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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Destan" data-source="post: 1104672" data-attributes="member: 12157">Of Demons and Discourtesy “Beneath that snow is a whole lot o’ ugly, that’s for damned sure.”Baden eyed the snow-covered corpse of the wyvern at his feet.  His companions gathered around him, their mood one of reflection.  “By rights,” Kellus breathed, “we should be dead.”“At the least, I should be dead.”  Raylin’s face was half-grin and half-grimace.  “I canna’ even remember being stung, but the wyvern’s poison left a bad taste in my mouth for damned near a tenday.”“We know,” John answered.  “Your breath smelled worse than the half-troll’s sandals.”Amelyssan scanned the broken horizon with his elven vision.  In all directions, save the west, the mountains of the Balantir Cor rose upward to pierce the sky’s underbelly with peaks and crags.  To Amelyssan, a horadrel from the Gruns, the mountains were at once inspiring and intimidating.  It was as if some vengeful god had crushed a world of rock within his hands, then scattered the broken shards onto Ostia Prim.Amelyssan shielded his eyes and looked to the east.  “Where do they end?”“The ‘Cor?  Two hundred leagues.  Mayhaps more.”  Baden shrugged.  “Eventually, the rock turns to dirt and the mountains to hills.  Perhaps another fifty leagues east of the foothills, the land drops over cliffs onto the breakers of Nurdunger Deepe.”“And are there not elves that live in these mountains?”“In the mountains – no.”  Baden punched a finger toward the southeast.  “Behind those crags lays the Godspring, a lake of unknown depths and the fount of the Dwem River.  Follow that waterway long enough, then cut east over the ‘Cor – the mountains aren’t as high thereabouts – and you’ll find yourself descending into the Arn Vale.”“Aye,” John sighed, “the birthplace of Arn brandy.  May Tymora and all the gods bless those fancy lads brewing the stuff.”Amelyssan seemed to chew upon the knowledge.  “You have a magnificent homeland, friend Baden.”“I know,” Baden replied.  The dwarf frowned in his whiskers before repeating himself, more softly, “I know.”Vath reappeared.  The half-troll stood, silhouetted in the cavern’s entrance.  “The stone disk has been moved.  The crypt lays open.”“What?” John sputtered.  “But we plugged that hole with the disk ‘ere we departed.”Vath did not reply.  He did not need to.***Raylin idly shook his hand, watching the handful of teeth bounce upon his open palm.  The Larrenman was squatting within the corridor just beyond the once-concealed door, deep within Borbidan’s tomb.  Sprinkled upon the tiles at his feet, spreading outward in all directions, was horror and gore.John winced.  His voice was hushed:  “How many?”Raylin let the teeth drop quietly from his hand.  He surveyed the myriad body parts.  Eyes, arms, hands, genitals, more teeth.  Two tongues.  “Four?  Five?  Truly, I do not know.”John toed a cloak at his feet.  Something was beneath the cloth, something that stank like the rest of the hallway, something he had no desire to see.  The material had once been green, most likely, but now was black from dried blood. “What did this?”Raylin stood.  “They did.”  He gestured to the ambiguous piles that had once been men.  “They did it to one another.”Kellus did not wholly agree, but he kept his counsel to himself for the moment.  The former priest eyed Raylin.  “How long ago?”“Days.  The blood is dried and the bodies hard.  Still…”Baden pulled upon his bead.  “Your face bespeaks your doubt, ranger.  Tell it true.”Raylin nodded.  “If days have passed since their deaths, as I believe, then surely the animals of these mountains would have been drawn to the stench.  Snowcat spoor is sprinkled everywhere outside – this place is not bereft of scavenging wildlife.”“Perhaps they feared the wyvern, and did not know the beast to be dead.”  John looked to his friends for support.  “Or maybe those damned cats are smarter than we are, and realize crypts are no place for the living.”Raylin wiped the filth from his hands.  “There is wisdom in your words.  We should leave.”Baden stepped aside and looked past the Larrenman, his darkvision probing the blackness.  “Let us go, then,” he whispered hoarsely.  “We have answered the dwem’s evil already; we sent their black priest back to his hells.  There is naught here for us, save death.”Raylin grabbed the torch from John’s hand and thrust it toward the exit.  “Move, then. I will follow.  Elf, stay close.”“Hold.”  The corridor was silent save for Vath’s labored breathing.  The half-troll stared at Kellus, both of them sharing an unspoken understanding.  “You would know for certain.”  It was not a question.Kellus nodded.“Then I will go with you.”“Know what?”  John squinted at the half-troll before locking gazes with the Rhelmsman.“Whether he remains caged.”***Kellus walked, alone, down the long corridor. His companions were behind him, huddled at the intersection, as quiet as admonished acolytes.  At the very edge of his flickering torchlight, he spied the door.  The same door that they had opened days ago.  The portal that led to the former resting place of Borbidan Elfkiller.  Within that chamber he and his companions had slain the unholy dwem-priest Morgad.But it was not the door, nor what lay behind it, that concerned him.  Not now.He was careful where he stepped.  Chunks of flesh festooned the floor like strewn rushes, the stones darker from bloodstains.  There was a forlorn helm, and next to it a mace.  Resting against the wall was what could only be the torso of a man, still draped in green robes of Gond.Something splattered onto the cobbles in front of him.  He felt a cool drop land upon his cheek.  But this is a dry cave, Kellus thought.  He looked upward, holding his torch aloft, and strangled back a cry.  The ceiling was not unlike the floor – bodies had been smashed into the stone above, the red-black pulp still glistening in the torchlight.  Fresh bodies, still bleeding.He bent lower, the torch before him like a holy ward, and stared at the culvert – knowing what he would see and yet hoping he was wrong.  The uneasiness in his stomach exploded into terror.  The bars had been sundered. Kellus drew back, the torch dropping from nerveless fingers.  He stared with dawning horror at the black hole that once served as the demon’s prison.  “Run,” he moaned, though only he could hear.Kellus turned, looked down the hallway that now seemed to stretch the length of the entire mountain range.  “Run!” he screamed, loudly now, heeding his own advice.  Kellus sprinted down the corridor, his clanging armor and thudding boots mercilessly echoing throughout the crypt.“He is loose!” he cried, his own fear rising with the realization.  “Baphtemet is free!”Indeed I am, Godless One.  The voice was a soft purr of promised pain.  And I believe you shall now answer for your earlier discourtesies.</blockquote>

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