The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter Five
The bodies of a few well-slain lesser demons smoulder upon the floor, acidic ooze-like flesh dissolving. Soon, they will be nothing more than crocodillian bones, elongated skulls and plentiful rows of teeth. Their days of guarding this chamber are over.
Surrounded by streams of slowly moving red-hot coals, ash and winding tentacles of magma, the "hall" for want of a better word, is plenty uncomfortable. Sweat comes easy to many of the group, as does the discomfort of what feels like a slow roasting. Long-term, it would devour one’s strength for sure. Unless of course your flesh had previously been removed.
As the ranger approaches the caged bodyless head, it speaks.
"I must admit, I was concerned for you when you burst in here alone mister. But wisely, of friends you have many! And now, you may add one more. You have my thanks.”
Dain must rely on instinct here, as talking skulls are something of a rarity, even in the ranger’s twisted darkearth dreams. Well, it seems friendly enough. There is no evidence of betrayal or evil, but then again, how does one read body language or facial cues, when of them there are none?
Then it nods calmly, a pleasant introduction from the sorcerer.
He calls me Friend. The first steps go well. So they want to know about comings and goings, jailers and prisoners. Now that, would be a story!
“Young man, it pains me to admit, I’ve seen many a mortal come and go. Slaving workers taught a little about underperformance, mostly. Sometimes an undead creature, or whispy fairykind has shared this space. As far as I know, I am alone here with what remains of them, a sad tale indeed.”
Carthum re-enters then, having rescued what might have become demi-human spider bait. What would Suru consider of such an otherworldly sight? Could this be the remains of a man corrupted beyond recognition? Or has his fate been unjust, a life spent in punishment deemed necessary by those of evil intent? Suru gives the half-orc no simple answers on this matter, today.
“Lucky for all of us me thinks, that of recent years the snotty fiends remaining here are those… lesser in stature, and prowess. The Pitchlings and their bit... sorry, woman, for better or worse, made things… shall we say… less economical?"
The woman, his words almost grated at the mention of her...
The head goes a rull rotation then, spinning upside down before resting back at a traditional eye-level.
“So tell me, who are you? And what might tempt such young feisty souls to the very edges of our dual-layered isle? Other than to rescue a man who will father no children, nor feel the weight of a staff in his hand, of course.”
Meanwhile, Annit has agreed to Carthum’s suggestion, placing herself back in the tunnels, keeping watch for the merest hint of movement, a hairy leg, or the beating of a red infernal wing. She doesn’t wander too far of course. The words behind her are interesting...