, they hear the heartfelt plea to Roger and Majara, she whispers "Not Shel then, Mrs Lupescu." She rolls her eyes. Hence 'Connie'.
Heading towards the backdoor to join the others, she nods at Elias to show that she heard and understood him. Hannelia then calls out, adding her voice to the mix. "Interesting, because it seems to me like everything here has been extremely well-thought out and under control. How very convenient that it's both a long story and there isn't much time." She cuts herself off before going in, deciding to hold her tongue in case she says something she may regret - and she is well aware that she has opinions on the matter. Instead she chooses to focus on her primary concern and what she assumes is her mother's, at least if she's being vaguely straight with them. "What's happened to Shel?"
"I think I'm the only one who can talk in heads so far," Constantine projects to Hannelia. To all gathered, he whispers. "I heard that in my ears, Ms. Venator."
Constantine nods at Hannelia's comment, trying to keep his head screwed on straight while visions of bloody vermin dance through his head.
"I'm here," he says, emerging up the steps into view. "Please answer Hannelia's question."
Was he gullible? Or was the madness he was currently slipping into in a sign that he was very much as wary as he ought to be?
”Emma Blackford,” he chuckles, shaking his head ”...spittin’ image of the Goddess if you don’t mind my saying so. ”
Emma holds up her hands at this. "Oh, Mr. Kyle, no. Hardly!" she protests. "I thank you for the compliment, but I would never compare myself to the Inheritor!"
She helps Hannelia support Elias. The poor man has been through the wringer all right. She wishes there was more she could do for him at the moment, but it'll likely be a long road to recovery for the man.
Of course, in order to get that recovery, they would likely have to deal with what was going on here. None of the information they were receiving at the moment was good. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She checks on Constantine a few times - still not quite back to normal, but he seems to be doing well enough for now. She's not sure what will happen when it comes time for them to confront the evil behind all of this, though. And that's the kind of unpredictable outcome that could end up costing them dearly in the wrong moment - perhaps she can find a moment to talk with Hannelia or Majara about it. Maybe Constantine could keep Elias safe rather than confront anyone - in his current state, it could end up being dangerous for him to get involved.
When Anya Lupescu makes her way into the group and pleads for help, Emma is taken aback. Her brow furrows, wondering if Shel is also in on all of this - part of her hopes not, part of her knows it doesn't matter too much at this point. Whatever plans they may have had for the festival are long forgotten now - the only priority is to get to the bottom of this once and for all, before things get any worse. Regardless, her first instinct is to offer help, but Majara's call for Emma to use her senses brings Emma to her own.
She gives a curt nod to Majara and then reaches out with her abilities to see if there's any hint of evil from Anya.
"Sounds like a wonderful deal to me! Either someone's in trouble and we can rescue 'em, or it's a trap, and we can spring it, and murder a whole bunch of the cult all at once." Roger seems enthusiastic about the idea either way.
"Only way I can reckon it's poorly for us is if it's what just nothing while they're trying to do something bad somewhere else. Think she's canny enough for that?" Roger asks the group completely uncaring about Anya hearing.
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Majara barks a little laugh at Roger's extremely ... pragmatic take on the chances of walking into am ambush. "Your confidence charms, but sometimes a trap can't be cut nicely in twain, boatswain."
She watches Anya expectantly, and Emma, to see if Emma has any verdict to give. And there's Kyle. Elias Kyle.
It's not possible not to glance at his missing hand, the bloody stump. He was... he had been.. quite the swordsman. In his youth. Twenty years ago for Kyle has been twenty years for her as well.. but gnomes reckon them differently. Majara's suffered no graying, no weakening of the body in the years since. She has full command of her faculties and both hands, which she appreciates, as alchemy would be much, much harder with one only. There's a moment of mental diversion in considering the possible devices that might be engineered to assist with the hurdles, but--
Elias Kyle has his life. She was here in time for that. There is no greater haste that could have been made-- it was Elias's absence in the first place that prompted her mission, so he was already in the filthy basement even then. There is no blame here for Majara Pricknettle in the loss of Kyle's hand; no, none, not even with the harshest math. That's satisfying; she gives a firm little nod to herself. The hand's not my fault.
Leaving only the matter of things from twenty years ago.
Tch, one thing at a time; mercury before sulfur! They had to survive this cult mess and then guilt could be brewed fine and fizzing. Until then, it was to be placed upon the back burner.
"What's happened to Shel?"
”You.” Anya accuses.
”You happened to Shel.” She spits. ”You confused her. We asked her to do this. To approach you. But she refused. If we don’t get that ugly, red-headed, dog-mannered cityboy back, my Shel will have to take his place. So sayeth the Dream Tender. I do what it takes to serve. I done it many times before. But I will not give up my Shel, y’hear? If you give me the redhead or go into the maze, you can save my daughter.”
She raises her palms and says, "This is our last chance. Maze or redhead. No tricks." She glances at Roger.
"We don't need Emma's eyes to tell whats going on here, aye? Obviously she's ok with sacrificing other people, just not her own daughter." Roger may or may not be seriously considering whether Anya should die here.
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Hannelia's attempt to keep a civil tongue evaporates in the face of Anya Lupescu's diatribe. "She refused because Shel has clearly learned some lessons about right and wrong, something she self-evidently did not pick up from you," she shoots back. Not for the first time, Roger's comment cuts to the heart of the matter and it's that which clarifies for Hannelia what has been bothering her about this whole thing and why she feels an attachment to Shel. "I don't see you volunteering to exchange places."
For most people, using the phrase "I'd die for my children" is an abstract but she casts her mind back a decade to a deep feeling as much as memory: the impossibly powerful swipe of an owlbear's claw, of crushed ribs and too much blood. She has no doubt that Cammus Venator would have made the switch with his daughter without thinking. Zuke too, for that matter. Yet in this case it doesn't seem to have crossed either of the elder Lupescus' minds. She doesn't like, but can at least understand, the lack of moral courage - or just the straight hopelessness that would likely end in a swift death - to take a stand against this in the face of the cult. Anybody who has grown up in Isger under the Chelaxian boot can relate to this to at least some degree. But it's this total selfishness, and the way they would manipulate their daughter for their own ends that Hannelia despises.
She knows she is lucky to have the love of a good man as her father. And yet she was also robbed of a mother she cannot even remember. And compared to Sirio and Constantine in turn, that feels like a huge thing, and that's disregarding the numerous stains further back that darken Constantine's bloodline. Even Emma's mother, a hero of some renown, a great warrior and clearly a huge positive influence on her friend, was no perfect parent. Some lessons on self-care and some praise and recognition of what Emma can do would not have gone amiss in Hannelia's opinion. You can't choose your family, she reflects, not for the first time, on the roll of the dice that this turns out to be.
Hannelia thinks of Shel and how hard it must have been to stand up to her parents. From their brief interactions and they way she talked about her father, it was clear that he loves and admires him, not to mention her horror at his unmasking. She deserves better, she mouths silently, before suddenly wondering if she has actually said the words aloud, snapping her out her thoughts.
To her companions she says, "Much as I dislike it, I'm not sure I can see a lot of choice in the situation."
"What I can figure, that maze thing is where they do sacrifices to whatever dark demon they worship? So, we go there, murder the demon and whoever wants to lick its boots? Parade its head around and tell 'em this festering mosquito is what all you idiots've been worshiping?"
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"If we don’t get that ugly, red-headed, dog-mannered cityboy back, my Shel will have to take his place. So sayeth the Dream Tender. I do what it takes to serve. I done it many times before. But I will not give up my Shel, y’hear? If you give me the redhead or go into the maze, you can save my daughter.”
Majara looks unimpressed. "Dog-mannered cityboy? You mean, the person I came here looking for? A man I've known for some thirty years? For a woman petitioning us for assistance, you're remarkably poor at attempting to be conciliatory."
Even if he CAN be a self-righteous prig, she thinks inwardly. And even if she's bracing, right now, for Kyle to make some nasty comment to her about Sacrificing a life for the greater good is up your alley, isn't it, Pricknettle?
She shakes her head to dislodge the annoying thoughts, though it could be taken as a head-shake at at Anya.
"If this Shel is a decent sort," the words are aimed more at the others in the party than at Mrs. Lupescu, "then I'm not opposed to attempting a rescue, but point-the-first: Kyle is hardly well enough for rigorous travel or journey into danger, and she's just proven we can hardly assume he'll be safe if we leave him here. Point-the-second: I propose Anya be left restrained so we know she's not running to tell some other cultists we're coming. Point-the-third: we still have that other essence Emma detected here. I dislike leaving it at our back. Again, we are on our own timetable, not hers."
Majara holds her temper in a way that Hannelia had been unable to but her words are no less cutting. She also raises some difficult, albeit fair, issues.
"I'll vouch for her," Hannelia replies, tackling the easy bit. "She was very helpful to me and Emma. And she's just a girl, really." As for the tougher bits, she has to concede that they are all reasonable points. She takes a deep breath, "Starting with the last bit first, you know I never like to do that either, so I'm ok with neutralising it quickly. " As much as she dislikes what she's seen of Anya Lupescu, Hannelia's not particularly keen on the idea of tying her up. Still, she can't see a way around it which doesn't increase the risk to all of them and says as much.
As for what to do with Elias, this one is arguably the hardest. "No," she agrees, talking to Majara, "but he's injured, vulnerable and we don't have anywhere we can leave him. I think it would be quite a stretch to say he would be safe with us given what we know we're facing, but it might still be just about the safest place for him to be." Hannelia runs a hand through her hair, as she is wont to do when she is thinking hard. She mentally goes through her equipment, looking for a solution.
She snaps her fingers as a plan starts to form. "If we're leaving Anya here, we could disguise Elias as her. I have a scroll for a spell which can do just that. Dress him in some of the robes we found and with a bit of luck it might just work. We'd have to time it right as it won't last forever." She looks to the others for affirmation. "We already know that we'd be heading towards danger."
The accusation causes the blood rushing through vessels near Constantine's ears to conjure a swirl of colors before his eyes as he stares at Anya. In that hallucination, he picks up on a fervent belief within her passion. "She is telling the truth that Shel is in danger."
Constantine takes a step towards Anya. The smile is long gone from his face, as is any trace of blood, but his pupils are rapidly dilating and undilating. "You pegged me as a fine specimen when we met. As a potential suitor. But your daughter is her own person." Another step. "She should make her own choices, not be beholden to your whims." Step. "You happened to Shel long before we did." Step. "Your service to the Gossamer King did this. And we are here to break this village's spear."
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”You happened to Shel.” She spits. ”You confused her. We asked her to do this. To approach you. But she refused. If we don’t get that ugly, red-headed, dog-mannered cityboy back, my Shel will have to take his place. So sayeth the Dream Tender. I do what it takes to serve. I done it many times before. But I will not give up my Shel, y’hear? If you give me the redhead or go into the maze, you can save my daughter.”
She raises her palms and says, "This is our last chance. Maze or redhead. No tricks." She glances at Roger.
"Anya Lupescu, you will be silent! Your say in what's going on here is at an end," Emma snaps, grip tightening on her sword, causing it to twitch slightly, making the shadows around her bounce a bit as the light emanating from the sword shifts slightly. "You're not taking anyone anywhere. There will be a reckoning here for what's been done - I swear it to Iomedae."
With that being said, she's not sure she sees many options open to them save to go after Shel, however unknown the dangers may be. Leaving Shel to a dark fate is not something she's willing to accept. So much so, she realizes, that she finds herself resolved to go after Shel...Emma will not...can not...stand by while a decent person pays the price for the mistakes of the selfish and fearful.
"She refused because Shel has clearly learned some lessons about right and wrong, something she self-evidently did not pick up from you," [Hannelia] shoots back. "I don't see you volunteering to exchange places."
"I don't sense any explicit evil from Anya," Emma remarks in a low voice, narrowing her gaze at Anya. "But I think it's pretty obvious by now that doesn't mean a whole lot."
Hannelia's words have put things into perspective for Emma.
There was no denying that her relationship with her mom had been complicated, but there was also no denying that her mother would've laid down her life in defense of Emma's without hesitation. That Anya was more interested in her own self preservation...even her willingness to sacrifice others in 'defense' of Shel...said volumes about her morality, or lack there of.
"Shel deserves better than you," she remarks coldly. "It's obvious any decency she has came from anywhere else but you."
"If this Shel is a decent sort," the words are aimed more at the others in the party than at Mrs. Lupescu, "then I'm not opposed to attempting a rescue, but point-the-first: Kyle is hardly well enough for rigorous travel or journey into danger, and she's just proven we can hardly assume he'll be safe if we leave him here. Point-the-second: I propose Anya be left restrained so we know she's not running to tell some other cultists we're coming. Point-the-third: we still have that other essence Emma detected here. I dislike leaving it at our back. Again, we are on our own timetable, not hers."
"I'll vouch for her," Hannelia replies. "She was very helpful to me and Emma. And she's just a girl, really." She takes a deep breath, "Starting with the last bit first, you know I never like to do that either, so I'm ok with neutralising it quickly."
Emma nods gravely. "I'll vouch for Shel as well. She doesn't deserve the situation she's in because of this...this ill-intended, naive, misguided cult!" Her grip on the glowing longsword tightens once more as she speaks. "While I'm not exactly eager to leave an unknown evil at our backs, I'm also not comfortable with leaving Shel to suffer at the hands of this cult. We'll have to confront them sooner or later, and the quicker we move, the better chance she has." She turns to Anya. "That being said, I can't say I object to the idea of leaving her tied up. Elias, I know you've been through a lot, but so far, we've been throwing a lot of ideas around about you without much feedback - what do you see as your best avenue here? Would you feel comfortable with the plan proposed?"
"She is telling the truth that Shel is in danger." Constantine takes a step towards Anya. The smile is long gone from his face, as is any trace of blood, but his pupils are rapidly dilating and undilating. "You pegged me as a fine specimen when we met. As a potential suitor. But your daughter is her own person." Another step. "She should make her own choices, not be beholden to your whims." Step. "You happened to Shel long before we did." Step. "Your service to the Gossamer King did this. And we are here to break this village's spear."
Constantine has left Emma on edge since his encounter with...whatever it was that had done this to him. But his words in this moment hit home with what she herself is feeling, and she finds herself agreeing with his words. She steps up beside the man, grip still strong on her longsword.
"Amen," she remarks softly, face resolute as she stands in line with Constantine.
"Well, to get right down to it, I think we head to the maze and give the bad guys a sound thrashing, but we leave on person outside that to keep Kyle safe and outta danger. Connie's probably the strongest swordarm when he gets time to cast his spells, so I'd say we leave him to guard Kyle outside the Maze's entrance."
Constantine looks sidelong at Roger, whose form momentarily swirls to resemble that of the bugbear from whom he claimed the falchion he now wields. "I can protect Mr. Kyle and go into the maze," he declares. The thought of slicking his blade with more fiendish blood is also appealing, but he doesn't say that part out loud. Hopefully his mind doesn't broadcast it either.
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Hannelia's attempt to keep a civil tongue evaporates in the face of Anya Lupescu's diatribe... "I don't see you volunteering to exchange places."
"I-! I would if I could... She admits. Then she raises her chin a fraction, "I don't need to explain myself to outside folk. But the Dormant Dreamer only takes blood from Nonbelievers. So if it won'- "
...But your daughter is her own person." Another step. "She should make her own choices, not be beholden to your whims."
She stammers, before regaining her bearings at Constantine, ”That kind of talk is exactly what I’m talking about, confusing my Shel. You adventurin’ types all think you belong to yourselves, but those of us that have to live in the real world have to make sacrifices for the Greater Good.”
"What I can figure, that maze thing is where they do sacrifices to whatever dark demon they worship? So, we go there, murder the demon and whoever wants to lick its boots? Parade its head around and tell 'em this festering mosquito is what all you idiots've been worshiping?"
Anya swivels to Roger, ”You don’ understand what you’re sayin’. That ‘demon’ is a God! He’s what protects our harvest despite our rotten land. ‘Only blood can contain the Land’s Corruption.’ Without Him, w-.”
"Anya Lupescu, you will be silent! Your say in what's going on here is at an end," Emma snaps, grip tightening on her sword, causing it to twitch slightly, making the shadows around her bounce a bit as the light emanating from the sword shifts slightly. "You're not taking anyone anywhere. There will be a reckoning here for what's been done - I swear it to Iomedae."
Anya grits her teeth but understands she is outnumbered and that she won’t be changing anyone’s mind here. She retorts, ”Then there ain’t nothing left to say.
Another familiarly saccharine voice cuts in from behind, "Yes… he sighs overdramatically and makes a disapproving clicking sound. "I think we have let this run its course. Anya, Anya, Anya I thought we could count on you at least. We'll have to work on your charms for next time. If there is a next time." Mayor Andretti Kreigler purrs.
Mayor Kreigler marches in down the beaten path, with a stooped old woman in a woven shawl, a host of twenty robed and masked cultists, and Shel and Saul in tow, bound and gagged and marched in front. His brother is nowhere to be seen. Kreigler himself comes armed with a spear. An ancient and cruel affair with a barbed head, stained with blood, bound with sinew. He does not appear to be wearing armor.
"We only need one of them alive. Revive them if you can but uh... do not hesitate to kill them. They're quite capable as we have discovered. Let us not make the same mistakes as we have with Mr. Kyle." He says in a disturbingly sweet tone that is at odds with the words he speaks.
Shel escapes her gag and cries out, "They won't fight without him! Tak-" before a cultist muffles her. You can tell the mob of cultists shift uncomfortably. They aren't a disciplined troop of fighters after all.
Kreigler purses his lips and gives another frustrated sigh. "Make sure she's bound then leave her with me." he says calmly.
His tone becomes more fervent like a preacher stirring his congregation, "My brothers and sisters! We fight today in opposition to outsiders fixin' to take our way of life from us! Outsiders who don' understand hard winters and a hostile land, and who would condemn us as heretics and heathens for preserving our own lives! The Gossamer King understands and provides what He can. This tribulation is a blessing in disguise if we have the wit to see it. Five new offerings! Only blood can contain the land's corruption! Now go forth. That which sleeps must still be fed!"
Every robed figure repeats in unison, ”That which sleeps must still be fed!”
The old woman raises her arms and a dark shadow creeps overhead and each cultist looks up in reverence. A great insectile figure hangs over you, its proboscis dipping low, just five or ten feet above your heads. Something from a mad dream. A providential sign. With their god on their side, they scrabble past the Mayor like a mindless swarm.
After bidding his followers to attack, Kreigler shouts in tongues a profane protection upon himself. "For what it's worth travelers, I am sorry it has had to end this way."
The greater good. Her own thoughts on the matter, the comments Elias isn't making... she's sick of that phrase.
Majara slides her tinted goggles down into place over her eyes and prepares to f*@& some s%#* up.
"The old woman just cast an illusion to create the image of that overgrown bug. I wouldn't worry about it," she says crisply. "And the 'good mayor' is hiding behind a magic that requires someone with a strong will to attack him. Let me.... clear you all a path."
She strides forward, small fingers flying to her bandoliers and pouches, triggering a fuse that she then lobs underhanded towards the group of cultists.
The mob of cultists push and shove each other trying to use each other as human shields for the explosion, but the thrashing just ends up spreading the fire around.
At least the blasted bugs never monologued, Emma thinks to herself as Kreigler seals himself away while his underlings surge forward to attack them. Doesn't even have the common decency to give us a shot at him after he waxed on to them.
She gives a swift, hopefully encouraging nod to Shel when she shouts out her initial warning about what's going on. Brave girl, she thinks.
"Understood Majara," Emma says in clipped tones. "Also, nice shot."
With that, she gives a cursory glance around the immediate area before stepping forward to try and engage the mass of cultists intruding upon them.
"I know you lot may think you're hard up to survive the harvest, but any god what demands blood is just another devil. But more than that, you'll have a lot harder of a time surviving the next minute if you chose to square up. Run or die!"
Roger only spares enough time for one last warning before heading into the fray, deciding to use his polearm.
Too distracted by the conversation, Hannelia is caught unawares when Mayor Kriegler's smooth tones interrupt. This is it then, is it? We've been caught up and caught out. Frustration at the turn of events and her inability to stop it boils up in her. "Desna, if ever you held sway in this place, help us cleanse it and set things right," she whispers.
"Thanks," is all she manages in response to Majara's detailing of the spells. Hannelia had been unable to recognise either herself, her anger at first Anya Lupescu and then the whole situation has knocked her thoroughly off balance.
As the seething, roaring mass of cultists pours forward towards them, she tries to centre herself. Slower off the mark than her companions, she pulls out an arrow, aiming for the heart of the mob. Alas, even her usually reliable aim is off.
Roger's first attack knocks down and slays a pair of cultists, frightening the others.
The mob of village cultists scream and shout and flail wildly. They hack with their rusted sickles and try to grab at your arms to keep Emma and Roger from striking. Or at least hitting hard. They build up the courage slowly until they trample over and surround Emma, Roger, and Majara.
As they trample through, Roger takes advantage of their recklessness and skewers one but finds himself still surrounded.
Their sickles are slicked with some sort of darkish liquid that looks familiar...
The old woman keeps one hand in the air to maintain the illusion while she transforms into a giant spider. The front leg remains in the air even as she transforms. She skitters to the roof of the farmhouse to get a better vantage.
If Constantine were in his right mind, he would have tried to launch into a rousing speech denouncing the cult and calling on them to lay down their swords and turn on the traitorous mayor.
If Constantine were in his right mind, he would have paused before cutting someone down, knowing that such violence could not easily be undone.
If Constantine were in his right mind, he would have encouraged a tactical retreat to regroup and bring more force to save Shel and stop these people from sacrificing her and any other innocents.
But Constantine was not in his right mind. His eyes look wild as he glances over at Elias and Hannelia. Emma was too far away to receive the message, but he projects to his other friends. "I'm coming through. Dodge, Roger."
With his shield out front, glowing as he erects a mind barrier to dull the beating he's about to endure, the occultist crouches down and screams as he begins barreling through the mob of cultists.
As a swift action, you can expend 1 point of mental focus to create a shield of mental energy around you that protects you from harm. The shield prevents a total of 2 points of damage per occultist level you possess. It lasts until the start of your next turn or until exhausted.
When you attempt to overrun a target, it can choose to avoid you, allowing you to pass through its square without requiring an attack. If your target does not avoid you, make a combat maneuver check as normal. If your maneuver is successful, you move through the target’s space. If your attack exceeds your opponent’s CMD by 5 or more, you move through the target’s space and the target is knocked prone. If the target has more than two legs, add +2 to the DC of the combat maneuver attack roll for each additional leg it has.
Constantine charges through the mob of masked peasants heedlessly. His psychic barrier causes the blows to glance off of him nearly harmlessly. Only nearly though. He gets nicked slightly, but is otherwise no worse for wear.
The Mayor tilts his head curiously at Constantine. "Have you seen it?" He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. "Nevermind." Then chants again in that alien tongue, spear in hand. His spell remains incomplete for the time being, it seems, as he repeats his chant.
Whatever ichor seeps in through the small cut seems not to bother Constantine. As he comes face to face with Mayor Kriegler, he hefts his sword, recognizing the casting motions. "I have seen many things," he says, raising his sword up from behind his shield. "Shimmering silk with no beginning and no end hiding starving stalks, slashing teeth, and wings with colors indescribable." He lowers into a position of attack. "Have you?"
Despite the party's best efforts, they are unable to drop enough cultists and they continue to rumble inexorably forward, engulfing them in a sea of limbs and sickles. Twisting and dodging as best she can, Hannelia manages to avoid more than a couple of glancing blows. The glistening ichor that appears to coat their blades looks nasty but she is relieved when she looks to see that she has escaped with just a smear on her sleeve.
In response, Constantine goes bullocking straight back through them, barging bodies out of the way as he looms up close to Mayor Kriegler. She can't make out what's happening through the mass of bodies, but there appears to be an exchange of words and the mayor is clearly in the process of casting another spell.
As the old woman transforms into a spider, or at least appears to do so, Hannelia watches it scamper up the wall with ease. She's not certain if it's the same creature they had encountered previously but she assumes it probably is. Taking a step back to get a better view - and shot - she lines up an arrow and looses.
"Woah!" Roger barely gets out of Connie's way, before getting back to the grim business of swabbing the deck of as many cultists as possible.
Majara keeps her footing during the shoving and jostling and general chaos, though it is difficult with so many much larger forms around her.
Despite new bruises and a split lip from a cultist's elbow, Majara is able to hear spellcasting... and glances south to see that Kriegler is engaged in calling up... something.
"Miss Blackford! Target the mayor before he completes his spell!" she shouts even with a little blood spit from her mouth. She snatches the last of her daily bombs and ... throws it. Arcing over the milling bodies as best she can, over Emma, trying to calculate the trajectory to hit the mayor's annoyingly calm face. There's a supernatural pressure to NOT throw at him, but Majara is quite used to doing things others don't want her to do...
That done, Majara tries to get the hell out of the crowd.
Majara catches the Mayor with the bomb, threatening to break his concentration. His mind is like a fortress however, and despite the probably painful burning, he doesn't change cadence or falter in his movements.
Roger cuts down two more cultists and the rest start screaming hysterically and fleeing the scene. The Mayor stares angrily but he must complete his spell and is unable to keep his minions from chaotically losing discipline.
Emma looks about, panting slightly. The mob has been dispersed for the most part - but the Mayor and the spider woman yet remain. She took a hit from the mob as she'd attacked, but she wasn't too much worse for the wear just yet.
"Miss Blackford! Target the mayor before he completes his spell!" Majara shouts.
Emma doesn't turn around to acknowledge the shout, but she does tighten her grip on the sword and locks her gaze to the mayor. She has a clear shot right at him. Constantine is nearby, and they seem to be engaged in a conversation of some kind.
Whatever it's about doesn't matter though. The only thing that matters now is putting a stop to this, as swiftly as possible.
"Guide my hand Iomedae; with your holy guidance, it's time to put an end to this madness and this corruption," Emma murmurs, focusing her holy power upon the Mayor, and hoping it's enough to effect him.
Then, with a grunt, she charges forward, sword outstretched and ready to attack.
Emma's attack is practiced and swift, and easily cuts through his fine suit. There is something more there than meets the eye though, a bit of resistance in the suit magically, but nothing that Emma can't easily overcome.
The Mayor groans in pain and snaps, "Ohh child you best get on your knees and pray I'm gonna whup you so bad. You lay down your arms and forsake your goddess right now and the Dream Tender’ll still take you in."
The Aranea takes this opportunity to relieve some pressure from the Mayor. A horrible sound emits from the roof above Constantine. A chittering, buzzing sound that forms the words, ”Flee mortal! The Dreaming Host awakens soon…
Just as that happens, Hannelia feels something behind her before she notices it…
A sickle buries into her back and a wet gurgling growl erupts from behind her. Hannelia turns to meet her assailant, and she can see Leonard Kreigler's face twisting and warping into a fleshy vortext of tongues.
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Constantine looks up at the aranea and her declaration. The Dreaming Host awakens. Soon.
No, no, no. It couldn't happen soon. Shouldn't. Mustn't.
The aranea probably had no way of sensing the mental assault that Constantine was already under, had been under for most of his life. He was a man well-acquainted with fear. He tried to pull off the cool, disaffected vibe: someone calm in the face of danger. In spite of that, there was plenty in the world to be afraid of.
But as he stands there, grappling with the aranea's buzzing words, he feels a sense of calm. It's not enough to banish the rising fear entirely, no. But there's something...stronger than the fear. Constantine turns from the spider and glances over as Emma strikes Mayor Kriegler with her sword.
Life before Death.
Strength before Weakness.
Journey before Destination.
Constantine draws in a sharp breath, turning his back to the aranea. He glances over his shoulder and rasps, "No."
He raises his sword and steps up next to Emma. "Life before death," he says, smiling at her.
"Stop it!" The Mayor commands, raising his spear at Emma. "Your goddess has no power here!" His confidence falters as he says so. A surge of power tingles through Emma, threatening to lock her joints in place.
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For a moment, Emma feels herself stiffen up, as though her joints have been encased in some kind of stone. Her eyes widen in surprise and she jerks back slightly, grip on her sword loosening up slightly. She's keenly aware of the ominous presence of the mayor standing in front of her...
But then she looks over at Constantine, who says part of her oaths, and it fills her with resolve, giving her the strength to push past it.
"Strength before weakness," she continues, looking at Constantine with a grateful nod.
Then she turns back to the Mayor, grip upon her sword firm once more. "Nice try."
Pain of an intensity she has not felt for a very long time wracks Hannelia's body as, unbeknownst to her, the curved blade of a sickle is plunged into her back, taking her completely unaware. Turning her head takes a real effort but she can see the face of the mayor's brother twisting and warping into another form, can feel the stink of its warm breath far too close for comfort. She looses a sound somewhere between a grunt and a scream and tries to stir her brain into action but the pain is making it difficult to concentrate. Realising that there is little she can do against such a creature in close quarters it is all Hannelia can do to summon the limited strength remaining to her and beat a careful retreat.
Majara cannot see what is going on with the mayor-- but she can see a creature appear from seemingly nowhere and deal a grievous injury to Hannelia. She bares her small teeth in a little hiss of frustration, judging the odds of catching Zuke's apprentice (for that's probably how she'll always think of Hannelia on some level) in a blast...
Fortunately, Miss Venator pulls back before Majara has to think of what to do about it. She nods to herself, snatches another bomb, and runs forward.... ...then runs a few more steps to give Roger a clear path.
"Elias! Pull back!"
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"YAAAARGH!" The time for fancy words is over, as Roger recklessly charges to slash at the Faceless Stalker.