Whom the gods would destroy...

[valadaar]

[ooc]Just how close is Kadarin to the fallen wizard? Would like to edge close to it as the battle allows.[/ooc]

Kadarin spotted Vorodon's difficulty, and switched from his spurious chant into a final enlarge spell, focused on Vorodon. While it would not grant prowess, his axe may bite that much deeper...

[Murometz]

Raging blindly, literally and figuratively, the demodand turned from Vorodon and charged Herald, smelling the steed but not seeing it, assuming the rider was still astride the fell equine.

But alas, Kyrian was now on foot, and closing in.

A sword stab from somewhere suddenly, but the demodand managed to brush it aside.

Swinging his limbs wildly, the demodand finally felt a hard impact, the sound dulled only by the ever-present tar covering its scale-and-chitin body.
Kyrian felt another jolting pain arch up his side.  The beast had connected once more, smashing his mail, and shaking his insides.

Kyrian lunged back, but quickly realized the Demodand was now glued to him, like wax to parchment. Sickly gobs of black ooze clung to the knight’s left arm, his sword-hand still free. In such close range however, sulfurous breath assaulting his sensitive feline nostrils, Kyrian could not do much with the Carmine Rose. So he smashed the beast as best he could, while the beast tried smashing and biting him in turn.

A surreal bear-hug ensued, with both combatants struggling to gain the upper hand. The demodand’s strength was no match for Kyrian, but the cat-elf’s agility, as he squirmed to and fro, was no match for G’Rexlhakul.

Adan attempted another lunge, but was thwarted once more by globs of the demonic tar.

Kadarin stared nervously, ever ready with his final spells.

Vorodon advanced with axe in hand. The half-ogre now towered over all the combatants. If the demodand could see through the straw and tar and the struggling form of Kyrian, (obscuring his vision), it would certainly feel fear, at seeing this truly gigantic warrior bearing down upon it.


[ooc]All rolling done in chat with PC witnesses. Long story short, Demodand hit Kyrian for 5 HP of dam. Everyone else missed. Kadarin stands his ground, after enlarging Vorodon. Vorodon attacks, then perhaps, if it is still necessary, initiative.  Kyrian, still stuck on Demodand. Careful with your clobbering, Voro! [/ooc]

[Murometz]

Aerex Matare

"Some service? Not unless you are an able and proper rogue, and know well the terrain ahead to the north, and are loyal and fearless in battle, and a demon-slayer to boot." said the bald, green-armored women plainly, no sarcasm or mirth to be had.

"I am Bex Goldenhorns", announced the blonde-bearded dwarf with the spike-burst staff of thorns. "Excuse Mallyne, she is single-minded in purpose. Quite suitable in our trade. We are the Demon-Slayers of Akod--" the dwarf paused to see if there was any recognition,"We have docked at these dreary shores only two days past, and embark upon demon-slaying to the north. Coffers upon coffers of coin from the Lady Hellschwert are funding the expedition.", he grinned broadly.

Neither the armored, wolf-helmed knight nor dread-locked, bushy-bearded, giant of a man staring out to sea, arms folded, seemed to have any interest in introduction or discussion.

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex raised a curious eyebrow.  "Demon slayers?  I didn't know there were problems with demons around here, let alone enough to make a living from it."  He nodded to the dwarf.  "Aerex Matare, of Jantir.  I'm afraid I don't fulfill all your criteria" - he gave a nod to Mallyne - "though I've seen my share of odd things in my time.  Undead, bounty hunter wraiths, the like.  They're no easy quarry; you have my respect if you hunt full-fledged demons."

"And you say Lady Helleschwert is funding you?" he added.  "What situation is this land in if she's needing to hire folk such as yourself?"

[Murometz]

"You are Jantirian? So am I", came the stern, monotonous voice of the woman. "I meant no disrespect. It is only that we recently lost our companion, the Hound's Nose, and are looking for a fifth.

"The worst kind. Ancient bloodlines siege each other's castles, and demons walk the lands. It is said some mighty evil was unleashed by one of these clans, some great entity from the past, and it is said, this malevolence brought wth it, its infernal minions." Bex paused and stroked his golden chin, "That is where we come in. We will give battle to these beasts of the netherworld, all that we encounter, and attempt to banish the source back to whichever hell it came from. We take no sides in the spat between clans. We work for the Lady Hellschwert. The rampaging demons are murdering and corrupting members of both clans. So no politics necessary for us to decipher. And that is the way we like it. Just kill the demons and their ilk. That is all." Bex finally stopped talking.

"And what of you? What brings you to frozen Thonrecht?" Mallyne now offered.

'You've slain wraiths? Ho! No easy task that" this tinny nod of respect came from the steel wolf-helmed warrior.

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex nodded.  "I'm sorry to hear the loss of your companion," he said sincerely.  "But glad to see such noble work done."

"I am in Thonrect entirely by chance," he began, "or fate if you prefer.  I too had a band not unlike yours, allies in arms and cause.  I certainly couldn't have killed any wraiths on my own, but with many friends we were able to do incredible things, things I wouldn't have ever imagined, to be sure.  Arrested a band of brigands, freed a monastery from an evil wizard, brought a corrupt lawman to justice, defeated Verbeeg thugs..."  The list trailed and a thin smile came to Aerex's face.  "We were quite a team.

"The last I've seen any of them, though, was about two months ago.  We were racing a ship in the Regatta when I fell overboard and was lost in a storm.  Next I know, I find myself here in Thonrecht.  I'm trying to find a way back to Jantir to search for my friends.  In fact, after speaking to the Jantiri ambassador here, I am dining with the Lady Helleschwert tonight, and hoping to get some sway to charter a ship to the south.  But I don't want to get ahead of myself.  I would offer to join your crew, but I must wait to hear from my own first."

[Murometz]

"A mighty storm rages" came the suddenly booming voice of the bearded, dread-locked giant. Not a true giant, but an imposing man nonetheless, well over six feet, his many braids, flailing in the wind, like ashen snakes, his blue eyes hidden beneath black brows.

"No ship will come" the baritone continued. He gazed not at Aerex but ever toward the sea. "Mighty Taloc churns his waves, and spins the winds. Have you not noticed, no ship has docked since we arrived two days ago. A fierce tempest blows out there" he concluded and went back to brooding.

"As you will, Aerex Matare of Jantir. But know, that if it is the Lady Hellschwert you dine with this eve, then we dine together", Bex smiled, revealing teeth capped in gold. "And don't mind Zdronvus here either", he added, gesturing toward the grim one. "He worships the storm-lord. He sees things..."

[Wulfhere]

[ooc]Die rolls cast in chat earlier…[/ooc]

Yanking himself clear of the entangling sludge, Vorodon felt strange power wash through him, godlike might sweeping though his veins. All around him seemed to grow tiny and feeble as Kadarin’s dweomer gave the half-ogre the stature of a giant.  His voice grew even deeper as he lurched toward his disgusting foe, Vorodon's hill-dialect taking on the booming volume of a titan. “Daemng-theng! Now Vorodon and Trigu-friend make finish! Too wait late-ing for to be runnoff!”

The feline warrior Kyrian was sorely beset, ensnared within the Tarterus spawn’s sticky tar.  With skill honed through the millennia of its vile existence, the daemon nimbly used its foe’s ensnared form to shield itself from the giant warriors surrounding it.  Blow after blow turned aside or checked at the last instant as the gummy horror twisted and dodged.

With every missed opportunity, Vorodon’s mighty swings grew more reckless and enraged. Adan could see the half-ogre losing control, forgetting much of his skill in his passion to destroy the demodand. If this continued, Vorodon’s wild blows might mistakenly strike one of his allies!

And yet, some desperate cunning still remained to the half-breed warrior:  With a sudden lunge, Vorodon planted his axe haft across Kyrian and the tarry horror, the unexpected move slamming the embattled pair into the mossy oak of a cracked water trough.  The tar-covered fiend struggled to disentangle itself from the battered trough, unable to win free as Vorodon’s inhuman strength yanked his axe from its vile embrace. Raising the massive weapon high above his head, the half-ogre paused, his full might centered on cleaving the daemon once and for all.

For one brief moment, time itself seemed to stop, all falling silent save for the strange reverberating sound of the iron axe blade and the fading echo of Adan’s holy song.

The axe drove down, and the daemon was no more.

[EchoMirage]

"And mighty Vorodon rises to the challenge once more!" Kyrian pikced himself up and bowed. "My accolades to you, valliant Volgottoi; the fiend was becoming overly enthusiastic in his violently amorous ways. While we would master him none-the-less, it is reassuring to know that should we fail, there is another well-versed in demon-smiting."

With a stern look, he scried their surroundings. "Was this the last fiend? Splendid. Is aybody wouded?"

[Adan Hellschwert]

As Vorodon's axe cleft demon flesh in to small chunks, the once-paladin fell back, his shield still raised, in order to survey the skies. It was as the sun broke from beyond a bank of clouds that his lips curled into a small smile at long last, and as the sword in his hand became a dagger once more, he slid it into the sheath at his hip, pulling the thin layer of steel from his head.

"My Lord Trigu, what honor and glory you have permitted me to earn this day is yours, and yours alone, and blessed are you above all others. I plead of you now, to guide my hand, and aid me in aiding those the children of L'hruk have injured."

Turning now, he laid a hand on Vorodon's shoulder, before he himself began to shrink, as he said rather simply, "And thank you, both of you. It is a great thing, to destroy such a beast."

As the magic left him, he began to shrink once more, his frame returning to its natural size. "I would tend to the injured inside. Bring water from the well, but show it the sun's light before you bring it in."

Time to get to the hard work. Returning to the central hall and it's statues and rubble, Adan slipped his gauntlets and shield from his hands as well, setting them down before lifting Erund from the crumpled heap in which he lay, and stretching him out beneath the gaze of the central statue. So much demon-tar, so much blood. Did the boy even live? Yes. The faint flutter of a pulse beneath his fingers, the slightest rise and fall of the chest, and Adan sighed in relief. The injuries were not yet fatal, but there was still a race against time. Both hands he placed upon the boy's head, cradling it from the floor, and he began to pray, the vision of his father foremost in his mind. The power was slow to come, the trickle of life agonizing as it burned a new pathway from the heavens, through his soul and into his body, and lastly his hands. But come it did, and it tasted like the break of dawn to Adan as the injuries of the young boy began to restore themselves, healed by the power of Trigu. 

They said the night was blackest, just before dawn. It was with the exhaustion of the fight, of the magic, crawling over his body that he gathered up his healing kit. The others would require tending, especially, he suspected, the Volgottoi.

[Wulfhere]

Vorodon began to feel the pain of his injuries as he slowly trudged toward the well.  The tar-demon’s claws had scored and rent the browned iron of his forefathers’ armor, tearing one riveted iron band loose entirely.  Blood trickled from his scored ribcage, further staining the oft-patched tunic he wore beneath his harness.  The wound itself concerned him little, for his body wore scars of many worse battles.  Vorodon was more concerned that the thing’s cruel claws carried some abyss-spawned contagion or unheard-of poison.  Best he should wash the wound with brandy, then bind it with a poultice of boiled grasses to mask it from the sight of whatever wicked spirits haunted this place.

An aged bucket sat near the well, leaky and battered.  He had no confidence in the bucket’s decayed cord, but the heavy line in his pack sufficed as a substitute.  Leaving the bucket to soak for a few minutes so it wouldn’t leak, he stumbled about the courtyard, examining its neglected stones and moss-covered carvings.

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex eyed the cleric a bit warily.  "Yes, well..." he trails off, staring.  He caught himself, shaking his head a bit.  "Well, I look forward to our dinner, then.  May we both be successful, and our meeting with the Lady fruitful."  He smiled politely.

[valadaar]

As the others began to tend to the wounded, Kadarin walked swiftly over to the fallen Demodand.  He quickly drew forth a small vial and scooped up some of the beast's ichor even as the foul thing began to dissolve into smoke.  Quickly he stoppered it, and was rewarded by it remaining within the glass prison.

Greed or ambition drew Kadarin on to another stop - the fallen wizard.

He looked dispassionately down at the fallen wizard, his eyes closed and face half covered in blood. Quickly he rifled through the robe and found a strange, tar-filled jar, and a diminishingly small book that appeared to be the wizard's spellbook.

The robe spoke of great quality, and it seemed a shame for it be worn by a corpse, so Kadarin stripped the wizard of that too.

"If we have a time, it would be best for this one to be purified by fire.  Those that deal in this type of art tend to sleep restlessly.  If someone could finish the job on the neck, that may be prudent as well."  For some reason, Kadarin conjured up the image of Dujeck, and wondered what had become of him..

[Wulfhere]

If only Insector Aerax were here, Vorodon reflected as he fetched up the pail. He hoped his friend won the regatta, but wished the little man were here instead.  The Insector was clever, but lacked the practical mind of a Volgottir, so could get himself into trouble.  Vorodon sadly considered that few people seemed to have the straightforward nature of the hill folk.

Noticing Kadarin dealing with the wizard's remains, Vorodon called over to him. “Friend Kadarin, if when you want helfing, Vorodon helf after finish get waters for to others.”  The magic user shouldn't have to deal with his unpleasant task alone.  “Not good for to aloning.”

Judging by the battered corpse’s appearance, their half-stripped foe's health had been none too good: Vorodon doubted he’d even make good pie.  The hill warrior resolved to check what spices could be found after he was done fetching water for the wounded.  Perhaps something could be salvaged from the unsavory mess.

[EchoMirage]

Without drawing attention to his bruises, Kyrian let his healing magic flow to wipe away the hurt. He returned to the manor, but the boy was safe in Adan's hands, and the lordling certainly needed some heroics of his own to raise his spirits. Kyrian just smiled, then commented on something the paladin might have found almost hard to believe: "You did it, Adan."

Then, he turned and proceeded to cleanse himself of the demon-tar and then prepare the luggage, forgotten in the morn's excitement.

[Siren no Orakio]

"Not I, Kyrian, but my Lord." Adan shook his head softly, as he ruffed the hair of the boy, now merely sleeping, rather than lying on death's dock, awaiting the oarsman. Rising, he lifted the boy easily, meaning to deposit him in a bed, for the moment. "It was his will that Erund survive, and I but his instrument."

And then, as he stepped towards the stairs, he frowned. "Can you aid the others in cleansing themselves, and incinerating these corpses? Though distant, Denhane was of the blood, and there is ritual that may only be attended to by others of the blood."

Barely waiting for the response, he deposited Erund in his bed, and turned to the study, locking the door behind him. Where had the passage been? Ah, there. Lifting Denhane's corpse, heavy though it was, the once-paladin dragged his uncle's body through the narrow passage, and divested him of his clothing. It would not be long indeed before the oily smoke began to pour forth from the chimneys of the small keep, though it would be a short time later before the paladin would emerge, a small metal box, tightly sealed added to his luggage, along with any remaining belongings of Denhane's that might prove of use.

[EchoMirage]

As Adan turned away, Kyrian had to shake his head; he would never grasp the faith of these northmen. At their best, they sounded like 'It is not me, but my lord who is awesome; I am but a lowly worm without my god to guide me; my failure is but my own' ... and 'it was but the will of my god that I razed this land' on the darker side. It was even doubtful that Adan would enjoy one of the Elven Moon-Feasts were he allowed to participate.

"Bah, he will rejoice one day! For what is life without enjoying the small victories?"

Smirking, he assembled the luggage, then grabbed a hefty meat-hook on a chain from the storage and proceeded to haul the bodies of the fiends outside.

"Vorodon!" he called, "shall we light a bonfire, with those fiendlings as kindling?"

[Murometz]

Aerex Matare

Aerex and Melitus were escorted, as they made their way beneath the raised portcullis gate and across the austere courtyard, by six properly grim-looking guards clad in burnished steel. The only sound they could hear was the flapping of banners in the wind, dozens of them, all bearing the Hellswchert’s symbol, and the clatter of mailed boots on the cobbled stone.

Eventually, they entered the castle proper, and made their way rather quickly and unceremoniously up several sets of stairs, all cold, simple-cut stone, the walls around them unadorned. Finally they were ushered by the guards into a large reception chamber, approximately ninety feet off the ground, overlooking the cold, frothy sea.

A huge oval table in the middle of the room, draped in velvet, held a veritable feast. Quail, puffin, lamprey and eel, pheasant, and pigeons, all stuffed, smoked, braised or baked. Bowls of fruits from southern ports interspersed the game fowl and anguilliformes, platters of cheeses, breads, and smoked whale tongue, completed the banquet.

“His right honorable gentlemen, ambassador to Jantir, Melitus Galbra, and his companion, his right honorable gentlemen, Aerex Matare, also of Jantir.”

Unseen voices announced the pair, as they took to two empty high-backed chairs. Seated at the far end of the table, beside the shuttered, stone window was Thea Hellschwert. She could have been twenty, thirty, or forty years of age, Aerex could not be sure. Her looks were ageless and noble, though her skin like white marble, so devoid of the sun was this land. Her hair was the color of sand beneath sunset, streaked with silvery wisps. She wore a practical outfit for dining, and seemed to eschew ceremony and ritual all-together.

Sitting to the right of the young ruler, was a stone-eyed, balding man, in ceremonial garb befitting his rank, his expression unreadable. As Aerex sat, he noticed the man was slowly rolling a hard-boiled egg on the table with his palm, back and forth, savoring the sound of the cracking shell. A sheathed great sword leaned against the stone wall, directly behind his seat. This was Lord Otto Quorridge, as Melitus had told Aerex earlier. He was the advisor and personal bodyguard to Thea Hellschwert, appointed by the deceased Arch-Duke himself to be her shadow and right hand.

Pleasantries were exchanged between Thea and Melitus, and then she turned to Aerex.

“Tell me, what brings you to Thonrecht truly? I know Melitus here would probably have me believe you are a high-ranking emissary sent with some warning or harsh terms from Jantir.  In these times, I find myself speaking plainly, sir. What news from Jantir?”

Before Aerex could respond to the second most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, he was interrupted by the unseen voices again....“The Demon-Slayers of Akod-by-the-Sea--Bex Goldmouth, Mallyne Adrimarch, Segovax the Howler, Zdronvus of Taloc, and here in spirit, but not in presence, the Hound’s Nose.”

The same bunch that Aerex had met earlier at the beach now situated themselves around the table.

“Hail, Thea Hellschwert!” Bex the dwarf announced.  “The Demon-Slayers have arrived to do your bidding. Take cheer, for your troubles will soon be no more!” He grinned his famous grin, each tooth capped with gold.

Thea nodded briskly at the fearsome foursome, and returned her attention to Aerex. “So, you see, I have to hire demon-slayers, Aerex Matare. Mere knights and mercenaries will not do. This is the state of affairs here. It has come to this. The gods make us mad.” She gave him a genuine but wan smile and sighed.

[Murometz]

Healing quickly for someone who was almost eaten alive by a demodand two days ago, Erund recovered quite nicely, with only a few headaches for company and a discolored arm. Trigu provides the young, Adan thought, with that marvelous ability to overcome shock and trauma, and to thrive, the mind burying the awful memories which could harm its healthy growth.  And so it was, that within days of the horrific battle, Erund was his usual sober self, offering thanks to Adan and his band, as well trying to be helpful in any way possible.

The half-ogre and the Rose Knight impressed Erund most, until Adan re-introduced the boy to “Kadarin the Mage” (!) Erund began to pester Kadarin to teach him magic almost immediately, even as Mouse cast dirty looks in Erund’s direction.

--------------------------------

The third morning after the battle, found the companions preparing to depart.

Kadarin was still poring over scrolls and spell-books in the upstairs library, scribing this and that, as Mouse took notes. The jug of black ooze stood on a nearby table, bubbling silently.

Kyrian was grooming Herald, whispering into the horse’s ear, while Vorodon was eating breakfast inside. Adan was lost in thought as always, and surveying the hunting lodge.

[EchoMirage]

Exuberant from his morning run through the woods along Herald's side, and a chilly though refreshing bath (in retrospective, jumping into that mountain lake from full run was not the smartest decision, but that ridge above the water was just so tempting), Kyrian kissed Adan awake and, giddy, ran off to prepare for their departure.

While the hunting lodge had a certain quaint charm, Kyrian could not wait to leave it for a place with more than five people.

Steed prepared, plate polished and donned, luggage packed, he requisitioned a fine lance from the armory, and rolled up a Hellschwert flag and hid it in his saddle bag.

[Murometz]

The Flagellants

From out of the woods, appeared people.

Herald nudged Kyrian to look. A group of ten or twelve individuals, all human, were travelling with some purpose though their pace was slow. Stepping into the large clearing, where stood the hunting lodge, the group looked about, seeing Kyrian and his horse.

Though they did not look aggressive, they did look a bit grotesque, and somehow sinister.

All dozen men, wore only white pantaloons, each pair stained with fresh blood. Shirtless to a man, their torsos, chests and backs were completely covered with wounds in varying states of healing. Old scars, fresh, oozing gashes, and discolored bruises, allowed them to seem as if they were clad in some kind of bizarre mail shirts of ripped and twisted flesh. On their feet they all wore cloth-thin slippers. Travelling through woods with such footwear would be painful, Kyrian thought that moment, yet he quickly realized that was probably why these men wore such slippers.

Each man carried a whip, scourge, crop, or or cat o' nine tails. As they walked, they beat their own backs and chests while mumbling canticles beneath their breath.

The last man, the thirteenth, was dressed unlike the others. Clad all in white, head to toe in robe and conical hood-mask, hiding his features completely, he prayed aloud as he walked on bloody bare feet, and spurned on the other men, into an incessant pattern of self-corporal punishment...and walking.

http://www.suite101.com/view_image.cfm/1413910

The thirteen approached slowly, but without hesitation. The Flagellants had arrived.

Kyrian wrinkled his nose. He knew of such sects, the 'self-punishers', they were common in Landeel and surrounding lands. Unable for whatever reason to achieve "true" religious devotion, they practiced self-abuse, attempting to cleanse themselves of sins and impure thoughts. Wandering the land and collecting alms, the undying monks sought worthiness through their self debasement.

Kyrian remembered the words of a one-time paramour just then concerning the Flagellants, "They deceive themselves with notions of piety, but secretly derive pleasure through their pain, I have no doubt."

"Ho, cat-brother!" announced the hooded man in deep baritone. "We pass your lands peacefully. We have no stake in The Feud."

[valadaar]

Kadarin looked at the bubbling jug with mixed feelings.  It represented power, and death.  Without one of those scrolls, he would not even consider calling one of the things here, and probably would not even if he were here.

They were power, true, but Kadarin's heart was not so black that this road appealed.  What to do.

He know had cleaner power, battle spells, but they were risky.  They would burn though his reserves quickly, but he was no longer helpless. He had even taken the time to charge the ring, placing a fireball in its free slot.

He could have spent longer, going through the library here, but the others were restless.

Erund was a distraction, but perhaps had potential.  His possession of a voice both annoyed Kadarin and made it worth while to teach him a little.  But he could not stay - Kadarin did not think he would do well.

[EchoMirage]

"Very well, pass on, then - but mind the woods, they are home to bandits, at least one ill-tempered spirit, and who knows when a lustful dryad might pounce an unsuspecting traveller? You certainly would not enjoy the kind of attention it could bestow upon ye."

He had to chuckle to himself. No, certainly the flagellants would not enjoy a fey's attention, bent on their particular brand of madness as they were.

"A nice day to you all, and merry whipping!" he waved them on their way. As an afterthought, the knight added: "Did you stumble upon banditfolk of ill repute, perchance - what other repute could be theirs anyway? They might have some smiting heading their way, upon swift hooves, if you catch my drift."

[Aerex Matare]

Aerex nodded gravely.  "I have heard, madame, of your troubles.  I spoke to these noble slayers just this morning."  His fork wandered aimlessly about his plate.  A young Constable Matare had gotten a smattering of instruction in polite table manners for the occasional audience with the Dynast's retainers, but the complex rules of which fork to use when and on what meat were always too much for a boy who'd grown up eating mostly bread and porridge.  Besides, he figured, these northern folk may have their own peculiar table habits; he didn't wish to offend anyone with rudeness.

There came a small stirring in the back of Aerex's mind.  He had his purpose here - a purpose to find a way back to Jantir - but it would be simply unjust to leave these Helleschwerts without offering to help however he could.  "I do not doubt the skill of your demon hunter mercenaries," said he, "but perhaps I could offer my own support as well.  I was a constable in Jantir for several years, an investigator.  Is there something I could do to help alleviate the suffering of your land and people?"

[Siren no Orakio]

Rising from his bed, awakened ever so strangely, Adan could merely shake his head, both at the cat-elf and in order to clear the logginess from his head. The nightmares had remained lodged in his mind, and by now, he slept deeply, save when they came upon him and forced him upright in the middle of the night. Walking to the window, wearing naught but his shorts, he stood before it a moment, his eyes fell upon the flagellants, and he scowled. Once, save for the whip, it would seem that he had been much like them. It would be a far time before he had come completely from that madness.

Drawing on tunic and trousers, and a shirt of steel, however, he began to walk towards the courtyard, letting the dagger settle around his waist on its belt. Stopping at Kadarin, he noticed the bottle, and scowled once more. "It will need to be destroyed, though we must figure out how to do so without releasing it. The ruinous powers cannot be unleashed upon this world." Shaking his head, he continued, "But that is for later, once we reach the Marquis' domain. For now, we appear to have guests from the outside."