DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Anora lets the man run his tongue long enough to hopefully tire himself out. To his own pointing finger, she raises the flat of her palm up to face him, as if to block his accusation.

Hand outstretched, as she had done to the witch, Anora commands:

"Cease!" and waits for her magick to grip the man…

Aldric lets the others deal with the fleeing fool. Instead, he begins calling upon Pelagia to extend his senses and expose any overt evils within this sordid place of worship. Though normally he wanted to avoid Pelagia's attention, he knew now that her eye was already fixed upon him, until this moon-cursed hound was dealt with.

Ty eases toward the church door, aiming to place himself between Brother Aker and the market square. He curls his fingers around the thick wooden portal and swings it closed, then backs up against it.

With an apologetic twist of the lips, he says, "You'll forgive me, pious youth, but we'd prefer that our conversation not be interrupted." The elf thinks a moment, then adds, "I'm doing you a favor, really. Were you going to summon the thegns by means of pantomime?"

Ty shakes his head at the folly of that imagined spectacle.

Brother Aker, with Dufgal coming up behind him, and Ty blocking his way, is wide-eyed, terrified, and appears to have no interest in pressing on for the door.

Suddenly Aldric is shaking, gesticulating, and when Anora speaks a word and gestures -- a sparkle of glittering dust fills the air between her and the priest...

Beacom's face slackens for a moment as Anora's voice booms in the chapel, then his arm drops and he shakes some unseen cobwebs from his head.

"My Lady Anora," he begins, so much more softly as he comes forward the rest of the way, so that he is face to face with her. "You must forgive my outburst. I only want you and your companions to see the light. To... understand how it feels to be guided -- and protected -- by the grace and mercy of beloved Justicia. I am terribly sorry I insulted your hair. I believe it would flatter you if you wore it down, but who am I to question your--

"What the f-" Morgan begins, before Father Beacom completes his thought.

"--judgement. Hush, Morgan Haverson, lest your father hear that language, and in my church! Cover that heaving bosom, girl, and take your leave! My Lady Anora, I must ask that your companions also go, immediately. Their presence disturbs the tranquility of this place, and in these trying times there is nothing I need so much as peace and quiet!"

Anora waves away the apology the moment it lands.

"There is no need to apologize, Father. These are trying times for Hirot. And for you most of all…" she says, thinking about all the poor sods that had been lashed to the stones already and torn asunder.

"Of course, Father Deacom. We came only to ensure that all was well with you before the burdens of the lottery…"

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Aldric is left guessing at his Goddess's fickle support. "Glory to the Bitch Queen!" he calls out as he dons his robes, hastily. Stamping his marked oar on the stone floor of the temple, he tries to bring her miracles to the world once more.

"I have." Anora admits to the priest. "Though my acquaintances are duty-bound to accompany me wherever I go. I assure you they will remain…" Anora starts, before Aldric offers glory to the Bitch Queen.

"… silent, as I confess my failings." she says, waiting for the priest to take her up on the offer.

She steps forward further into the church.

"I confess…" she says, stressing the word and then letting it linger a moment in the holy space. "… to not being able to understand what exactly is at play here in Hirot. Of the beast, and how to undo it, I couldn’t have more information.

What I and my companions can’t quite understand is what work of Man is at play in the village.

I only ask that you…" she says, stopping short of saying the word confess. "… speak of what you know, friend!"

"Of course! Of course! You are right!" Anora starts, allowing the man that much.

"My understanding is that these things are often introduced by a single individual, or perhaps a small group. Yes, they inflict their wrath on the whole, but their source is often a single man or woman.

Might that be the case here?" she asks, wondering if she could tease Sylle Ru’s name from the cleric’s lips. Surely not, but she lived in hope…

As Pelagia's blessing takes hold of his mind, he witnesses the light in the temple shift, as though someone had submerged it.. The golden light streaming through the stained-glass windows fades, replaced by a pale, diffused glow that made everything seem distant, dreamlike. The once-sharp edges of the room begin to blur, objects appearing to shimmer as if viewed through a layer of rippling water.

Aldric looks to the shadows of Beacom and his whipping boy. Both writhe and distort, as if struggling against unseen currents. He can tell they do not align with Pelagia's ways - rigid, dry beings that treasure rules and obligations. Blech! But, the shadows of the altar writhe most interestingly. What is that beneath the velvet cloth that disturbs the balance of good and evil so greatly?

"Dufgal!" he beckons, approaching the man with haste. The big thief was just the man for the job. He whispers in his ear: "On the altar, beneath the cloth - I sense a powerful artifact. It might be just what we need to face the devil hound!"

Dufgal pulls his ear from the cleric’s whisper and looks to his eyes for confirmation of the request. Seeing Aldric’s full seriousness, the thief turns to scan the layout. It seems impossible to pilfer a precious item right in front of its owner. He turns and whispers back, "We’se gonna need a mighty powerful distraction…"
Dufgal considers his path and plots.

Father Beacom tilts his head back at Anora's words, nodding almost imperceptibly. The sneer that lined his face prior to the spellweaver charming him returns as he mulls the woman's suggestion.

"Yes. Yes! I think you are right, Lady Anora. I cannot be certain... but I believe Dolsten the tanner is to blame! I do not have proof, but guilt lurks in that man's eyes! In his voice! If he would come, if he would confess we would know it for true!"

Aldric whispers to Dufgal: "I shall call upon Pelagia to drown the altar in Darkness! Quickly, memorize the path as I perform the ritual; it will soon be swimming in inky darkness, providing you with a suitably powerful distraction."

He turns to Ty and Anora to give them a look to let them know that he and Dufgal are up to something.

Then he turns to Father Beacon and allows his voice to boom: "Your dogmatic rigidity is the spectator of Hirot's slow death, priest of justice. But have you forgotten the most fundamental truth of justice, Father Beacom?"

"Justice is blind."

"Let Pelagia's miracles return your perspective, so that you may truly see once more."

He slams the broken haft of the oar on the stone floor three times, and the thrice folded wave begins to glow!From every orifice in Aldric's body spills a cloud of inky black fluid into the air. The fluid, as dark and opaque as octopus ink, rapidly expands, engulfing the altar in an unnatural darkness. This darkness is absolute, like that found in the deepest trenches of the ocean, and it clings to everything it touches.

Dufgal does exactly as Aldric describes. In fact, he was already doing it so, when the cleric asked, it seemed like confirmation of their psychic connection. This made him smile broadly. He might’ve even winked.

The stout stealther mouthed his count as he measured how many steps forward before he would need to take a sidestep. He noted any landmarks that he may expect to meet with hands or feet so he could anticipate them and reach out softly ahead as he went. He pictured the safest route to remain out of reach of the priest or his lackey. He even imagined the return trip reversing his steps and thought to himself that he should head to the edge of the dark ring of magic and simply use his eyesight to guide him back to the cleric’s side to present the requested item.

As soon as the swirl of wyrd encircled the altar and the cleric, the thief darted forward. When he entered the shadow, he began counting out his memorized rhythm. He made his way with such intent that his brow began to sweat and his heart pounded in his chest. He efforted to control his breath, but the adrenaline was surging ever more powerfully in each moment and with each movement.

Anora looks and then looks again, trying to decipher whatever message lay on the strange cleric’s face.

When the inky black floods the room, she can only recoil. She presses herself against the door and looks about for Ty, the blind beggar.

They had truly stepped into the fighting pits with Hirot’s premier citizens this morning…

Dufgal has never concentrated harder on anything. This was a huge moment for him.