Kuldahar

At Whitcomb's permission Halla pushes forward. Her hand goes to her mouth and tears of relief fill her eyes. She does not enter the room, however, but stays alongside Zenithral.

Zenithral examines the twins without entering, trying to discern whether they are real or illusion. After Malavon, it was hard not to be cautious. That, and the devilish dog.

"You agreed to 'retrieve the cambions,'" Zenithral says to Whitcomb. "Are they safe to leave, or will your devil dog attack?"

"Safe?" Whitcomb chuckles. "Hardly. This is one of the safest places in the multiverse for them. Who will kill them when they leave this birdcage? Their baatezu father? Angry townsfolk want to put them on the leafless tree? A wandering monster? You can't give everyone the laugh. How many sods' names will you put in the dead-book?"

He shrugs. "Anyway, that cutter is no dog. But it won't give you or them any trouble."

"As many as dare oppose us," Alalla answers harshly, praying she understood his slang. "I'm sure we'll manage."

"Safety breeds entitlement and weakness, ask the highborn dwerves o’ Dorn’s Deep what safety brought."

Casting a glance to see if the fiend is looking, waiting for an opportunity, the sorcerer speaks in a hushed voice to his friends.

"Have we yet a plan fer what is to come?"

Al meets Reothadh's eyes for the barest second as she idly fiddles with the pouch of silver in her hand. She looks away without answering to try and peer through the door from her place next to Whitcomb, but Reothadh realizes that the silver pouch, and the fingers tapping absently on her glaive, are his answer.

Whitcomb's words are enough for Halla, and she moves into the room, though she is sure to give the four-legged fiend a wide berth. She kneels next to Lance and reaches out to touch his hair. Though her hand ruffles his curls, the cambion boy does not respond.

The druid turns to glare at Whitcomb. "What is wrong with them? What have you done to them!"

Whitcomb folds his arms over his chest. "I have done nothing, berk. Except pluck them from the pitchforks of an angry mob. Those blood hunters... the bashers would have scragged them, if I hadn't intervened." He smirks. "And this spiv wouldn't say no to finder's fee for that, by the way."

He gestures at the twins. "Sods have been this way since I found them. A blood's guess? They didn't much like that the townsfolk turned stag on them. But maybe now they'll be peery. Bodies such as them are going to have a rough go of it, no matter what kip they place their feet. Better peery than lost." The emphasis he gives that last word are enough to show he doesn't mean merely losing one's way.

The fiend rolls his shoulders as if to loosen them, then points at the dog-thing. "I bet you berks have never seen one of these. It's valuable as a guardian. Keeps bodies from teleporting in. There are clever spivs who know better how to use them though. If you hunt a peery foe what uses magic to give you the laugh, they'll not be so pleased to find their usual escape routes are closed." He nonchalantly examines the nails of one hand. "You know that teleportation is a favorite tactic of the high-ups of the Blood War, don't you? Especially them baatezu. Even a certain discredited archdevil - one who doesn't pay me so well as a cutter should."

"Peery?" Zenithral asks Whitcomb for clarification, waiting outside by the door.

He summons Fluphy, outside the door. Can you speak to them?

Whitcomb shrugs. "What a basher should be if he thinks he's going to get peeled."

Zenithral's first attempt to summon Fluphy fails, and the dog-fiend perks up, muscles around its circular mouth rippling.

"See? The dimensional lock works just fine, even through the demiplane doorway. Fancy Trick, don't you agree? Just back up a bit."

After Zenithral moves a short distance from the doorway, his second attempt to summon Fluphy succeeds. The flumph takes stock of the situation and Zenithral's desires, then toots into the room. It warbles unhappily at the sight of the dog-fiend, then floats on over to the twins. It hovers between the two, humming lightly, and then Zenithral finds his mind opened to a telepathic conversation.

But not truly a conversation. Instead of Mona thinking Lance a thought, and then Lance thinking one back, the two are engaged in a simultaneous loop with instant communication and response. The strength of the connection is especially due to the content being shared.

Both cambions are reliving every moment of confusion and fear in their lives. The terror of birth, which they somehow remember. Living in the Hand, and all the terrible things there. Erestor. Waiting for Zenithral. Father Tulfgyr's death. Furious blood hunters intent on killing them. The last, in particular, has their terror feeding off of itself, all-consuming and oppressive, to the point that they are currently unaware of anything else.

Zenithral smiles, nods, and sends his feelings of gratitude fo Fluphy, then enters the room. He drops to one knee between the twins and places a hand on each of their shoulders, then closes his own eyes.

Ilmater, please help remove their fear, their pains. Allow them to see truth and light, so they can endure.

"Is the creature intelligent, or just an animal?" Alalla looks it over, curious in spite of herself.

In response to Alalla's question, Whitcomb smirks. "You could say it's a leatherhead basher of mine who piked rather than peeled. It's much more useful in this form." He seems about to leave it at that, then speaks again. "'Leatherhead' means stupid. It's stupid."

---

The fiend lets out a whistle. "It's a sight to warm the cockles of an ice devil's heart." He tosses the pouch of gold once more. "Enjoy it while you can. Cambions never end up far from the Lower Planes, in body or in spirit."

Zenithral's face is one of complete, genuine joy as he looks at each of them, then Halla, then out the door at the others.

"It's alright. It's going to be alright," Zenithral says, ignoring Whitcomb and returning the embrace. "Let's go, shall we?" He leads them by the hands out the door.

"Try to keep this memory and feeling in their minds if you can," Zenithral tells Fluphy.

Alalla returns Zenithral's smile. "We shall see." She tosses her own pouch as she watches carefully to make sure they've cleared the room, and that she is between Whitcomb and Zenithral's family.

"Speaking of the Lower Planes." Al tosses the money forward, showering the fiend with the coins. "You're not welcome on this one." As Whitcomb throws up his hands to protect his face, Alalla follows the silver with the gold of her glaive.

Whitcomb takes 79 slashing and 71 radiant damage. He must make a strength save or be knocked prone and two wisdom saves or be afraid of Al until the end of her next turn.