"I know of a Desseer. I can lead you to where he will be if you would like, he says with a congenial smile. He then gestures the chaos, "This is a part of his plan to free the city of a bandit problem." His smile shifts to more of a sadistic smile, "The problem runs deep. The efforts must be...thorough."
When the two street urchins appeared, Myriana looked at them and felt compassion for them and their plight. It made her realize there might be another way they could earn the favor of the people here and made a mental note about it for the future.
When they were ready to go Myriana looked at Verick and said, "Alright my Knyaight, staying behind is probably for the best nya. If you have people you trust to help you nya, have them move the civilianyas inya this directionya. If others come this way lookinyag for us tell them, you work for me knyaow anyad let them know where to finyad us."
With her instructions given Myriana looked at Dominique and Iris, "Alright nya, let's go finyad anyad deal with the craterlord anyad his goonyas nya!" She looked to the two urchins and added, "LEad the way nya anyad thenya return her nya."
Seeing John he smiles.'Hello John It is Ink, with fellow Guildsmen. We await Desseers return. Unless you really wish to tussel with them, far be it from me too stop you. I though would hate to have to loose you'
"Hello defender of this hallowed place. I bring allies which Bratva has turned to our side. Be at peace."
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Turning to Hrothgarn (or more accurately staring straight up), Thorin said "Typical. Desser made NPCs that look like him. With our ally at the gates, I think that the best way for us to keep the townsfolk safe is to meet with the real one." Glancing back at the 'fake' Desseer, he added "That, and if the guild is launching a full scale attack on this town? We will be overwhelmed if we hold our ground anyways. The best we could hope for would be a fighting retreat."
Desseer sizes both men up as he identifies the magical effects on them. "Oh my! You must be players with that loadout...and True Sight? Ugh! This disguise is a bust...which would explain why you think I'm an NPC copy. Dang! Well played. Mind-shielding and mind-buttressing too? That complicates things for me." Desseer shrugs, "Sorry for lying. You know my name and what I look like and you're not in my guild. So, who are you?"
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“A lie’s a poor alloy for trust — softens under pressure. We were sent as envoys from Dragon's Glory to continue forging relations with you and your guild when we came upon this chaos. My name is Hrothgarn and this” he says gesturing to dwarf infront of him "is Thorin. Now it would be nice if we had an idea of what we just walked into, given the bedlam we seem to find ourselves in."
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"Now that I have addressed your high horse....triceratops..thing," he again gestures to the chaos, "I've helped cause this because this entire town was taken over by bandits and corrupt nobles and merchants. And, not that short a time ago, so they've got roots. In order to get the people out from their thumb, I egged this on. Sure, I could have tried to approach this with a scalpel strategy, but that would have taken so long to accomplish I would have lost interest part way through. Now, in the chaos, I'll take care of most of the nine Craterlords, that control the nine districts of this place. Because I've been here gathering information. I didn't just waltz in atop a high horse with little to no information and start judging..."
‘Ink who exactly is this guy? I assume since you are keeping up the ruse about being a priest he doesn’t fully know who we are. If it would make this easier, I could just dominate him. Then again did desser try to use enchantment on him? Even if he has fully immunity, the spell could still work at half effectiveness. Do you want me to try anyway?’
Kislum will attempt to examine the magical auras and see if an item or effect blocks or grants immunity to mind affecting spells I.e break enchantment, contingency dispel magic mind blank etc.
'More I don't tend to keep the same face when around. And My real form is not for the open.Ruins my ability to be whom ever I need to be if, they see a sentient glob of ink' He relays a bit annoyed and saddened.
‘ I see. Alright then as long as they are trusted, it should be fine. I will leave him be then. Should I interact with him normally or do I have to keep the believer ruse?’
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'Normally is fine. He knows of us. The unenlightened will need the ruse of the church, and the privledged eventually will learn our truths and forms. At least thats the hope.' Ink relays as he then looks to John.
"May we enter, I grow tired"
"He's making a bunch of smithing analogies and metaphors!" Desseer exclaims, pointing to Hrothgarn. "You two have got a serious Hephaestus/Bà Kim thing going. A solid 'forge fathers' vibe. That's fun," he says with an approving smile and nod.
After a moment or two of appreciation, he says jovially, "Anywho... the plan is to utilize the chaos to save the good people and highlight the not-so-good people...for killing. See, normally, when you eliminate a corrupt leader, the most effective crony takes their place. But, in a chaotic situation like this, the effective cronies don't have a stable structure to utilize. So, they will likely be scrambling to gain control. This scrambling will likely be obvious. So, crony pops up... they die. Also..," he continues with a hand gesture, "the good people should be obvious as well. They are either going to be actively protecting people, or hiding and protecting people. Eh!?" he goads. "See!? Something something forges fire something something pliable metal something something shape!" Desseer ends with his chest puffed out, clearly proud of himself.
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Thorin did not look amused. He was, however, not angry either. Rather he stood where he was, thinking the issue. ”So long as the innocent are not harmed…” He said, as much to himself as anyone else. He let the comments on his build slide off, though he was thankful for them. Having one’s mind read was a weakness he could ill afford. It didn’t help him, however, when dealing with a build like Desseer’s. Every word felt like the truth, even though he knew that it was not the case. It was an unpleasant feeling. As if though the sky appeared green when you knew it was blue. Much of his work had been done to see through illusions, but this was a different issue entirely It bothered him greatly, as the fiend’s explanation sounded not only true, but reasonable. That he couldn’t trust his own senses was disturbing.
”How might we assist, then, in establishing order?” He asked. He wanted to judge what was happening based upon concrete actions, though the mission they were on also was at the forefront of his mind.
Listening to Desseer was like running through the darkness. Each word was like a step, threatening to pitch one to the ground. The dwarf had no idea of whether or not the fiend had been to the Temple District or if he knew what was going on there. Everything he said sounded completely honest and reliable, which made Thorin instantly distrust it.
He looked up at his companion. "We were sent to forge an alliance." He reasoned. "I do not know if he means too send us away from evidence of atrocities, or if this truthfully is the best way to help the people. But...it does seem to be a solid plan. I have no objections." He would have to suggest to Hrothgarn that he should forge an item or two to protect his mind from scrying, for without that, it was impossible to even think freely.
The urchins run off back the way you came.
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He responds to the priest, "Greetings be with you. I am glad you are allies. I am John Morgrave Sorbin, enforcer for your leader in Drother."
He sheathes the fine katanna. He smugly states, "Yes, thank you for asking. You may enter. Though the courtyard may fit the big one... maybe."
"Good, I am tired of formalities and need ot relax" He says, heading in and once clear of windows, shifts back to his gelatinous blob form.
Once they were off she looked out at the warehouse where the Craterlord was holed up in. It was quite well fortified, for a warehouse, but that only meant so much. Once they had learned what they could she hunkered down and looked at her companions, "I kinyad of wish we hadnya't revealed ourselves nya. We could have tried to go inya as enyatertainyamenyat for the Craterlord nya." She looked at Iris and Dominuque, "Anya suggestinyas nya?"
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He rolled his shoulders once, the plates of his armor shifting with a muted scrape, and let his gaze drift from Desseer to the distant skyline where smoke still curled into the sky. “Your reasoning’s sharp enough, though I’d rather not test how long it holds before it dulls. We’ll take the Temple District — see if any order’s still breathing there. If your plan’s true, it’ll show in the results.”
He adjusted his grip on the hammer’s haft, giving the triceratops beneath him a light pat before glancing toward Thorin. “Let’s move. The sooner we know what we’re walking into, the sooner we see if Desseer’s fire forges anything worth keeping.”
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That will probably be okay...Honestly, I'd be curious to watch that go down...Dang, he really had anti me equipment. That's going to require some planning to have a defense against...Good chance he could quickly take me out if he could put his hands on me...Both of them really...And True Sight? Unfair...I need to think of some smithing references before I see him again...I don't think they liked me very much...
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Thorin breathed a sigh of relief as Desseer flew away. He never liked “PvP” or the like. Most people were obsessed with it and made entire builds designed to dominate. Thorin had made his differently. It was focused mostly on who he wanted to be, rather than what was most effective. But beyond that, it was what he called the “porcupine build.” Make something so hard to crack that other players would decide that it wasn’t worth the trouble. Either from wasted spells or broken equipment. But the elven fiend had shown him quite easily his own limitations. He was dangerous, and not in a berserk demon sort of way.
”Right you are, to the temple.” Thorin said to his comrade. ”But…you know. Forge Fathers. That had a nice ring to it.”
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He gave the triceratops a light tap on the flank, gaze shifting toward the burning skyline. “Come on, Forge Father. Let’s see if the temple still stands, and if there’s anyone left worth saving inside.”
With that he addressed Ironskull, a few guttural syllables left Hrothgarn’s throat, his jaw shifting just slightly, teeth lengthening, voice deepening into something older and rougher. The words came out sharp and rhythmic like hammer strikes. Ironskull snorted and stamped once, understanding the command before heading toward the Temple District
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He puts on his charming smile and leads Kislum, Skurbrund, and RARGHG into the seemingly abandoned building.
It stands a sagging three-story structure that seems to lean away from the street, as though recoiling from the world around it. Its upper floors bow inward, wooden beams blackened by smoke and age, while a once-proud stone façade now weeps with moss and grime. Windows gape like broken teeth—glass long since shattered, frames draped with hanging tatters of rotted curtains that stir at the faintest draft.
The heavy double doors are crooked on their hinges, their surface carved with old gang marks and knife scratches—warnings or claims of ownership long forgotten. A single lantern still swings from a bent iron hook, its light long dead, yet the faint smell of burnt oil lingers in the air. Inside, the entry hall is layered in dust and soot, but the footprints tell a fresher story: squatters, scavengers, or perhaps worse, have passed through recently.
A collapsed staircase leads up into shadow, while the basement yawns open beneath a half-rotted trapdoor. Rats scurry between piles of moldy cloth and broken furniture, and somewhere deeper inside, a steady drip of water echoes like a heartbeat. In a city ruled by bandits, this place is both refuge and trap—too forgotten to guard, yet too dangerous to be truly empty.
"Sorry we haven't had the chance to have any work done on this place but at least it is spacious for most of us. I can run and get you any supplies you would request. Here there is a hill giant, Jav'Urk... Tremin Kaylos Bard Extrodinaire, an up-and-coming local star and Kaven Hold scout and ranger. Those three are up in the attic. It might have a few holes in the roof but it sure is the cleanest of the building. Refreshments anyone?"
She takes the moment to hug her lover from behind and watch Dom.
The streets are choked with dust and ash, the cobblestones split by roots and neglect. Shattered icons of forgotten gods lie half-buried in rubble, their faces worn smooth by wind and time. Grand sanctuaries with collapsed roofs stand open to the gray sky, their stained-glass windows shattered into daggerlike shards that glimmer faintly in the moonlight. The scent of old incense still lingers faintly beneath the stench of smoke and decay—a ghost of holiness that refuses to fade.
Bandits have made the district their scavenger’s ground. You can hear their rough laughter echoing through empty courtyards as they pry gemstones from altars and strip copper from sanctuaries. They move in packs, some on the lookout while others rummage through crypts or overturned pews. Fires burn in old prayer halls, casting shadows of their figures across muraled walls that once told stories of divine mercy.
Between the ruins, a few desperate souls still linger—mad prophets, starving beggars, or fallen priests clutching to fragments of faith. Pigeons roost in bell towers, their wings startling when disturbed by a sudden clash or scream below. At night, the district grows eerily silent save for the wind howling through broken arches, carrying faint whispers that might be prayers—or curses.
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The Cathedral of Chains, dedicated to Asmodeus, rises like a black crown above the ruin of the Temple District—a structure both terrible and magnificent in its preservation. While every other temple around it lies in ruin, the cathedral stands untouched by decay, as if the infernal hand of its patron guards it jealously.
Its spires are forged of dark stone veined with crimson ore that gleams faintly even in shadow, giving the impression that blood itself runs through its walls. Great iron chains drape from tower to tower, clattering when the wind sweeps through, their echoes mingling with the distant toll of a cracked but still functioning bell. The air around the place hums with oppressive heat, as though the building itself exhales from some infernal furnace within.
The doors—massive slabs of blackened steel—bear the sigil of the pentacle crown, etched deep and filled with molten-red lacquer that never cools. Twin statues of armored devils flank the entrance, each gripping a glaive tipped in obsidian. Their eyes burn with a faint crimson glow, watching all who approach.
Inside, the cathedral feels almost alive. The floor is polished obsidian that reflects the torchlight like a pool of dark water. Pillars rise like ribs, etched with infernal script and lined with silver inlays that catch the firelight. The altar is a monolith of black marble, upon which a single brazier burns eternally, its flames licking upward in shades of scarlet and gold. A massive mural behind it depicts Asmodeus enthroned, surrounded by angels in chains, their wings broken and bowed.
Unlike the surrounding ruins, the cathedral thrives. Hooded priests in crimson and black move silently through the aisles, their chants low and rhythmic, accompanied by the occasional scream echoing from the crypts below—where those who defy the order are “reborn” into service. The faithful—mercenaries, enforcers, and those seeking power—kneel before the altar, whispering pacts and oaths that smell of brimstone and blood.
Outside, the bandits give the cathedral wide berth. It is said those who attempt to rob it vanish before dawn, their bodies later found at the district’s edge—chained, branded, and still whispering prayers they never meant to learn.
High Inquisitor Varek Malchion
Title: The Voice of the Infernal Crown
Role: Supreme authority of the Cathedral
Varek is a gaunt, aristocratic man whose charisma burns like a smoldering brand. His eyes are the red of dying coals, and he carries himself with calm, predatory control. Once a magistrate before the city fell, he turned to Asmodeus for order amid chaos. Now, he speaks the Contracts of Dominion—binding oaths that enslave both mortal and fiend alike.
Varek rarely leaves the inner sanctum. When he does, the bandits kneel instinctively, for his presence presses upon the soul like an invisible chain. Rumor claims that he commands a personal host of devils, summoned not through summoning circles, but through the very sigils carved into his flesh.
The Crimson Synod
Titles: Archpriests of Flame and Order
Members: Usually seven, though never all seen together
These robed figures form the Cathedral’s ruling council beneath Varek. Each oversees a domain within the temple’s operations:
The Mistress of Chains – Oversees punishments, confessions, and the maintenance of slaves.
The Warden of Tongues – Collects secrets, blackmail, and written pacts; commands scribes and informants.
The Abbot of Iron – Maintains relations with bandit leaders and mercenary companies, providing them “blessings of authority.”
The Keeper of the Flame – Manages the infernal relics and the eternal brazier of Asmodeus.
The Exarch of Whispers – Handles infernal summoning and spiritual indoctrination.
Two Hidden Seats – Identities unknown; their duties whispered to involve direct communion with infernal agents.
Each Synod member is sworn to Asmodeus through a blood-sealed sigil upon their hearts. Betrayal means instant combustion—body and soul consumed by their own broken oath.
The Lesser Orders
Below the Synod are the ranks that fill the cathedral’s halls:
The Chainbearers: Acolytes and guards, recognized by the lengths of iron around their shoulders. They maintain order within the district and carry out public punishments to remind the people that law—no matter how cruel—still reigns.
The Black Tongues: Priests who negotiate infernal contracts for the cathedral’s clients, often former thieves, slavers, and mercenaries. They promise power and protection in exchange for obedience and service.
The Ember Choir: Hooded chanters whose hymns are laced with infernal syllables. Their music keeps the cathedral’s wards active and draws infernal favor. They are never seen outside the cathedral, and some suspect they are not entirely human anymore.
⚜ Relations with the Bandit Lords
The bandit groups of the Temple District owe fealty—at least in name—to the Cathedral. The Abbot of Iron collects tithes of plunder from each gang, ensuring that Asmodeus’s altar never goes without tribute.
In return, the cathedral provides sanctuary to those who pledge themselves through written contracts. Such bandits wear a black sigil tattooed upon the wrist, marking them as “Servants of the Flame.” It grants them safe passage through cathedral-controlled streets—but also binds their will. If they defy their oaths, the mark burns through flesh and bone, dragging their souls screaming into the crypts below.
The cathedral’s influence spreads beyond the district. Its priests sell “divine law” to the city’s fractured factions, enforcing order through fear and oaths, weaving Asmodeus’s dominion into the very chaos that once consumed the city.
Ink hops back out and waves a psuedopod to the collective Guild Members and then heads back in to look about at the various notches and seeking to submit them to memory.
'Any books or libraries around. I do love a good book?'
“Actually I was wondering if there were any prisoners or malcontents you may have lying about this place. I would like to meet them so I can gleam some… information and aid from them. I could also help if you need to interview people for your little schemes here.” Kislum speaks with a strange inflection, she isn’t bothering to hide that she may have other motives for this.
Skar would sit very awkwardly as very few things are made for his form to sit on as he simply tries to curb his irritation of doing nothing but listening to people talk
Skar would sit very awkwardly as very few things are made for his form to sit on as he simply tries to curb his irritation of doing nothing but listening to people talk
RARGHG sit down in the courtyard as comfortably as she can and spend the free time she now has cleaning and sharpening her scythe while waiting for the arrival of the other guild members. Steph will spend the time studying her spell book on RARGHG’s shoulder
'Come now don't look sad friends we will have plenty of time to find fun and explore. Just wait until Desseer gets here so we can affirm what you wish to do and how it helps us survive here.' Ink says his greyish black form constantly showing shifting tattoo imagry and words in Russian, English, Japanese and more.
'Come now don't look sad friends we will have plenty of time to find fun and explore. Just wait until Desseer gets here so we can affirm what you wish to do and how it helps us survive here.' Ink says his greyish black form constantly showing shifting tattoo imagry and words in Russian, English, Japanese and more.
‘you don’t have to worry about me, I am not really talking because it’s kind of inconvenient to shove my head into the building to do so. Plus you and kislum should have most of stuff here covered. Side note: pretty sure all troxes have a limited facial expression because of our mandibles. Aka resting trox face lol’
RARGHG will look back at ink nod reassuringly and give a thumbs up before returning to making herself comfortable in the courtyard
'Though incredibly intimidating for a human to see. Hmmm.'Ink says as he thinks on it. Could he turn into the Trox
After a few moments of thought and purring loudly as she felt Iris pressing close eb hind her as the witch's arms wrapped around her. Her ear twitched as she looked at their destination once more and then grinned wickedly, "We've donya enyaough trickinyag, Dom..." she gestured imperiously, or as imperiously as a purring catgirl could, "sick 'em nya!"
After giving Dominique a lead to clear out the initial defenders Myriana began to move forward and slipped from Iris' grasp, they needed to be free to move for what came next. They entered the building and followed the path of destructions that Dominique left in his wake as they began their search for the Crater Lord.
An elf with some fiendish traits appears in the sky near the safe house and glides to the ground, walking with a pleasant stroll upon landing. His platinum hair cascades down a little past his shoulders, accentuating an ostentatious dark red outfit with white trim and black accents. His black fiendish wings were certainly factored into the whole aesthetic.
"Is that RARGH I see?!" he says loudly with delight. "Why, I'd recognize that awkwardly large exoskeleton anywhere! Is that an unreasonably large scythe, or are you just happy to see me?! Come here you beautiful she-bug! When did you get here?!"
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He asks politely, "So sorry but you were not introduced and calling you by your apparent race may be taken badly... so may I be introduced?"
He happily greets you and engages in conversation, "Thank you it is nice to meet you Kislum. Now we don't have any prisoners. I didn't take any. Malcontents, there are plenty of those. Just take a stroll down the block and some bandits will likely come out and greet you. I could go with you, if you wanted. As you likely know our fearless leader is more of the schemer. I have been rather bored myself."
Several rounds later many of the dogs run from him as he finishes off those foolish enough to continue to attack.
As those above begin to shoot down on him, he jumps up and takes the fight to those on the roof next.
d6 is cold
d6 is cold
d6 is cold
He then easily leads Myriana into the bowels of the complex to find the Craterlord. There he asks blatently before the Craterlord, "You want me to knock him out first" He lets any attacks come at him and dodge unless it would hit Myrianna then he takes the attack, likely still deflected.
The craterlord had indeed shot Dom with a pair of flintlock pistols. Then he cowers behind his desk. He does question, "What do you want? Are you the monsters making chaos? You must be. I can pay you, please don't kill me."
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“Bandits on the edges, priests in the heart; one feeds on fear, the other on devotion. Both keep the people chained.”
He looked to Thorin. “What’s your call? Cut the chain at the root, or clear the streets and build a foothold first?”