Episode 24
Sewers and Demons
“Sister?” Inga called tenderly to the sleeping Hilde.
“Yes Inga,” Hilde answered.
“Sister, I will go on the second coach today.”
“Oh?” Hilde answered.
“I feel called to the great temple and I must go there this morning for guidance.”
“Of course my dear,” Hilde said soothingly. “You must do as SHE directs. I will be eagerly looking forward to your arrival in Derlon.”
“I will come,” Inga promised.
“Of course my dear. I know you will.”
…..
The following morning Gjord noted Inga’s absence from the table.
“She has matters to attend to at the temple,” Hilde stated. “She will come behind us on the next coach.”
“The last time we left a cleric at a temple he never came back,” Gerhardt noted through a mouthful of gruel.
“Xerk is serving his church as a templar. He has been dispatched to the west from what I hear,” Hilde answered. “Inga will be there. She promised as much and I believe her.”
Just as Hilde finished speaking two figures approached the table, E’lissar and Ranin.
“Well, look who,” Gerhardt began. “You fellows cannot steal Quarion for your frolicking he has better things to do.”
Quarion rolled his eyes.
“I am glad you are coming,” Hilde stood and offered the two a place at the table. “Your skills will be highly useful to us.”
“There is nothing holding us here,” E’lissar admitted.
“Hey where is your sister?” Gerhardt interrupted.
“What sister?” Ranin asked.
“You know the dark-complexioned one with the curves,” Gerhardt smiled.
“The Drow witch is no sister of ours,” Ranin retorted.
“I was hoping we could work out a trade, you know I lie with your sister for a night and I give you some sword lessons or something,” Gerhardt smiled.
“I should give you a lesson with my blade right now for suggesting a familial relation with a Drow,” Ranin’s voice had an angry overtone that was unmistakable.
“Do draw ears. Do draw. This steel harbors no aversion to Fey blood,” Gerhardt stood up and palmed his scimitar’s pommel.
Hilde stood up, “Sit down Gerhardt. These kind Elves have agreed to help me. I will not have you insulting them and jeopardize losing their valuable service.”
Gerhardt sat down slowly eyeing Ranin, “I know of only one valuable elf service and that would have been rendered by the Drow, Viziona.”
Quarion stood up and welcomed the elves to the table. He acknowledged Gerhardt’s rudeness, but said his fighting skill mostly made it worth tolerating. They joined breakfast and in short order all ill will was forgotten, on the surface at least.
The Coach left Norgate and rumbled the week long trek down the northern road to the great city of Derlon.
…..
As the group approached Morgan Darman’s Fine Wares they could see a crowd was gathered around the front of the shop. As they came closer they heard screams of horror from the crowd and a woman’s voice cried, “Please someone help him!” The adventurers broke into a sprint.
Reaching the crowd and pushing their way to the front they saw a blood-covered demon eating intestines out of a fallen man’s abdomen.
Gjord rushed into the shop to confront the beast. It dropped the man’s entrails and breathed a cone of hell fire onto the ranger.
Gjord braved the flames and closed ranks with the foul beast. His companions poured into the shop behind him. Gjord was greeted with two razor sharp claws shredding him deeply.
E’lissar and Ranin drew their bows and skillfully shot arrows through the crowd and hit home on the beast. E’lissar’s arrow stuck, but Ranin’s missile bounced off the magical creature.
Gjord quickly backed away from the assault and Gerhardt rushed passed the hell spawn foe. The beast turned to face the new threat as Gerhardt pressed the attack from the rear.
Gerhardt was unable to land a solid blow, but Quarion stalked up behind the creature and drove his blade home deeply into the creature’s vitals.
The creature coughed dark bile and began to dissolve. Slowly the creature melted into a black, foul-smelling, puddle.
Hilde rushed to the prostrate figure, but she was too late – Morgan Darman was dead. As she turned to inform her comrades four more figures came into the room. Dressed in the livery of the city guard they gripped their weapons menacingly.
A young sergeant stepped forward, “What happened here?” His voice cracked slightly revealing his nervousness.
Hilde was too distraught to speak. Gjord spoke, “A demon killed this man. We came in here and defeated it. Witness my wounds.”
The young sergeant, who had betrayed his unease at command, was taken aback by this information. “A demon? Here? In Derlon?”
The crowd that had watched the events unfold immediately endorsed the ranger’s story. “Aye, he speaks the truth. They vanquished a foul servant of the pit.”
The sergeant stopped unable to fathom the situation, and not sure what to do next, whispered something to the men with him. Following the short consultation he announced, “We will go to the Cathedral of the Messenger* and call forth the Inquisitors. This is a matter for their expertise.”
“A wise decision,” Gjord reassured them and sat down on a nearby wooden chair.
The guards filed out of the shop.
“Can you heal these wounds please sister?” Gjord asked Hilde.
Hilde brushed away tears from her eyes, “Of course brave Gjord, of course.”
The crowd dispersed as none cared to wait for the Inquisitors. The Elves and Gerhardt busied themselves searching through the building.
E’lissar found a note and brought it to Hilde’s attention. It read
Damnit! I should have had that tome in a safe. I wish Hilde had gotten here; she and her friends could have protected it. That dark journal was going to pay a lot of bills around here. Maybe when Hilde gets here she and her friends can track down the thief. The thing that surprises me is that a thief knew where this relic was.
Then again, when I read a bit of the tome last night I could feel its dark power. It was like a force went into me calling forth to the powers of Hell. I have seen my share of dangerous antiquities, but this tome had real power. Perhaps losing the tome was the Messenger’s way of sending me a divine message! Bah, the Messenger’s divine influence does not fill my purse.
Ranin traced the beast’s trail back to a hole in the floor. Judging by the foul smell issuing forth from the opening it led to the sewer. He spoke to the group, “This thing was sent here. We must trace it back to its master.”
“What of the Inquisitors?” Gjord asked.
“I am not waiting around for the Inquisitors,” E’lissar replied. “No good ever came from an interview with their narrow minds.”
“We will appear guilty of Morgan’s death,” Gjord speculated.
“Nonsense,” E’lissar answered. “Besides, those guards never got our names.”
“That’s right,” Gerhardt agreed. “I like the way you think.”
“I worry mightily when I agree with Gerhardt, but they are right,” Hilde said. “The Inquisitors can determine that a foul beast of evil did this work. Further, delaying to speak with them will only serve to delay us and reduce our chances of discovering the true culprits.”
“If you say so Hilde,” Gjord relented.
The group descended through the hole into the sewers under the city.
Ranin was surprised to discover other tracks besides those of the beast. Deep boot heels gouged the sewer muck indicating two men had passed this way carrying something heavy. The group was split across the effluent canal, except for Gerhardt who chose to wade through the muck itself.
A few hundred feet into the tunnels Quarion spotted some huge rats heading towards the party.
“I hate rats,” E’lissar commented as he notched an arrow.
Quarion rushed forward at the vermin and quickly found himself swarmed by all three of the beasts.
The rats bit at Quarion’s legs and drew blood. The rogue howled in protest.
Gerhardt, ever eager for action began to sprint towards the huge rodents. His movement created a huge wave of watery waste before him and then he slipped and fell. A splash of foul liquid rushed up and over him.
Gjord jumped back from the splashed fluid, but still got some on his breeches. As Gerhardt rose from the muck Gjord began to howl with laughter. Gerhardt glared at the Ranger through a muck-covered face with hatred and embarrassment.
Gjord could not contain his amusement and said with a chortling voice, “Whatever you do – don’t lick your lips!” He nearly collapsed in a fit of laughter.
Meanwhile, Ranin loosed to arrows at the rats and two of them were felled as a result of his efforts. Hilde rushed up to help Quarion.
Gerhardt began wading towards Gjord determinedly.
“Stay back you foul toilet beast!” Gjord laughed, but was now preparing to flee from the fighter.
Gerhardt gave a final rush and grabbed Gjord’s ankle.
Gjord yanked his leg back and jumped out of Gerhardt’s reach.
“I can wait,” Gerhardt growled.
A startled cry immediately caught both of their attentions.
The remaining rat hung off of Hilde’s leg and tried to rip some calf flesh loose. Quarion rammed his blade down into the rodent and pulled the rat off of her leg. He dashed its brains out with his boot heel.
Hilde sat down and tended to her sore leg. She quickly composed herself and healed Quarion. She turned and said, “If you two had been up here to help Quarion kill these vermin this might not have happened.”
Gjord and Gerhardt said nothing. Gerhardt’s embarrassment was compounded by this loss of face. Neither spoke as Quarion still slightly wounded from the rat bites, and with the help of Ranin, traced the boot marks and the demon’s path to a place disappearing under the wall. A secret door Quarion announced to the group.
“Get ready,” Quarion stated. “I’m going to open it.”
To be continued…
*The Messenger - Patron Saint of the Olde Realm.
