As they were within the correct time frame this time, the innkeeper was more than happy to comply with their request for a room. She lazily counts out the room fee before pocketing it and sliding two room keys to Tressa, since they also bought with their companions in mind. Once they unloaded their baggage and Therion made sure their room was secure from other thieves, they were off to inquire about Morlock's manse.
Slowly, Tressa began to piece together just what foul business in town Ali might have been alluding to, and why he was so eager to knock Morlock a good one. As she walked around, asking for directions, people seemed largely either aghast or thumbed their noses at the name of Morlock.
"He's a selfish one. Brilliant fox of a man. Knows his way to get money... However unethical. You know he pays largely for miners to find gold. But the compensation the poor sops are paid is close to dirt in comparison. And who know who nets the margin? That's right, Morlock."
"The old landlord was a bit of a dullard, I'll say. Morlock came, bought the land right out from under him and turned it into a lively miner's stop. But... at least the old lord didn't parade his riches around and treat the poorer like second-class."
"You don't wanna cross Morlock's sight. He's got enough money to buy human lives... Well, he's actually not dealt with slavery... or at least there's no evidence... But his guards act like they're paid ransoms by the king themselves by how they walk around... And don't even get me started on those shady fellows he contracted to supervise the mining processes..."
"There was a poor fellow, an individual miner, who found a small good chunk of ore on his own. Misfortune be that he found it on this mountainside... Morlock came for it. Try as the man might, he got his teeth knocked outta him and got thrown out without so much more as a leaf on him than he started."
Tressa feels her fear for Ali's safety intensify with the grim stories. A man points her to the Morlock manse further up the mountain from Quarrycrest, on a well paved road fitted with its own gates.
"..." Tressa grips the straps of her backpack as she looks out to the path.
"... Still time to back out and just look the other way," Therion says with a slightly hopeful tone. He did not want to get wrapped up with nobles again so soon, "This is a good chance to get rid of your rival, you know?"
"...!" Tressa looks to the thief indignantly, "Who do ya think I am? I am Tressa Colzione, daughter of the Muscled Merchant! I win my fights fair and square!"
Therion grumbles under his breath at her gumption.
"That's right, don't back down, Tressa," Primrose says softly, "We are right behind you."
"... I-I can trust you, Prim... but..." Tressa looks sideways at Therion, "He doesn't even want to be here."
"Therion is good when the chips are down," Primrose chuckles, "Plus, the expertise of a thief is always useful when dealing with mansions, wouldn't you say?"
"I mean, we're not going in to steal anything...!" Tressa exclaims in a hushed voice, "We're just … going to talk."
"Riiight... Anyway, are we going or what, then?" Therion points at the road out to the manse, "We're burning daylight. No idea what weird stuff he might be doing to your little merchant friend."
Tressa takes a deep breath and readjusts her cap by the rim, "Yep, let's go!"
Flanked by the dancer and thief, Tressa makes her way to Morlock's manse.
The mansion of Morlock is actually an old property he acquired with the land when he had bought it out from the original landlord. It stands away from Quarrycrest, with a stretch of path between that is guarded with a checkpoint gate. As of recent, people who deliver foodstuffs to the mansion have needed to hire their own guards passing through, as an uptick in local monsters have not spared this route. Morlock's guards man solely the check point, leaving other travelers to fend for themselves.
Just out of Quarrycrest, strong winds whip up with canyon dust and fleck the travelers as they make their way to the manse. Great condors fly overhead, looking for prey humans or llorises to make a meal of.
"Woah-ho!" Tressa holds onto her hat as she leaps over the snapping jaws of an armor eater that tries to ambush them from underfoot. The thing deceptively appears like a vegetarian pangolin, but it's known to slash people some new holes to get at any metallic belongings they have to eat.
"Hmf!" Primrose dodges past the beast as it eyes the tinkling metal decorations on her garb.
Therion kicks the thing in the head as he leaps over it, landing on its tail, "Damn monsters..."
"Incoming!"
The three of them duck as a condor swoops down amid a blast of dusty wind. It dodges a swipe from the armor eater, seemingly more focused on the three humans. With a squawk, it calls over its mate for a feast.
"Aw cripes!" Tressa gawks as they start running and dodging the monsters, "W-what do we do?"
Primrose clicks her tongue. The checkpoint is nowhere in sight yet. Leave it to a damn crooked noble to make such a long and treacherous path! She is loath to expose her dark magic for something as trivial as this.
"Shut up and keep running..." Therion mutters.
One of the condors sends a furious gale at the three of them, blowing them off their feet.
"Aah!"
Tressa flails, landing on the side while Primrose and Therion manage to stay on their feet. The dancer draws her dagger while Therion pulls out his sword. The armor eater is further behind, so that's less of a worry. But these birds are getting on their nerves.
"You take the bitch," Therion gestures with his eyes to the female condor, delineated by its feathered neck. Male condors have naked necks, appearing more vulture-like. Primrose rolls her eyes.
The male bird dives for them with his head bobbing and beak pecking. Therion leaps up and lands a slash on its wings, cutting off a plump set of feathers. But the condors have such thick ruffage that it hardly slows it down. The same issue is present when Primrose tries to stab the bird in the chest. Its thick plumage buffer well against the short blade.
"Ugh... Ah, look out!" Tressa picks herself up and shouts.
The condor with Prim clinging to its chest smashes down on the dancer to the ground with a stunning press.
"Kuh-" Primrose coughs from the impact, seeing spots in her vision for a few seconds. The condor moves to eviscerate her with its blade-like beak.
"Damn it...!" Therion kicks the bird on the head to get its attention. The second bird rakes at him with its claws, knocking him down from its mate.
"Ngh..." Primrose rolls out of the way from the grip of talons, catching her breath.
As the pair of birds squawks and rears their heads, small projectiles hit both of them squarely in the eye, making them screech. Therion turns to see Tressa with her ridiculous slingshot drawn.
"Tressa...!" Primrose shouts as the armor eater catches up, barreling for the merchant girl.
Tressa holds her ground and grits her teeth, "Don't underestimate me!"
As she lets go of her string, the dancer and thief are aware of a sudden and strange change in the air. As if summoned by exponential multiplication from the release of the slingshot's force, an energetic gale, tinged with green magic, appears before Tressa and flies at the armor eater behind her small projectile. With the force of a minor storm, it sweeps the armor eater's whirling attack up and spins it uncontrollably, sending it barreling into the condors and sending them all crashing into rocks. The trio of monsters just twitch a bit in their jumble, knocked out.
Tressa swallows, panting slightly as the wind around her slowly dies down. It was similar to that feeling that allowed her to pick up and use H'aanit's bow. But it was much stronger and larger in impact this time. Before she can take another step, she feels the world swirl and her knees buckle.
"..." She expected to hit the floor and instead looks up to see Therion, who caught her, "... huh... hey."
"... So, you're a Gate, too..." Therion says softly.
"Tressa, are you alright?" Primrose hurries over, stowing aside her dagger.
"Uh, yeah... Just surprised myself there a bit..." Tressa regains her footing and rubs her eyes, "I wasn't hallucinating on the boat after all... I can use magic...!"
"You never knew you were a Gate?" Therion rolls his eyes, "That could have gone way worse, then..."
"My ma and pa didn't have magic!" Tressa says defensively, "I just... felt I had to do something and … that just happened. But this is awesome!"
"A wind Gate... Splendid," Primrose smiles softly, "I'm glad you're alright. Your first instances of using magic can be dangerous because it draws from your own strength... There are stories of Gates who die from overexertion."
"Or blow themselves up," Therion adds on the side.
"Heh... I'm pretty tough!" Tressa says and then nearly falls down again with a single step, "Waugh!"
"Idiot," Therion sighs, "Eat something."
Tressa grumbles as she wobbles to sit on a nearby rock before pulling out her waterskin and some rations to eat. The dancer and thief take stock of their luckily minor injuries. Up ahead, Therion can glimpse the checkpoint gate and the manse beyond it.
"..." He drinks thirstily from his waterskin. The manor is nothing compared to the Ravus mansion.
…
"Amazing... An entire engineered sewer system!" Cyrus exclaims as they descend into the dark tunnel with Ophilia's light.
"The structure seems quite sound despite... the erosion would perhaps place its existence before even that of the establishment of the town! Oh my... Before the mines brought the people, whyever would anyone have constructed this? Ah, but it is quite efficient despite the age... Utilizing the flow of a natural river is ingenious considering the limited landscaping possible. Likely the people of Quarrycrest are unaware of the existence of this place entirely...! They have been simply assuming it to be an eroded path for the water, a more natural sewer of sorts... not an architectural discovery!"
"...Tis a sewer the same," H'aanit says simply. Linde makes a disgusted face and a disapproving noise.
"Doesn't smell that bad... after you get used to it," Alfyn chuckles as he climbs down the crumbled stairs from the surface and helps Ophilia down the precarious steps, "You alright, Lia?"
"Oh, yes... The bad feeling I had just, uh, came again briefly," Ophilia holds her lit staff high, shedding light on their surroundings.
These sewers here would befit a more established city than Quarrycrest. From the entryway, the natural river moves along sculpted waterways with brick walls and platforms. In the light of her staff, the subterranean environment has a turquoise hue from the water running through. On the ceiling, stalactites have grown from time. However, the sewer structure seems well maintained nonetheless.
"It is very impressive that someone built this... I'm afraid I'm not aware of the influences in the Cliftlands before the exodus of nobles from the area. I surmise perhaps it was built by a noble that maybe owned this land before..."
"We haven not time to muse on that," H'aanit says curtly, "Such ways be'en twisting and with many leads... we oughten go with care."
"Does Linde smell anything out of the ordinary?" Alfyn squats next to the big cat. Linde yawns in his face, "If there's another body..."
"...There be'en much water here... and Linde hath not a nose such as Hägen's," H'aanit sighs.
"Well, I think if we follow the river out to its exit, we should surely find where the body may have come from if it washed out from within here," Cyrus nods, "Come then. And stay close. Like Ophilia, I do have my reservations about this place."
The huntress nods and keeps her bow drawn as they make their way through the tunnels cautiously, beside the rushing of water. Alfyn looks curiously at some of the algae slime that coats some of the walls and floor, but he doesn't dally nearly as much as he did in the Woodlands.
"...Say, Cy," Alfyn asks the scholar, "Whaddya make of that fellow we found outside? I'm tryin' not to think of Berg but... that's got me worried for all the other folks that went missing, too... Only, I can't make heads or tails of it. Why on the gods' green earth would anyone... do that?"
"R-right..." It sends a chill down Ophilia's spine to think about draining all that blood, "It seems so malicious and... a slow death..."
"I do not know," Cyrus says with a puzzled sigh, "I will admit, aside from the sickening sight... My curiosity for the killer's intentions has all but increased. The incisions were made with precision, like that of a doctor. However, we cannot rule out that it could be something like an unknown monster. If that is so, I must say it strikes fear-"
"Shh."
H'aanit stops suddenly and Linde's hair stands on end. The huntress puts a hand to stop the others behind her. She wordlessly nocks an arrow and shoots into the dark. Something makes a horrific grunt as the arrow's head is heard hitting something.
"What..." Ophilia stills her nerves slightly and mutters the enchantment to increase her luminosity, "Enhance...!"
The light from her staff intensifies and creeps forward in its radius, revealing the forefront of something humanoid and shambling, several feet ahead. H'aanit's arrow is lodged in its chest. With its rotten face, skin sloughing off, the puppet zombie faces the group. It is unmistakably a human corpse, but badly deteriorated, with bone and maggot-eaten flesh showing. It is missing its lower jaw and wears a few shreds of rags. It looks far more morbid than the ones from the derelict mines.
"Ugh...!" Alfyn covers his mouth to prevent a cry from bursting out, "C-Cy, is that...?"
"... Thankfully no..." Cyrus draws his spell book, appearing rather serious, "I don't believe that to be one of the missing civilians we seek."
Alfyn swallows, not totally assuaged by the news.
"But... why here?" Ophilia scarcely breathes, looking fearfully at the undead.
"There are many reasons possible considering the financial state of Quarrycrest being a nesting ground for negativity... However... given the exsanguinated victim, I have a hypothesis forming..." Cyrus begins drawing his finger down the page of his tome, preparing to cast, "But I need more information to finalize a conclusion...!"
Before the corpse can shamble forward, Cyrus blasts it backward with a mighty fireball, pushing it into the water, where it smolders in the river current and is washed away.
"... There be'en more onward, I fear," H'aanit looks slightly unnerved, "Unnatural things hath death overturned here..."
"Necromancy..." Cyrus mouths the word partially to himself, "All the more reason we must hurry. Whoever is responsible must answer for committing such taboos."
"Indeed... To disturb the dead like this..." Ophilia looks worriedly into the dark before them, "It is easier to believe a monster committed it..."
"...Men and beast aren monsters themselves," H'aanit says as they advance, "They alle haven the capability for savagery... and cruelty."
…
Meanwhile, upon reaching the checkpoint, the trio is appalled to learn of a fee the guards demand of visitors to the manse. The guards there smugly hold out a hand to the merchant for payment. Tressa pouts.
"Hey, Morlock invited me to come, you know! He didn't say anything that I had to pay to enter!" The merchant says indignantly.
"Hmf! Well, tough, kid!" The guard smirks, "Everyone knows a gate means a toll!"
"Mrgrgrgr...!" Tressa pouts.
"Oh, and it's a fee per person, keep in mind. So that's 30 leaves each!"
"We're reasonable 'nough to take other forms of payment, too!"
Primrose looks impassively at the guards as one of them ogles at her. While her lips draw into a thin smile, her eyes are distant and icy.
Tressa folds her arms at the obstacle and shares a small glance with the thief at her side. With a sigh of seeming defeat, she digs in her pouch and pulls out a 100-leaf coin. She hands that over.
"... Keep the change," Tress says with a smug scoff.
"Kuhahaha, enjoy your stay," The guards open the gates for the trio as they greedily pocket the money.
The trio passes under the gate threshold and make their way onward to the manse. Therion smirks as he produces a fat sack of money from under the folds of his poncho, tossing it jauntily.
"... Dumbasses."
"Hehe! That's what they get for trying to swindle me!" Tressa snickers, "I think we're far enough away... let's open it and count the money!"
"I'm sure Alfyn will overlook this one incident of pickpocketing," Primrose chuckles as the two squabbles over their new loot, "Those guards were so unpleasant."
"Yeah, figures that a guy like Morlock hired them," Tressa purses her lips as she looks over the heavy sack. She takes back her coin from the pile and quickly does a skim of the bag's contents by weight, "Phew, it's pretty decent! Dumb of them to keep it all in one place, hehe!"
"I get half," Therion says simply.
"Puh-leeze, I gave you the signal!" Tressa huffs, "You can get a third!"
"Well, that's not very fair for someone who did the work, is it?" Therion looks down at the merchant flatly.
"Thieves don't get paid!"
"You signaled me to move, remember?" Therion smirks, "Accomplice."
Tressa puffs a cheek before coming up with no retort, "... Fine!"
"I'll give you half... after this visit then," Tressa adds cheekily as she pockets the sack of money, "And after I deduct any applicable expenses!"
"Expenses?" Primrose chuckles, "Well, I do suppose we are going into a rich man's house... Do watch your sticky fingers, dear thief."
Therion rolls his eyes.
Past the gate are far less monsters. The three make their way to the front door of Morlock's, which is relatively unguarded compared to the gate. Therion takes note of the two levels and wide wings on the building. Plenty of windows to escape from. But if it's like other models of houses he knew, the inner sanctum would either be without windows or face a yard where guards can gather. That might make things a bit harder.
Primrose is as unimpressed as he is. She recalled the houses back in the day, back in Noblecourt. Those had an air of nobility in addition to appearance. This place is but a pale, imitative husk in comparison.
Passing under the threshold, the three travelers are greeted by the loud barking of war dogs held on leashes to Morlock's men. The armored grunts eye the three suspiciously.
"What's your business here?!"
"Well, I was invited to come see Mr. Morlock, for your information!" Tressa says with a confident air, looking impatient and bored with the guards, "I already paid at the gate, so I would really appreciate getting my money's worth! So far, I've had nothing but rude words thrown at my face and I am very displeased!"
"Dial it down," Therion mutters on the side.
The guards look to each other, mildly confused. Then, there is a shout from behind the travelers. One of the guards from the checkpoint is running over, pointing and screaming about thieves.
"Tsk..."
Primrose's fingers wreath themselves in darkness and she swings the dark claws at the guards before them and their dogs. A dark, cold gale slams them back into the door, knocking the air out of them and throwing the front entrance open. With a dark tendril, the dancer flings one of the dogs savagely at the guard running towards them, leaving all of Morlock's men in groaning heaps. The dogs give whimpers and shiver at the sight of the dancer.
"... Come on, we don't have time!" Primrose barks to Tressa and Therion, who just stare at the moves she just pulled.
"W-whoa, Prim!" Tressa gawks, "W-what was that magic?"
"Don't worry, they're still alive … for now," Primrose adds briskly as she runs in, "I can't stand any more of this dallying. Morlock is running my patience dry."
"Remind me not to get on her bad side..." Tressa whispers to Therion as they follow behind Primrose.
"She really should control her temper instead," Therion rolls his eye.
The three run into the manor innards, passing over the nice lacquered wood walls, marble floors, pillars, and statues of cherub dancers and water bearers. Therion glances over some of the stuff appraisingly. Surprisingly, despite his ugly suit and attitude, it seems Morlock has some sense of taste. Nothing is too overdone or gaudy. However, the thief figured Morlock also probably didn't have a lot of visitors to show off to either.
Tressa pauses before a portrait of Morlock hanging in the hallway and pulls out a pen and ink to draw a graffiti mustache on. Giggling, she adds stink lines before the thief pulls her back along.
"Very funny. You know that decreases its pawn price," Therion mutters, suppressing a small smirk at the gesture.
"Hey, gimme a day or two and I'll find a buyer!" Tressa grins.
Primrose chuckles to herself seeing the thief and merchant riding similar wavelengths, "That's very funny, you two, but we need to find the main chambers where Morlock might be..."
Up ahead, several guards run out and point at the group, "Intruders!"
"I say we ask the melon heads who can still talk after we're done with them," Therion draws his viper fang dagger.
"I couldn't agree more, dear thief," Primrose chuckles, drawing her dagger this time.
"Get them!"
Four guards charge up, baring their steel. Primrose throws one of her returning daggers, with a thing trail of dark energy acting like a chain. She loops it around two of their ankles before getting up in their face and tripping them down in a jumble. Therion zips about the mercenaries, dagger nicking them innocuously. Then the poison begins to take effect and they slowly crumple.
Two guards in the back seem a bit startled at the skill of the trespassers. But they stand firm. One of them, holding what looks like a large cage, opens it and releases two furious-looking tempest falcons. The other one throws out what looks like a heap of metal from his bag. The mass of metal shapes quickly to form a razor-sharp sentinel, prepared for battle.
"Hm," Primrose arches an eyebrow.
"Get 'em!" The guards command.
The two falcons screech and dive for the dancer and merchant. The sentinel flies at the thief, who quickly swaps to his trusty sword to clash with the slashing blades.
"Tressa!" Primrose feels a talon scratch her ear and growls. Her dagger swipes at air with how fast the bird is, "Tsk!"
"Get their eyes!" The falconer shouts.
"Ee-ack!" Tressa grabs her hat as the bird's beak spears for her face, "W-whaa, get away!"
"Tsk..." Therion spins the handle of the sword in his hand before smashing the pommel on the sentinel frame. But it still manages to cut a few strands of his hair in its whirling assault.
That idiot needs to concentrate if she wants to use magic...!
"Uff-" Tressa backs up against a decorative suit of armor holding a glaive. The weapon is knocked loose and falls in a wide arc, clipping the falcon's wing. The bird shrieks and a lightbulb pops up in Tressa's head.
"Taaaaake this!" She heaves the polearm up and thrusts it at the bird again. The weapon feels surprisingly light in her hand.
Having been hit in the wing already, the falcon is stabbed through by the glaive. While decorative, it seems to have been kept rather sharp, and the bird falls, bleeding on the carpeted floor.
"Oh, well done, Tressa...!" Primrose finishes making fried yard bird of the falcon pestering her with a blast of moonlight waltz.
"Hey, Therion, get ready!" Tressa calls out.
A torrent of spinning wind gathers at the tip of the glaive and she charges at the sentinel. The thief dodges to the side, and the sentinel is whipped up in a gust from impact, making it whirl about without direction. Therion taps it with the edge of his sword and sends the bladed sentinel spinning like a top back at its handler.
"AAAH!"
There is a crash of glass and metal, some shredding of clothes, and then silence.
"Ugh..." The ruined guards groan.
"Well, you might have overdone it there," Primrose chuckles, sheathing her blade, "But, that was a rather nice jousting, Tressa."
"Whew...!" Tressa sighs, "I'd played a bit of 'walk the plank' as a kid!"
"You wanted to be a pirate?" Therion sheaths his sword and daggers, "Shocking."
"What's that supposed to mean?!" Tressa pouts, "And, no! It was just a game! You point big sticks at the plank walker and the one who pokes them over the line wins!"
"What the heck do you bored kids play..." Therion drags a hand through his white hair and gives an amused puff through his lips.
"I'd never want to be a pirate, ya hear?!" Tressa points the glaive menacingly at the thief, "Pirates and thieves both just steal from people who work hard!"
"Like merchants don't swindle?" Therion mutters, pushing the glaive tip away, "Watch it, short stack."
"Most of us don't!" Tressa says defensively.
"You may find reality a bit less than ideal," Primrose chuckles and walks over to the hall where the guards poured out from, "Let's go where they came from. Maybe that's where we'll find that head guard of Morlock's, as well as the fat man himself."
As the dancer walks ahead, Therion points to Tressa's glaive, "Are you going to keep that?"
"It's pretty handy! I think I might..." Tressa trails off, seeing mischief in the thief's eye, "...NOT! I'm just gonna take it along for now, but not outta this mansion! It's not stealing!"
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, short stack," Therion scoffs with amusement at her reasoning.
...
Indeed, as they walk deeper into the sewers, Cyrus and his group run into something like suffocating despair. The negative energies in the air are palpable. Dark swirls of necrotic essence swirl about the tunnels and around the many undead creatures prowling about.
And they aren't even the worst part.
"Eeaagh!" Cyrus yelps as the sticky slime of a slug glues his tome together with viscous gunk, "Noo, my book!"
"Tsk...!" H'aanit struggles to cut the slug through its thick and slimy coat of natural armor with her axe. Linde growls and yipes as her paws get slimed.
"Wait, I got it...!" Alfyn runs up to the slime and slaps his hands on the slug as it moves to charge, "Oof, you're feisty!"
The cleric goes to help the scholar clean his book without damaging the bindings. She maintains her light to keep the shadow bats flitting about at bay.
The huntress realizes that the slime by Alfyn's hands is hardening due to a chill from his fingertips. Taking it as a cue, she shoots into the hardened slime, expertly avoiding Alfyn's hands. The frozen slime cracks and her arrow sinks into the slug. The mollusk isn't as much a dullard or as slow as its garden variety cousins, and it rears its head, opening its sticky maw.
"Glurp!"
It spews a mix of its innards out at the apothecary and huntress before deflating and flopping over. Linde luckily dodged the evisceration. The cat gives a slight smirk at the apothecary and huntress covered in stringy slime and slug digestive organs. She looks away quick enough when H'aanit looks to her without amusement.
"Ugh..." Alfyn spits out a bit of slime that got in his mouth, "Well, that went well..."
H'aanit sighs and wipes the slime off her face, "Thine cold touch weren useful."
"Thanks! Times like these I'm glad my Gate powers can help a bit, hehe," Alfyn sloughs off excess sticky slime from his clothes.
"Ohh, my poor book!" Cyrus moans bitterly, "What ill fortune!"
"Uhh, it looks mostly okay..." Ophilia tries to comfort the disconsolate scholar.
While the slime had not ruined the ink scrawled on his voluminous tome, it had essentially glued some of the pages shut. Opening or peeling them prematurely or without care would very rip some of the yellowing pages.
"It might dry out okay! Don't worry, Cy!" Alfyn grins, "I got a book o' cures from Zeph's old man and I can't tell ya how many times I fell in a river or dropped in mud with the thing! But if you're patient, it cleans right up!"
"Time be not ample hence," H'aanit says, "Can thou still useth thine hexes?"
"W-well, some of the magic scriptures seem decent," Cyrus sighs, "But though I do have many of the formula memorized, the tome itself is a scholar's focus, see..."
"Ah, so like my staff?"
"Indeed. Some of my colleagues do prefer staves or wands. But I do have preference for books," Cyrus tucks his book away, "I suppose I can rely on my staples until the tome is fully prepared for optimal use."
"Don't worry, Cy, we'll be done in a jiffy, right? How big can these sewers be?" Alfyn says optimistically.
"It seemeth rather deep," H'aanit points towards the branching paths in the sewers, "It doth not remain in one path."
Built on uneven terrain, the sewer structure includes arches and higher elevations for rare rainy seasons when the river swelled. However, due to the lack of attentive care, many of the higher structures have since crumbled, leaving their broken, rocky remnants poking out of the river current. Different crossroads in the flow also were built with perpendicular paths, making it an essential labyrinth that will never again be whole.
"I feel we may be getting close, though..." Ophilia says with a slight swallow, "It's … call it a hunch, but the bad feeling has only been growing as we ran into the undead... There's a lot of malice, or... something akin to it down here. It might be more than what is animating the bodies. It feels... alive. I think we might be facing something other than a rampaging beast."
It was hard for the cleric to put it into exact words. Her feeling derived from the divine sense of clerics. The Flame by her side also seemed to jump and flicker, as though warning of something nearing their midst.
"It does seem treacherous..." Cyrus says, frustration knitting his brow, "... I will not back down from an investigation. However, you all have already done me a great service accompanying me so far. I shan't force anyone to continue who does not desire so. It would be unprofessional to risk any of your lives for my aims, and downright un-gentlemanly."
"Gee, that speech sure was nice," Alfyn says with a simple smile, "But ya ain't getting' rid of this apothecary so easy!"
Linde scoffs.
"I wouldn't want you getting hurt running in alone, Cyrus!" Ophilia exclaims, "I'm too worried... both for you and everyone missing!"
"I worryen also for thee... in many ways," H'aanit sighs, "But if Ophilia desireth to accompany, then so shalt I."
"You are all very brave indeed," Cyrus nods, "I thank you for your continued assistance. Then onward we shall go!"
As the scholar says that, he slips on a slick puddle and nearly topples right into the river off the sewer walkway. H'aanit grabs him by the hood of his scholar's coat and it yanks uncomfortably on his cravat by the chain. The huntress slowly pulls him back on his feet with a sigh.
"Ehehe, thank you very much for that, H'aanit..." Cyrus says sheepishly.
"I hath said I worryen for thee and thine clumsiness," H'aanit rubs her forehead a little.
"Woah, yer real strong, H'aanit! Well, not like I didn't already see it firsthand, but still!" Alfyn chuckles.
"Ah, you got some..." Ophilia walks over to the huntress and picks out a lingering string of slug intestine off her braid, "There."
"Thanken thee," H'aanit says softly.
"All right then, as I was saying... on we go!"
The four of them, plus Linde, pass through the deathly quiet of the river sloshing through the tunnels. The sound is interrupted now and then by an echo of a moan or a clacking sound of bone as monsters roamed. There is soon an even greater cause for alarm, as they become distinctly aware of the scent of blood. It is not just a little whiff, either, but rather a concentration strong enough to overpower everything else, including the mold and must of the sewer. It is not accompanied by the smell of rot, making it smell fresh.
"...Careful now..." H'aanit moves before Cyrus protectively, with Linde flanking her.
They now enter a part of the tunnels that seem to be dryer. Up ahead, they can see the light of lanterns, as well as a strange, reddish light. They can hear the voice of mumbling...
"H..."
"Be quiet...!"
The sharp voice cutting through sends a jolt down Ophilia's spine. As if by premonition, she could tell the second voice belonged to someone... unsavory.
The words become clearer as they near the lights. Ophilia dims the staff light as they close in, maintaining their stealth. Other sounds become apparent, like the turn of paper, or something bubbling and hissing. There is a sudden crash of glass shattering as well.
"Tch, another useless sample..." The sharp voice growls with dissatisfaction, then chuckles to itself, "Ah, well... one has to break a few eggs to make an omelet, heh..."
Linde's body is drawn taut. Animals, with senses as honed as she, can sense malice in the air, wafting with the smell of blood and human despair... and, most notably, death.
"Rr..."
H'aanit lightly gestures to be quiet. There is the sudden clank and slam of a door as feet lightly shuffle away. As that sound fades and the silence of the sewers settles, the huntress and her cat dart ahead towards the doorway where the lights emanate from, with the others close behind.
Upon entry into the room, they are greeted by a strange sight indeed...
The room perimeter has several sconces and candles, dripping with wax from use. There is the strong smell of blood and unwashed human waste. In the far corner of the room, towards the rear, is a door with a covered slot one can pull back to peer through. To the right is another door, though it lacks a slot. Perhaps it is where those footsteps went...
In addition to candles, there are strange apparatuses set up about the room. Many tubes of copper and bronze material run into tanks. There are also glass beakers and glass tubes, wrought into strange shapes, filled with red essence. At the very back wall, there are inclined racks like what torturers use when interrogating. But they have been modified with this machinery and the floor under them is speckled with dried blood. There are three of these racks, two of which appear to be occupied; one with a man, and the other with a woman. The two of them do not seem to be moving and are wearing dirty rags, their heads not even twitching at the entry of the traveler's.
Most breathtaking of all, perhaps, is the source of the red light. In the center of the room is a large, glowing, red circle. Even to the uninitiated, the whole thing, with its runes and luminescence, reeks of magic. It seems to be rather complex in construction, as the runes are not of common knowledge, and there even smaller circles overlapping within the biggest perimeter. In the center of the circle are small fragments of what appear to be gemstones among shattered glass shards. In the red light, they glow with an otherworldly hue. Stranger still, towards the center of the circle, it almost seems as if red-colored particles of glittering dust swirl about...
"What..." H'aanit's eyes scan the room astutely despite her confusion.
"Ah! H-hang on!" Alfyn immediately heads for the two tied to the racks.
"... Ophilia?!" The scholar quickly sees the cleric falter slightly upon entering, "Are you alright?"
"Uh, y-yes... I think so..." Ophilia dims the unneeded light from her staff now, pale, "I … It feels like something... very ill... it's suffocating here..."
"...Tis would seemeth true..." H'aanit looks to Linde, who has remained tense the entire time and remains with a feral look in her eye, "An evil lurks here..."
"Hey, c'mon...! You... … No..."
"Alfyn? What is it?" Cyrus now looks to the apothecary's slumped shoulders.
"T... They're dead..." Alfyn says with a hard swallow, still gazing down at the bodies tied to the racks, "... It... it ain't pretty..."
"... Were they also..." Cyrus approaches quietly to look for himself. The cadavers appear emaciated and pale, like the corpse they had found in the river. Pipes lead out from the parts of their bodies where cuts are, into vats strapped along the racks and walls.
"... Bled out..." Alfyn says shakily. His face seems pale in the candlelight, and his eyes are wide, "What … in the world..."
"Same as Marc... the placement of these tubes..." Cyrus looks with slight frustration at the machinery, "Purposefully bled out, harvesting...? These tanks hold their blood... But... Why ever do such horrific..."
"This bodeth ill," H'aanit says, seeing Linde avoiding the red circle. The huntress walks over to the door with a slot and slides it open with a squeak, "... There aren people …"
"What?" Ophilia gasps, "Are they... are they also...?"
H'aanit's eyes narrow, "I see none move..."
Wordlessly, she swaps to her axe and takes a hard swing to break the door down. Alfyn wipes his eyes hastily and draws his own axe to help. Ophilia and Cyrus now turn their attentions to the magic circle. Staring at the eerie red glow makes the cleric uneasy.
"Hmm... I recognize some of these runes... I do not know them, unfortunately, but I believe them to be from Hornburg script..." Cyrus rubs his chin, "Strange..."
Ophilia looks with alarm as Cyrus steps into the circle's boundaries, "C-Cyrus?!"
"Do not fear, fair Ophilia...!" Cyrus smiles with a confident wave, "It's not defensive magic, nor harm type... I believe, on an initial assessment... it is harmless transmutation."
The scholar approaches the gemstones in the circle center and kneels to inspect them closely. He eyes the glass shards, which he can reconstruct from his eyes to come from bottles. The gears in his head turn. Blood harvesting in vats, taken from people, and now bottles. The gemstones are also a color like that of blood. These fragments that float in the air are of the same sanguine hue. While the room already smelled of blood, it is even stronger here in the circle center. And the circle being transmutation, to change forms and matter...
"These stones are... made of the stolen blood?" Cyrus frowns as he speaks his revelation softly, "But why? What are these stones exactly..."
While he looks fixatedly on those, the huntress and apothecary manage to break down the door to the holding cell. H'aanit twitches at the fetid odor of human bodies that have been cooped up like livestock, with no hygiene or food. The smell of human waste, filth, and the outpouring of stagnant air riddled with death pours out once they open the door.
It doesn't bother Alfyn as much, as he springs into action to begin checking the people inside. H'aanit, on a glance, can count about five people here, half of those missing. With the two on the tables, that's seven, and Marc is eight. Two other bodies remain unaccounted for... though it is perfectly possible they were washed away without notice. Olberic is not among them, which gave her a little bit of relief.
"...!" Alfyn gasps when he turns over a young girl and presses his ear to her chest, "She's alive! I can hear her breathing just a bit...!"
"Then we musten maketh haste whilst she yet breathes..." H'aanit goes to help Alfyn get the girl on his back. Their heads look up at the sound of a door and grate creaking open. Ophilia and Cyrus also look up.
The door on the side, which they had neglected, opened to reveal the dark hooded and robed form of a person. From under the obscuring hood, they can see that it is a man with buggy eyes, pale skin, and an angular face. One of his eyes is deeper set than the other in scarred skin and is a completely blank sphere. In one hand, he grasps a curved dagger with bloodstains. His other hand clasps a bound sheaf of papers in the form of a rough book. He seems to have been muttering before opening the door. However, seeing these strangers in his laboratory freezes him. His momentary paralysis does not last long, as his face twists into a scowl at the sight of unwanted guests.
"...Who are you lot...?!" He hisses. He sees Cyrus in the circle and barks, "GET AWAY FROM MY BLOOD STONES!"
"Blood stones?" Cyrus stands now, holding one of the gems still. He does not move despite the man's clear belligerence, "Might I ask your name?"
Ophilia looks nervously between the scholar and this man who just entered. She can feel an immeasurable amount of malice from the hooded man, who looked all too much like cultists they are warned against in the church. Alfyn pulls the girl onto his back and steps out from the cell, with H'aanit standing beside him. Linde stayed near Ophilia, back arched, now hissing at this stranger.
"Your robes... a scholar?" The man focuses on Cyrus, "Atlasdam, nonetheless..."
Cyrus squints at the man's dark robes. They vaguely resemble that of an Atlasdam student, perhaps a scholar understudy. They are not as decorated as a full scholar's garb. In the light of the candles, he can see they are rather old...
"Psst, H'aanit..." Alfyn whispers to the huntress before him, "You recognize that guy?"
"Nay..." H'aanit frowns.
"You are a scholar as well, I see..." Cyrus maintains a non-hostile tone and stance, appearing innocuous as he gestures to the gems, "I am just a passing scholar of no particular repute... and I could not help but notice these unique stones here. Am I to presume this is your work?"
"Hehehe..." The man merely chuckles silently. Ophilia clasps her staff to stop from shaking. H'aanit stands before Alfyn, ready to strike at any moment's notice.
"And these runes. Are they not High Hornburgian? Fascinating indeed. It is a dead language, after all, from a lost kingdom. You must be very well-studied to make such intricate texts on this medium. This is information not even scholars would be privy to, typically," Cyrus then drops his guise suddenly, "...Though I am loath to recognize someone like you a scholar."
His change in tone does not faze the stranger at all. He merely cackles, "Got a good eye haven't you, nameless scholar? What a shame that you came poking around... it would have been fun to pick apart your brain over some tea..."
He points his bloody knife at the huntress and apothecary's direction without even looking, his eyes remaining on Cyrus as his smile remains, growing only more malicious. With a small flick of his wrist, the dagger spins gently in the air, as if suspended by unseen string, leaving his hand free. Cyrus' eyes narrow as he goes to grab his spell book. He would not have the time to wait for it to dry from the slug slime after all.
"I'll just settle for sucking you all dry!" The madman cackles.
A globule of reddish energy forms in his free hand, with the same eerie red glow as the magic circle. He sends that blast at Cyrus, who parries it with a quick incantation of fire, filling the room with the smell of burnt blood.
"As I suspected..." Cyrus purses his lips, "Blood magic...!"
"Cyrus!" Ophilia shouts in alarm.
The huntress rushes forward. The dagger, suspended in midair, flies straight at her. In her surprise, she barely blocks a stab with her axe. Then, with a mind of its own, the dagger skips over her and aims at the apothecary, who is occupied carrying the injured. H'aanit throws her axe and knocks the dagger off course. Alfyn yelps as he goes to weave past the sudden danger.
Linde growls and jumps at the mad scholar, who mutters a brief hex before the big cat yowls in pain, dropping onto the floor in a seeming seizure. The bound pages in his hand glow with red light as he conjures a blood-colored sword in his hand to disembowel the leopard.
"Bolt of fire!"
Cyrus uses a quick spell to evoke a blast of flame, smaller than his usual fireball, deterring his opponent nonetheless even if he misses ultimately. He also seems to disrupt the hex so Linde can regain her senses and leap away.
"Ice, pierce him through!"
The scholar follows up and conjures a blast of cold, which rages like a wave towards the cultist. He dodges, seething. The mad man's lips move furiously as reddish runes form on his hand with the book. Several of the dead bodies in the cell suddenly sit up, as do the ones on the racks. Their eyes are blank and the move with grotesque agility, lunging towards the party.
"Ahh!" Alfyn jumps as a zombie tries to pull the girl off his back. He barely dodges, not being able to quite reach his axe in his position. Quickly, he manages to toss a frozen glass at one of the undead with an acidic effect, melting off a good deal of its facial flesh. However, it doesn't quite slow it down.
"Aw, cripes!"
"Alfyn, here!" Ophilia calls to him. She waves her staff about haphazardly, warding off undead with the glowing head. They groan quietly in aversion to her light.
The apothecary goes to haul ass to the door as H'aanit and Linde cover him from the zombies. Cyrus grits his teeth and mentally apologizes as he sends a charring shock of lightning from his fingertips at several of the animated bodies.
"You fool!" The mad scientist cackles, raising hand of reddish runes up above his head, "I, Gideon, call upon the manus obscuras!"
Suddenly, the scholar, huntress, and Linde are stricken in movement, as though invisible strings now bound them.
"Ugh-?!" Cyrus feels something like several hands grasping and holding his body stiff. He can see something like appendages grasping his shadow, "Shadow magic...!"
"Sorcery...!" H'aanit growls.
The remaining zombies proceed to take advantage of their opponent's paralysis, much to Gideon's glee. He dispels his blood weapon as his dagger returns to his hand. With a maddened gleam in his eye, he leaps at H'aanit.
"I'll take care of the bookworm later!"
Ophilia barely fends off a zombie who lunges at her with her staff. Alfyn nearly stumbles next to her, evading. The cleric looks up as she hears Linde give a loud roar. She looks and sees Linde yowling at H'aanit. The cleric pales as she sees the huntress stubbornly grapple with Gideon despite the paralysis, his dagger plunged into her abdomen. Crimson leaks from her lips, but her expression is unyielding. The stab broke the shadow hold on her just enough so she could grab his blade arm.
"Ugh- let go, crazy woman!" Gideon pulls in vain, not having expected the huntress to put up such a fight. With a fiery light in her eyes, H'aanit smashes her forehead into his face. There is a crack as Gideon's nose breaks with a spurt of blood.
"ARGH-! YOU-!" He stumbles back, letting go of the dagger. In rage, he moves to smite her with a hand of his blood magic, "DIE!"
"NO!"
Ophilia's mind goes blank as her staff suddenly glows brighter than ever before. From its head, the glow shoots out in a beam within the time span of a mere flash. The beam sears directly into Gideon's hand with the pages, burning it with great effect. Gideon howls in pain as his makeshift tome drops to the floor and his magic fades, freeing the ones trapped by the hands of darkness and dropping the zombies like marionettes with cut strings.
"ARGH! BLASTED CLERIC-!"
"ICEWIND!" Cyrus shouts immediately once he can feel his fingers move.
The conjured ice pricks up with a fierce vengeance and thoroughly impales Gideon into the wall before he can react. Spires of cold pierce his arms and pin him hard against the stone.
"URGH- AGH!" Gideon's teeth stain red as he grimaces from the cold impalement, "D-Damn you!"
"H'aanit!" Ophilia's eyes are almost aglow with pale light as she rushes to the injured huntress' side. Linde worriedly growls, nuzzling H'aanit's clammy face as the huntress clutches the dagger wound with the weapon still embedded. Some of Gideon's blood runs down her head where she headbutted him in the face. H'aanit's legs buckle and she slams a hand to the ground to keep in a kneeling position.
"Thine eyes..." H'aanit looks a bit blearily to Ophilia as the cleric kneels next to her.
"It's alright... How deep is it..." Ophilia says with a hushed voice. Seeing the huntress' pallor, she calls Alfyn for assistance.
While the healers aid the huntress, Cyrus looks with slight contempt at Gideon, pinned to the wall. Gideon's face is twisted with pain, blood streaming out of his mouth and crooked nose. However, he gives a deranged smile to the scholar nonetheless. Out of spite, he spits blood out at Cyrus, flecking his front.
"..." Cyrus gingerly wipes his face with his hand, "Tell me, what were you doing with all this... forbidden knowledge. Blood and shadow magic are hardly legal, after all..."
Gideon merely wheezes, still looking as if he were the triumphant one. Cyrus notices his free hand twitching, trying to reach still for the scattered pages of his spilled tome on the floor. The scholar goes to look at the pages and his eyes widen.
On the first page is, scrawled in readable Common, From the Far Reaches of Hell.