Episode 2

Bryn rubs his eyes again then looks back at Elam and responds in Heshbaan, "Yes, I am fine, thank you. This Halonian technology is vexing to me and consumes much of my attention. I am still trying to devise a way to make it through the Eagle Door once we reach it." Bryn’s face too, became concerned "I am truely sorry for your loss today." he closes the book and stows it away.

Later when Elam is talking with Bryn, Kray, Iasu and any other gathered participants, he turns to Bryn in the conversation as it goes. Elam holds the gaze with Bryn, but turns to Kray to nod, as if it might be a good idea that Kray would approve of.

He looks back to Bryn, As he waits for an answer, he talks again towards Kray, posing another question. There is a gleam in Elam's golden eyes. Kray can tell that Elam is used to the arcane, and sees this as an opportunity. A good opportunity. An unusual opportunity. But not an unbelievable opportunity. It makes sense perhaps, in this strangest of all strange places - a secret compound, locked away from the regular world, where demons, devils, flying heads, flaming dogs, animated acid slime, and talking bugs are commonplace.

Thorn shakes his head.

"I don't know the course he will choose. I do know he's assessing it from every angle as we speak." He pauses, wincing again, then continues. "I suppose it depends on how far this medicine of yours can get us to to readiness. I don't suppose you have any spare devil blood in your pouch there?"

It's a joke. Maybe. Thorn doesn't know much about devils.

As Elam speaks with the others, Namtur roams through the common hall chamber, moving from one door to the next. He is searching through them rather casually, sometimes knocking things over within, and not always quiet about it. He is using a set of keys that he has to open any of the doors that are unlocked.

He talks out to Bull Maeriks along the way, speaking with a gruff but familiar tone. Short phrases as he passes by.Maeriks cannot understand the words, but he does hear his name within the mix, and the tone is friendly and motivating.

Then among the noise, a call breaks out. A cawing. The caw of a crow, loud and clear. It is coming from a room that Namtur has not investigated yet.

The devil man looks up at Maeriks and holds still.

Sure enough: the crow calls out again.

Namtur zeroes in on the door this time, and goes straight to it. He uses his key and throws the door open, shining his lantern inside to investigate.

His eyes lock on something in the room. His head tilts back slightly at first. A bit of a surprise.

Soon though he is moving into the room.

And talking.

note="HypCo"] "Alright, you," the big devil man says, speaking Heshbaan, as he strides in. "Speak your name. What do you know of your captors? Be quick about it, man!"

This guy is huge - muscular and tall. Armored. Red skin. Horns.

He sets his lantern down atop an old dresser. With the free hand he pulls a deadly looking war club out into the open and holds it casually, but ready in hand.

He looks at Ryhim, but keeps looking around in the air towards the ceiling, as if he is searching for something, but doesn't want to take his eyes away from Ryhim for long.[/note]

A lot below, as I was inspired by the moment and the game.

Still love DT, J. Always appreciate your efforts.

His mind, constantly calculating, considered the risk. Thorn and Maeriks were in bad shape. Ivor, who had been a cornerstone on the front line, was dead, lost in that hellish trap room. Food for stirges, who had feasted greedily. All that remained of Ivor in this shit hole 'palace' was a dried out husk of corpse.

Smoke curled into Kray's nostrils from a dying spliff as he closed his eyes, looking inward for answers.

Ivor. Talius. Qiu...

The list was far longer than Kray ever wanted to remember, but it was always in the back of his mind. Many of the dead, some names he couldn't remember, had died by his hands, as Kray had, ultimately, led them in battle.

Thorn and Maeriks needed rest and time, both of which were in short supply, not another bloodletting.

The risk was, without any doubt, heavy. Especially for those two. Kray knew very well that they might not come back.

The moment had passed, his eyes opened as he took another drag. Kray looked outward now for answers, first to Thorn and Maeriks. He didn't want to lose them. Maeriks he considered a friend now, far removed from their first chance meeting in the Borgh Riac. His relationship with Thorn was one of brotherhood, born from battle. They'd fought back to back and side by side for almost four years now.

They weren't losses he was willing to take. They wouldn't be names he would ever forget. They would, however, be the shadows in his nightmares. Phantoms of the blood on Kray's hands.

At the same time, he was aware that Thorn and Maeriks had come here with purpose, as had the rest of their dwindling squad. All of them had known the risks. None of them, however, were likely to have considered it would be this bloody.

Kray looked to Elam, weighing the Cursed and their longing to be free.

The wealth. The risk versus the reward. Once more he surveyed the men.

Finally, Kray spoke, his voice grim, somewhat detached. A reflex, cultivated over the last decade. "For some of you, this might be a tomb. This is not a place for heroes or the reckless, but survivors and killers. A place to kill or be killed." He paused, to let the statement sink in, then locked eyes with Thorn and Bryn, in turn.

The decision had to be considered. Lives hung in the balance. It was not to be taken lightly.

Again, his voice cold, measured. "That comes to an end. Now. The next to jeopardize the rest with that shit will answer to me." His hand came to a rest on the hilt of his dark, Otessite sword. "And face Judgement."

Kray had executed men in the past for multiple reasons, most recently during the brutally cold War in the North, when he'd had deserters tracked down and executed, while on campaign, to make a clear example to any troops considering desertion. Kray had employed multiple methods to express his displeasure with desertion, all by his own hand, when possible, or hands on direction: flogging, hanging, impalement... the list went on, as Kray had no lack in creativity. Hell, he'd even had a pathetic bastard suspended from a tree in a wooden egg-shaped cage, left behind for the crows. His preference, however, was beheading, using the cruel serrated edge of Judgement.

Kray let out an exasperated sigh, an effort to release the burden of the memory along with his frustration at their predicament.

Abruptly, his demeanor changed, a sarcastic chuckle making it's way to the surface, the hint of a smile. A glint in the eye. His voice rose, just barely, building momentum.

"If you do make this your final home, you'll find good company with Ivor, who is likely whoring with the finest demon bitch spirits in this fucking 'Palace.' A fine resting place indeed!"

Bullshit but it sounds good.

If Ivor's ghost or some such was trapped here, he was eternally damned. They all knew as much.

The former Mercon warlord wasn't much for long speeches. Rather, his preference was efficacy. Results without waste.

"The Cursed long to be free, as do we all. Let us then be liberated by wealth and the power that is wealth's sweet, succulent whore. The Fates favor the bold, gentlemen! Tonight, let us makes the Fates our personal whores!"

I'm for moving forward, but there's serious risk, especially for Thorn and Maeriks. Personally, I'm fairly damn attached to my character and can't imagine a re-roll. But that's me.

I think an option is to keep Thorn and Maeriks in reserve, like a heavy hammer waiting to drop. Of course, that depends on the circumstances. But, if we can keep them like an ace up our collective sleeve, that minimizes their exposure and risk.

In sum, I don't even want Thorn or Maeriks targeted or spotted until later in battle, even if that means they lag behind. Once the battle starts, we might be able to pull some hammer and anvil, or some flanking maneuver.

Also, our once formidable front line is currently crippled (Ivor down, T and M playing through the pain). So, a couple options off the top of my head:

(1) Bryn and Iasu play front line with Kray and Elam, make sure Thorn and Maeriks are not targets, if possible. T and M strike when the enemy is already engaged, minimizing shots at T and M.

(2) Kray and Elam take the front and brunt of the hits from the start, with Bryn and Iasu launching bow shot sneak attacks from the shadows. Kray has Commander's Strike, so I can get one of you an extra sneak attack on my turn. Also, Iasu and Bryn can safeguard T and M this way (with T and M providing backup for B and I).

Either way, I'm putting Kray up front. It's what he's made for.

Bring that shit, Palace Bitches.

J, Kray would want to know as much about Suter-Set's chamber as possible for tactical purposes. Dimensions, access (one badass door, I'll assume, of course), traps... any damn thing Elam knows about the approach and that room. Especially the room where Suter is. Basically, range concealment are major concerns.

After some water has been poured into the trough, partially filling it, the bull scrambles onto the vessel. Not suited for climbing, the bull's hooves scrape and slide off of the edges several times until finally the creature manages to position itself partially laying down, chin resting on one end, belly in the trough, rear legs splayed wide while still standing, and front ankles hooked onto the trough edges. The bull's large eyes watch everyone in the room as they move about. Slowly his eyes regain some clarity and seem to be refreshed to some degree.

Iasu keeps himself busy with treating the wounded in an effort to ward off the many questions in his head. But it's just too much. Too many questions. Doubts. It seems like only yesterday, he thought he was the only devil-born in the world. Persecuted all his life, forced into hiding, adopting a new name. Uburatu had called him by his true name back there. Simush - "Bright horns." Unconsciously, he readjusts the floppy hat that hides the nubs left there after a mob sawed his horns off long ago, before he became Iasu - "Physician"

Now, many of his newfound half-brothers lie dead. Akkeen. Adar-Malic. Yes, he can grieve even for Uburatu, Balis, and Nabua. Somewhere, their father must be watching this all with twisted glee. Laughing his great horned head as his son-pawns murder each other. And for what? Iasu realizes there isn't one single motivation here. No united front, not even among The Cursed.

Elam always talks about the idea of family. Of escaping and finding a new home. Of birthing heirs, this seems to be one of his primary concerns. He is concerned about whether or not he can have children. Whether or not he can have a son.

Namtur rejects the idea of a special heritage to Na'hama. He does not consider her his mother. He does not want to talk about her. To him, his mother was his human mother. He remembers his time in the village he grew up in. He wants to be a man. A normal man. He scorns his father Vine and his devilish heritage. He is religious. He worships Goldna ad Dasnish and considers himself a Heshbaan who is striving to live a life that gives favor, to make the sacrifices and pay penitence for his sins.

The twins, Akkeen and Adar-Malic, wanted freedom. They knew all too well the degradation of the body that results from moving out of the Adriyalet House. Their tattoos and the robes that they had been refining were all efforts to stave off the magical effects of the hex. But they could not master all of the secrets. Suter-Set has most of the scrolls. Suter-set controls the séance chamber. Suter-set had shut them out from access to the ancient studies. It matters little now. The Twins are gone.

But what does this mean for Iasu? No, for Simush? Will he ever be quit of this place? All hangs in the balance now. The fragile alliance with the Northerners holds, but for how long?

Namtur looks closely at the chained man.

"I know that I heard a crow caw. Was that you then?"

Then his attention shifts over to an old trunk on the ground. The devil man moves to it, throws the lid open, and rummages through the contents. He stops briefly and then pulls out what he was apparently looking for - a crowbar.

The devil stands up and fits the heavy tool into his belt, making sure that it is strapped in secure.

Then he takes back interest in Ryhim. With no further hesitation, he pulls keys out of a belt pouch and moves to the manacles that have Ryhim's hands bolted to the iron bracket that corners out the wall and floor.

After a few tries with different keys, one clicks the locking mechanisms. The bolts open, and Ryhim is free.

The big devil stands back, returns his key to the pouch, and looks squarely at Ryhim. He motions his head backwards in a tilt, as if offering the door.

"I suggest you reunite with the others in the common chamber," he says in a heavy voice. "There is water in the south corner. Running through these halls alone would be foolish."

With that, the devil myrmidon turns and walks out, ducking under the threshold of the door. The leather of his armor creaks, and its metal scales clink together quietly.

Ryhim smiles, his black eyes squinting with glee "Ryhim is but a man, not a crow." He rubs his wrists as the chains drop to the floor and lowers his head in a bow "You have my thanks and gratitude, Horned One." He nods in understanding to the devil man's offer then watches him leave, standing behind for a moment.

"Water, Plex, and freedom; it would seem Lady Courina has answered our prayers." Ryhim smiles, looking towards the door that he was motioned to, before making his way towards it.

Ryhim exits the door, his hands raised, open, and empty. He walks slowly; non-threatening. One of his eyebrows raises as he looks upon the state of these 'others'. He stops just short of the entry way, giving necessary distance, and calls out in heshbaan "The smell of death lingers on all of you, some more than others. Ryhim does not wish this stench upon himself, nor to add more to your current. I seek my things and to be away from this prison; if you can assist, Ryhim will be most enternally grateful." His mouth is stretched in a wide smile, his black eyes static, giving no hint to where they are looking. His head slowly shifts in the direction of the south corner though.

Elam listens respectfully to Kray's speech to his men. Those looking on at the gray-skinned tattooed swordsman might notice that he seems...inspired?

When Kray asks for details on Suter-Set's final hold, Elam makes eye contact with Kray and nods. And for the first time, smiles. It looks as if he is satisfied, or relieved perhaps - moved somehow in hearing just what he wanted to hear.

"Indeed," he says with the nod, and clasps Kray on the shoulder in a show of sincerity. "Indeed, Lord Mercon. And thank you."

"I know the place well," he continues, reaching to something in his belt pouch. "I spent a great deal of time there in my youth, forced by Iz Jeddriss to slave on horrible tasks. I was also tortured there in those days." He says both comments with matter-of-fact frankness, no hint of emotion, as if mentioning a passing detail. From his pouch, he brings forth a bar of chalk. He bends down to the floor, and begins to draw on the stone.

"I never thought I would say it, but perhaps my nightmare familiarity with The Pit and The Irons will pay off. Let me explain. I will draw an image of the room and tell you of its set of dangers."

Namtur walks out to the center of the room. He holds a lantern in one hand, the mighty war club Reave in the other. He looks like a giant soldier from Hel, standing there in his weathered mail cuirass, with his red skin and horns exposed now.

He speaks out in Heshbaan, a distance away from the others who are spread at a few different points in the central chamber.

"Elam, I am leaving now. To face Naram."