Targos

Ug leans his massive form forward in his chair, his features more normalized now that the fight is over. He does seem more paler than normal, though from exhaustion or from something more it is hard to discern. He solemnly recounts the devils parting thoughts before he vanished.

"He's going to Dorn's Deep, then..." Al turns from Ug to Ulbrec. "The devil is laired there."

The mayor regards Ug. "This is the first I have heard of Dorn's Deep, but the mountains cover hundreds of square miles. Anything could be in there, hidden away. The presence of a forgotten dwarven stronghold would certainly not surprise me."

Lord Ulbrec looks back at Alalla. "I remember my time as that giant lizard only dimly. What was the nature of the deal he sought to make with you, Alalla?"

"He seems interested in souls," Zenithral says, counting the last few arrows in his quiver. "Something about freeing orc souls from Gruumsh might give him and the other devils an edge in their extraplanar war. I may be far off the mark, but if I had to guess, I'd say an orc has to be willing to give up their soul, but with the trickery and magic of devils, that means deception and trickery as we've seen. If the orcs are willing to follow the 'Daughter of Gruumsh' into his domain, for example..."

Zenithral conjures a small, shimmering illusory image of half-orc Alalla in his hand. "Alalla chose not to follow through, but Erevain, however, chose to go through with another of his bargains." The image splits into two---an orc and a human. The orc image swirls into a glowing orb and floats away. "He has...half of Alalla's soul now? The orc half...?" He closes his hand, the image dispersing into smoke. "Erevain, what did the full deal entail? It's most certainly our busines now."

After the fighting dies down and prisoners are taken, Zenithral approaches Ras, crouches down and pats the gnome on the back. "You've done it again, Rastix. Thank you for getting us here in time to protect the town---and for keeping us all on our feet." He chuckles. "And Ulbrec." His face becomes more serious. "We may have lost Nessa...and your uncle...but they would want you to look forward and continue to help the cause with the same cheer and vigor they did. But you're not them, and you don't have to. Just keep being you and I think everything will be just fine." He stands up. "Come. We all need to speak with Lord Ulbrec."

Alalla shoots Zenithral an irritated glance. So much for letting her handle the orc things. She stares over Ulbrec's shoulder as Zenithral speaks. When he is finished, she clarifies a few points.

"Poquelin said that he could free me from Gruumsh, and in exchange I would take over his armies, and show the orcs a better way. But I wasn't interested in leading them from one slave master to another, and I fear what the devils will do with the souls of so many. Here or the hells. I don't- ugh- I don't- err" She puts a hand to her head. By the hells it hurts. With effort she straightens once more. "I don't know the detail's of Erevain's deal or- hmm- or what's been done to me." She wishes they had met outside. Isn't Ulbrec at least sweltering in his armour, too?

"Oh..." Zenithral cringes, realizing he should have let Alalla explain. "I'm sorry...I wasn't thinking...or I was thinking too much...Hit in the head, this time?" he says with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. She's certainly had worse than a headache before. Inside, Zenithral scowls at himself. Not sure now is the time to lighten the mood...

Zenithral clears his throat. "At any rate...Dorn's Deep...? I'm not terribly familiar with the locale. What do you all know about it that the rest of us should know before we head off? Assuming we're going...that is..." Zenithral shrinks back in his chair.

"Take my advice and don't ever try to break the deal. Renegotiate if you must, but you must keep your end. I'm sure you're all pretty familiar with the basic pacts and their typical repercussions. Including but not limited to ultimate control over your eternal and undying soul, and my favorite part, the ..." Grabbing a sandwich off a platter on the table, and taking a bite... "Mbsbeemballlee.. hugfababdaamm..."
Swallowing, he continues, "anyway, I'm going to grab a room and retire early. You all got this, see you tomorrow."

Vincent walks over to the counter tosses the innkeeper a few coins and gets a key to a room, then heads upstairs. Lying on the bed he finishes his sandwich and lays back for a quick power nap.

Ras feels the burning of tears at Zen's kind words. Looking up at his friend, he can sense the grief of someone who has known loss. They have all been through so much.

He nods, not truly trusting his voice. When that doesn't seem to be enough, he squeaks out a "thank you" before needing to look away. As he follows his friend, he thinks about Zen's words.

He could be himself. That he could do. Even if his self seems very, very small sometimes.

Erevain puts his slim hands on the table. "I could not sit and do nothing. If I had not dealt with Belhifet, Alalla would be stuck in Nishrek right now, doomed to eke out the rest of her existence as an immortal thrall to Gruumsh." His green eyes gaze around the room, and everyone feels his conviction. "Belhifet offered a cure, and I took it."

The elf pauses and looks at Alalla, considering her new appearance. "Like a diseased limb, the orc part has been cut out and thrown away, leaving no hold for Gruumsh to claim. All it cost was my soul. When I die, my soul will join the baatezu in their Blood War."

Erevain looks down at his hands, which since his resurrection have gained once more their share of scars and callouses. "But until then, my life is my own. Belhifet has no other hold on me. He only agreed to the deal because he believes it will encourage Alalla to find some rescue for me - and so he hopes yet to snare her in a deal." He breathes out a heavy sigh. "But so long as she does not succumb, she is free of both Gruumsh and Belhifet."

His brow furrows with concern as he notices her apparent pain. "Are you well, Alalla?"

"Free? Belhifet has more hold on me than he ever-" Alalla groans and clutches her skull. Something is very wrong. Something has been growing in the spaces her Orcish side left.

"What now?" Her voice reverberates simultaneously in Orcish and Elvish as well as the Common she had spoken. "Wha- AUGH." At her shout she falls to her knees and all the windows in the common room of the inn slam open. Two fiery wings spread from her back and and her dark eyes become pools of that same flame. The inn shakes as Alalla cries out in pain, the result of the two curling horns sprouting from the top of her head, and the knifed tail escaping her armour.

Alalla feels her head and finds the horns. She grips the base of each one and her face twists with irritation. "No." The tremors stop and the windows slam shut. Her hands burn with heat and the horns begin to crackle as the smell of burning hair fills the room. Al sweats with the heat, pain, and effort, and the horns glow and darken as they heat and begin to turn to ash. With a grunt Alalla rips them free. She only glances at them before dumping them to the floor in a spray of embers.

Standing shakily, Al moves to the decorative mirror left askew on one wall. She takes in her flaming eyes and wings with a grim face. "She's an angel," Al murmurs to herself, her voice echoing in that same way she had heard Zariel speak, though lesser. "Zenithral, how do you make this- Oh..." The flaming wings dissipate, and her eyes return to normal.

Alalla turns back to face the party and notices the long tail trailing behind her. "Oh, gross..." She catches the shocked eyes looking at her and clears her throat. "Zariel is Poquelin's boss in Avernus. In hell. She's an angel, or was." Al's tail sways gently as she speaks. "That's why she and Poquelin are so angry when you talk about the gods. They have refused to get involved in the blood war, or something. That must be why Poquelin likes to pretend to be a priest. Irony, or an insult. And the orcs: Slap Gruumsh in the face and get an army. I'm all for the first, but the last..." Al grunts with irritation as her tail catches her eye again. She seizes it.

"Belhifet must be in stitches," she snarls, drawing a handaxe."Cut out the orc and implant some devil or fallen angel or whatever this nonsense is. Free of Belhifet, indeed."

Zenithral watches, not actually terribly shocked after all that has already happened. He tilts his head when she draws a handaxe and opens his mouth to speak, but says nothing, looking at the others for their reactions.

Erevain's eyes go so wide it seems they might fall from his face. "By Sehanine's Moonlit Grace!" He stares at the ashen horns on the floor, blinking furiously to clear the afterimage of fiery wings from his sight. "No, it is not possible! This was never supposed to happen!" He meets Alalla's gaze, and tears of frustration form in his green eyes.

Then he notices the tail in one of Alalla's hands and her handaxe in the other. "I... am going to kill that devil."

Assessing how best to remove the offending appendage, Alalla bites back a, "What did you think was going to happen?" and instead says, "Well, that was on our to-do list anyway."

Alalla wrestles with her tail and her axe behind her back for a moment before deciding that she hasn't thought this through. She wasn't going to manage a clean cut close enough to its base to satisfy her. And she is in an inn. In front of the mayor.

Al sheaths her axe with a muttered Orcish curse. She returns to attention and pretends she is the same she has always been. Even that is different, though, with her frustration and anger fleeing quicker than usual. She ignores that too. Back to business.

"My apologies, my lord. I... I know you probably don't trust me knowing what you do, but I'd like to speak with the orcs that have asked for me."

Ulbrec holds up a hand to stop the conversation. "So long as we don't expect him to attack again immediately, I think we could all use some rest, and there is much besides that needs to be done. Please, go and recuperate."

The mayor points at Alalla. "Except you. You and I have more to discuss." He glances at Erevain and frowns at the elf's stiffness. "Your husband may stay if you wish it."

Alalla clenches her jaw. Here it comes. "Yes, my lord." She glances at Erevain. "I do."

As the rest of the companions file out, either back outside or to rooms in the inn, Ulbrec turns the ring about on his finger. When the room is clear but for himself, Alalla, and Erevain, he speaks. "My wife was a very wise woman." He looks up at Alalla with red eyes, and then motions tiredly for her to sit. "Elytharra, for all her grace, never really cared for formalities. She much preferred that folk spoke their mind."

He leans back and regards the warrior woman and her elf husband. "She took her duty as mayor's secretary seriously. Appointments, legislation, interviews, paperwork. There are very few things about the people of Targos that she did not know." Ulbrec sighs and rubs his face. "When you two came here a month ago or so past, I knew nothing of your... particular circumstance. She told me, after you left. A half-orc, living within the walls for years. Part of the militia. Given special responsibilities and honors." The mayor shakes his head. "I was shocked, yes, but I could not be angry. Not with her. I trusted her judgement. I still do." He breathes shakily. "She didn't tell me because there was no reason for me to know. Not until you came to us with questions, and I had no real answers for you."

Ulbrec looks toward the floor, where Alalla's horns still smoke amid a pool of blood of some unfortunate soul. "I think she always knew that you were destined for something great. She helped guide you to the militia, encouraged Crale to give you responsibilities. She often checked in on your family's well-being, especially while you were away. We... never had any children of our own, but..." The older man puts a fist to his lips, trailing off for a moment. "...but she obviously cared for you a great deal. And here you are. You and your friends arrived just in time to save Targos - as much as it could be saved."

The mayor closes his eyes. "And now, what will you do? Your orcish blood is removed, but you seem to be marked by another still. What are you going to do with yourself?"

Outside the inn, Ug runs into the dwarf engineer who directed construction of the archery tower, Olap Tamewater. "Lad, I know yer tired, but there do be a matter I think ye'll find interesting. Them giants ye felled with yer hammer - they do be lyin' in their gore. Of all them foes ye faced today, mayhap they've got some valuables? But I cannae turn the great bodies about on me own. Might be we find some other things on the priests an' generals, aye?"

When Ras leaves the inn, he finds Aeri in her gnome form waiting for him. Her normally pretty face is streaked with sweat, dirt, and exhaustion, but when she sees him a smile lights up her face. "Hey there, handsome. Good thing I came back to rescue you, huh? Well, I waited around Orric's tower for a while, but I couldn't stay focused. And when Halla came up and suggested I come help you guys out... well. Turns out I wasn't hard to convince."

The dragon-gnome pauses her ramble and looks deeply into Ras' eyes, concern etched on her brow. "How are you, Rastix? Besides exhausted from a nightlong battle against impossible odds, I mean."