Salvation Outpost - Chapter 2

Belaluur banters back and forth with Vice over the drinks for a little bit. The crowd at the edge of town continues to gather, peering into the hall, trying to catch a glimpse of the crew that liberated the town.

Roszana stops by with her orc companion. The diminutive barmaid extends her personal invitation to the Grey Beyond. Food and drinks are on her, courtesy of House Ghallanda. She doesn’t stay long. On her way back, she shouts an invitation to the crowd, omitting the free offer. Many begin to follow her back.

Inspection of the carts outside reveal several large tents. The back half of the hall is made up of three rooms. The first two rooms appear to have once been private chambers or offices. Remnants of furniture and tomes lay scattered. The third room looks like a storage room. Vice has been in this room before. His back door escape was from here. The entrance to the catacombs beneath, seems well hidden. Theres no sign of the door in the floor. Access to the bell tower sits in this room, high above. The ladder or stairs, long gone.

Meanwhile, the sun has disappeared beyond the Grey Mists of the Mournland. Daylight continues, the sky above dusty, yet blue. However, the town is shrouded in shade earlier than most other regions of Breland. Torches are lit on the storefronts of Main Street and candlelight begins to appear in some of the homes of Salavation.

SheK makes her way to the the Grey Beyond. The townsfolk seem to have made hasty repairs to their various properties. With the exception of Titaness, the warforged have been cleared away. Sheriff helps a large minotaur hook up a team of horses to the tethered body of the giant. SheK arrives at the tavern, to find it nearly full. Loud, energetic music can be heard over the boisterous din within.

The first few in the crowd nudge others and nod toward her. Recognition spreads quickly and the crowd parts to let the half-orc inside. The room is filled with the aroma of fine tobacco, cheap whiskey and dusty travellers. A trio of bards play a fiddle, a drum and an upright bass in the corner.

Roszana greets SheK at the bar and takes her order. On the house, of course. She then takes in the atmosphere around her. Exaggerated stories of the battle are already everywhere. She hears a comment from a crusty human in a tattered hat say, "Host as my witness, she moved so fast, she left her shadow behind!". The other man laughs with a hearty slap on the back and a jovial headshake.

On hearing Vice’s words, Belaluur grabs Kleber’s hand, "Lead the way!"

They pass Sheriff and the Minotaur as the body of Titans is dragged up Main Street. "That’s Baphlance, resident scrapper. If we don’t buy your Mournland goods, he’ll take them as scrap."

The three arrive to find SheK performing a lively dance on one of the tables. A large crowd encircles the it, whistling and cheering her on. She seems to have realized, the only space to dance is atop the tables.

One of the women at the entrance calls out, "The Titan slayer has arrived!", and there’s a raucous cheer within. Two burly men grab the little gnome and hoist him on their shoulders, carrying him to bar, much to the delight of the ever-growing crowd. Kleber and Belaluur make their way through the fray, close behind.

Meanwhile, Armat has no trouble finding candles among the raider’s supplies, lights a few and sets out to decipher the pattern of the tomes and scrolls. While the hand written notes are elvish, most of the scripts are written in common. The tomes focus heavily on arcane magic, Dragon Shards, elemental binding and artificing.

When he’s finished, he conducts an inspection of the rest of the hall.

While not able to read the elvish script, he focuses his attention on the pages and scrolls containing notes. He finds one tome references the creation of the modern warforged by their inventor, Aarren d'Cannith. Many notes are on pages referring to Creation Forges. As a soldier from the Last War, Armat knows such devices are now outlawed. The creation of new warforged prohibited. All known devices destroyed in the Day of Mourning.

Another scroll discusses the nature of the modern warforged. Whether these new warforged are somehow imbued with some form of soul. This one has many notes scrawled on it. The writer ponders the nature of a potential Warforged soul. The scroll ends with a series of questions:

"If souls are eternal, and warforged possibly live indefinitely, did Aarren d’Cannith create a truly immortal being, free from curse or consequence?

If so, could their potential be limitless?

What does that mean for the rest of us mortals?"

His inspection of the hall in the candlelight, reveals nothing else of note on the main floor. Knowing the symbology of the Seekers of the Divine Within, he notes the oversized armour on the altar is definitely Blood of Vol in origin. In the offices, the leftover books are mostly dedicated to Dol Arrah, explaining the sun design throughout the renovated hall. He finds the remnants of a dragon skull hidden in the back room. The red teardrop he would expect of such an ornament, is unsurprisingly missing. Using his divine sense in this room, he smells a faint odor of undead above him.

Among the two carts, he knows the warforged have a ladder.

Armat climbs the ladder, carefully opening the hatch above. He is greeted by a flurry of wings and feathers as a flock of pigeons scramble out into the darkness of the evening.

His candle light reveals an abandoned attic. A couple of chests lay open and overturned. The room is smaller than he expects. The attic seems spit into two chambers, separated by an open chamber in the middle. The rope of the bell hangs motionless in this room at the edge of the candle’s light. He moves through the chamber to find a room across from him, A pale, green glow emanates from within, revealed through the cracks around the partially open door.

The Red Knight makes his way through the darkened space. The scent of undead fills his nostrils as he approaches the door. He carefully eases the door open. Two spectral, skeletal hands lunge at the Paladin’s face, stopping just inches away. The spectre is held at bay by ghostly, seemingly spiritual, chains that wrap around her neck and wrists. She is wrapped in strips of cloth, muscle and sinew stretched thin and gaunt. She is mostly bone. Hollow eye sockets stare at Armat, as her teeth gnash at him. The chains make no sound as she struggles against them. Her voice is raspy, dry and hoarse as she screeches,

"REELEEASSSE MEEE!!!"