Chapter 4.11: A Fear of Heroes

“I don’t think we handled that situation very well”, Oslando says.
He breaks the silence that fell upon them when they left Zamazel behind. Even though he didn’t say anything when the injustice occurred, he feels like he can no longer keep it to himself.
“We got what we wanted”, Dargothoth says without turning around to look at the half-elf. “We know where to go and we got a magic arrow. You should be pleased. You are one step closer to becoming the hero you want to be.”
Oslando picks up the pace to walk past the cleric and stop in front of him.
“I don’t want to bring peace to this world if it means I have to do it like this. You might think that our purpose justifies all means, but I don’t. I have tolerated much these last few days, but I’m getting sick of the way you think you can just do anything you want. These things have consequences.”
They have all stopped walking. Mero stands beside the half-elf, while the others stand next to Dargothoth.
“Maybe we went a bit overboard”, Lyssa says, secretly hoping that they will notice her pirate pun, “but I can’t say he didn’t had it coming. He only had himself to blame.”
Mero shakes his head.
“I think we should have been nicer to Zamazel”, he says carefully, trying to keep the peace. “We didn’t have to force him to give up the only thing he has left of his family.”
Bruq is glad with the prized possession, but can’t help not to feel at least a little bad about how he acquired it.
“Maybe you’re right, Mero”, he responds, “but this arrow can give us a serious advantage in battle. This could be our ticket out when a battle comes we otherwise couldn’t win. Besides, look at what that demon hunted! Young wolves… and he couldn’t even manage to take them down without our help. Such a pristine arrow would be wasted on him.”
The half-elf looks at the satyr with disbelief.
“You know, Bruq, if I didn’t know better, I would say I’m hearing Dargothoth talking instead of you.”
The hunter is dumbstruck. He wants to respond, to tell Oslando he’s completely wrong and that there’s nothing evil inside of him, but he can’t produce a single sound.
“And he should be proud of it”, the cleric says and he lays his hand on the satyr’s shoulder.
Bruq looks at him and pulls his shoulder away.
“Maybe… maybe we were wrong”, he stammers. “It just felt like the right thing to do, you know? It felt like he deserved to be punished for bringing the title of hunter to shame.”
The half-elf sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I understand that you felt that way, but if we are going to do this our entire time in Abaddon, we’re going to make a lot of enemies. Besides, if he was supposed to live up to some honourable code of hunters, you should too.” He turns his head to Lyssa. “You wouldn’t want to sail a ship with a crew that shifts their morals whenever it suits them, right?”
She turns a strand of hair between her fingers.
“That would be problematic”, she says.
Suddenly, they hear screaming in the distance, coming from their destination. They can’t see what is going on inside the black building, but they doubt it will be anything pleasant.
“We should go now and find out what is going on in there”, Oslando says. “I would rather have our blessings sooner than later. Maybe if we can help with whatever is happening, they are more likely to grant us one.”
They start walking again, faster this time.
“Well, it is the temple of fear”, Mero says. “Maybe it’s supposed to sound like someone is scared.”
There is another scream, louder this time. Actually, now that they are coming closer, it sounds like multiple people screaming.
“I’m not going to leave it to chance, Mero.” Oslando draws his flaming sword. “Let’s go!”
He runs and the others follow. The clinging of their metal armors and the clashing of items in their backpacks are drowned out by the increasing volume of panic in front of them.
The building isn't very large. Its black roof rests on pillars made of the same kind of stone. Sharp curves form the corners of the roof and braziers with purple flames stand left and right of the entrance. No light comes from inside. It’s unnaturally dark, even for a building without windows. A barrier of magical darkness separates them from the horrid howls and pleas of mercy.
They enter, weapons drawn and ready to face whatever hides in the gloom.

Chapter 4.10: A Fear of Heroes

“Maybe this isn’t necessary”, Mero says to his draconic ally. “I think he learned his lesson.”
Dargothoth raises his other hand to silence the sorcerer. He doesn’t look away from the demon, who is still focused on the Ring of Muffled Screams.
“What is your most valuable possession?” The cleric grins diabolically. “Get it out of your bag.”
Desperate voices echo in Zamazel’s head. They cloud his mind with pleas of forgiveness and mix together with his own thoughts. He can’t think straight. The only thing he hears clearly is the command Dargothoth is giving. He turns around and slowly takes a few steps towards his tent, his body swaying in trance. He stops, looks down and reaches for his quiver.
“Don’t try anything stupid.” The priest growls. “I will not think twice about ending you.”
Although most of them don’t think the demon will attack them, Bruq takes out of his bow and Lyssa puts her finger on the blunderbuss’ trigger, just to be sure.
(Investigation 11)
Zamazel takes out a single arrow, one that draws Bruq’s attention immediately. It’s unlike all arrows he has seen before. The feathers at the end are not very special to behold. They look like the regular black kind he has seen on many arrows. It’s the tip that’s special. Instead of the standard flattened triangular form, this arrow has a teardrop-shaped head. It’s made out of metal and glass. Bruq doesn’t know why you would want an arrow made out of glass. It’s probably enchanted or something, but he can’t recognize what type of arrow it is.
“You offer me an ornamental projectile to spare your life?” Dargothoth flips his head back and laughs, looking like a stereotypical villain. “You better explain yourself.”
Zamazel walks back again. He doesn’t look at them, but stares at the cleric’s ring. He whispers to himself, but whatever he’s saying is inaudible for the others.
“Speak up!”
“It’s the only valuable thing I have left”, the demon says again, louder this time. “My grandfather left every hunter in our family one of these arrows when he passed away. I’m the only one left who hasn’t used his arrow.”
“That still doesn’t convince me it's actually worth something”, Dargothoth snarls. “Skip the smalltalk and keep your emotions to yourself.”
The demon’s concentration breaks and he looks up. He stares the sivak straight in the eyes.
“It’s an arrow of slaying”, Zamazel says with grinding teeth. “Just dip it in the blood of your enemies and it’s ready to fly.”
The priest turns around to his allies. He sees how the confused expression on the satyr’s face changes to a more enlightened one. The others still look like they have no idea what kind of arrow it is.
“Hunter”, Dargothoth says, “please, share your knowledge.”
Bruq takes big steps towards the demon and takes the arrow. Zamazel keeps holding the arrow, but eventually lets go. He seems conflicted about giving it away. Whatever kind of domination the cleric has over the demon, he seems to fight it. Unfortunately for him, it looks like he’s losing the battle.
“This kind of arrow is very popular amongst hunters”, he answers now that he can recognize what it actually is, “but it’s very rare. After dipping it in blood, the arrow grows hungry, sort of speak, for more of that kind of blood. So, if you would dip it in the blood of a dragon, that arrow could harm a dragon much more than any regular arrow ever could. They’re expansive and useful, but they lose their properties after hitting a target.” He rubs his goatee. “I never had one before, but I am glad I have one now.”
Mero and Lyssa look at each other, both finding it a bit unlike Bruq’s normal behaviour. They didn’t think he would accept this gift when the giver is being manipulated. They don’t say anything, both still upset with what Zamazel did, but still it doesn’t feel right.
“I will make sure it will have its use for a good cause, granting me a glorious victory when the hunt is tough.” Bruq lays his hand on the demon’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you didn’t use it on the wolf. Then you would have terribly screwed up twice in a day. One time is already one time too many.”
Zamazel breaks eye contact and stares at the ground, defeated and dishonoured. To have something so dear to him taken away hurts and feels unfair, but he’s scared of whatever this priest will do to him if he resists. His allies seem to have some problems with him, but he fears they will take the draconian’s side if it comes to a scuffle.
“You will not have to join us to the temple. Just point us in the right direction and we’ll be on our way.”
Dargothoth’s haughty tone is no longer mixed with all the voices that clouded his mind. The demon sighs and lifts his point to show them they way.
The cleric smiles.
“Don’t follow us.”

Chapter 4.9: A Fear of Heroes

“She attacked you, because you killed one of her children!” Lyssa raises her voice and frowns. “No wonder she tried to eat you!”
Zamazel raises his hands.
“Well, I have to eat, don’t I? There are no trees to pick fruit from and I ran out of food yesterday. I can’t sit around and starve to death, right?”
Lyssa’s sunbathed face turns red. She clenches her jaw and spreads her eyes wide open, flabbergasted by what the demon is saying.
“There are cities nearby! There’s a temple right over there! Someone would have given you something to eat, I’m sure of it.”
Zamazel turns away from her and looks at Bruq.
“Fellow hunter”, he says, hoping for some sympathy, “you understand, right? It’s all part of the hunt, part of our way of life.”
The satyr, caught between two fires, hesitates.
“I can understand that you need to eat and that you hunt for food.” Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Lyssa silently judging him. “If you would have killed the mother, you would have caused more pain, leaving all cubs motherless instead of taking away just one cub.”
Zamazel sighs with relief.
“Exactly!”
“Well, that’s just a load of-”
“Nevertheless”, Bruq says loudly, stopping Lyssa mid-sentence, “part of being a hunter is also respecting nature and all creatures who inhabit it. I hunt to protect, not for fun or for food. If nature has nothing to offer here, no berries or whatsoever, I go and find them elsewhere. I don’t kill the first living thing to satisfy my hunger. You had it coming. That mother wolf had every right to try to eat you. An eye for an eye, Zamazel.”
The satyr’s white eyes blacken.
The demon looks at the ground, ashamed and clueless what to say to defend himself.
“I’m just sad we had to kill everyone”, Mero says. “You could have prevented a lot of deaths if you thought this through.”
While all of them are judging the demon - Oslando does so silently - their cleric walks up to the demon and pats his shoulder with his large claw.
“Sounds like they don’t like you very much anymore, demon.” Dargothoth’s hissing voice frightens him. “I do approve of your ways. As you heard me say in my prayer: I do believe murder is the way.”
Zamazel wants to interrupt the him, but the priest silenced him, pressing his finger against the demon’s lips.
“Do you see how they look at you? The hatred in their eyes? They thirst for your blood.”
Zamazel looks at the other ucha’ari. He doesn’t want to believe what Dargothoth is telling him, but it doesn’t look good for him. Lyssa has a destructive glance in her eyes, Bruq looks disappointed and Mero is fixated on the burned cub.
Oslando wants to share his thoughts, about better alternatives and what kind of punishment would be just. In his mind the voice of Oanoa echoes, telling him he can’t fix everything. This is their first encounter with a demon in this plane and the Beholder is already right. He swallows down the words he wants to speak and keeps his morals to himself for now.
Zamazel pulls his head back a bit, his mouth no longer pressing against the scaled finger.
“I swear, if I could-”
“Hush, demon”, Dargothoth says commandingly. “It’s time to pay us for saving your life. Or it will be, to quote my satyr friend, an eye for an eye.”
His mouth falls open and he raises his eyebrows. He shakes his head with disbelief.
“You want me to pay? I can’t pay you. I offered you my help to guide you to the temple in exchange for you killing three dogs. Don’t act like you five performed a miracle. I’m not paying you anything!”
(Persuasion 19 versus insight 13)
“Oh, I think you will.”
Dargothoth smiles ominously and turns his hand. The demon is looking right at the metal ring around the priest’s finger. It’s a terrified face with his mouth covered by two boney hands. The longer he looks at it, the more he would swear he can hear screaming somewhere in the distance.
“I think... I can miss the few pieces of azmal I have laying around.”
The demon sounds hesitant. He speaks more slowly, his eyes still fixated on the enchanting ring.
“That will not be sufficient”, the cleric replies. “You are going to offer us more or I will make sure you’ll be the next sacrifice in the name of Nerull!”

Chapter 4.8: A Fear of Heroes

Zamazel stays silent. The cleric’s question has troubled him, because his facial expression went from excited to an almost expressionless mask.
“Why do you want to know?” The demon lowers his voice. “Just don’t get in their way.”
Dargothoth shakes his head while laughing shortly but loudly.
“Luck doesn’t favor us these last days, demon. We’re going to run into them somewhere in our journey here and we would rather have information about them before we meet them.”
The others almost had almost forgotten about the Reapers. Cyrzana said something about them collecting souls, but nothing more than that.
“Just don’t run around cities shouting about Reapers, okay?” Zamazel sounds troubled. “Most of us are terrified of them.”
He sighs. They’re still too far away for him to change the subject by pointing at their destination.
“When a demon dies, his soul needs to be returned to where all souls come from: the Covert Cathedral. It’s a hidden place where all demons return to when they die, where their souls are absorbed into the Sepulchre. Because it is hidden, the spirits need guidance to reach it. A Reaper leaves the Covert Cathedral when someone dies. Shortly after his death, the Reaper appears out of a crimson mist and takes the soul with him. He will ignore anything else as long as nothing stands between him and his task. Do not interact with them. Do I make myself clear? If you do, it will not stop before it has your soul as well.”
The grim story entertains the cleric, but worries the others.
“Noted”, Oslando says vigorously and he turns to Dargothoth. “We will leave them alone.”
“They don’t come for wolves?” Mero’s voice cracks, similar to that of a boy reaching puberty. “Don’t they have souls?”
Zamazel shrugs his shoulders.
“I think it works differently for beasts and such”, he says. “You have to have a Parent to be returned to the Covert Cathedral. That’s why every demon has at least one blessing of a Father or Mother. If they don’t and they die, they are taken, but are doomed to become a Faceless and wander the cathedral’s cursed halls… I don’t have anything else to say about this. Please, let’s talk about something else.”

“There isn’t much left of your camping place.”
Lyssa scratches the back of her head after looking at the trashed scene. The campfire is barely lit, the contents of a big backpack are scattered across the ground and the sticks of his tent are broken. The beige canvas is covered in dirt and is torn allover.
“Yeah, it was trampled by the mother wolf”, Zamazel answers.
He starts picking up his belongings. One of the things he picks up first is a bow.
“That’s a good looking weapon”, Bruq says. “Do you hunt?”
The demon looks up.
“Yes, just like all men of my family did. Sadly, it’s only me now. This was my father’s bow. I’m glad it’s still intact.”
The satyr smiles at him and they all walk towards Zamazel.
“And what fearsome animal were you hunting, colleague? What beast could be on the bounty list of a hunter with such a grant family lineage?”
While Bruq is too excited to find the answer in his surroundings, his sorcerer friend is more observant.
“I think I know what he hunted”, Mero says with the sound of unease in his voice, “and I think I also know why the she-wolf attacked him.”
He points at the smouldering campfire. The signs of an attack are clear: a broken chair, ashy paw prints on the tent’s canvas and a charred and bloodied spear. It’s the spear that draws the sorcerer’s attention. They can see a blackened animal, not bigger than a young puppy, pierced and burned. It’s a wolf cub, cooked above the fire, with a bite mark on one of his legs. Someone was eating the mother wolf’s young and the five adventurers have a feeling they might know who did it.

Chapter 4.7: A Fear of Heroes

“Hurry up, Bruq”, Lyssa shouts. “You’re falling behind!”
She looks over her shoulders and sees the satyr coming after them. His running creates a dull galloping sound on the barren earth. As he comes closer, the siren sees how red his hands are. With every step he shakes a drop or two from them.
“By the gods, Bruq, are you hurt?”
She walks back to him. The first words of one of her songs are already rolling off of her lips when the satyr shakes his head.
“No”, he says and he wipes his hands on his furry legs. “I was only collecting something to remember the hunt by. Just as I always do.”
He remembers what Oanoa said to him, that all these trinkets were going to weigh him down. He hasn’t spend too much time thinking of it - he didn’t have much time to think at all - but for now he doesn’t want to break his habit. It’s as the Beholder said: he is collecting stories. He doesn’t want to forget the story of his first hunt in a place like this.
“You really are incorrigible.” She sighs and rubs her eyes. “What did you take?”
He gets his bag and pulls out a leather pouch. It makes a squishy sound when Bruq opens it and takes out a bloody paw.
“I need to clean it, but I will do that when it stops bleeding.”
The claw is as big as his own hand. The ends of its nails are crumbled and the fur is soaked with blood.
“If you are happy, I’m happy.” She sticks her tongue out a little, teasing him.
He snickers and puts the paw back in the pouch.
“I would be happier if we didn’t have to be in Abaddon.” He sighs. “It doesn’t feel right to walk around a landscape as dead as this.”
She gives him a couple of rather rough pats on the back, staying just far away enough to not get the wolf’s blood on her clothes.
“Yeah, a hunter without bushes to hide in is almost as lost as a captain without a sea to sail.”
The gentle glow in her eyes makes him feel for her. She’s also having a rough time, being away from everything she’s accustomed to. He understands it completely.
“Luckily, the hunter and the captain have each other.”
He winks.
She laughs.

“My name is Zamazel, by the way.”
Although Dargothoth took care of his injury, he still has a bit of a limp. They’ve been walking for a while now, but without the sun they’re used to, they don’t know how much time exactly has passed. The suns have moved. The two smaller ones are now almost right above them. They have come closer to the big sun. At first they were far apart: the white and purple stars were in front of them, into the direction they’re heading now, while the yellow and orange one was behind them. Now, they almost align.
“You don’t have suns where you are from?” He looks at the satyr. “I couldn’t help but notice you looking up constantly.”
Bruq shakes his head.
“No, we do have one. Ours is just very different than the ones you have. I have no idea how the trajectories of these are and I have no idea how to tell time or navigate with them. Can you shine some light on it?”
Bruq chuckles at this own play of words.
“Are you proud of yourself?” Oslando laughs. “This was an easy one, even for you.”
The hunter shrugs and looks back at the demon.
“The two smaller suns are called Baltor and Vexys”, the demon explains. “They are named after what are believed to be the first Father and Mother of Abaddon and Parents to all other Parents we still worship. Everyday they circle around each other and move in a different pattern around this plane. The only moment they are always in the same place is at the middle of the day - then they are up in the sky, like now - and at the middle of the night. In the night you can’t see them, because they are below Abaddon. It takes them twenty days to restart their cycle. During that cycle - if you would look at Abaddon from away - their rotation always goes a bit more to the right than the previous day. So, orientation by those two suns will be very difficult for ucha’ari.”
They can understand everything he says, but Zamazel speaks with such emphasis on his last word, the translation stones take just a bit longer to translate: outsiders, foreigners, strangers.
“Just look at Akaleth, the yellow one.” He points upwards to the biggest of the celestial bodies. “He always travels the same course, from east to west. Also in the middle of the sky in the middle of the day, same as the others. Legends say Akaleth was the first child of Baltor and Vexys, but was stillborn. The powers they created him with was too unstable to create life and he never left his glowing shell. I don’t know all the details anymore, I learned about it when I was much younger. The stories about it always fascinated me as an infant, but now I have other, more adult things to keep myself busy with. The priests know these tales better than I do. When you meet Sa’arlach, you can ask him if you want to.”
They nod in silence, processing all new information and thinking if they want or need extra information.
“I have a different question”, Dargothoth says. “The demon that sent us here said something I want to know more about. What can you tell me about the beings your kind calls Reapers?”

Chapter 4.6: A Fear of Heroes

“O, Nerull, Tharoth the Reaper, Foe of All Good, Hater of Life, Bringer of Darkness and Bearer of Lifecutter, hear my prayer. We have spilled the blood of many in your name so their souls are yours to take, almighty ruler of the Crypt.
We freed them from the shackles of life so your kingdom will grow in numbers.
With murder as your message, we are your messengers.
With death as your gift, we are ever celebrating.

The blades of the half-elf Oslando have made red rivers flow.
He even claimed the sword of the angel Hadriel and now wields its wrathful flames.
He is your vessel and you are his master.

The spear of the satyr Bruq struck down the heretic cultist Simion.
He ended the gospel of false prophecies so no one will hear the tales of these untrue gods.
He is your vessel and you are his master.

The gun of the siren Lyssa blew apart the blood golem that intended to kill me.
She stopped the vengeance of the Dorgomonos family, part of the clergy of Pelor.
She is your vessel and you are her master.

The spells of the construct Merodius have made many a foe bleed.
Growing more powerful with every kill, all to make sure he can be your humble servant.
He is your vessel and you are his master.

The sceptre and claws of your truest servant, me, the sivak Dargothoth have laid low many.
Now whole cities quake with fear when hearing your name, all reminded of murder and death.
I am your vessel and you are my master.

And now we have entered an unknown dimension, already spilling the first blood.
Although their animal souls are not worthy of your plane, they were slain for your glory.
Every step I will take in this world will make the ground soak with blood.
The wave of my sceptre will break bones and every uttered word will break spirits.
Grand us the strength to keep spreading death.
Grand us the health to take it away from others.
We all pray to you, Nerull, for your omnipotent aid.
You are the one and the only, the god of death.
In your name, we revel in the slaying of the living.”
Dargothoth lowers his hands and opens his eyes again. The faint lifeless glow that surrounds him spreads rapidly and passes through his allies. In contrast to the wand of healing, the restoring energy that pierces them now is cold. It sends a shiver down their spine, but as it does so, a calmness grows inside them that takes away the pain.
“Do you feel less miserable?”
Dargothoth looks at them with his eyebrows raised. He smiles at them. He already knows the answer.
“Yes, my leg feels so much better”, the demon exclaims joyously. “The bleeding has even stopped. Thank you!”
The cleric smiles again, this time not to prove his point to the others, but to himself. Nerull hasn’t left him. Who else would grant him and his allies healing while praying to him? Other gods don’t listen to prayers not addressed to them, he guesses, so this must be Nerull.
“I also feel better”, Lyssa says nervously, “but you can spare the grim incantations next time.”
His smile widens even further.
“I knew you would all feel this way, but your wounds have been tended to. That means Nerull thinks of you as one of his servants. Now we have to keep spreading his influence to maintain his divine connection, even if we pray in the temple of a different deity. Only if you want to be sure I can aid you, of course. If you prefer dying over living, you don’t have to. In death Nerull has plans for everyone as well.”
None of them looks as displeased as Bruq. Being nothing more than an instrument angers him. To hunt is a choice, a way of survival, not something you do because you’re pressured into it. He hates it and his displeasure with having Dargothoth in their group grows because of it.
“Who is Nerull? And who are you all, actually?”
The demon looks baffled. Now that they have the time to look at more of his features up close, he looks surprisingly human. At least, they think he does. They haven’t seen that many demons before, except for Cyrzana and the demon summoned in the church at the beginning of their adventure.
“He is a god unknown to your world”, Oslando says quickly before Dargothoth has the chance to start preaching again. “We are here to aid the people of Abaddon with some difficulties. It’s a long story and I don’t know how much time we have. Please, can you tell us if that’s the temple of the Father of fear?”
The half-elf points to the black building they saw before. Without the growling sound of the wolves and the demon’s call for help, they can hear screaming coming from the temple.
“Yes, that’s the gûldun Gor-Thar’el”, he answers. “Why would five outsiders seek his temple?”
The demon’s eyes start glowing faintly as he looks above their heads and beside their bodies.
“Oh my...” The tone of his voice gives away how concerned he is. “You are all unblessed. You should go to the temple quickly before someone else finds out. Let me grab my stuff back at my camp and I will walk with you. I left in a hurry when those Chimian moor wolves attacked me.”
He points to the direction he came from.
“It’s behind that small hill, where the smoke is coming from. Let’s go.”

Chapter 4.5: A Fear of Heroes

That last bash with the sceptre struck the she-wolf hard. Her jaw hangs loosely to the side. Teeth are missing and her tongue hangs out. The hate in her eyes is replaced by an instinctive fear, one she needs to survive the slayers of her younglings.
(Persuasion 18) (15 versus AC)
They all walk towards her. She slowly backs out. Bruq is pointing his glaive at her, ready to strike if the wolf decides to attack them again.
“You need to kill it”, the demon screams. “These moor wolves always come back with a bigger pack.”
Lyssa takes aim again.
“Not if it’s up to me”, she says. “Howl your final goodbye, wolf.”
Another bullet leaves her blunderbuss. It travels through the mother’s shoulder, but the flames coming off the bullet don’t harm the beast. The siren doesn’t think it matters. If they continue like this, the beast will die soon enough.
The wolf knows this as well. She is weakened and losing a lot of blood. She has already lost her two cubs. There is no need to lose her own life as well. She turns around and starts running.
“Maybe we should let her go”, Mero says as he looks at the sad sight in front of them. “She won’t come back, I guess.”
The cleric shakes his head.
“No, the bitch won’t get away.”
He runs towards the beast.
“Maybe it’s better to kill it now, Mero”, the half-elf says. He lays his hand on his metal shoulder. It feels cold to the touch, even with the three suns above them heating it up.
“It would make an easy prey for other wildlife. Even if she survived the coming days, the loss of blood or infections would kill her slowly. Suffering without purpose is pointless, friend.”
(18 versus AC)
Normally, a wolf would outrun the priest, but with the animal still slowed by the sorcerer’s icy spell, Dargothoth can easily catch up to her. He grabs her neck firmly and pushes down the yelping beast.
“My first victim in this new world”, he whispers into her ear. “I’ll make sure to send the rest of your family to whatever place you’re going.”
He squeezes her neck and a ripple of black magic runs spreads across her body. Her fur turns grey, the light in her eyes fades and her body goes limp. Her crying dies together with her.
“It’s done”, the cleric shouts to his companions. “You can come now.”

They all stand around the lupine corpse, looking down on what was a threat to the fleeing demon only moments ago.
“Thank you.”
The strange demon caught his breath again. His eyes are still wide with fear.
“They would have killed me if it weren't for you. Walk with me to my camping side. I want to reward you for your efforts.”
He takes a few steps, but stops when he puts too much weight on his injured leg.
“Maybe you should take it slow”, Oslando says and he puts his arm around the demon for support. “Lyssa, can you sing a song for us? I think we can all use a bit of revitalization.”
She smiles faintly.
“I don’t think I can cure the six of us with one song.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t have that much power in me.”
“I can do it.”
They turn to Dargothoth.
“You?” Bruq’s voice is so high, it almost sounds like sarcasm. “I thought you only used your magic to harm people.”
The draconian exhales loudly through his nose.
“I healed some of you before”, he says aggressively. “If you don’t want it, it’s your loss. I can heal everyone with one spell. You just have to gather around and don’t interrupt me when speaking. It takes some time, but it’s effective.”
Lyssa pokes the satyr with her elbow.
“Please, Dargothoth”, she says with a smile. “I would gladly get healed by you. We all would.”
The others nod, even Bruq nods eventually.
“Sit down”, the priests says bluntly. “Make a circle. I need to walk around you.”
They follow his command.
“And remember”, he states with a stern voice, “don’t interrupt me when I speak. I don’t care if you’re not going to like how my prayer sounds to you. If you break my concentration, Nerull will break something else of yours.”

Chapter 4.4: A Fear of Heroes

(10 versus AC) (19 versus AC)
The mother wolf runs towards Dargothoth, but is slowed down by the chilling effects of Mero’s ray of frost. Oslando quickly tries to jab her with his sword as she runs away from him, but she is too fast.
The beating of her young also drew the attention of the other cub, who released his grip on the satyr's leg. He howls. His sadness echoes within it.
Bruq ignores the sharp pain for now and gets his glaive. He turns it around, turning the blade towards the ground, and hovers it above the wolf. He jams it down.
The wolf howls again, this time of his own pain. The hunter’s weapon hits the ground below him, travelling all the way through is the young wolf's guts.
(19 versus AC)
Lyssa takes a step back to quickly observe the situation: the mother wolf is closing in, but the cub in front her is closer. She points her gun at him again. This time it’s easier to take aim, most likely because of the concussive blow that almost crushed his skull.
She pulls the trigger. The loud bang is followed by a wet and splattering sound. The cub’s right side is spread across the ground. No clear anatomy or organs are recognisable within the bloody mush.
The she-wolf pushes her nose through the remains, flipping over some bits in the hope that magically her son is hidden somewhere. A bright red tear rolls across her face. She licks his blood off her nose.
She lifts her head and growls at the draconian and the captain. She leaps to Dargothoth, the target closest to her, and buries her teeth in his arm. She keeps looking at him as he screams in agony.

He can see the bloodlust in her eyes.
(20 versus AC) (9 versus AC)
The other cub reacts to his mother’s cry. He wiggles himself free from the piercing strike and rushes towards her. His recklessness makes him an easy target for Bruq. The satyr quickly swings his glaive while the young is still in his reach. The blade cuts through his hind leg, separating the paw from the pup.
The cub squeaks with every limping step he makes on his bleeding stump, but he fights through the pain to aid his mother. He sets off to jump towards the cleric, but he fumbles due to his deformed leg. He lands directly in front of him and has trouble to get up again.
(25 versus AC)
“Brace yourself, Dargothoth”, the sorcerer shouts.
The clanking sound of Mero taking the right position drowns out the ferocious sounds the mother wolf makes. He claps his hands together and a shockwave of sound and compressed air bashes into the two remaining wolves. The mother loses her grip on the cleric and is pushed back fifteen feet. She shakes her head and looks for her cub. He was also flung away. He lies still against a bloodied rock. The only movement left in him is a leg that spastically shakes before the wolf lies completely still, dead.
(17 versus AC)
“That’s right, bitch.” Dargothoth growls with pleasure. “Your children are no more.”
He walks towards her. He can see the distress in her eyes, her heaving breath and teary eyes.
“Don’t worry”, he says and raises his sceptre above his head. “You’ll join them soon.”

Chapter 4.3: A Fear of Heroes

“Please, strangers, help me!”
They can see the terror in the demon’s eyes. He fears for his life.
“Wolves are hunting me. Please, save me!”
He’s right. Three wolves run up the hill, one significantly bigger than the other two: a mother with her cubs. Their black fur is covered wi polar bears th grey tones, like they have been rolling through the ashes of a died out fire. With every step they take towards them small clouds of smoke are shaken of their fur. Their paws and the end of their ears are blood red. The same bloodlike colour marks their vicious faces: a red dot between their feral eyes.
(Survival 12) (10 versus AC)
“I don’t know what kind of wolves these are”, Bruq says as he takes aim, “but they sure are no dire wolves or vampiric ones. Whatever they are, I’m going to be the hunter that kills one.”
He fires an arrow at the mother wolf. She runs straight towards the arrow, fearless, but at the last second, she dodges sideways and evades the projectile. She is not slowing down. On the contrary, she speeding up and her cubs follow her example.
(12 versus AC)
Oslando draws both swords and walks to the front of the battle line.
“I’ll cover you”, the half-elf says. “Just keep shooting.”
Lyssa joins the satyr in his ranged battle. She stands just behind their guarding knight and aims her gun at the biggest threat. The bullet leaves the blunderbuss with a loud bang, one that doesn’t startle the wolves at all. With the same ease as she did before, the mother wolf dives below the bullet and continues her approach towards her new preys.
(18 versus AC) (Perception 16) (DC 12 verus dexterity 13, 15 and 15)
Instead of running towards the growling beast, Oslando waits until she comes in his reach. He prepares himself, tightening his hands around the grip of his blades. He lunges forward and jabs both swords forward. Each weapon finds its way into the wolf. The flaming blade reaches deeper into her flesh than his shortsword, but both are placed effective enough to create two gushing wounds at the base of the beast’s neck.
After pulling back his swords, Oslando notices something peculiar. Normally, striking someone with his flaming sword cauterizes the wound or at least burns away the hairs around the point of entry. But now there’s no sign of any harm of the fire visible.
The growling sound coming from the mother wolf grows louder. Behind her canine teeth an orange light burns brighter and brighter. She opens her mouth and a sea of flames spreads fifteen feet wide. Although the half-elf, the siren and the satyr guessed something like this was coming and prepared themselves, the flames are still excruciating to endure. The ends of their hairs singe and the skin exposed to the fire turns red with burn marks.
(17 versus AC) (14 versus AC)
From beneath the vanishing inferno the two cubs appear, both eager to set their teeth in the flesh of those who want to hurt their mommy.
Bruq doesn’t even see the young coming, his eyes still hidden behind his arm. The wolf bites him in his leg. Even though the lower legs of satyr mostly consist out of fur instead of muscle, it still hurts like hell when the fangs scrape the surface of his bone.
The hunter drops his bow reactively and looks down with his black eyes. He tries to shake off the beast, but the wolf only clenches his jaws tighter to hold on.
The other cub goes after the siren. He jumps and sinks his teeth in her lower arm. She screams and, with one firm swing, frees herself. Warm blood drips down her arm. It stings as it crawls down the burned skin.
(17 versus AC) (12 versus AC)
Mero stands just outside the line of fire. He can feel the heat coming of the flames, but he remains unharmed, unlike his friends.
He cracks his fingers and directs his hand to the mother wolf.
“Bad dog”, he says and he fires a crackling ray of freezing energy to her. It strikes her body hard and lays a thin layer of frost on top of her entire fur.
“Stay away from my friends and leave the demon alone!”
He still sounds like how they all know Mero, but with his new body he is more intimidating. His face shows more emotions and together with his glowing eyes, he would be able to terrify someone if he wanted. His magical hat wouldn’t help with that, though.
“Dargothoth, do something!”
The cleric follows the sorcerer’s directions and tightens his grip on the sceptre. Even though Bruq is still struggling with shaking off the cub, Dargothoth chooses to aid Lyssa.
He runs past the siren and blocks the way of the young wolf.
“It’s been a while since I cracked a few baby’s bones”, the cleric says with a foul grin. “Too bad you’re only a dog.”
He smashes his sceptre onto the top of the small skull and smacks him again in the face. Bones crack and blood gushes out of every cavity of his head.
The young wolf cries and draws the attention of his mother. She looks at her bleeding child and charges towards his attacker.