Esther Alfsson's Story

The man's smile curled into a smirk at Esther's wink. His fingers drummed against the ground. His hands were bandaged, and there was dried blood on them, by the knuckles. "Yes, ma'am. If it'll make me look better," he said, and his large shoulders jostled with a shrug, "The boss's fiance dropped her engagement ring down the gutter. He didn't want to dip his dainty little fingers back in the treasury, so here I am. Looking for a diamond amidst their holy shits. Pardon," he excused his language with a nod towards the elf, then flashed a white grin towards his fellow humans.

He flexed his fingers out, pulling his bulky arms up in a stretch. The bones popped in his joints. "Ach... well, there's nothing shiny down there. Only place left is in the southern tunnels, but that's Red Hatchet territory. It'll be hard going, trying to look while five men jump my back every minute." He let out an exaggerated sigh, then waved it off. "Well! It's a living. I'm sure you've got one of those to get back to. You didn't come down to listen to a stranger from the sewers complain. I'm Lio."

He held out a hand for them to shake, paused, then slapped the hand back onto the ground and hauled himself out, revealing himself to lord a few inches over Esther. His dark eyes flicked over them, so fast, not one could tell that a judgement had been made.

"Only thing I can think that'd bring you huddling around this stinking hole is that some noble's got you doing their dirty work, too. Who's wringing your neck?" His smile grew a little brighter. "...And are you adverse to breaking a few bandit bones?"

“Nothing like wading through someone’s leftovers to find if they’ve shat a diamond.” Serena commented, her voice ever jovial to dance around. The man was nonchalant. Seemed the cool-headed type, but appearances always provoked an image if you could play up the act enough times.

There were seeds of doubt. Losing a ring and dropping it into the nearest sewer were two sides of the same coin, it just meant you had to look on it from the proper side. Not that it was any of her business what this man was doing and for what reason.

It sure beat jumping into the sewers for the time being having someone to talk to. “Not exactly my idea of fun. To each their own, though, right?”

“I’m Serena.” The little pirate piped up, pointing a finger at Ashera. “That’s Blondie, and...” Brown eyes quickly flicked towards the alchemist; lingering for a fair few seconds with that playful gleam. “And this one’s our jolly redhead, Raven.” A smirk grew on her face. “The mask gives it away, I think.”

A little owl gave an inquiring ‘Hoot’. “Oh, and this fellow is Wilthro.”

Tall fellow, wasn’t he? Her jaw didn’t quite drop that far, but the pirate was willing to admit that having grown accustomed to everyone being several inches taller than yourself didn’t quite prepare her for this looming giant. Right, she should probably stop staring now.

“He’s not the type to wring necks.” The pirate flashed the man a toothy grin. “Don’t think he can reach them.” Of course a certain partner could always accommodate that particular need, and a dwarf wouldn’t even have to balance on a chair for it to work. But such thoughts were left far from Serena’s conscience when the people in question weren’t around to complain or glare menacingly with knives hidden behind their backs.

Not that she seemed to care much for that.

“I’d rather clob ‘m on the head with a mallet, less chance of setting alarms off.” She pondered for a moment. “But breaking bones works fine too. You look strong enough to manage that.”

Lio smiled graciously and stepped to the side. "Arc en Lume is a magical place," he claimed, "And some of that magic trickles down into the sewer system. Does wonders on the rodents. They get big. Real big. Bite-your-arm-off big." He beamed, lifted the manhole lid and gestured for them to slip down. "Ladies first."

---

The Beaucourt sewers, South side. Beneath the glimmering jewel of the main city, away from the shine of sun and lamp. The bricks here had stood for ages, dull and green and layered with centuries-old muck and grime. The group made their way across a stone path, set beside a stagnant river. Light shone forth from Wilthro's eyes, illuminating their way through the darkness. It was more sludge than water; thick, without even a twinkle of light reflected upon its surface. When they peered closer, the group caught the vaguest glimpse of trash - Wasted food, rotten meat, broken furniture - all clumped together underneath the river. The scent of decay was strong, strong enough to make the eyes water and the stomach churn.

The sound of pouring water echoed in the distance, faster than a drip, more of a drizzle, traveling miles away within the silence. Tiny feet skittered away as the group traveled, scurrying into crevices too dark and small for human eyes. The further they went, the larger the place seemed. Grand arches hung over their heads, and ancient columns jut into the shadow-shrouded ceiling. Ahead, the sound of laughter pricked their ears. A high, shrill giggle, ringing from the steps below, towards the deepest, darkest region of the sewers.

“Look at this one, hihihihiihi, he’s still twitchin’!”

“Tha’ means the meat’s still fresh… hehehe… Georgina will be ‘appy tonight…”

Two figures hunched over fallen bodies. Straps of leather fastened over bare, sallow skin. Pauldrons, knee pads, and elbow guards, scavenged from rust-eaten scrap and adorned with needle-sharp and needle-thin spikes. Their hand axes were fresh with blood, slick, glossy and shining amidst the green of the sewers… as they dripped onto the corpses below. Ashera’s elven pupils dilated as she saw it - etched upon the bodies, amidst white robes sullied by blood, the emblem of the Sacred Flame, a shining sun set upon a golden circle.

Ashera had been quick to volunteer leading the group, citing her superior elven eyesight. But when it came to walking down the dark, cramped tunnels, she almost had to force each step forward. All the while, the sense of claustrophobia seeped in.

The scented mask that Esther made provided some comfort, as did the unusual light that shone from Wilthro’s eyes, bright as any lantern. It helped take her mind off of her discomfort, wondering whether the owl’s light was an innate ability for his kind or something more magical in nature. This train of thought was interrupted when her pointed ears picked up distinctive voices up ahead, and she raised a hand to call a halt.

At her signal, Wilthro’s eye-beams cut through the shadows like a burning blade, illuminating a grisly scene before them. A pair of ghoulish figures bearing crude weapons and armour were huddled around one of several corpses. Ashera gasped when the identity of those unfortunate victims was made clear to her. “Th-the clerics…” she stammered. “They’re all…”

With trembling hands, the elf notched an arrow, ready to draw it back when needed. She stepped aside and looked to Serena and Esther. “What should we do? We have the numbers and surprise on our side, but what if there’s more out there?” Ashera kept watch on the subhumans, as much as their behaviour agitated her so. “I can bring one of them down from here, but the other may flee before I can fire a second shot.”

Bweeeem!

The owl sunk into the dark below and with the flick of a metaphorical switch his eyes projected a bright glow. Wilthro made for a great table lamp to read at for sure, but illuminating an eerie, stinky and spooky sewer system was a good secondary purpose. Withholding a grin was never her forte, though. And seeing an owl’s eyes light up like candles on Christmas evening wasn’t a typical occurrence, piercing as they were, so the surprised glances from the group were… amusing, somewhat.

“He beeps when he backs up, too.” The pirate stated, clearly trying to play this off as casually as she could without raising too many suspicions, but glowing owls? Yeah, not a normal thing at all to the general audience and there was a story behind it all if Serena was bothered enough to explain it to the group.

Magic was a weird phenomenon...

“Now stop staring or you’ll go blind, idiots.” She added through a giggle, jutting her head slightly away from Wilthro to avoid the blinding rays beaming from his eyes. The owl hadn’t really moved an inch, just clung tighter around his companion’s shoulders with his claws. To which Serena showed little sign of discomfort. Not like the grimace when she first took a good sniff of the shitty aroma that hung around the place. Raven had done a good deed handing out those masks.

Serena was thankful Blondie had volunteered to lead the group, and the pirate had managed to fit herself snugly between the Elf and the alchemist when they scoured the grimey corridors for any sign of their diamond ring.

… And the pretty damsel in distress, of course.

But their search was like reaching in the dark, and instead of shiny and pretty things the group dug up a pair of rabid hobos gleefully licking their lips at the sight of a fresh meal that wouldn’t be to everyone’s tastes. “Eww… At least cook them first.” She murmured, trying not to look too closely at the grim (and probably disturbing) scene.

“I swore last time I wouldn’t tumble with cannibals, they’ve got some weird ideas.” Serena answered. She’d never pretended to be much use when these kinds of tactics were concerned, and Blondie asking her what to do only resulted in a lacklustre shrug. “Maybe sick our flying torch on ‘m? Pretty sure to get a reaction at least.” The pirate made a sideways glance at her feathered friend, but Wilthro hadn’t budged an inch after his sudden enlightenment.

“I’d rather not disturb a freak when it’s off the leash. Any raised hands for turning back and trying another sewer? Maybe one with less stink.”

While Ashera and Serena discussed their next moves, the Red Hatchets turned stiff and still. Their eyes turned to the earth beneath them, white and bright from Wilthro's eye beams…

...Slowly, the bandits swerved towards the party's direction, with a bloodied, toothy, gummy snarl. Their faces were dry and craggy as a rock, and quite pale despite the mud and grime staining their faces. There was almost no white in their eyes, replaced by a pinkish colour that blended into jet-black pupils.

"MEAAAAT!"

The Red Hatchet cannibals stormed up the steps, one bolting in front of the other on all fours. The shadows stirred behind them, and the party heard the audible scrape of rust and iron.

The light was twice as bright, and the sound twice as loud within the dark silence of the sewer. The bandits let out a unified shriek of pain from the flashbang, one of them even toppling flat on his face as the flashbang overloaded his senses. The time for stealth was over.

Lio skidded into action. His towering form ducked and weaved through the party with the light touch of a rogue. He tightened the bandages around his fists, pulling them between his grinning teeth as he charged, utterly unarmed, into the swing of a hatchet.

Lio ducked under the swipe, snatching the bandit's wrist as the arm went over his head. As he came up, so did his leg - arcing around, and slamming down on the back of his stumbling opponent's head. The bandit went down with Lio's grip still on his arm, which twisted at an uncomfortable angle. Then Lio's boot came stamping down on the bandit's shoulder, and there was a sickening pop. The bandit let out a pained gargle and released one of the hand axes, then swung around desperately to catch Lio's knee with the one in his working arm.

"Whoa!" Lio jumped back, avoiding the low swing, in which time his opponent scrambled back to his feet with an unsettling giggle. After a few close calls, Lio slipped to the side, and jabbed his foot into the back of the bandit's knees as he was carried past the monk on his own momentum. The bandit fell forward, but Lio caught a fistful of his hair and dragged him against the sewer walls in two strong strides. The bandit's head hit the stone, then was immediately assaulted by a knee. Again, and again. Being bludgeoned against the wall as a dark, wet stain spread out across it.

Angry hisses came from the shadows, which swelled, then parted into half a dozen, scurrying forms, some on all fours, others staggering on their feet. A couple on the back drew arrows upon their shortbows, which hurled through the air and right towards Esther. Two more wielded makeshift spears, each poking from behind shield-bearing bandits. One shield bandit charged Lio with his guard up, while his partner thrust his spear once, twice, to overwhelm him.

The second pair of shield/spear bandits slipped past Lio and treaded up the stairs, staring daggers into Serena and Ashera.

The shield-bearer snarled as beat his shield onto the ground, galloped on his knuckles and toes, then launched his entire body into a somersault - right towards Ashera.

It was between a bothersome groan and a horrified shriek that Serena had her first doubts about poking around in some dank area filled with mutant rats and potential cannibal ex-criminals, thoughts swaying between “Seriously?!” and “Oh fuck, they’re ‘bout to invite us over as dinner!”. At that point she really did regret not taking that swordfighting curriculum while aboard the Passionate Jellyfish; A ship perhaps best described by the rumour that the captain had some weird misconceptions about what ‘spicing up your sex life’ meant. Needless to say, one day he was found dead. Buttnaked at the coast cuddling a stingray.

Yeah, try explaining that to the missus of the house without cracking a smile.

Right, enough reminiscing of past weird adventures. The pirate felt… relatively useless in the grand scheme of things, with Raven carrying an arsenal of vials that went boom in a variety of ways, Blondie being - well, an Elf with a bow, and their latest friend showing great finesse and a right hook that screamed broken jaws. And Serena? The only pirate who apparently didn’t own a set of flintlocks and cutlasses. What were the odds, huh?

“Haven’t got any invisibility potions, do you love?” Confidence was lacking, and Serena didn’t really think the alchemist had anything the like on her at present - If even such a drink existed in the first place.

Bang!

That worked fine, too.

The flashbang had set off a chain reaction that had every other creepy bandit crawl out of the woodwork (or stonework, in this case) to charge the four-and-a-half sized gang. And for once Serena wasn’t the one to grin in the face of danger.

“Boy. The fun just doesn’t end, huh?” Sarcasm dripping through frustration and gritted teeth.

Several of the creatures gathered into pairs. One brandishing a shield, the other armed with a crude stick that would’ve made a poor spear in any sane person’s judgement. Despite their rabbid nature there was enough intelligence left to form a strategy, if flimsy. One pair charged at the monk, while the other broke through and ran straight at herself and the Elf who was still in the middle of taking another crack shot with her bow.

Wilthro’s eyes flickered for a moment, taking note of the situation that had unfolded while in his seemingly dazed state and decided that acting as the passive torch wasn’t going to help the situation in any direction. He let out a ‘Coo’ and then charged; eyes turning to face the spear-wielding lunatic and flashing their bright light.

In the face of mad, screaming humans out for her and her comrades' blood, Ashera regretted being at the front with her bow drawn. She was only able to fire off the one arrow, catching one of their attackers in the shoulder. Everything else became a frantic scramble after that. The elf had just enough time to react to the flashbang, which left her with after-images and a faint ringing even after covering her eyes and ears.

Ashera removed her arms from her face just in time to avoid the charging ghoul. Her body moved on autopilot as foresight-driven instincts kicked in. She ducked down the moment her assailant pounced, his momentum carrying him straight over her. With a hand on her dagger she stood right back up, plunging the blade into his exposed back. Then again. And once more, just to be certain. However graceful and fluid her movements might have looked from an outsider's perspective, the elf was left wide-eyed and gasping for thankfully-peppermint-scented air.

There was just enough breathing room for Ashera to take stock of their situation. Serena, or more accurately Wilthro, needed help in fending off another one of the ghouls. Ashera hurriedly shouldered her bow and prepared to assist the owl. While Wilthro kept up the distraction with his eye-lights, the elf sought to catch the enemy off guard with a flanking attack.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

In a slow, mesmerizing cadence, the sticks pounced upon the drum like weapons. One after the other, each resounding blow sent shivers through her body like an echo. There, standing mingled with the face of the festival crowd, a small girl felt an even smaller hand holding her own. She felt safe.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The girl lifted her head skyward. The Sacred Flame was growing darker. Its radiance began to recede into itself, devoured by something invisible to the eye -- color washed away from the streets and the shadows cast around them crawled into the fading light as though it were alive.

She wanted to squeeze their hand for comfort as a sudden tightness gripped her lungs, but only empty air brushed aginst her frigid fingertips. And as if drawn to him, her eyes returned to that man on the drums. His hands were no longer moving, and his eyes seemed to pierce through her with a silent knowing.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Then, she realized. There was no sound in this world. That was her heartbeat she was hearing.

***

One of the corpses opened its eyes.

In repositioning himself for another potshot with the bow, an unlucky bandit's leg ventured a little too near and was instantly seized by something that had, until just now, lain entirely prone on the sewer walkway. His eyes widened in horror as black smoke erupted from his ankle; the hand that grasped him tightened like a burning iron, sinking deeper into his flesh as it burned away through disintegrating meat. The man shrieked like a wounded animal and kicked wildly at the corpse, not even his rotted, drugged out brain was capable of dulling the pain.

With one hard tug, he yanked himself free and drunkenly staggered into a full pratfall that left him collapsed on his rear. Searing fire crept along his pants from the shin up, which he desperately tried to extinguish by swinging his leg around until in an uncharacteristically intelligent move he remembered where he was. Scampering toward the flow of sewage on all fours, his entire body was suddenly lifted up by the back of his collar before he could douse his leg and was unceremoniously thrown against the wall.

In the split second that he was dazed, the corpse -- now standing -- pinched the knife from his belt and drove his own blade through his side. A light love tap on his shoulder set his torso abruptly ablaze, and she kicked the burning man into his bow-wielding partner, spreading the gift of fire to the next startled bandit.

From the far side of the ongoing battle, disciple of the Sacred Flame Maria Solaster stood to her full height, back from the dead. She felt along her ribs with charred fingers and sensed wet, sticky blood soaking through the cloth. Well, maybe she hadn't escaped death just yet.

Lio dodged with minimal movement as the spear was thrust forth, avoiding it with more of a sway, each time the spear sliding right past his stomach. On the third jab, he brought down his elbow and shot up his knee - pinching the spear’s shaft between them. The rotted wood burst into splinters and the spearhead fell harmlessly by Lio’s feet. The bandit looked at the stick in his hands, then behind Lio to the skull fragments embedded in the wall, and ducked out of the way right as his companion rushed forward to pummel Lio with his shield. Lio punched it.

The bandit stumbled back, two pieces of broken driftwood in his hands brought up to protect his face. He peered hesitantly between the pieces to see Lio blowing splinters off his knuckles. Lio glanced his way, and his lips quirked into a little cocky smirk.

"GNAAA!" A spear-wielding bandit screeched, one hand raised to shield his dark-adjusted eyes from Wilthro's blinding gaze. He stumbled back, back down the stairs, until he missed a step, and fell…

...Right as an arrow pierced his neck. Blood spurted. His jaw quivered. With his last, gurgling breath, the bandit turned his eyes towards his killer - Ashera, her drawing arm held high, two fingers pointed skyward.

Thud.

A bandit archer's screech echoed as his lanky body plummeted into the abyss, Esther's tall figure shrinking from his sight. The second archer's body fell limp. He wheezed his last breath, the alchemist's knife lodged deep within his windpipe. The symphony of a dozen punches rang in the background. Flesh pummeled, bones crunched, and a battered body slammed into the wall with a heavy smack.

Then, within the depths, fire rose. It spread like a disease, from one flailing bandit to the next. They screamed and screamed, their greasy, grimy forms especially vulnerable to ignition. The flames lit up the dark dungeon just a little brighter, catching the group's eye and directing them to the figure of… a woman. Her white robes were almost drowned out by blood and grime. Almost like a fabled revenant, back from the dead to exact furious vengeance.

The bandits' crude formation broke, most having felled by fire and steel. Those that remained slipped between grates, crawled through drainpipes, and fled, back into the darkness from whence they came.

A burning, screeching bandit waddled towards a grate, but fell before he could flee, his flesh blackened to a crisp. Silence returned to the sewers, and with it, the taste of victory.

Lio bounced up, jittery with adrenaline, and shook his burning fists with an exuberant “Whoop!” He did a quick headcount, then turned his attention back to the resurrected woman in bloodied white robes. He went through a few obvious calculations behind his eyes before coming up with a name.

“Lady Solaster,” he called over with a bow, “Aren’t I happy to have one less corpse to loot.” At that, he pulled a roll of bandages that matched the ones on his hands from his pocket and hurled them over her way, then ducked down to shift through a bandit’s pockets. He came up with a set of knucklebones, real bones - uncertain specimen. He spared a grimace towards the Sacred Flame cleric that had fallen with her, but was yet to get up. “Who’s getting the bad news?”

"Loot me and I'll strangle you." Maria answered matter-of-factly, resting a gloved hand on her hip. Sopping hair clung to her neck and shoulders, and her usual veil was likely floating well on its way down the stream. This slimy, disheveled looking woman had seemingly risen from the grave once already, and there was little doubt she'd do it again if anyone so much as laid a finger on her body.

She shared Lio's gaze down at her fallen comrade, rolling the body over with her boot to get a better look at his face in a display of blatant disrespect for the dead. Well, the probably dead. She squinted as if to better ascertain his identity, but after a few seconds something on her face said that she didn't really know or care.

"Think his name was Jeremy or something," she said, getting her partner's name completely wrong. "Wasn't paying attention, I hardly the know the guy. Oh well, he's in a better place now." With that said, she grasped her pendant and knelt down to offer a surprisingly solemn prayer for his spirit, deeply lowering her head. The whiplash on this woman was incredible.

"Looking for some lost company, I take it?" Maria cracked an eye open, still kneeling. "I don't recognize your friends there."

And that’s when it ended. Not with a bang, but a grand display of fire and a whole lot of screaming weirdos sporting some hot new outfits. The rest? Well, they smartly slinked back into the depths of the sewers where no stink could escape. For all their freaky splendour and animalistic instinct that spoke more to eating their prey as soon as they could sink their teeth in, the crowd of bandits was more easily dispersed than Serena would give them credit for. Guess that instinct wasn’t failing completely when it came to retreating with imaginary tails between their legs.

“And good riddance, too.” The pirate nodded with a little too much relief; the disgusted grimace making way for her usual smile. They were alive. That counted for several positives, didn’t it?

Too bad they were still mucking about in a sewage system…

With Wilthro back in his usual glowing disposition (and seated more comfortably on her shoulder than before the fight, weirdly) Serena followed closely behind the rest of the group to stare and gawk at the newly reanimated corpse. A flame priestess, apparently. Not the most cheery lass she figured.

Either that or she really didn’t care much for people. Specifically poor dead Jeremy. Poor sod, given the literal cold shoulder by a pretty woman. Maybe he could’ve livened up the situation by timing his resurrection to this very moment. Serena offered the corpse an apologetic look before turning to face the priestess.

“Just seeing if nobles really shit diamonds, rescuing damsels. The usual fun stuff.” She answered, flashing the woman a grin.

“You’re not the sewer princess we’re looking for, right?” She probably didn’t expect a serious answer, only glanced at her companions for acknowledgements. Never hurt to check the credentials. Some nobles would always relate back to another in the end; which probably made family reunions a mess to organize.

“You got some seasoning on you.” A single finger pointed out the obvious smear on the woman’s clothes. “No wait, that’s blood.”

Caught up in the midst of battle, the sudden inferno was as much a surprise to Ashera as it was to their assailants. Fortunately for her, she wasn't the one given a surprise flame bath. The troglodytes that weren't already burnt to a crisp made a swift retreat to the holes they crawled out of. Hopefully that would make them think twice about attacking again, the elf thought to herself.

The lingering question on her mind of where all that fire had come from was interrupted by the sight of what could only be described as the dead – or rather, nearly dead – come back to life. Ashera jumped back out of shock before realising this was not another threat. The elf watched as this 'walking corpse' gave its less fortunate comrade a borderline disinterested poke with a boot before immediately delivering last rites.

To Ashera, the figure's appearance reminded her of the undead she'd heard of from childhood stories. Of course, they weren't real, and even if they were, undead didn't conduct themselves in such a manner, especially one so disjointed as this. But that didn't make this person look any less unsettling. Slowly, nervously, she approached the bedraggled priestess. But not too close. It was filthy enough just being down here.

At the priestess' question, Serena was quick to explain what brought them down here, in her own way. “Princess, not priestess,” Ashera reminded the pirate. “Or... heiress, I suppose? But these are mere semantics, and we can ill afford to waste time...”

The elf gave this scraggly stranger a more thorough once-over, her expression softening at the state she was in. Just how did she even survive all that? “Tell us, are you able to walk unaided? No serious injuries? There is an exit not far from here, if you can make it.”

Maria finished bandaging up her most severe wounds, keeping an ear open as she pulled tight on the final knot.

"I don't take drinks from strangers," she said, seemingly trying to push the potion away with her gaze alone. And definitely not from a gaggle of mild-mannered sewer women; these were the witches three if she'd ever seen 'em. Carried by stuttering steps toward the wall, her shoulder heaved into it and braced against the stonework for support. Fingers gingerly wrapped around her oozing side, her chest rose and fell with long, quiet breaths. Her brow raised slightly while the redhead explained their presence down here in shit city.

"We're on the same page then. Cool. If it turns out I let unvetted help botch the rescue, my ass is smoked. So, try to make my life easy and we'll get along just fine. Otherwise I'll throw all of your rotten carcasses behind bars for obstructing the Order." Maria paused, then followed with, "I can walk. I'm just being dramatic, I'll take a look at my cuts later."

Pushing off the wall, she scanned the debris strewn about the sewer floor and spotted her weapon. She tucked the tip of her boot under the handle and kicked the mace into her hand, latching it to her belt. Her shield was nowhere to be found however, so she knelt beside one of the dead bandits and got to work. Folding his arm over, she gripped the edges of the wooden shield and yanked it from his stiff fingers.

"Oh, by the... way..." Maria grunted, rising to her feet. "I wasn't serious about the prison thing. Just a little joke."
She smiled warmly at them. Maybe genuinely, maybe... not.

Lio looked up from searching the bodies. He flopped the arms of the bandit he was propping up in the shape of a 'W' towards the others with a shrug at Maria's 'reassurance'. Then he let the body drop and hauled himself up, bouncing a small sack in his hand.

"WELL," he interrupted the tension lingering from the threat-or-not, "No ring here. Just a bottle of brown with something living in it, and a bag of -" He put a pause on sloshing around an ale bottle to pull the sack open, and a cloud of grey burst in front of his nose. He pulled the drawstrings closed as he doubled back, coughing. "... That's witchpowder. Raven, catch." He ditched the bag at her, then furiously rubbed at his twitching nose. "You'll think of something to do with it. Don't mind me if I start getting snappy." He pressed a thumb against his nostril and blew out his nose, hard. "Or pass out. We'll take your lead, Solaster."

The group moved on, walking past bodies and rubble. They found one of the grates the bandits escaped through. Lio stepped to the front, paler than usual, and yanked the grate from the doorway. The rust-red metal gave way with a shrill noise.

The party ventured forth. Further and further. The path grew narrow, into an old, brick-laid tunnel. Their steps echoed through the mouldy, dirt-encrusted walls. Faded remnants of graffiti etched upon the tunnels. Images and writings of red hatchets, growing older, darker, and blurrier the further they went.

And then, at the end of their path, they found… a door. Slightly ajar. Broad and thick, with a cool black colour peering between layers of rust. Darkness seeped between the cracks. A droning, rumbling sound came from within, like the growl of an old beast.

This was the only way forward. Lio pushed the door aside. The metal shrieked as it ground against the stone floor. Wilthro's lights shined into the darkness, and revealed…

A towering silhouette. More than eight foot tall, with arms like great oaken logs, held high and stretched far over the party. Strips of bone and carrion dangled from the ceiling like a macabre curtain. Inflamed by the owl's bright lights, the shadow's bellowing growl ascended into a roar, and the party's ears rang from such unearthly vibrations as it lunged for them!

---

Meanwhile, above ground, where the daylight was reflected in sparkles across the canal. The Royal Beaucourt University stood as a shining jewel in the Diamond Quarter. Behind its rustic arched windows, the finest scholars of Arc-en-Lume had conducted their studies and tended to its archives for more than five centuries.Three shapes exited its front doors. A tall, thin human scholar, a stout dwarf with an ink-black beard, and a drow woman in a hood, bound to the dwarf by a silver chain.

“...I’m tellin’ ya, Philibert. This will be the discovery of a lifetime!” The dwarf argued, with a loud and spirited voice wholly typical of his kind. “Think about it! Gala-Dor, home to the first and greatest dwarven kingdom!” The dwarf continued, his arms held high, his hands splayed open for emphasis. “Its significance to history can’t be disputed!”

“Significance to Dwarf history, Hilgur,” the scholar corrected as he pushed his spectacles upon the bridge of his nose. “No offense, but it’s not a subject many in Arc-en-Lume care about.”

Hilgur’s spirit deflated with his shoulders.

The scholar sighed, and looked down upon the dwarf with creased brows. “And that’s not even the biggest issue. This… this map, the one you claim to possess... Where is it?”

Hilgur’s stance turned rigid. His expression grew darker. “I told ya. It’s confidential. Ya’ll just have to have faith.”

The scholar turned away. “Hmph. Well, unfortunately, the University must again refuse your request. We can’t provide investment without evidence.” He glanced at Hilgur from the corner of his eye and turned his nose up. “We are academics. Faith is not empirical. Good day.”

Hilgur watched as the scholar strutted back inside. “Lousy smartass beanpole son of a...,” he uttered under his breath. With a shake of his head, the dwarf walked away, towards a bridge over the canal, with the drow in tow…

...Right into Anais’ view.

“You do know how to laugh, right?” Okay, Blondie was officially beginning to force a complete re-evaluation of Elves and their… odd behaviour. Not that certain knowledge was privy to her in the first place, but damned if there wasn't something creepy about the formality of it all. The way she carried herself, might as well have friends in high places here in Arc en Lume after all.

Serena flicked her attention from the Elf to the priestess, a single brow curling upward at the mention of jail time and the subsequent deflation of just having a laugh at the expense of threatening some strangers. “Flame worshipper with humour, huh? That's news to me.” The one anomaly, or did this one think you broke ice with a deadpan? The pirate managed a giggle. Good enough for her, she guessed. “You could be lying, though. Disarming us by pretending and then arresting us for the sake of it.”

Maybe she was simply accustomed to taking the worst case scenario and bracing for it. Serena didn't want to end up tossed in a dungeon for fun, though. Such a murky environment was only marginally better than her current one, although this had the upside of not being chained to the wall.

“Hey, better keep some of that.” Serena ogled the bag of witch powder with great interest. She wasn't a junky, obviously, but… “Worth a fortune if you know the right people.” She flashed Raven a knowing smirk.

The group soon resumed their navigation through the sewers with a new addition in tow, and Wilthro as the everlasting nightlight. “Lucky he never runs out of power, huh?” The little pirate said jokingly for want of clearing the awkward silence. Deeper they went, acquiring muck and grime along the way, and Serena was inclined to agree with Blondie's desire to take a nice long bath after all this was done.

“Bloody hell!” A deafening growl gave way to several sharp nails digging deep into Serena's flesh, and the pirate would've winced if she didn't already shriek at the looming monstrosity that lurked behind the door. Wilthro let out a frantic screech, clapping his wings and dragging Serena's shoulder with him. Something the pirate didn't appreciate at the worst of times. “GAH! Wilthro, you're hurting me!”

While Raven was quick to temporarily close the entrance between them and the next threat, Serena had managed to calm the poor owl somewhat. Alright, that wasn't a normal thing to see in the sewers. Magic waste or otherwise. “Think you could arm wrestle that thing?” She glanced over at the monk. “I'll bet in your favour if that helps.”

Otherwise, turning around and legging it, praying it couldn't keep up was the next best thing.

There was the flame priestess, of course. But somehow enduring another fiery blaze (and probably being in the middle of it this time around) wasn’t exactly top priority. Or… “Alright Blondie. How about an Elven touch for a change. Don't you breathe magic up there?”

Maria slowly lowered her mace with a frown.

"Well. I was going to beat the shit out of it. I guess now the plan is that we wait about ten seconds first."

Admittedly, the best plan of attack would probably be to put some distance between themselves and the door, and then bombard the thing as soon as it popped out; the combination of the owl's disorienting light, whatever chemical bombs the alchemist had on hand, the elf's bow and arrow, and her own motes of flame would likely be more than enough to give them opportunity for a clean finishing blow. Not that she felt like saying any of this out loud, of course.

After all, what's a battle without the thrill?

As much of a relief as it was to see the priestess comparatively well, Ashera felt just a little put off at the thought of being tossed in jail on a whim. “Then... we shall do our best not to impede you,” the elf replied before whispering to Serena, “Perhaps it's best we play it safe and not draw her ire.”

A cursory picking over the fallen bandits revealed very little. Ashera herself abstained from the looting, not even willing to consider touching such... filthy creatures. Lio, however, recovered a bag stuffed with a certain grey dust, tossing it to Esther. Ashera knew enough from her studies to recognise the substance from its name. “W-witchpowder? As if I weren't already glad enough of these masks...” She knew the stuff to be potent and dangerous in equal measure. No better person to keep hold of it than the trained alchemist.

With their rummaging concluded and another new face among their number, the group set off, deeper into the sewers. It seemed that the further they went, the more dank and decrepit everything was, and the more Ashera longed to be out of these wretched tunnels as soon as possible. Wilthro's eye-beams blazed a trail through the darkness all the while. Ashera fervently wished to ask the bird's owner just how long that light could last, and perhaps a hundred other things about him... but alas, this was neither the time nor the place.

As if to drive that point home, inevitably the next door they opened happened to have something unpleasant waiting for them on the other side. And big. Very, very big. Having sensed a vague, impending peril ahead in advance, Ashera had the foresight to have positioned herself near the rear of the group, bow in hand. But thankfully Esther had the initiative to seal the door with some frost-based concoction. That should buy them... maybe some time.

While the layer of ice splintered and groaned, Ashera's attention was quickly grabbed by Serena asking if she had anything useful to contribute to their predicament. At least, she was pretty sure that's what the pirate had said.

“You know... I may just have the thing.” Without further ado, the elf retrieved an arrow from her quiver – this one tipped with a crystal, faintly glowing from within. Yes... this one should do nicely. “If I could trouble you all to give me a clear shot?” she called out to the others. “When the door gives way, I shall provide you with an opening.”

Once Ashera had the line of sight she needed, she notched the arrow and drew back the bowstring. Her attention was focused on the frozen door, on the very instant that the monster would break through. As the appointed moment drew near, she began to whisper something in Elvish under her breath, causing the crystal arrowhead to glow brighter. Just before the door was opened, Ashera released the bowstring. Her arrow sailed through the door like a small comet, and detonated on impact with its target.

Lio gave the group a flat look with burning red eyes. "You sorted?" He snapped, sniffed, then shook his head. "...Sorry. Here, let me get it."

He gripped the door handle and pulled, the ice cracking against his strength - then it flung open, and he ducked out the way with it, and Ashera's bowstring sprang back as the arrow flew through the doorway.

---

Though Dreador looked still, beneath her hood, her eyes were darting about in sync with her rush of thoughts. She followed the twitch of Anais's fingers, the hand on her chain, the woman's glances at it. Her chin lifted, just enough to raise her sky-blue eyes to meet hers with a wary expression. She lifted a dark, slender finger and wound the silver chain around it. And tugged.