Was the priest insane?

They had undergone all of this elaborate effort to just scratch by and gain an opportunity to capture one of these raiders alive and she drives an arrow into their leg with a weapon capable of piercing or splintering bone; the same sort of weapon one hunts large game with. Unsurprisingly, the woman dropped the moment the stabilization of blood became uneven in her veins and the half-blood warrior collided with her in his characteristic warcry, throwing her to the ground and at a point of disadvantage; the crimson of her person followed suit and spattered on to the low lying grass.

The huntsman in all of this was not far behind, dropping the sword and removing a knife from his person instead before becoming crouched by her side.

Brannor knew well what went wrong here, other than shooting her with an arrow, so what followed was the cutting of the captive's hood from her cloak and its conversion into a loop around the injured leg, not much more than a hand higher where the arrow struck. Once the man found that point, he cinched, only then to break the arrow in twain and take the shaft's remains; it too became a bar now atop the cloth, with the rotations of his hands clamping it down. When he finished, he tucked the material within itself so not to come loose.

"That should cease the bleeding..." Brannor's voice was punctuated with frustration when he completed his crude but effective woodsman talent, dressing the rest of the wound thereafter.

When he finished, still crouched by her side, he returned the knife to its sheath on his waist, letting Orchid do the rest as he seemed so intent on.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Kyra ran up to the others after seeing their swift take down of the bandit. It looked like they managed to arrive quickly enough to prevent the fires from spreading out of the mill, but no doubt they'll be back once they're gone. And they may come with reinforcements too. Kyra wanted to stay and protect this mill; perhaps this time they could turn the tables on the brigands and lay a trap for them. But as she thought of this, Parum's words rang in her mind. As much as Kyra hated these people, she knew that she alone could not hope to take them all down, no matter how furious she is. She had to fight smarter then that. To that end, they needed to take this prisoner somewhere safe and get any information they could out of her.

Seeing that the woman was out cold and bleeding, Kyra charged a weak spell through her hand and into the brigand. It wouldn't heal her wounds, but it would keep her from bleeding out. With Brannor's first aid, that'll ensure that she'll be alive enough to answer a few questions back at the keep. "We got what we've came for. Let's leave before they bring back reinforcements." Kyra drew another arrow in preparation for any enemy scouts and went ahead of the others, ensuring that their path was clear from any danger.

The first aid provided by the Paladin alone would have been enough, but as the Priestess' magic flushed over the injured looter they could at least be sure that this matter was handled. The woman would not be dying any time soon... they finally had the prisoner they had been trying to capture. Another small victory in the night where there plausibly could have been none. Now all they needed to do was get their prisoner back to the keep for interrogation.

Their trip began well, with none of the three attackers that had fled coming after them and the mill was still standing, clearly not in much danger. Perhaps Parum had been right. Maybe they had been attempting to lure the party into the mill? But there was no way to tell. Maybe, just maybe they would find out afterwards. If the mill would be still standing, definitely a trap. If not, well... then they had at least given it a fair try.

Once they approached the keep, a stroke of bad luck hit them. Just before they arrived to the old tunnel, Kyra spotted a group of raiders before them who, likewise, noticed the group. As the priestess sounded her warning and prepared to do whatever it was that he was going to do, the Paladin of the wilds used the time she had spent to warn the party to make his move.

Invigorated by the successful capture, albeit not as much he would be if the attack had been to kill their marks, Brannor set upon these people with all the raging fury of an animal protecting its den. He closed between the two groups, cutting through the low lying grass and laid siege to the nearest foe and that who appeared to have magical inclinations; the hunter would not entertain the perversion of restoration he had seen earlier as in the dank, moldered port of the keep and it helped none for the victim of his coming strike that his frustrations were steadily rising, so when the blow did at last come, it did with unleashed fury.

The engraved sword swept across him, cutting the air just as the bow of a ship at sea, and connected with such immense force that made its entire length shudder. Brannor did not stop and he did not wait. The moment the resistance to the weapon ended, he took another snarling step forward and readied the blade again, flexing his worn leathers about its bindings. Whatever the enemy witnessed, if at all, he hoped it ran their blood cold with fear, something they deserved for all they had done to terrorize these people and snuff out their humbled sparks of life. But the light, that flame in the heart made of goodness that Brannor knew innately, could both soothe and it could burn.

And for now, it was burning bright.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

There was no time to celebrate their small victory. With the prisoner secured Kyra and the others returned to the keep, but not before running into another group of enemies. Three brigands, two armored and one less so. "We have company!" As Kyra shouted out, Brannor had already ran up and cleaved a brigand in twain. Kyra herself was prepared for battle as well, quickly notching an arrow on her bowstring and sending it directly towards the unarmed chest of one of the raiders. Her arrow struck true, perhaps guided by Kyra's faith, or maybe simply thanks to her years of experience as a hunter. Regardless the arrow flew right into the unarmored raider's chest, likely piercing his heart. She then drew another arrow and shifted behind Orchid, ready for the charge from any surviving opponent.

The divine aspirant sprinted in; a cleric's knocked arrow followed suit.

Each demonstrating remarkable talent and proficiency, striking the heart of malevolence that undertook Greenest, sunrise’s heralds breaching the dawn’s darkness. The druid, sentient of his own obscurity’s resurrection, prized mutilating the faces of shadows, whenever they rose evil heads. Once consumed with internal depredation, a liberated Torus gingerly slid their captured prey off his shield strapped arm, gently onto the morning dew, adjacent to the tunnel’s entry. Scrimmaging after his allies into the scuffle, the pirate's fang raised high, simulating an executioner’s arc, only to lower it upon the third, unopposed assailant.

As Orchid and Parum loomed over the netted quarry, their choice fell precariously through the air, like a straw twirling its verdict before resting on the hump of a camel. The decision always remained simple to the half-blood. However, the Hin would likewise need to juggle a heavier choice.

Defend? Or destroy?


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher

The heroes were quick to start the offensive, before the raiders could even react two critically wounding strikes were handed out by the Paladin and the Priestess, already taking down two of the three enemies. The druid dropped the captured one onto the ground as he rushed in to continue this mighty assault, but to his bad luck the opponent managed to sidestep the weapon, avoiding both the sheer blunt force of the strike as well as the magical enhancement.

However, with both of their friends dead and him being cornered by the Druid and Paladin, the raider raised their free hand in front of them and lowered their blade towards their side. It seemed as if they were not that eager to die.

With their prisoner captured Parum hoped that they could leave this wretched place as soon as possible. She kept her guard up considering the danger simply being outside was, but she was happy to know that they aren’t going to run into any more trouble. Of course, considering her luck, Parum spoke too soon. The party ran into a small band of scouts near the tunnel entrance; whether they knew the way in or not, Parum knew that had to deal with these brigands quickly. And quickly they did; Brannor and Kyra eliminated two of the three brigands with their first attack. Torag lowered the prisoner he was carrying to attack the brigand, leaving only Parum and Orchid behind. She figured that the orc would soon engage in battle, so Parum looked towards him. “I’ll stay behind in case more show up, get going!” And so Parum readied another spell of Vicious Mockery, thinking of quips in her head as she kept an eye peeled for more enemies to come. She also stayed near the body in case anyone intended to come by and grab her, or if she was awake enough to run off on her own.

After tackling the bandit to the ground, Orchid raised his fist ready to strike again. However, it seemed like the combined efforts of Kyra's arrow and Parum's magic was enough to knock the raider unconscious. Seeing the brigand knocked out Orchid got to tying her up, only realizing it was a woman as he started rifling through her pockets for money and loot. Awkward. After binding her hands together and tearing part of her tunic off as a blindfold, Orchid handed her off to Torus to carry. He questioned the old man's strength, but Orchid wouldn't stop him. Besides, if danger came, Orchid would need both hands to fight. And sure enough on the way back to the fortress, they ran into danger in the form of three bandits. Two armored, one not. The party struck hard and struck fast; Brannor cut one down while Kyra pierced the heart of another. Now it was Orchid's turn.

Orchid charged alongside Torus, running behind the armored bandit just as the old man whiffed his staff. Orchid took the opportunity to go for a low blow, slashing at the raider's leg. He struck swiftly and silently, which might've been rather unnerving considering his usual tendency to have a war cry. It just didn't occur to the half-orc to say something at the time. Though Orchid was not swinging at full strength, he still swung with enough force to possibly cleave through the man's leg, which if he didn't die from the sheer shock he would bleed out if left unattended. Assuming of course, the brigand didn't avoid Orchid's attack.

The remaining assailant had been ready to pull back, but the half-orc defender was having none of that, launching a brutal assault at the leg of the brigand. The silence of the attack was broken as the target cried out in agony, the blade digging into the back of his leg, blood splattering around him. The man raised his blade once again, doing his best to face the half-orc with his injury.

The man's eyes echoed desperation. He didn't seem to have a way out, so all he could do was fight against the impossible odds. His hands guided the blade at Orchid, deftly striking past both his shield and further attempt to dodge, but due to his wound he couldn't get quite as much force behind the strike, only managing to scratch the side of the green man's abdomen. The man bit his lip too hard, even drawing blood. If he had to fight, he'd have to give it his all.

The next few steps were to close the distance between the huntsman and his target.

Fate however, had different ideas while he menaced the man, in that it only later would open that opportunity. For now the elder that was Torus struck forth with a plunging of his staff like a killing axe; the blow missed and kicked up a bit of earth around the enchanted wood, the old man clearly not as feeble a figure as he might have appeared and oddly, somewhat more coherent in person. The latter of quality the paladin could almost feel, but had not the faintest why, how or even what. Regardless, it seemed the seasoned spellweaver missed only for the moment, readying his following attack in the wake of events.

Next during Brannor's maneuvering came Orchid who dove himself in at an angle to sweep in and attack, cleaving down on the invader's exposed limb from behind and delivering a crippling wound. Without delay the injured man's only reaction was to jab with the point of a sword and find purchase in a grazing wound on the orc-blooded warrior, glancing off the side of the abdomen. It was at this moment, where the enemy was off balance, injured and outnumbered, the green clad knight of the wood stepped in from the opening created and swept his sword up so as to avoid everyone but the enemy. By sheer combination of action and reaction, the badly injured attacker was felled.

Not that the outsider wanted it this way with another body landing at their feet, not after the man at first attempted to surrender, no matter the anger that burned within his wild soul. Reality however, was a grim, often brutal mistress full of confusion and the legendary fog of war in moments as these; the half-orc likely had not even seen the man's gesture. It was as things were to be. The raider had made his decisions when he had set out here tonight.

Eased down again after the swipe, the sword's bloodied point brushed amidst the grass as it came to rest from its place on high. What came now in turn was the senses that surveyed the area about for any other threat, only to find nothing more than the silence after the storm and the thrumming of their hearts in elevated pace. In the presence of calm again, under the smoke and stars, Brannor breathed with relief and halted his movement only to touch the fierce silver pendant he wore and speak.

"Let us see ourselves in. Take the bodies."


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Orchid had raised his shield just a second too soon, over shooting the block and allowing the raider's blade to slide across his side. All things considered a minor injury, and certainly not one that Orchid was all too concerned about. He saw Brannor's blade end the raider's life, so Orchid saw no further reason to hack the man down. That being said, Brannor gave them the odd order to bring the bodies in. Perhaps he simply meant the one? Orchid would have rather not drag around more bodies, but he suppose they could use the chance to loot their persons. Sheathing his sword and shield Orchid dragged the two armored bodies by their feet towards the door, remembering that he needed to knock thrice for entrance. Three strikes against the door, and it opened. "Hi."

Orchid brought the bodies inside and proceeded to do the same to them as he did with all others; pillage the dead. He stripped them of their meager leather armor, took any coins, and confiscated their weapons. They wouldn't need them anymore. Looking at these weapons, it reminded him of the elves back at home. They too used curved swords, and even Orchid's own machete was of elvish design. While broader and heavier than most elven blades, it still had their signature curve. In the hands of a strong elf, they could dance with this hefty weapon. It brought a smile to his face to remember his home. He wondered if there were any smiths around here who could replicate a proper elvish sword for him.

Regardless Orchid brought the corpses inside for whatever reason. After he was done with them he walked down into the tunnel and waited for the others. They still needed to interrogate that prisoner, and Orchid knew a way to make her talk. But he'll wait for the others first to see what they wanted to do with her.

With the last of the invaders dead, Kyra lowered her bow and looked towards Parum and the prisoner. Without a word she walked over to the two, picked up the raider and went inside the fortress. There was no time to waste; once the door was open Kyra took the raider to the prisons. As she walked past everyone she let them know where she was going to be at. "I'll be interrogating this one at the prison. If you'd like, I could use your help getting some answers from her. I'd certainly like to know who leads this army and why they're doing what they're doing." Kyra dragged her guest away, and once they reached the prison she wasted no time binding the unconscious raider in chains. Kyra was actually quite familiar with the mechanisms, as they used a similar sort of thing when slaughtering cattle. And if this prisoner doesn't cooperate, her fate would be just the same.

Kyra waited at the prison for the raider to awaken or for the others to come, which ever came first. There was already some "tools" here she could use to begin the interrogation, though it still relied on the prisoner waking up first. So Kyra just sat in a chair across the prisoner, waiting.

Daybreak had not yet reared its threatening face upon the unlikely cast of adventurers, hibernating while creeping envious beams of moonlight still haunted over the horizon’s landscape. That jealous, pale eye in the sky caressed the countryside, scrutinizing across the smoky mill to a citadel’s most eastward fortifications, bearing witness and judgement to the morning brawl. Cuckoos and owls juxtaposed their melodies, demarcating the chorus of another potential bright but bleak day, whose radiance would beget within a few hours. Bee hives and their drones rummaged, in anticipation, valiantly along dandelions and lilies, hunting golden ambrosia for the stockpile before the dance of their queen’s throne. The faint perfume of honey permeated the pirate’s olfactory intellect, balancing the sweet scent of the forest, with the bouquet of corpses collected before them. Smell surviving as the most powerful psychic to memories banished, euphoria intertwined with slaughter, triggering his evicted inner bard, to revel in the massacre. Innately, the druid’s tongue ring licked the perspiration beading upon his striped whiskers, recalling a peculiar, reminiscent nightmare.

The phylogenic jury abruptly halted its lurid gala, as blade and vivacity collapsed from the last brigand, under the swift swipes of a green barbarian and a ferine knight harboring a silver medallion. Gore stained through their boots. His minotaur hide callously soaked another soul’s blood. His regard rose from damp topsoil, to survey the littered cadavers upon the battlefield. Like discarded toys on the floor of a child’s room, the mercenaries’ remains were strewn about as brightness above publicized the mess the heroes had bred.

"Let us see ourselves in. Take the bodies."

The voice beckoned an obvious charge as an orc championed a couplet, while the elder dragged their last fallen foe into the tunnel, wedging and heaving his staff under both of the assailant’s armpits. The insipid stream quickly saturated the cumbersome weight with moisture, spawning further exertion from the swashbuckler. Straining to the guarded portal, the old man spouted grunts mingled with heavy huffs. Three knocks later, once inside and sealed, the sentries soon appropriated his role, freeing the senior from his hunched position. Posturing against his liberated walking stick, he popped his lower vertebrae, conducting a jolt through his beard, as if thick bark had been viciously ripped from a mighty oak. He quietly sneered at the mocked limitations of his current form, but stopped snickering once the cleric motioned them to a higher task.

"If you'd like, I could use your help getting some answers from her."

Her no longer blameless ire cried for a semblance of justice, even if it issued bile or wrath. The sailor knew of the spiritual consequence after having eroding many a mutiny, with torture, decades before.

“Are you equipped for this, priestess? When seeking vengeance, one must be prepared to dig two graves.”

Satisfied with her silence, he realized the Chauntean acolyte remained indignantly resolute. It was difficult to discern if she was not capable to fathom nature’s indifference to her civilization’s plight. An apathy that fosters survival over mercy. Her scurrying off with the prisoner cemented that righteous blindness, becoming more valuable than the wild’s lethargic ennui. To be useful to her desired endeavor, Torus required more than just his water skin to garner the necessitated intel. He approached the guarded entry once more. Waving his Tethyrian fang, he summoned several gallons over half a minute from under the door’s crevice, eventually sculpting the aquatic force into a large sphere. Slowly, the buccaneer magically maneuvered the saline bubble into the interrogation room, high above the unhooded captive; the briny clock overhead ticked away its existence upon the sedate skull of their malefactor. Crimson droplets continued to plummet upon the convict’s forehead, jarring her eventually to consciousness. The woman, alert now to her chains, was overtly drenched from the slumber she had succumbed to, shivering, the temperature frigid, with intermittent frosty marbles diving and sliding off the detainee’s ears and nose.

“Awake? Finally. The reason… Tell me. Why are you here? Why Greenest?” Sniffing vicariously in front of the female inmate, he delivered a warning. “Either you can drown us with words. Or.” He paused to dispense a nodding signal to Kyra, Brannor, Parum and Orchid.

“We bury you with water and steel!”


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen

There was nothing more to be said once they removed the evidence of their den's location, barring the blood shed that now nourished the grass. If the enemy was to venture here foolishly again, then perhaps that would be an omen as why to reconsider; all that seemed to remain of a band of their fellows was little more than memories and staining red froth. They had, in their own way, stumbled into the lair of the beast they sought so desperately to fell, but the keep and its defenders had ran them off, rather through, again. How many times would they need be so viciously routed before they realized they were wasting their time here? If they were wise, they would slink off into the night before Greenest's returned favor was made manifest, for at least then it would likely never fall upon them. Just how long would it take for the lord of this land or even its crown to send retribution?

Days? Weeks? Months?

None of this was ever a thought or concern for the outlander, his thoughts preoccupied more with the hope that these kobolds and their seeming human masters would be dissuaded by the casualties sustained and how many times they had been driven off. They were tiresome and pathetic, still proving to be little more than armed brigands and draconic rats. Yet what changed Brannor's ambiance of mind was the sudden willingness of the Chauntean priestess to gather up her quarry and ferret away with it. Almost as though they were a collective, the others gathered in following, with the salt crusted sailor bringing with him an ominous orb of crimson brine and sickly water. This was, in its own way, more welcoming than if it were blood, for the scent of it was fetid rather than clean with iron and not nearly as depraved in concept.

First it was unclear just what he intended to do with it, but the evidence only mounted as crude tools were brought forth and the captive chained in a manner that was inherently unsettling to the man. He caressed his densely stubble face with a glove, looking over the sight before him. It seemed people of the "civil" realm had different notions of what interrogate meant and, being unfamiliar to the true worst man had to offer, Brannor knew nothing of what torture in fact looked like - just hearsay of the cruel mechanisms involved, those same that had begun to appear before their lot. There was an unsettling attribute to it that drove the feral instinct in him mad, for it was one thing to be caged and bound, but another to be mercilessly prodded to their own death.

Knowing better than to object while within the presence of the enemy, he set a hand upon the shoulder of the cleric when she chose to seat herself in the prison's chair and await the awakening, that which would be performed by Torus. Without a word this gesture was overt in context, the same steadying one would perform with an animal that found its spirit bound up in unreleased energy. Being neither an act of approval or disapproval, just a sign for Shepard that she might have lost sight of why she was even here, he removed it thereafter. He would let the duo speak under threat of violence, at least for now, and hopefully without the protest of the halfling, lest they risk losing their leverage.

But nothing in him wavered about executing the enemy outright rather than leaving her to suffer a long, labored death at their hands.

@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

With that surprised skirmish over, everyone moved quickly. It was rather startling to see how fast they all just… Cleaned up. Dragging bodies inside, taking prisoners away, all with the same mechanical efficiency of a clockwork object. It unnerved Parum; was this an adventurer’s life? The fighting, the killing, the death, she knew it was all there but witnessing it first hand was an eye opener. Parum was still trying to figure out what this all meant to her. She wanted adventure but… She supposed she had a more romantic view of it. While their actions were suitably heroic on the surface, digging deeper revealed the sort of vile work heroes had to do. It made the halfling feel a bit sick.

Parum followed the others inside and spotted Kyra walking away with their new prisoner. No doubt the cleric wanted to get answers from the bandit, but Parum followed quickly on her heels. Of all the people Parum was working with, something just didn’t sit right between her and Kyra. Parum and this time, it wasn’t because Parum was scared. It wasn’t because she knew she was a coward. But she felt like Kyra was about to do something horrible, and Parum has to do something. Even though she was scared for her life, even though she can’t fend for herself, if there was anyone Parum could save, it had to be Kyra.

Entering the dungeon Parum could see that the prisoner was already strung up. Kyra waited patiently for the prisoner to awaken as Torus did something strange with magic water. In the meantime Parum went over to Kyra. ”Kyra… Could I ask you something?”

Kyra didn’t take her eyes off the prisoner and spoke. ”That depends. Are you going to try to stop me from interrogating this scum?”

Parum shook her head. ”No, no… Actually I wanted to speak to her first.”

This surprised Kyra. She didn’t think the halfling would have the stomach for interrogations. This made Kyra turn and looked to Parum. ”Oh? And why would you want to do that?”

When Kyra looked at Parum, Parum looked right back at her. She gripped her hands together and steeled herself. ”Because…Because I believe I can get her to tell us the truth. We don’t need to hurt her aimlessly. No matter how much we want to.”

At that last sentence Kyra stood up over Parum, looking down right at her. ”All those monsters out there deserve a fate ten times worse than what they did to Greenest. Death would be too merciful for her. Why do you think she deserves any better?” Kyra glared at the halfling.

”Do you think that brutalizing her will make things better? To fix all the damage done, to heal everyone who’s suffered today? There has already been enough bloodshed. The moment you forget this and you will become the very same monsters you’re fighting!”

”Don’t compare me to those savages! They came to my home, my village, burned it to the ground, and slaughtered it’s people! You think I should just forgive them for what they’ve done!? To show them mercy!?”

Parum looked directly at Kyra. She could see the fire in her eyes. Reaching out, Parum held Kyra’s hand. ”Everything dies within time Kyra. People die, nature itself dies. Homes will fall apart. The only thing that remains are the memories. I know it’s going to be hard for you to forget this Kyra. But if you keep up the way you are now, even after this is all over, the only thing you’ll remember is that hatred. For you, you’ll never stop living this hell. So please Kyra… Let us take care of this. We’ll come find you when we’re done.”

Kyra stepped back and pulled her hand out of Parum’s grip. But despite her small, petite form, Parum didn’t let go. It was hard for Kyra to think with Parum bothering her. Let go of me Parum.” Despite saying that, Kyra didn’t try very hard to get out. She knew deep down that Parum was right, but she wanted to be angry. She wanted to be able to be strong. If she showed these people mercy… She wasn’t sure what was going to happen. She was scared. Her peaceful life, thrown into chaos from this act of terror. She didn’t know how else to react but with equal force. To meet their ferocity. It wasn’t something she knew how to do but she thought it was what she had to do.

"Go tend to your people. Get some rest. Let us take care of this.” Parum let go of Kyra and went to Torus. The prisoner was starting to wake up.

"Wait." Kyra reached out and grabbed Parum's shoulder. "Parum... I... I'm trusting you." Faint holy energy would resonate in Parum as Kyra offered her a spell of guidance. Letting her go, Kyra sat back down just as Brannor came by and put a hand on her shoulder. He was quiet, but after the conversation with Parum, Kyra had a good idea of what he wanted. It really made Kyra wonder if these outsiders understood her, or if maybe Kyra was really edging towards a road she can’t turn back. She just didn't know. Kyra stood up and left the dungeon and left the prisoner in the hands of the others. She needed to go talk to Falconmoon.

With Kyra leaving Parum took a sign of relief. The last thing the tilted cleric needed was the tension of interrogation to tempt her into doing something stupid. As the prisoner was coming to, Torus spoke some words to her. Parum walked up beside him looking very stern. Unlike a dragon, Parum was not scared of regular people. Least of all one bound in chains in a rocky prison. "Someone like you... Deserves a fate ten times worse than what has happened to Greenest. In a just world you would've died. But you have a rare opportunity very, very few people ever get. A second chance. So tell us, why are you here? Why attack Greenest? And who leads you?"

The heavy clanking of metal boots made it clear to the adventurers that someone was approaching the cell they had taken into use. A moment of listening later it became evident that it was not just someone, but a group of people. The footfalls were way too frequent to belong to a single man, even one as short as Escobert. And soon enough from beyond the corner marched Sergeant Longwater, flanked by four guardsmen who in turn were followed by more heavily armed men protecting a single figure. Governor Nighthill himself graced the catacombs with his presence.

"A simple second, milord", Longwater requested of him and approached the adventurers as the other people in tow slowed down. "Have you begun yet?" he asked, but as he peeked into the room he received his answer without anyone saying a word. He pulled his head back and took a puzzled look at the adventurers, the glimpsed back into the room, especially at the floating ball of water, and then back at the people again. His expression said it all: 'What the hell?'

He was relatively quick to collect himself however and gestured at the rest of the people to follow. "It is a small room, probably only I and the Governor can make it in with all that's going on", he instructed the other guards before he marched in. He laid a single venomous glance at the still blindfolded raider, but walked to Torus and whispered into the Druid's ear: "We are not common bandits. We do not start interrogations with torture, alright? Put that away." With that said, he removed his gauntleted hand from his shoulder and sprang to attention as the Governor walked into the room.

Nighthill nodded mutely, both signalling the adventurers to go on with their business as well as relaying the unspoken 'at ease' command to his sergeant. Longwater held a firm grip on the handle of his blade, standing slightly off to the side of the Governor so that he could see and hear unobstructed, but so that the guard himself was ready to lash out if any threat arose. But as things were, there would probably be nothing to worry about.

All the while this was going on, the prisoner shook her head under the steady dripping water, awakening from her unconscious state, only to find out she couldn't move. "Well, shit", she muttered accompanied by the clinking of the chains the priestess had affixed. As she settled down, she could hear a female voice talking to her. The voice demanded to know who had sent the attack here, why Greenest of all places... and indeed the most pressing question of them all: Why?

The chained woman shook her head again, trying to get the makeshift blindfold off her eyes, but did not have much luck with the motion. "Another chance you say? Being captured does not usually mean such things now, does it? But I know not how much I could ever use it. The Cult of the Dragon will not look kindly upon those who leave... and I have no intention of doing so. We are too close. The great hoard that will usher the reign of the Queen of Dragons is almost complete. Greenest was but one more place for us to gather treasure." Having spoken those words, she closed her mouth, ignoring the question about her leader. But after all, the people of Greenest knew more than they had known before.

@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Ryonara@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen@Lucius Cypher

Unflapped by the exchange between the women, Brannor remained mostly still with his arms folded across his chest and his towering posture content to remain in its claimed corner. Every bit of him would have been tingling with anticipation that the scene would go too far, but Parum's heart had won the day; she had at least for the moment tamed a spirit that had become unchecked. To the man of the wood and wild, the idea that the cleric had become enraptured by fury was no surprise. After all it was the nature of the very faith and magic she wielded, one not too removed from his own, that made it fertile ground for becoming free, at times too free.

Chauntea was a divine force of domesticated nature certainly, a mirror to the primal Silvanus, but even a god in the cosmology still answered to a power nothing one could ever freely command in whole, that being the wild in itself. This noted, it goes without saying that if it takes a greater goddess, one who even had the Pale Lady's favor, to so much as tame it in part then a lone mortal could never even dare to. Shepard's bouts of internal turmoil and loss were to be expected, needing only guidance from good hands lest she turn from the light she so craved to the dark that had surrounded her.

The addition of company, of which made no subtle approach as Brannor's ears noted without delay, complicated things more. Not that he blamed them for their desire to be present, especially not with the sergeant's reaction to the wizardly acts being carried out by the elder Torus. What was a relief throughout this, as with the priestess' earlier willingness to still reason from her smaller counsel, was that they dared not interfere or assume the events going on for themselves. The woodsman was, understandably so, none too pleased with continually falling under their direction, but their motives and need were certainly not ill or insurmountable requests; he would not abandon their plights or utterly discard their worries or wants tonight.

These things were all well and good progress... until the woman began talking, shifting about in an effort to remove her blind and find comfort in her steel bindings.

"Another chance you say? Being captured does not usually mean such things now, does it? But I know not how much I could ever use it. The Cult of the Dragon will not look kindly upon those who leave... and I have no intention of doing so. We are too close. The great hoard that will usher the reign of the Queen of Dragons is almost complete. Greenest was but one more place for us to gather treasure."

Brannor's expression changed from a place of mild attentiveness to a narrowed, deathly stare by the time her words revealed she had not an ounce of repentance for her deeds against Greenest. What arrogance this woman displayed in the face of her captors, rambling about how great a "hoard" they were gathering and how some fiend had the willingness to consider itself royalty. Of all people in the room, perhaps the hunter had the most reason to disdain or distrust these towns people and those that ruled over them, but he would certainly not terrorize or kill them, let alone pillage their livelihood and even less so for some scaly beast.


@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

Myths bore seeds of truth after all.

The pirate quickly interjected into the obliviousness that mingled amongst the breaths of this zealot’s captors. His robes paced behind the shackled fanatic, in order to garner attention for the subsequent omen. Torus knew spectators required a visual vault for their eyes and hearts, to command the registration that quivered prophecies through the ages. Clearing his parched throat, the druid’s lips divorced to preach of an eternal sin, that plagued the realms’ ancestry.

“This forgotten royalty of whom she babbles, reigned before the Dragonfall War, 'ere our races were even forged. Her brother, Bahamut, battled with his sister for six millennia. Their evil brands stretched as far as nightmares. Archdevil… Dark Lady... The Avaricious... Undying Queen... Her name is Tiamat, and with it alone inked doom upon the pages of history. Sages debated whether she actually existed as an avatar, a goddess, or a fable, personifying evil to which only a fugue could attest.”

The sphere slowly disjointed its mold, into a quintet of cephalization, depicting a pair of aviating limbs and a stinger. Each apex beheld faint, additional black, blanche, azure, and jade hues flanking the central crimson crowned mouth. A chromatic miniature soon developed, hovering with its skulls darting to and fro, mimicking the mannerisms of a tangled knot of cobras, excitingly contorting and hissing, without sound, at the enthroned quarry below.

“Five heads. Two wings. A wyvern’s tail. No fear. All greed. The very mother, who spawned the blue colossus that torched Greenest and its children. Bards teach us that a hellish prison now binds her influence in check. However, the suggestive existence of a hoard renders to her unfettered authority.”

Staring into the collage of colors, he angrily whispered a Draconic expression to the seated cultist’s ear.

“Wux geou ti ultrinninan. Lae vi hofiba vucotic thric wintek, vi seian wurken’ thric drukt."

Herding many inside out the door, the elder then stomped his staff, releasing the reptilian bubble on their hostage, dowsing her attire with the icy tones of an absent rainbow.

Addressing the governor finally, the elder communicated in Common once more. “The mastermind, in that purple garb, must heed to a higher reality. His ceded counsel will substantiate this madness. If our paths cross, we must yield a confession.”


@Hekazu @The Harbinger of Ferocity@Norschtalen @Ryonara@Lucius Cypher

Parum kept her demeanor solid and stoic as the woman answered a few of their questions. The raider was part of a group known as the Cult of the Dragon, apparently lead by the Queen of Dragon's. As Torus had noticed, that could only mean one entity: Tiamat, sister of Bahamut. Parum only has heard a few tales about the Dregonfall War, knowing the name Bahamut simply because he is considered the king of all dragons. Tiamat of course was also mentioned however... Wasn't she dead? While many stories tell it differently, from being killed by her brother, banished, or simply forced to retreat, the fact was that Tiamat has been long gone. At least until now.

Parum was sure that there were plenty of cults of Tiamat scattered across the world, mostly worshiped by kobolds or a small band of fanatics. But seeing what they had to face today, Parum couldn't believe that a mere cult could muster a force this strong. While by no means a proper army, this was no mere bandit clan seeking to raid and plunder for their own survival. Too organized, too many, and certainly, no mere clan would have the strength of a dragon on their side. Either these fools were being manipulated by a more cunning, resourceful foe... Or the coming of Tiamat was very much real, and has inspired hundreds to prepare for her awakening.

The fact that Greenest was merely one of many villages these cultists intended to attack was also unsettling. Bandits are who they are due to being unable to support a regular life style, without the skills for a job or the opportunity for honest work. Those who become bandits for simply slating a bloodlust are actually rare and few. With that in mind, one could always believe that once beaten, a bandit clan will be forced to disperse and try to live honestly, or die in villainy. But a cult... A cult was much more determined. They would do what they do not out of desperation, but enlightenment. No matter how deranged it really is. Of all the wars that Parum had learned of, many started due to a religious cause, a god giving a powerful vision to powerful people. And if that's what has happened here, than the odds suddenly became much more grim.

But there was still one more question the woman hadn't answered. "If death is what you want, there are plenty of those here who'll give it to you. But you still haven't answered all my questions. Tiamat may be your queen but this attack was lead by someone else. And that blue dragon was with you as well. Tell us their names, and you may find yourself among their company again. Alive."