They can’t look away from the horrid spectacle. As the descendant of Thrones falls forward, hitting the cobblestone path towards their unholy destination, the huge symbol at the top of the church glows with a dark red light. It initiates an ear-piercing screech. The twitching of the blue man’s facial features quickly spreads throughout his whole body, inducing painful spastic movements, while he tries in vain to crawl back to safety. The sound of his limbs breaking fills the air.
“We have to help him!”, Merodius shouts, panic woven into his voice.
(Wisdom 17)
“Pull him back!”, Oslando shouts. He runs towards him and Bruq joins him. Alexander just observes the situation he expected to happen.
Sadly, the guide is visibly beyond saving as his limbs break in different directions, connecting with each other to form a wheel with his body as the center. He goes up in flame directly afterwards, embers filling the smokey air around him.
(15 versus AC)
The half-elf is just quick enough to duck and evade the burning particles coming his way, but his satyr ally is not so lucky. The sparks just hit him on his chest, making the hairs escaping from beneath his leather armor sizzle.
“Oh, Obad-Hai’s stinking cock”, he swears as he furiously pats chest to put out the miniature fire, “why does everything want to make me hairless?”
“Why would you do this?”, Oslando shouts with his fists clenched, standing between the ashes of the blue man and the priest.
“I wanted to know which ward was guarding this area from angelic influences and now I know. I also know you can get closer to the church without harm. I recognize all other symbols. They are harmless. I guaranteed our protection.”
The half-elf walks towards him with big steps, each stomp making the dirt airborne, and pushes his index finger onto the priest’s sternum.
“No, you sacrificed someone to test a theory. What kind of cleric are you?” His distaste for injuste echoes with every word spoken.
“Apparently one who worships a dead god”, Bruq adds, after blowing at his fur one last time to get rid of the ashy smell. Alexander remains silent, looking at the sigil on the church, trying to remember every detail.
(Intimidation 11)
“Well, that’s not a question you want me to answer, is it now?” The priest stares into the satyr’s eyes. His own eyes are shifting from grey to a bright blue and his sceptre is pointed at him. Its sapphire turns red.
“Am I supposed to be impressed, Alexander?”, he says with raised eyebrows, moving his glaive from one hand to the other. “I hunt monsters for living. This doesn’t affect me.”
The cleric lowers his silver rod, turns away from him and starts walking to the church. “Let’s get this over with so we can separate ways again.”
Merodius looks worried, his troubled gaze meeting Lyssa’s. “I really hoped we could all be friends”, he says and starts to saunter in the same direction.
The siren nods, looking at the scene before her. “Would make a great song, though.”
(Perception 15)
“It really is a ghost town”, Lyssa murmurs as she observes the details of the buildings around her. The wood of the doors is perishing, the metal is changing colours, turning brown while it should be a clean and silvery grey. The parts of the roofs visible to her are riddled with holes. The dying trees are bare, the infertile grounds is covered with the decaying, dried leaves, whereas the road towards Bleakwight was covered with the merry marks of spring.
“I would almost believe Hadriel meant it literally.”
They pass one of the few edifices that doesn’t look like a sad home, but looks like a sad workshop of a blacksmith. A half-finished sword rests on the dusty anvil and the oven looks like coal hasn’t been burning in it for ages. The sign has fallen and been eaten by the crawling vermin of the earth, leaving only a metal horseshoe to be identified.
“I wouldn’t stay in a city run by blood cultists, either”, Oslando says, keeping his hand ready to grab and throw his knife when necessary. The air filling their lungs is cold. Everything feels cold as if everything wants to tell them this is a hostile and undesirable territory to be in.
(Wisdom 12)
“How wise would it be to just walk in?”, Lyssa asks as they have reached the dark brown door.
“Not very wise, I suppose”, Alexander mutters. They look at the red markings on the wood, but refrain from touching them.
(Religion 15)
“I believe these aren’t of the same nature as we saw on the church from afar”, he continues. “I don’t recognize any pattern from some kind of religion or creed. Maybe it’s magic.”
Their attention shifts to Merodius, who walks up to the door, head tilted to investigate the markings above his eye level.
(Arcana 5)
“It could mean anything, really”, he says slowly as he waves his hand in front of the red paint, trying to feel something coming off of it. “I don’t know.”
Even though everyone would like to know what they’re up against, they abstain from commenting on the group’s sorcerer. Everyone does, except the cleric.
“What use is a puppet without a proper puppeteer?”, he growls with the music of distaste vibrating in the air. “We have to find another way. Maybe this alerts them, maybe it obliterates us. If when enter here, the scarecrow opens the door.”
“Enough”, Oslando says as if he is commanding a mere footsoldier to remember his place. “You’re not helping.” The half-elf turns to Merodius and sees a expressionless mask, facing the ground. “Ignore him. He doesn’t know what he is saying.”
Alexander coughs. “Yes, I do.”
Oslando places a hand on his shoulder. “You know magic, Mero”, he continues. “You are magic. You can do this.”
(Nature 15)
“Look at the plants”, he whispers as the pale mask is starting to show a face again.
“What’s up with the plants?”, Oslando asks him loud enough to make the others start investigating them as well.
“They are blossoming quite well in an environment that looks barren. Their roots are feeding on something below the surface that isn’t present in the rest of the town. Might be magic.”
The half-elf pats him twice on the back and notices everyone is looking at the door again, except Bruq, who walks beside the black walls of the building, crouching to inspect everything even from a closer point of view.
(Survival 25)
“A few of the flowers are snapped, stepped upon.” He lays his hands on the green and yellow grass and feels around a bit.
“Are you feeling homesick?”, Lyssa stutters with a weak laugh.
Bruq turns his head and smiles back, shaking his head. “Not more than usual.”
He knocks on the ground on several spots, creating a variety of tones that all sound the same to the others.
“We should walk this way around the church. The footprints that broke the flowers and trampled the grass are relatively fresh. I think I can find us a different entrance.”
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