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Telvir walks through the Kuthite temple without comment, and takes the Rofela's proffered arm at the ablution table.
His cut is professional, and he suppresses a sigh as he washes the blood from his hands.
Followers of the Midnight Lord are so...ostentatious.
Meanwhile, Smoke trails behind, sniffing around the room, and licking any stray drops from the floor.
Mithralline happily licks up some of Aily's blood. Eschewing the offered implement, she uses her fangs to draw blood from Rofela. Unfortunately, she loses herself a little in the feeding, and manages to get little on the woman's arm to be cleansed, drinking most of it herself.
"Passable," she tells the acolyte, "but a little too much spice. You must truly give yourself over to the bloodletting, like Apositive over did."
She gives her servant a warm smile, licking a few drops off her left fang.
Rofela lets out soft noises of pleasure as you bleed her, by knife or by fangs. The acolytes then escort you through the the temple to Ortagar Stitch-Skull’s dining chamber. Your path takes you past a dark hall leading to the acolytes’ living quarters, a few dead-end passages (one of which has another whimpering acolyte huddled in the corner, engrossed in some personal act of worship), crumbling stairs descending into the temple’s basement from which echo distant screams, a large worship hall that’s currently empty, and finally through a discreet door leading to Ortagar’s quarters. The priest stands and greets you.
"Welcome. Thank you for accepting my invitation. I hope you are hungry." He gestures for the acolytes to remove the platter in front of him. Ygefkha covers the platter containing a large, writhing arachnid—several of its trembling limbs separated from its thorax—and the acolytes leave. Ortagar wipes the silver spoon he was using on a black cloth, carefully arranges the cloth and spoon at his place setting, and invites you to introduce yourselves.
As you wrap up the initial pleasantries, Ygefkha reenters the room and announces dinner is served. The acolytes serve the food before excusing themselves for the evening. The meal, laid out in generous portions on platters decorated with gruesome scenes of dismemberment, is delicious. The fare includes pigeons stuffed with onions and spices, minced beef, roasted vegetables, stuffed dates, and buttery pastry drizzled generously with honey. Ortagar serves you wine and ale from pitchers on a small side table, though he himself does not partake, as alcohol dulls his sense of pain.
"I am curious about what brought each of you to Graydirge," the priest says as the meal progresses. "Would you b so kind as to share your stories?"
Aily considers serving her lady a massive plate of nothing by vegetables, but in front of a blood lord, poking the tiny bear does nothing but harm their pursuits. So it is simply a small plate that has a tiny bit of everything, so not to insult the guest, and a glass of the reddest of wine.
Then she settles into standing behind the sprite, with hands folded behind her. Her eyes subtly watching everything she can for danger.
"Boredom, mostly." Caraid says simply. "Although I must compliment you on your chef. He or she is quite exquisitely skilled."
Caraid keeps up a flow of idle chatter, reminiscing about dinners past and passing on bon mots, but anyone paying attention notices that while he speak a lot, he says nothing of interest or use.
"Work, really. Graydirge has an excellent supply of materials, and the work that is done here is top knotch." Telvir eats politely at the meal, keeping his eyes open for any surprises in the food.
"We" -- and it's pretty clear Mithralline is using a blood-royal "we" "received your invitation and were curious," the vampire sprite tryant responds politely. "We have only just begin to make our mark in Geb, so I'm just as curious how you know of us."
"As I mentioned in my letter, I am a good friend of your patron, Berline Haldoli," Ortagar says. "It’s rare for a Blood Lord to choose to retain life rather than seek the all-too-common embrace of undeath. The two of us share interest in delicious food and have refined many recipes together throughout the years. She has told me of your recent successes at her farm and reclaiming your new manor home.
"I also understand you found the body of a Kuthite in your basement. One of my priests, a man named Menetgash, went missing about two years ago. I believe it was his body you discovered. I don't know why he visited Qhallagh Manor, though, or how he wound up dead."
"A fellow gourmand! How delightful!" Caraid says, and launches into a detailed discussion of some recent recipes, including a rather interesting pickled herring that the oracle swears up and down was delicious.
"It's a side effect of my condition." He says, not explaining said condition. "My senses are quite sharp, so food is particularly important and that fish was simply divine!"
He and Ortagar seem to be getting on quite well!
Aily just continues to do her work, staying out of the spotlight, ready in case all this turns to the eventual shit storm that she expects it will. All that to say she remains unimpressive.
Telvir chats over dinner, "So you use all living staff? In the long-run, you might find some savings by employing some sturdy zombie help. Particularly for non-worship services like cleaning or hauling supplies, there would be a significant benefit."
Mithralline is her usual charming self as she picks at the food in front of her, glaring occasionally at Alize for not making sure there's more to suit her tastes.
"Yes, his body was quite inconvenient. Cluttering up my manor and attracting all sorts of vermin and other pests."
Ortagar chats amiably with you, and Caraid and Telvir make a good enough impression on the priest. "The members of our clergy have mastered a few spells that you might find... intriguing. I'll have my acolytes teach them to you at your earliest convenience," he says.
Ortagar closes his eyes as he enjoys one final morsel before gently returning his napkin and spoon to the table. He methodically straightens them as he clears his throat. He slowly massages his temples, straining the stitches on his head, and then places his palms on the table and snaps open his eyes.
“I hope you have enjoyed your food. Later, I must pay for the pleasure this meal has brought me,” he says with a glance at his spoon, “but for now, we have important matters to discuss.
“I recently learned of an apparent plot to introduce some strange substance—poisons, perhaps—to Geb’s food supply. This plot involved not just any remote farm, where the food would undoubtedly be shipped overseas and be no concern of mine, but a farm that supplies Graydirge itself, including this temple. You all know of what I speak, of course. I have a confession to make, about why I have brought you all here. Word of this plot did not reach me by way of our mutual acquaintance, the esteemed Reanimator, Mistress Berline Haldoli. No. I learned of this plot from a member of my own congregation.
“It is difficult for our worshippers to keep secrets from us. My acolytes are quite skilled, and it is easy to recognize when one of our own has grown accustomed to our ministrations and requires extra attention. One such congregant is a man named Dakramat, who is also a member of a Graydirge gang called the Bone Shards. We’ve long known Dakramat worked with the Bone Shards, but it did not concern us. It is a pathetic group, little more than struggling ruffians, unworthy of our attention—or so I assumed. It seems the group has a new leader. This individual plots to poison Graydirge’s food supply. Dakramat heard about this from his gang’s new leader, but as he wasn’t in the inner circle, he couldn’t provide any details, even under intense interrogation. Our modest congregation consists mostly of living people, and there are many other quick across Graydirge. A mass poisoning is no trifling matter.
“When word of what happened at Old Ergagh’s Farm reached me, it was clear there truly is a plot against Graydirge... against its living residents, at least. I try to keep myself and the Empty Threshold insulated from such schemes, and I’d appreciate external assistance with this investigation. Thus, I have brought you here to share what I know. The Bone Shards are somehow connected to what has happened, and what may yet happen, if no one acts. I can tell you where their hideout is. Try not to kill all of them. If they have information on this plot, we ought to learn who is involved.”
"We can bring you back a few zombies to do your sweeping and other such duties as Lord Telvir suggests." Caraid suggests with a lazy grin. "Why not speak to Mistress Haldoli? A suspicious mind would think you didn't trust her and well... if she found out from a source other than her good friend..."
Mithralline is outraged. How dare this mysterious plotter scheme to kill her people. No one gets to kill her people but her! She glances over at Acai and licks her lips involuntarily. Furthermore, if someone kills all her people, what is she going to feed on?! She does get bored of old Aubergine sometimes.
She's far less concerned about what the level of trust is between the high priest of Zon-Kuthon and the Blood Lord. She's above their machinations, after all.
"Where is their hideout?" she demands.
"I trust Berline, which is why I spoke to her first. She recommended I speak to you directly," Ortagar explains.
He goes on to tell you that the Bone Shards' headquarters stands in an abandoned area of Graydirge’s cavernous undercity beneath the Meat Market neighborhood. This massive chamber once served as a flesh rendering site, where necromancers used a powerful ritual to strip flesh from bones, scouring away the souls of the ritual’s victims in the process. The ritual supplied Graydirge with countless thousands of bones in short order, while also preventing the mass death from producing haunts or lingering spirits. Geb has plenty of such dangers already, and the city’s necromancer-architects desired to live in the city without being devoured by vengeful ghosts.
The flesh rendering site was once a prominent fixture of the city, but as it fell into disuse, few people remembered where to find it. Only one of the site’s entrances remains open; the others are clogged with heaps of bones. Ortagar describes the proper path to take to reach it.
Aily's eyes narrow as her lady keeps looking at her while her tongue flops about like a grayish fat slug. How in the hells is she ever going to force her into a position of power when she acts like THAT in front of a high priest, she sighs inwardly.
Aily then sets her mind to thinking about the area the priest is talking about.
"I myself enjoy eating without being poisoned. Did you informant tell you the size of the gang, and their resources? Is it an organization that we could reasonably wipe out?" Telvir frowns. Being poisoned would be very inconvenient.
"The gang numbers only two dozen or so individuals. Surely, it wouldn't be unfeasible for you to deal with them all," Ortagar replies.
"I am sure Lady Mithralline would be able to deal with them by herself." Caraid says, delighted to give the vampire a chance to put her tiny foot in it. Or admit that she can't, but that seems highly unlikely.
Aily's eyes narrow at the handsome man from behind her tiny irritating but needed mistress. Speaking for the first time since she introduced her lady, she says "My Lady Cort chooses her battles with strategy in mind, dear sir. When she engages with these foes, it would be on her terms, with the proper allies and resources, and Yes will end with the enemy's defeat." her mind hopes beyond hope the sprite isn't goaded into swearing to kill them all single handedly.
Aily is unable to recall any more information than what Ortagar has told you.
***
The route to the Bone Shards' hideout takes you through a textile market in the Meat Market quarter, down a lonely stairway between several rugmakers’ shops, and then through a quarter mile of twisting bone passages. Without knowing the proper directions, it would be all but impossible to find the way through the winding undercity.
Eventually, you reach the hideout's entrance. A gaping maw of fangs, each made of thousands of fused humanoid teeth, lines this short passage, which opens to the east onto a vaulted chamber of stone. The skeletal remains of four people sit propped against the walls where the passage widens into a larger alcove, two to either side. Each wears a simple leather skullcap strapped tightly beneath its jaw.
Telvir glides a knife through his entrée. "How do we want them dealt with?" The elf passes a glance across the group. "We've been together for only a short time, but we have a rather direct method of dealing with opposition. If we take care of the Bone Shards, there will likely be little left of them but spare parts."
Mthralline nods in satisfaction as Asparagus informs Caraid of the way things are, even if she could take care of these poisoners all herself.
She glances at Telvir.
"Permanently -- unless we want to wake them up again after they're dead!" the fairy tyrant replies viciously.
Confronted by a portal of teeth and dubious skeletons Caraid flicks a bolt of power into the furthest one - testing for animation.
"They are rather suspiciously placed." Aily agrees as she collapses her parasol that had been shading her lady riding on her shoulder.
The divine lance strikes the skeleton, but it doesn't seem to have any effect. However, when Caraid gets close enough to be in range of the spell, the jaws of each skeleton begin to rattle and chatter, making quite a loud ruckus!
"Alarms" the servant sights, not shifting from her position, drawing her dagger, or even setting aside her collapsed parasol, Remaining looking like the least dangerous thing in the group remains to be her primary focus (well least dangerous other than the tiny beast on her shoulder)
"Well, there goes the element of surprise. Perhaps they'll surrender when they see us." Telvir isn't too upset.
It's not as if we are unobtrusive.
Caraid shrugs and then offers a sketch of a bow to Mithralline.
"Lead the way, Lady."
The vaulted ceiling of this enormous chamber rises some fifty feet above the floor. Six pits—each fifteen feet to a side, fifteen feet deep, and lined with red glass—stand in two rows along the floor. Arranged in a regular pattern on the floor between and around the pits are eight roughly circular mosaics of polished bone, each 10 feet in diameter.
Along the south wall stand the remains of a makeshift camp: Canvases laid across poles of lashed bones to make tents, cook pots over fire pits ringed with sooty skulls, and other abandoned detritus litters the area. The east wall contains a wide opening onto another room piled high with bones.
As you enter the room, six crawling hands emerge! Three come out of the campsite to the south, while the other three appear near the east exit. They scuttle toward you on their fingertips, and unlike Arguhn the Annihilator, they do not seem friendly!
Even before Aily reacts the blocky warrior is away, so follows, hiding in his wake, until he engages, slipping out of his shadow as she draws her blade from behind her bow, slicing once, then twice as quick as she can.
"Step up, strike, slay!" Ceceka's instructions leave little to the imagination and if any questions remain, Ceceka showcasing how to do 'it' should answer those sufficiently.
Ceceka moves up and slice one of the crawling hands in two with a powerful attack! Aily moves up past the fighter and dispatches the other two hands in that group with two precise slashes, severing fingers with each blow!
The second group of three hands crawls up to Ceceka.
The fighter slays one as it draws near, but the other two move in to grab at him. One of them lands a good hit, closing its fingers around his throat!
Hands crawling all over a person isn't even always bad, but Ceeceka doesn't seem to be enjoying it. She has to be careful in helping get them off him, slicing too vigorously might end up hurting the warrior. His anger at such a deed might be interesting but not worth the show while they had plenty of enemies to fight.
Telvir gestures at the hands and attempts to rip two of them apart. He then shields himself with force to ward off the hands.
The two remaining hands don't last much longer as Telvir rips one apart and Aily impales the last one with her blades.
The abandoned campsite contains enough tents, bedrolls, simple clothes, cookware, slop buckets, and other supplies for about a dozen people. Searching through it reveals a silver mirror worth 5 gp, three disguise kits, and ten batches of replacement cosmetics (mostly bone-white makeup and black hair dye).
Caraid just waits, Aily has this in hand and there isn't much he can do to creatures this small.
Mithralline nods to herself as she realizes Caraid can't do much against creatures this small and isn't even willing to go near them. She assumed he would have such sense, but will have to make sure he's not too intimidated by her. A little bit is healthy, but too much and he'll start acting like Azathioprine.
Shaking her head to herself, she looks at the makeup and hair dye and then back at her companions. "Put this on!" she orders. "They'll think you're one of them and might not hesitate for a moment -- long enough for us to get the drop on them!"
Aily opens her mouth to sarcastically disparage her mistresses idea, but stops, closes her mouth, and rather glumly admits "That is a good idea." her sigh is looooong, but then she starts to work.
to disguise
She rubs the bone whiteness on her face, slips on some of the gothic hole ridden clothes, a fluffy dress with lace glaves and whatever else they have, then presents herself to her mistress.
"A most wise idea." Caraid agrees. "You had best conceal yourself inside a bag or some such so as to not disrupt our ruse."
And then maybe we can keep her there...
While nowhere near as good as Aily, Caraid does a passable job of disguising himself.
With the makeup in place, you look around the area again. The flickering light of a campfire can be seen from a platform to the north. Stairs lead up to this wide, elevated platform. Bones are heaped on the stairs, except for a small clear path up the stairs’ center.
As you draw near, a woman pops up from behind the makeshift wall of bones. She wears a white-and-black checkered leather tunic and has white makeup on her face that has largely worn off.
"You there! Don't come any closer! Leave at once, or we will fight you!" the woman calls.
"What?" Aily says with an air of shock and rather put out disbelief, trying to mimic the other lady's accent. "We go through all the trouble to dress up like you, to SHOW you, we want to join up and all you want to do is Stab Stab us up?" she had heard that used as street slang here and there, or she made it up, she forgets. Sadly she hasn't spent enough time mingling with the rough and tumbles lately, being too busy working (with the occasional play)
"I am already undead," Mithralline replies in a withering voice to Caraid, making it clear she doesn't think he's smart enough to realize that on his own.
Still, she stays toward the rear, content to let her minions work the ruse she's commanded.
"You? Want to join us?" the woman asks dubiously. She shakes her head. "I'm afraid you're a little late, chums. The Bone Shards are dead. We're all that's left."
Two other men with similarly faded makeup peek over the wall of bones. It's clear that the trio have seen better days.
"What happened to the Bone Shards?" Mithralline says, popping up from the rear. "And if it's just the three of you, we can take you under our protection. Serve us and you can live!"
Aily's eyes close for a moment, her hands clench a little, and her mouth tightens. She wants to turn and scream at the one who suggested they ACT like one of gang members only to have that one dispell that myth immediately.
It is only a momentary lapse though, before she opens her mouth and nodes to the pathetic Shards. "My lady is correct." her voice slipping back into the normal perfect tones of a lifelong servant. "She and her companions are skilled in blade and magic, some more than others, you have no hope in fighting them, but telling them your story might lead into finding you a place of safety."
Her tone obviously suggests that she would much rather cut them all down, bleed them dry, and hang their skins on the walls for decoration. But the tiny one made the offer.
The woman scowls angrily. "Serve you? You're just another group of petty tyrants, then! We didn't survive the last one just to bend the knee to another!" She draws her shortsword, and the two men beside her raise sharpened shards of bone!
Aily smiles, happy she won't have to be responsible for trying to transform a bunch of uncouth gang members into members of the house who could be left alone with the flatwear without running off cackling.
Cariad lets out a long-suffering sigh before firing off a mental attack that scrambles the lead thug's mind.