Gallowsflesh

"The Fox said, 'If you will not do it, I must leave you but before I go away I will give you a piece of good advice. Be careful about two things. Buy no gallows'-flesh, and do not sit at the edge of any well' And then he ran into the wood." – Jacob Grimm, Household Tales

Morning was a strange phenomenon in that it was abrupt and unceremonious. Like a lamp lit with a flare, light burst through the dim windows in an instant and chased all the dust motes back to their corners for another day. And just as soon as it had, the denizens of the Lamb's Head began to filter in on the promise of an early breakfast. First the most elderly appeared, wobbling down the steps with their younger counterparts in tow until the tables and bar began to crowd in with erstwhile adventurers and long-retired former mercenaries in frayed clothes. Within a few minutes, cooking fires were kindled, pots were set to boiling, teas and coffees were steeped, and the tavern filled with the low sounds of waking conversation.

Lyric, however, remained rooted to her chair near the main hearth.

"You know, it doesn't escape me that we've traded Mind Flayers for something equally… be-tentacled…but, like, much larger. Do you think the tadpoles have something to do with us being here?"

Astarion shrugged. "Perhaps the tadpoles are the reason we haven't actually been eaten yet. Like consuming like and all that. But speaking of, you should probably get something for yourself. I'm guessing that we have a long day ahead of us."

She sighed, even though he was right. The others had already made their choices along similar lines and with some reluctance, Lyric put in a request for black coffee and the vegetable stew. At least, she hoped, one couldn't go wrong with the coffee. She'd drink dirt if it had enough caffeine in it.

"I say we start with Phinneas Delg." She continued, as the same sour woman from before delivered her meal with the usual indifference. "I have no idea what it will take to make him talk but there has to be some reason he has his relative wits about him in this place. Welcoming newcomers and all."

"Malarites are nothing to be trifled with, Lyric." He cautioned. "Even in confinement they are likely to be keen and cruel."

"Sounds like you have some experience with this?" She quirked an eyebrow in her lover's direction while simultaneously inspecting her bowl for anything…nefarious.

He smiled, but only in the way he typically did when he was being intentionally obtuse. "Not specifically, no."

"Generally?"

"Malarites are fanatics, there's no two ways about that." Astarion stated. "They worship a savage Beastlord whose dogma is all about spreading lycanthropy and burning down all of civilization as we know it. Most of his cultists view it as an honor to make their kills long and bloody, so I'm not sure how excited you really want to be about finding one."

Lyric chewed her potatoes thoughtfully. "If we're right, I think I already know how this is going to go down."

"Is that so?"

"Malarites dedicate themselves to ritual High Hunts. It's basically their thing. My clan elders used to talk about them. They would capture an elf and cage them for a day and a night. Then, they would be released into the wilds and given another day and a night to attempt to escape the hunting parties. If they did, they could go free. Usually, they didn't though. And I have no doubt that's what they've been doing here. Except, there really is no escape. Every path just leads back to the Hecatomb. So, when new adventuring companies arrive on the road, they cage up the elves, dwarves, and halflings above the well, cut their bonds at the auspicious moment, and then let them run while the Elf-Eater picks them off in his own little personal canned hunt."

"Hmmm. Delightfully macabre, isn't it? You know, in some areas, Malarites used to feed winter-locked villages with these hunts…"

"Astarion."

"I'm just saying, you sort of have to hand it to them. They've created their own little pocket of paradise, haven't they?"

She was about to chastise him again; dark humor aside, when Wyll called out to the company. "Hey, everyone! You had better take a look at this!"

Reluctantly, Lyric left the remains of her meal and unfinished dredges of coffee to join the others at the tavern's main window overlooking the square: its lattice work glass and rickety frame now illuminated brightly, as if it were already midday. Gazing out onto the grass and rocks, several of the others gasped, but neither she nor Astarion appeared at all surprised. Just disconcerted and slightly deflated, respectively.

Resting atop the well-cap was a large scaffold upon which sat a massive steel and rush enclosure large enough to fit four or five people with room to spare. Its craftsmanship was makeshift however, and it seemed that the old jail had been repaired and rebuilt several times in its many years. Even as they watched, several villagers were positioned around it, fixing joins and shoring up cross-bars until it no longer faltered on its platform. Lyric couldn't help but notice though, that the metal was barely rusted and despite the obvious old and blackened stains on the wood around it, was completely unyielding.

"Look darling." Astarion chirped brightly. "Your wish came true!"

Both Shadowheart and Lae'zel turned to the both of them with disgusted looks and Lyric actually did take that opportunity to punch Astarion in the arm. "Don't mind him. He just means that this is what I was predicting."

"You knew this was coming?" The Githyanki sneered lightly.

"I suspected it." She countered. "Listen, I think we're about to face an ambush. We need to get ready."

"An ambush?" Gale replied. "But we're looking right at the thing!"

"Of course we are." Shadowheart sighed in response. "It's not like we can leave this place. They don't need to worry about literally announcing their intentions. We're trapped here and they know it. This whole village is just a snare pulled back to spring."

"Precisely right." Lyric agreed. "All they're really waiting for right now is for us to come walking out the front door. And then the Hunt begins."

Lae'zel drew her sword with a flourish, scattering the few patrons who were still seated in her vicinity. But no one, as the company took note, appeared truly alarmed by their reactions; only vaguely expectant, or, in a few cases, overtly resigned. "Then we meet them face to face." She said. "I, for one, have no intention of being hunted today."

As the assembled awaited her command, Lyric considered their options but found that they really had few choices in this dilemma. They could always fight their way through and take the high ground, of course; a tactic that had been a success on more than one occasion for them but she really didn't know exactly how many cultists they could be dealing with or what their capabilities were. Obviously, they had some significant experience handling adventurers though and she feared that an outright assault on the scaffold at the well would be utterly expected and planned for. So too would be attempting to flee into the surrounding woodlands. Conversely, the tavern would be too large and too populous to hold, so holing up in the Lamb's Head was probably not going to work either. With a growl, she glanced off to the left and scanned the grounds and huts ringing the main courtyard.

Then, she had an idea.

"Astarion, my love? You're sure you can enter homes without an invitation these days, right? I mean, absolutely sure?"

He looked at her askance. "Yes? …Why?"

"Do you see that house over there, with the heavy wood-beam frame? It's angled towards the center of the square with only the two windows."

Lae'zel started to slowly nod. "Yes. I see. We take the hovel. It's defensible. We can likely hold off their attacks for some time as long as there are supplies within."

"And anyone inside?" Gale queried.

"Throw them out, if we can." Lyric answered. "Kill them if we need to. I'm not convinced we'll be seeing much in the way of mercy around here when it comes down to it."

"Well then, ready when you are." Again, Astarion affected a jovial tone seemingly not at all appropriate for the moment.

She undid the peace-binding on her bow and nocked the first arrow. There was little sense in keeping up friendly appearances, Lyric surmised. The gauntlet had already been thrown down. She motioned to the others to take their places with a curt nod and a dip of her chin.

Without further ado, they stepped out one by one; moving into a circular formation as the builders stopped their work to regard them. Rough-hewn and ragged as villagers went, sour-faced and scowling, the workers immediately pulled together and formed a vanguard between the company and the cage; just as Lyric had anticipated. Emerging at their head was then, none other than, Phinneas Delg. He smiled cheerfully, looking from Lyric to Astarion and briefly to Shadowheart before waving at the ranger in an ebulliently clownish fashion.

"Good morning!" He shouted. "Sleep well?"

Lyric seriously considered just shooting him right then and there; dropping him at forty yards with a readied arrow and having done with this particular vein of deception from the outset. She really hadn't had enough coffee for this and one overtly buoyant personality in her midst was all she could take this early in the day. Instead, however, she straightened up, bow still in hand, spread a happy grin across her face - like a lunatic, she thought - and called back in the most syrupy voice she could muster.

"Yes, thank you! I couldn't have asked for better hospitality. What a lovely town you have."

The workers glanced uncomfortably at each other but Phinneas Delg took the performance in stride. "So glad to hear it. And where are you all off now on this fantastic morning?"

"Oh, you know, I thought it might be nice to go a-visiting. Meet the neighbors and introduce ourselves."

Phinneas chuckled, taking obvious note of the brandished weapons and crackling magic. "How gracious of you. Did you bring house-warming gifts?"

Lyric tilted her head and laughed; a light, sparkling, sound tinged with sarcasm. But instead of answering him, she turned on her heel, strode across the gravel path to the front door of the furthest hut, raised her boot, and kicked in the door.

The latch shattered, sending splinters of wood in all directions. The shriek that arose everywhere had everyone suddenly scrambling and the square erupted into confusion and chaos. Gale, Astarion, Wyll, Shadowheart, and Lae'zel bolted for the threshold as the builders took up axes and hammers. The act had been so unexpected however, that even Phinneas himself was left momentarily stunned. He's been anticipating an assault on their position. In fact, he'd been counting on it. Every adventurer's guild before this one had been perfectly predictable. As soon as the cage went up on the morning of the first full day and the locks placed on the bars, they were in for a fight. It was almost routine. But this…this…elf-girl…had just thrown a wrench into his perfectly oiled plans like it was nothing and no how, and he was losing precious minutes as he tried to think of what to do next.

Lyric was wasting no time though and as the company burst through the door of the house on the margins, they swept through the entirety of the first floor in an instant. Luckily, they found no one currently at home and set about immediately to bar the windows and the door with anything and everything at hand; Gale and Astarion then each taking up a position beneath the sills with spells and crossbow set to defend. With Lae'zel's help, Shadowheart moved a large cabinet into the entryway and the two of them sidled up on either side of the baseboards in case their attackers tried a frontal approach. Lyric was quick to the back, ensuring that no cellar doors or other bulkheads could be breached for a secretive entry. Finding nothing of immediate concern, she returned to find the others holding their positions and waiting. Outside was a cacophony of shouts and orders but none had yet pursued them. She chanced a look out the bottom pane of the already broken window.

They were, as one might say, surrounded. Several heavy laborers, each wielding the tools of their trade, were standing scattered before the main thoroughfare. Two more men and a trio of women held back at a short distance, also armed with a variety of weapons that, by the looks of them, had come in on some unfortunate travelers quite a while ago. In all, Lyric counted ten; including Delg.

Phinneas, for his part, remained at their center. No weapons, no fighting stance; just arms crossed with a frustrated frown. His posture was also, she noted, more imposing than it had been before. He stood with the confidence of a leader and the certainty that those around him would follow his every order to the last. The relative ambiguity of his piecemeal clothing and layered pockets also told her that if any one of them was adept in the use of magic, it was going to be him.

"Come, come now!" He called out to the house. "There's no need for this. We're all friends here!"

She coughed indignantly. "That's funny." She yelled back. "I didn't think Malarites made friends."

"What are you doing?" Astarion hissed in return, glancing up at her from where he knelt.

"Shhh." She admonished back. "Either he gives himself away now and we learn for sure or he tips his hand to something else."

There was no immediate answer and it spoke volumes.

"So." He finally rejoined. "The she-elf thinks she has it all figured out, is that it?"

From under her breath, Lyric heard Shadowheart to say, "Why do they always go with 'she-elf'? Such an idiotic word. Nobody calls Astarion 'he-elf.'" It brought a little smile to her lips.

"Did I get something wrong?" The ranger shouted. "Perhaps you should explain it to me. You know how elves are. Very stupid after all."

Phinneas Delg only sighed. "Listen, girl. There is no way out of this. Run as you like; you will only return time and time again until you tire and collapse. You can face the Hunt with your wits about you and at your full strength or we can wear you down until you have nothing left to fight with. He much prefers the former though."

Lyric felt her ears twitch, slightly puzzled. "You are not my Hunters then?"

"We…" He spread his arms to indicate all of the Hecatomb, "Are the vessels of greater masters, little one. Our purpose is to prepare those who are chosen to meet their eternity. What awaits you is a glory beyond imagining. A privilege that is not for us but for those who are consumed so that they may become part of the One, that their spirits may return to discord and bring about the new world!"

"Oh, yeah." Wyll added, raising his head from behind an overturned table. "Definitely cultists."

Lyric huffed. "Choose yourself!" She snapped back. "You want glory, go get your own glory. Me? I'd prefer a nice fruit pastry."

Phinneas dropped his arms. "Very well. If you wish to do this the hard way…"

There was barely enough time for Gale to shout the warning before the entire façade of the house was suddenly awash in fire; his panicked counter-magics the only thing that had prevented the door from being incinerated completely on impact. But just as soon as they had recovered from the initial onslaught, the first of the cultists crashed into the barricades, chopping and hammering as the wood gave way to mold and dust.

With a gleeful cry, Lae'zel cut them down with a wide arc of her sword; splattering blood everywhere as she allowed the two bodies to slump into and partially block the narrow opening they had managed to carve. With her initiative, the company launched into battle. Lyric took up a quick position next to Astarion where the two of them could trade arrows and keep up the volley by alternating shots and draws. Gale, of course, immediately moved into a primary defensive; casting medium range spells while Shadowheart supported Lae'zel's frontal offense. This then allowed Wyll to stay mobile; picking off any enemies who attempted to stray around the building or approach too closely to a point of entrance. As it was, the small house was exactly what they needed and with all of them in practiced concert, none of the attackers could get near enough to engage and it was obvious that they didn't have the gathered numbers for a full-on charge.

"I count four down." Astarion tipped his eyes up to the edge of the window before falling back into a crouch. "Three more are approaching."

"Delg?" Lyric re-nocked and rose up to take aim.

"I didn't see him." He answered. "He may have fallen back."

"Or he's getting reinforcements." She growled.

A crunch and a sickening slurp near the door was followed by Lae'zel's voice. "Five down now."

"Wyll!" Lyric called out. "Can you see anything beyond the front line?"

He weaved in and out of the fighters, checking their blind spots as quickly as he could before returning to the table-shield.

"I think I see a crowd assembling but it's hard to tell. They're coming out of the tavern but they're heading towards the well. Just the builders still on us out front. I think they might be trying to keep us in here."

"Dammit." She snarled. "Astarion, the next arrow you loose, I'm going to try and get a look out there."

He nodded, paused for a moment to lock eyes with her in a count of breaths, and they both rose up. He to sink the point into the nearest man wielding a blacksmith's hammer and her to hold three heartbeats at the window.

Wyll wasn't wrong but what she saw almost made her swallow her tongue. Villagers were, indeed, milling about in the main square; wandering, dead-eyed, out of the tavern and out of their houses at the behest of the man standing before the well with his arms out-stretched towards the sky and his head lolled back. Phinnease Delg then raised something high over his head, something that looked like a giant tooth; fossilized green with a serrated edge. It was wrapped in stained tendons dried to a reddish crust and as the Malarite began to chant, the words of his recitation reached her ears.

"Tekeli-li Y'hah. Tekeli-li Ilyaa. K'yarnak gotha, fhalma gotha! Tsa Ebunma! Tsa Ityaka! Evana Ortheel!"

"Hey." She heard Gale behind her as he stopped and listened in. "I know that one! It's a necro-evocation. That's…. that's the Chant of Fangs, isn't it?"

"Tekeli-li Y'hah. Tekeli-li Ilyaa." The crowd repeated. "Tsa Ityaka! Evana Ortheel!"

"The what?!" Lyric turned; her eyes wild with growing terror. She had simply hoped for more time.

But Gale didn't respond. He was silent and still. He only raised his hand, jaw slack with eyes wide, and pointed.

She didn't want to look.

She never should have looked.