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Sprawling all beneath Ceosia's capitol, the vast network of a sewer system runs like a labyrnth through many tunnels and corridors. Built atop the remains of a previous kingdom, the sewers bleed into and integrate cave systems and long forgotten ruins. While the systems near the surface are somewhat documented and mapped out, often utilized by the order of shadows, there is still much unknown about them.

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@Archazen@Snagglepuss89@PapiTan

Joining you on the quest is a scout from the Order of Shadows named Preston. A scraggily little man draped in a dark cloak and leather gamberson. He's familiar enough with the upper-portion of the sewers to be a guide, and out of courtesy, isn't taking any of the reward money. If asked why he's escorting them free of charge, his order requested him to assist whatever party would take the quest.

There are many entrances to the sewers. Many from the city itself, and many more from lost caverns and passageways from outside the capital. Preston takes the party through one of the three major Canals that bleed into the Capitol's port. Just around the North-East Dockyard, a large iron-bar gate greets them as they were lead into a sizeable tunnel. It was near this entrance that the most recent missing people were last scene. The initial Tunnel seems to stretch for about 100 feet until it spreads into various corridors. Strange footprints of various sizes seem to lead to an obscure passageway nearby gives way to an old stairway carved out of the rock, and leading further down. reaching the next level of the sewers, the air was noticeable cooler, save for the space around harlow, and just as damp as it was above. Whereas the occassional debris and boxes and other litter amidst the upper floor suggested some degree of travel or living, here in the second layer, it was completely barren.

"Come on lads, this way." The Torchbound scout beckoned as he marched further into the darkness, another long stretch of tunnel. The length of the walk and darkness surrounding them seemed to suggest it would be some time till the next turn, giving some time for some back-and-fourth conversation! "So, what made ya bunch take on this request? Pay's pretty low aint it?"


@Kazemitsu

The reports of missing people seemed to have extended beyond the capitol's reach. As others who ventured around the outskirts outside the walls have also seemingly vanished. A small band of merchants, doubting the effectiveness of the guild, continued to harass third-parties of their missing men until Kharne had taken the job on happenstance, further away from the Capitol's border. There direction lead the freelance mercenary to a tributary fed by one of the sewer deposits beneath the great walls of Ceosia. The Grate that would have been blocking this large waterway was partially destroyed. And this would lead him further into the Capital's network. With his predatory senses, he could sense vaguely the former presences of what were presumably the missing merchants. There was something else too, something he never sensed before, surrounding all other traces of the missing. This trail continued to lead him further and further into the depths,

Eventually he became faced with a large open cave structure, with several halls of different eras of the sewers all about the large natural room, along with traces of old ruins and tunnels that lead elsewhere. The upper section of the cavern composed a waterfall, fed by various sewer trails of the upper layers, and pouring into a river that seemed to etch into a natural cave system, the river dividing the two halves of the cave. Behind the waterfall, littered clothing and armor or various individuals. All left behind empty of any of their owners. That...strange scent of something else seemed have completely overridden any trace of the people he was following. It seemed concentrated in the entrance to what seemed to be the large tunnel of an older city-structure just beyond the heaps of clothing articles.

Thalorian stood sentinel at the back of the group, his imposing figure a reassuring presence amidst the encroaching darkness. His eyes, sharp and vigilant, constantly scanned the oppressive gloom for any signs of movement. The flickering torchlight, held by the group’s leader, cast eerie, dancing shadows on the damp, moss-covered walls, making every corner and crevice seem like a potential hiding spot for unseen dangers. The air was thick with the scent of mildew, and the faint, distant sound of dripping water echoed through the narrow passageways.

Trailing the scout through the labyrinthine sewer tunnels was far from Thalorian’s idea of a good time. The stench of stagnant water and decay was almost overwhelming, assaulting his senses with every breath. The echo of their footsteps seemed unnaturally loud in the confined space, bouncing off the slimy, brick walls and creating an eerie, disorienting cacophony. Despite the discomfort and ever-present danger, the mission was clear: find the missing people or at least uncover the reason for their mysterious disappearance. This objective was more than enough reason for Thalorian to endure the oppressive environment. His resolve was unwavering, driven by a sense of duty and the hope of bringing some closure to the families of the vanished.

Navigating the treacherous terrain required careful attention. The ground was uneven and slippery, and the risk of encountering something—or someone—hostile was ever-present. Thalorian’s hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword, ready to defend against any sudden attack. The scout ahead moved with a practiced ease, but Thalorian’s confidence never wavered. He was a seasoned warrior, well-versed in handling such situations.

As they ventured deeper into the labyrinthine tunnels, the air grew noticeably cooler, and the surroundings became increasingly desolate. The occasional debris and signs of life from the upper levels gradually disappeared, replaced by an eerie emptiness that seemed to swallow all sound. Thalorian’s grip tightened on his weapon, his senses sharpened and ready for any potential threat. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by the distant drip of water and the soft rustle of their clothing.

The further they progressed, the more the oppressive atmosphere pressed in on them. The walls, slick with moisture, seemed to close in, creating a claustrophobic feeling that would have unnerved a lesser warrior. But Thalorian remained unfazed, his mind focused solely on the mission. His eyes scanned the darkness with unwavering vigilance, every shadow and flicker of light scrutinized for hidden dangers.

The cool air carried a faint, musty odour, a reminder of the long-forgotten history buried within these tunnels. The occasional scurrying of unseen creatures added to the sense of isolation, but Thalorian’s confidence never wavered. He was a seasoned warrior, accustomed to facing the unknown with calm determination. His presence was a beacon of strength for his companions, who could draw courage from his unyielding resolve.

"So, what made ya bunch take on this request? Pay's pretty low aint it?" the scout inquired.

Thalorian glanced at him, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes conveyed a deep sense of purpose. “It’s the right thing to do,” he replied, his voice steady and resolute. “Ensuring justice is carried out and protecting those who cannot protect themselves is my duty. These people need help, and that’s reason enough. It’s not about the reward; it’s about doing what’s right. If we don’t help, who will?”

His words hung in the air, a testament to his unwavering commitment. Thalorian’s sense of duty was ingrained in him, a guiding principle that had shaped his every action. He knew that the path of righteousness was often fraught with challenges, but it was a path he was willing to walk without hesitation.

As they prepared to move forward, Thalorian’s mind remained focused on the task at hand. The faces of the missing haunted his thoughts, fueling his determination to uncover the truth and bring justice to those who had been wronged. He knew that their efforts could make a difference, and that belief was enough to drive him onward.

---

There were plenty of places that Harlow would have preferred to be than in the dark, cramped waterways beneath the city. The similarities to their final memories of a prior lifetime were unpleasant at best. Harlow had been doing their best to ensure that unpleasant was all that they remained as they walked with quiet footfalls that came in a steady rhythm. Every so often, they allowed their attention to drift toward one of the untaken paths, an uncomfortable pressure resting across the back of their neck. Across their back. Phantasmal weight threatening to crack their ribs and cripple their breathing. Mental, they knew, but still too close to real.

At the very least, Glory continued to keep them warm, even when the stagnant air should have long become too chilly to be comfortable.

The scout’s question brought Harlow’s thoughts back to the present, eyes darting toward the group’s temporary guide. There were plenty of reasons why Harlow had come despite their misgivings with being in the sewers. 300 silver wasn’t much, especially to someone whose time was often spent on higher value jobs, but it was probably all that the ones making the request could afford. It was unlikely that anyone else would take the job for a pittance, and for as much as Harlow wanted to be anywhere except the sewers, they could hardly deny the request in good conscience.

After all, if they, a grown adult with little reason to fear danger, were so unsettled by their current location, then the victims were certainly worse off. Cold. Alone. Cramped. Suffocating in rot. Unsure if they would live. It was a bad place to spend one's last moments.

'…ah. Is it too late to answer…?' Harlow realized they’d kept their silence for a moment too long as usual. It wasn’t like their reasons for taking the job were all that important in the end, right? And more than that, they couldn’t do something like speak for the other two, even if they doubted Thalorian’s reasons would be very different.

And how were they supposed to put all of that into an answer? Was the guide genuinely interested in their thoughts? Renauld probably wouldn’t appreciate the reasons (or perhaps excuses) either. Was he mad at them? Harlow wouldn’t have blamed the sorcerer for being annoyed. By then, the silence had dragged out even longer than before, driving another wedge of uncertainty into Harlow's decision.

"It’s the right thing to do."

Harlow’s back stiffened slightly, their head turning to glance back at Thalorian as he spoke. It was a comfort, in a sense. He was familiar as ever, enough that Harlow’s usual rigidity was lightened with a soft exhale on their part. Life in Ceosia wasn’t as predictable as life back on Earth, but Thalorian’s steadfast adherence to virtue was a constant that could be counted on.

And, at last, they found their voice.

"…I don’t like the idea of people dying down here alone." Though their words lacked in expression, Harlow’s hand found itself gripping part of their coat, fingers curling until the fabric was balled up tight in their fist as they pushed away unwelcome memories. Easy. Breathe. Nobody liked it when they got emotional. As if in response to Harlow’s attempt to smother it, Glory's heat burned a little hotter for a moment before settling down. "My body is likely better suited for being here than most either way."

---

---

The task.

The pay.

The location.

It was all shit- possibly literally shit this time- and Renauld was furious. At that moment he would have wagered the meager pay this mission was promising on this: That the anger boiling inside him at that moment was hotter than anything that the living candle in their group had been consumed by.

A group this powerful could be chasing down real leads on the great threats facing this politically backwards sham of a nation, not getting lost in a sewer that rivaled Paris’ to chase a few souls that were almost certainly already dead. There was a bigger picture being sketched in the background of this realm, and Renauld’s passions drove him to paint on such a canvas.

Still, while he was a passionate man, he was not- he hoped- a stupid one. He did not speak his objections out loud. This group had some of the few people that would still have his company on the road, and alienating them was not on his list of priorities. Not that alienating half of the Kingdom had been on his list of priorities either.

Yet.

Renauld turned his head towards the small body perched on his shoulder, and found its masked gaze turned towards him as well. Studying him? Judging him? The latter thought, strangely, filled him with a rare flush of shame. Gently he picked it up from his shoulder, eliciting a pop from its artificial joints, and held it in front of his face for a long moment, completely lost to the conversation happening in the sewer around him.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Came the softly spoken words in French. The two faced each other for a moment longer, before the creature pried his hand open with its surprising strength and scurried its way up his arm back to its perch. The…

Paladin?

Magi?

Warlock?

This place had many names for him, most of which were less polite than those three. The revolutionary then turned to his companions, finally catching the tail end of a sentence.

“… better suited for being here than most either way.”

Suited for a sewer? Just what the hell had they been talking about? He knew plenty of people whom he would help to make a sewer their permanent residence, but most of them were in another world. And dead for over a hundred years, if he had understood some of the other Paladins properly. There was at least some justice in that.

“Anything suited for being here ought to be left here comrade.”

He chimed in while placing a hand on Harlow’s shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring, after having completely missed the thrust of the conversation. The self-immolating Paladin unnerved Renauld like few others. As someone who had been stabbed to death and left to bleed out in a gutter, the thought of voluntarily driving a blade into himself was madness. To be someone who could do that voluntarily and repeatedly was something he never wanted to become.

Finally, he turned his gaze to Thalorian taking up the rear. Renauld appreciated that his morals seemed to be in the right place most of the time, but there was something that didn’t sit right with the devoutly anti-Catholic about a man who embodied a sort of chivalric ideal. Frankly, he expected them to have a fruitful partnership up until the moment they had a single moral disagreement. After that, who knew? At a minimum the Frenchman would make sure to be out of sword reach when the time came.

Hopefully though it would never come up. Better still if it was never given a chance to come up, preferably because this mission was going to end quickly. Then Renauld could go on to doing something more meaningful. And better paying. And not located in a sewer.

---

The faint sound of running water and the occasion drips from the damp, round ceiling was the only ambience that occupied with the sounds of their footfall and talking, alongside the hum of fire from the torch the scout carried of course. Preston took but a moment to reply after the other three entertained the conversation...or well at least two stated their reasons for coming here. Maybe the third was an unfortunate tag along, couldn't blame him.

"Well you lot certainly are the shining examples of what paladins ought to be, I reckon." The scout stated in a simplistic matter, "Me though I'd rather be at home front of a warm fire. Ain't no sugar coating it, those people are already dead. I guess having some bodies are some peace of mind but I doubt we'll really find-" The pessimistic scout was cut off as a new, distinct sound, though faint due to its distance joined in the harmony of the sewer's somber ambience.

It was...the sound of someone...crying? Faint distinct sobs echoes from further within the stonework halls of the sewers. The reverb made it hard to tell the exact direction, but an approaching fork in the tunnel suggested that the left path likely led to whoever was sobbing. Preston had embraced the silence, listening closely. Confirming the sound, he seemed surprised he'd be proven wrong. "Well I'll be damned, this might be a short trip, c'mon fellas!" The scout attempted to lead the small group with a bit of a haste in his step. The wailing grew only louder and more intense as they drew closer. Following the fork in the path, the tunnel now descended at a more noticeable angle, the flow of water faster and yet the intensity of the sobbing drowned out the sounds of the current.

"Hey, hey we're almost there! Are you alright over there?!" Preston called out, shining his light out further into the darkness. Just vaguely they could see the shape of someone indistinct in a cloak. Their voice was hoarse from wailing.

"Help me!" The voice broke out from the cry, though the cloaked figure seemed fixed in a distraught, kneeling position. "It hurts, oh it hurts! Please!" The crying figure was completely obscured in some sort of white robe or cloth, which made it stick out well from the surrounding darkness as the torch-light drew near. The opened part of the hood was facing the water.

Kharne was grumbling to himself the whole time from the point of entry. Had to be a sewer...couldn't have been a forest....hell a volcanic cave would be better than this. He thought to himself as he moved along nimbly despite his size. He was trying to avoid the water as much as possible. It wasn't that he didn't like water, he was a good swimmer and it was relaxing, it was the grossness in the water. Every so often he'd cut his palm and leave a smear of his blood, a trail of marks to follow back out in case he got lost in this place.

"Yeah you can get used to smells...but how long does that take...?" He muttered as he entered a centralized chamber. Each tunnel seemed to come from a different era of construction. Which was strange but hey if it ain't broke don't fix it! Behind the falls were mounds of clothes and armor, discarded gear from....someones lunch possibly? The stuff had a bizarre scent with little to nothing from the original owners. Assuming it's not an alien shapeshifting hivemind... His modern thoughts invaded once again!

Running his fingers through his hair for a moment he sighed and followed the trail of the scent behind the waterfall. Whatever was at the end of it might have the answers to where his targets were. He briefly wondered if he'd get a reward if whatever was at the end of this was the cause of all the caravans going missing? Not that he particularly cared about money...but having some jingle jangle in the pocket never hurt! Now what would be at the end of this tunnel, hm?

---

The rotten smell began to grow stronger. A presence. The source of this stench? Or...a foreign sense of rot. Was it a corpse? Perhaps one who's clothes were on the ground. No, this scent was moving, and Kharne's senses through the darkness let me spot the intruding silhouette with ease as he exited one of the nearby tunnels, to the mass of clothes. The scent, more clear, wasn't so much a corpse. If Kharne had any experience the scent was more associated with the undead, animated corpses or vampires that have gone far too long without feeding. Though, as he walked, that scent of undeath slowly left him. The man had a light tan to his skin tone, suggesting some time in the sun. His brown eyes were a bit..glassy? Almost lifeless look to them, as he moved past some torchlight. Black, shaven hair that had a bit of unkempt, messy length to it.

The man was wearing something a bit different then typical attire. A gray pinstripe suit and black tie, originally these suits were tailored to reincarnated with a taste of fashion from their own world, but quickly grew in popularity with some circles of the wealthy of this world too. This suit however was tattered. The large black jacket he wore was shredded at the bottom and sleeves, damp from the poor conditions of the sewers. The vest and white shirt beneath were stained with blood and dirt, the once black tie was untethered and barely around the collar. Those strangely lifeless eyes looked up from the empty clothes, while he was already moving about the pockets.

"Well howdy there, partner.." The stranger had a slightly dry, gravelly to an otherwise deep voice, as if it had been some time he's gone without water. He seemed almost disinterested in his presence. Despite the greeting, there wasn't much excitement in his words. More of an annoyance, if anything. "This here loot's mine, so bug off."

---

“Anything suited for being here ought to be left here comrade.”

Harlow didn’t give themselves the benefit of tensing. It wasn’t the worst thing they’d been told, though the degradation normally came from people like Bradly. To say that it hadn’t managed to sting a little despite Harlow’s expectations would have been a lie. Regardless, it wasn’t like he was entirely wrong. It was enough to silence Harlow again, the weight a little heavier than it had been before as their guide rambled about the futility of their quest.

Then, the crying drew the scout like a siren call. Harlow’s brow furrowed as they followed. Losing sight of their guide was sure to be a problem and adding another member to the missing persons list hardly seemed productive. Their center of gravity adjusted quickly to the slope—at least a lifetime of maintaining a careful balance had given them that much—but something about the sobbing struck Harlow as… off. Hazel eyes narrowed, trying to pinpoint what it was that bothered them about the wailing as Preston called to the white-clothed victim.

‘…wait.’

It was loud. Too loud for the situation. The white fabric was too pristine, the wailing too intact. In a place like this? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Too many pieces didn’t fit into place when they measured it against experience.

Impulsively, Harlow held an arm out to try and halt their companions from advancing, making sure to move forward enough to try and block Preston’s path.

“Wait. I’ll go first.” Hazel eyes remained locked on their wailing victim as their volume dipped lower, enough so that it wouldn’t carry too far from their group. “There’s something off.”

Thalorian’s eyes narrowed as they surveyed the scene, their instincts screaming caution. The air was thick with tension, and every shadow seemed to hide a potential threat. Despite his deep respect for Harlow’s intuition, the situation felt profoundly wrong on multiple levels. The eerie silence was only broken by the constant sound of water dripping, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.

Stepping closer to Harlow, Thalorian placed a reassuring hand on their shoulder, his other hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “I trust you, Harlow, but let’s be careful. I’ll be right behind you, ready to step in if anything goes wrong." Thalorian offered a reassuring smile, hoping to bolster Harlow’s confidence. The heat emanating off their touch was a stark contrast to the cold, foreboding environment around them. "We need to get through this together.”

Thalorian’s gaze remained fixed on the crying figure, every muscle in his body tense and ready for action. The figure’s sobs echoed through the desolate space, each one a reminder of the potential danger lurking. He knew Harlow’s rebirths provided a significant advantage, but the potential danger still gnawed at his conscience. The memory of past battles and the scars they bore served as a constant reminder of the stakes.

“Let’s proceed with caution. Your instincts are usually spot on, but we can’t afford any mistakes here.” Thalorian’s voice was steady, but there was an underlying urgency that couldn’t be ignored.

With a determined nod, Thalorian signaled their readiness, prepared to support Harlow in whatever came next. The bond between them was unspoken but strong, forged through countless trials and shared hardships. As they moved forward, Thalorian’s senses were on high alert, every fiber of their being focused on protecting Harlow and ensuring their mission’s success.

While they were discussing amongst themselves, the figure continued to sob, the cacophony of weeping had simmered into a softer, pained weeping. The wailing only breaking between a few words. "Help." "Help me..." Their voice began to sound muffled even, as if her own mouth had been covered with a cloth. "Please...help me. It...It hurts!"

As the final words were spoken by the kneeling figure it was hit by a gust of wind strong enough to blow a normal human against the nearby wall. Renauld had been focusing on finishing the spell that normally enabled his flight while his two companions were speaking. At least, that was its usual purpose. Hopefully the gust would be enough to reveal whatever the figure was beneath its garb without injuring it too badly if it happened to be a normal human being.

However, he doubted the last bit enough that he was already moving to grip his sash, ready to fling another spell at whatever he had just pissed off.

The figure was pushed against the wall by the force of wind, its pale hood parting to reveal the face of some middle-aged woman, curly black hair, screaming only further in pain. There was some sort of...fleshy appendage attached to her lower half, which seemed to stretch further into the darkness of the hallway.

"Oh the pain!" She wailed, her unusually pale voice growing that much more sickly, until it started to..deteriorate? Her facial structure sagged and inverted, almost like a balloon that was losing air. Her cries continued as her form crumpled. "Help me! Please! Help!" Through the pressure of air against her, the shrinking figure attempted to reach out to her attackers, but the arm couldn't get far as it shrank to nothing beneath the robe. And some seconds later, the form of the woman was completely gone; Only the strange white cloak remained, and the appendage attached to it- which now began to rapidly retract itself further down the hallway.

'Did that face look like a missing person's?' Harlow wanted to ask. If so, then she could be considered dead--most of the missing could be considered dead. Instead, their body started to move. They didn't consider themselves smart by any means, but they spent enough time on the job to know of rumors and posters. A look back to Renauld, brief and expectant--he probably knew the bounties better than them, right?--was all that Harlow gave themselves the time for before they took off in pursuit of the lump of flesh.

The monk, wasn't it? The thought made Glory's fire burn hot, too hot--the discomfort crossed into pain.

Protect the guide. Follow the appendage. No benefit in adding a fresh corpse, but they might find some of the others. Probably not. Maybe it was a good thing it was the three of them and not another group. Harlow had plenty of things they could have said, but thoughts rarely ever managed to condense themselves into words when they belonged to Harlow.

As Harlow began to run, Thalorian followed suit, unsheathing his sword and letting it slice through the air behind him. His shoulder was poised for defense, ready to react if necessary, as he trailed Harlow’s soft, warm path. The creature they pursued was no longer human—if it ever had been. Could it have once been one of the missing people? Perhaps it was genuinely crying out for help. Was that grotesque appendage controlling them, or merely using them like some parasitic fungus? Thalorian’s mind raced with questions. All he knew for certain was that this abomination was exploiting people for some sinister purpose, and he was determined to uncover the truth.

Kharne's nose tiwtched as he followed the strange smell of rot. That was moving. Well dead people and animals didn't just move around on their own, granted they didn't really have this particular brand of odor either. But it was close enough for those who weren't regularly around dead things. Or making things dead! Turns out it was so9me guy in a suit, and judging by his looks he was of the undead variety of being. Which one he wasn't sure but it hardly mattered.

The smaller man greeted him, his tone laced with annoyance while dictating the loot here was his. "I'm not after loot, I'm after people." He stated, his voice was deep and rumbling like distant thunder from a storm. "A gaggle of merchants wanted me to look into missing people and it seems I found their belongings...and potentially their ending too." He continued while looking down at the undead man in the once fancy suit.

"I don't leave jobs undone, so it'd be in your best interest to tell me what you know." He growled threateningly. He didn't know if the undead man could figure out what he was, but it didn't matter really. Kharne looked the lummox but he was far from it and he practically lived by fuck around and find out.