“Fuck, that hurts.” Bruq sits on his knees and wraps his arms around his stomach. “It’s as if my insides are on fire. You can go next, Oslando. I need to catch my breath.”
Lyssa has put her writing equipment down and sits next to him.
“Maybe you should lie down or take one of those berries. You look at bit pale.” She’s right. His demeanour has lost some of its healthy tone and his eyes seem to lay a bit more in the back of his skull.
“I will go”, the half-elf speaks heroically, staring wilfully at the bright sparkles that jump of the enchanted tile and fly into the air. “Are you ready to guide me through, captain?” She nods with a smile on her face. She likes it when people call her captain.
“Aye, aye, matey.”
“If I remember correctly from what Bruq told you, I should move one tile to the right and there isn’t supposed to be any wall there, affirmative?” He waits for her answer, although he already knows he’s got it right.
“Are we saying ‘affirmative’ now? It almost feels like a military operation, doesn’t it? Yes, slide one tile to the right and then proceed forward. It’s the only option.”
“If I say ‘right’ instead of ‘affirmative’ when asking you if I’m right to go right, that could be a little confusing if I’m right. Affirmative?”
He walks one tile sidewards and one forwards. He observes the red light around the tiles, the only thing he can see up close. The only other source of light is the distant Enochian Crystal.
“I think you’re right, indeed. I mean… You are correct, Oslando. Your words are true.”
He rolls with his eyes. “You don’t need to exaggerate. If you’re ready, I got new information. I only feel a wall in front of me. Where do you want me to go?” She updates her map and moves the coin that now represents Oslando rather than Bruq.
“I think I’m going to stick to the same strategy and ask you to go one tile to the right. What do you feel?” He moves his arms around. If someone could see him, he would look like a poor, blind man trying to find his way home.
“There’s a wall behind me, but that’s it. Shall I go to the right? If I trigger a trap, I will come back and go forward.”
She looks at Bruq, who is chewing on a goodberry to retrieve some of his liveliness. “If you can handle that, it’s fine by me.”
While Lyssa and Oslando keep themselves busy and Bruq is feeling slightly better again, the other two are just standing there, not really doing anything.
“Why do you always change into Alexander?” Mero breaks the silence between them, although the cleric prefers the absence of conversation. “You could be anyone you want. Well, as long as you - you know - kill them.”
Dargothoth looks down at Mero and decides to sit down, not knowing if it will take minutes or hours before he can enter the maze.
“Do you really want to know the answer, Merodius?”
He nods, while the Oslando's voice provides the background noise of their conversation.
“I moved to the right. Still, the only wall I can feel is behind me. Shall I go right again? If I’m correct I should find the wall of the maze to my right. Affirmative?” She chuckles.
“Affirmative, move to your right, please. If there is no wall in front of you, you can move forward. It’s the only option; backwards is a dead end.”
Alexander ignores the static. “The influence of a priest on the common folk is enormous”, he explains while staring into nothingness. “If a priest talks, all others are silent. If a priest preaches words of wisdom, all others obey. If a priest speaks about faith, all others follow blindly. Maybe you see me as a good person, puppet, someone worth of friendship, but I am not such a person. I prey on the weak, fill their hearts with fear and their minds with doubts. Most of the people I talked to paid the most attention to men, humans and priests. So I found someone fitting of those criteria and it works almost perfectly now. I’ve brought my god much joy in sacrificing those who deserve to be eradicated.”
He looks to his right and sees how the artificial face of the sorcerer isn’t troubled. He shows no signs of being disturbed or distrusting.
“I really want to believe that there is good in you, Dargo”, he says empathically, “but you make it really difficult.”
The cleric interrupts him before he can continue. “Don’t call me by some nickname. I am Dargothoth and none else.”
The way Mero’s mouth changes in shape expresses something of sadness, maybe even pity. “If you are so sure of that, Dargothoth, why do you hide your face behind this shapeshifted one? I would give anything to have my own face back, even while I don’t know what I looked like. If you were nicer to others I think they would listen. You don’t have to be as scary as you look.” The sorcerer shakes his head with disbelief.
“I don’t think you understand”, the priest slowly says as he stares deep into Mero’s eyes. “I do not just do this for my god. I feel powerful when I do it, I am powerful. I enjoy their screams. I feast on their flesh and take mementos afterwards, just like Bruq does.” He reveals a necklace from under his white garment, wrapped three times around his rather thin neck. Dozens of finger bones, probably hundreds, are tied at every free piece of the lace, cramped together to create this horrid image. In the center, at the lowest point of this devilish piece of jewelry, dangles an entire hand.
“Do you want to give it a high five or can I stop talking now? I’m not a good person nor will I ever be one.”
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