Chapter 5.7: The Sightless Citizens of Saal

“Did everyone sleep well?”
Lyssa pulls back her chair and sits down, joining her companions eating their breakfast. She looks across the table. They look like they’ve had a night of sleep. Who would have thought their first night in Abaddon would be in a nice bed?
“Very well”, Bruq says and he takes a quick sip of his mug. “I stayed up late, reading the book Sa’arlach and Daemion gave me. Fascinating how well those translation stones keep working. It would be impossible to read without them.”
Oslando moves a strand of blond hair with his middle finger, locking it behind his ear and keeping it out of his drink.
“Anything worth sharing or something that’s important before we go visit father Karrion?” The half-elf looks at the satyr over the rim of his mug. “We might as well use it to our advantage.”
Bruq raises his shoulders ambivalently, but nods his head quickly after.
“I only read about how the pantheon of Abaddon came to. There are forty Parents and Gor-Thar is from the second generation of the three. Achalion, the deity who’s all about Balance, is the child of Gor-Thar’s sister, Metrona. Not much that we didn’t already knew about that. I could search the book for more details if you think that’s useful.”
Mero shakes his head.
“Can’t we just go and talk to the priest?” He makes a soft screeching sound when he moves his head from left to right. “I’m sure he’s willing to help if we say we’re here to lift the curse. I mean, why wouldn’t he?”
Dargothoth nods and he stands up.
“The puppet is right. We should go now instead of wasting our time here.”
Lyssa groans in discontent as she points at the full plate in front of her.
“I just started eating!”
“Then take two big bites and get up. We’ve got a curse to lift and a world to save.”
She looks at the preaching sivak with her eyebrows raised. She jams her fork into whatever it is that’s on her plate without breaking eye contact and shoves it into her mouth.
“Very good, Lyssa”, he says with a smile, obviously pleased with himself. “Let’s go see father Karrion.”

Luckily, in such a small city, everything lies relatively close together. The way over to the temple is a short one and gives them a look at the few inhabitants of Saal that walk around. It’s a rather sad sight. Most of them are blind and are trying to find their way around the city. Only three of them, for so far they can observe, are able to see and guide their sightless fellow citizens.
Ingeniously, they seem to have found at least one way to make sure everyone stays at least a little autonomous. Wooden and metal poles are spread across the few streets and are all connected with string. The demons without others guiding them hold on to the robes, following it to, hopefully, reach their destination.
“Innovative,” Oslando says to himself under his breath, “but so tragic.”
He wonders how many citizens are left. Did most of them just sit around, waiting for the curse to strike them, or are there so few demons on the streets because most of them fled this place? Whatever it is, it’s a somber sight.
“I think that’s the home of Phenilias Arkhon, based on the description the patron gave us.”
Bruq points to their left, his finger aiming at a building that looks twisted and uncanny. The building is partially sunken into the ground and is tilted slightly to the right. On top of the rectangular house stands a cylindrical tower, gradually leaning more and more over the street as it reaches for the sky. How the mage ever lived in that part of his house is a mystery to the satyr, but so are many things to him. A spellcaster often live in strange or vagarious places, making a home out of them with their enchantment or transmutation spells.
“Well, we know where to go after we visit the priest”, Mero says, his curiosity ignited.
As they walk past the peculiar house, they focus on what lies ahead of them. They notice a big statue in the middle of a garden, which is split in twain by a stone path. The flowers on the right side are a sight for sore eyes: vibrant orange, yellow and red flowers stand up straight, their stalks strong and their aromas sweet. It’s a big contrast with the other side of the garden. Withered plants with black and dried up leaves, hanging heads and a musty odor fill up the entirety of the left field.
They walk straight down the path, distracting by these signs of nature in a land that seemed mostly barren. In front of them is the statue of who they assume is Achalion: a tall and thin body, its hips, arms and torso decorated with bones and small horns. The head however is what stands out the most. It’s a large cube with a face on each side. It looks like they’re made out of something like marble and each face has a horn coming out of its forehead, bending across the side of the face towards the chin. It becomes a more horrid spectacle when they close in and see the smaller details of the statue. The vertical edge of the cube facing them is opened slightly and small demonic hands seem to try to claw their way out of the head.
“Will there ever be a statue that won’t scare the living hell out of me?”
Lyssa says it with a faint smile on her face, hoping their visit to an altar won’t be as intense as their previous one.
“Achalion jzerai, gamin verai.” 
They hear voices coming from behind them and as they turn around, they see a man and they assume it's father Karrion: a demon with three heads stacked upon each other.