Chapter 2: Hostile Hosts

The hungry adventurers stared at the bounty set before them, but had the manners to properly introduce themselves to the six siblings of the nobleman they’d saved. Once pleasantries were complete, all set upon the meal with varying degrees of voracity. Aida stuffed herself, claiming it was the best thing she’d ever eaten (not saying much considering this was her first meal since losing her memories). Kilkas kept pace, weaving tidbits into his beard for a bedtime snack. The rangers had picked on a bad vibe from the family, and proceeded with more caution than the others.

THUD

The ranger’s caution wasn’t without merit, as their host’s head collided with the table. “Poor chap, we had hoped it would be one of the strangers that drew the poisoned chalice, but alas, our dear brother has been selected by Fate as the Vessel.” whispered the horribly thin sister as the two brothers carried the unconscious out of the room.

“Perhaps, we should all retire for the evening,” stated the large man at the head of the table, “please escort our guests to their quarters.” Disinclined to be disagreeable, the group allowed themselves to be herded back to the bedroom.

Later that evening, something still didn’t sit right with Ethiriel, and she insisted we needed to investigate. All but the priest seemed eager to stir up some trouble, even if they didn’t openly admit it. They exited their room and crept down the hallway. Somehow, they made it to the courtyard without disturbing anyone, but their luck turned when the patrol drew their swords.

Four heavily armed guards rushed our group. Aida and Jarod charged out to meet them, Ethiriel and the mysterious sorcerer took aim through the windows, and the priest seemed conflicted about this conflict. Aida expertly blocked the doorway while Ethiriel picked away at them with her volley of arrows, and Jarod dealt heavy blows with his chain. The four guards soon lay dead at our feet. Aida and Ethiriel each took a sword in case the occasion called for it. We made a weak attempt to hide the bodies, and started to cross the courtyard.

We came to a gate, which divided off a section of the yard for a family chapel. Once through the opening, we spied two monstrous orcs. Both were ghastly white and moved unnaturally. The priest, upon seeing this unholy sight, was no longer in disagreement with the group. He rushed back to grab a shield from the guards, and upon his return, he and Aida charged the brutes.

The two orcs noticed a midget and a scrawny girl rushing towards them, the brutes readied their weapons, but were unprepared for the strength these small beings possessed. Aida and Kilkas collided with their marks, pinning them to the wall long enough a salvo of arrows and magic to find their marks, and for Jarod to catch up. Aida was struggling to keep her mark in check, wishing she had a good sword to end him with. Strange matter flowed from her right hand, crystalizing into what she thought would be the perfect stabbing device, which is what she used it for. The orcs were quickly dispatched.

We heard shouts form beyond the wall, and assumed the alarm had been sounded. We headed for the nearest shelter, the chapel. Once inside, we barred the door and began looking around. While it contained everything you might expect to find in a chapel, there was a thick coating of dust everywhere… everywhere but the floor of the center aisle.

One of the brothers quickly ducked back into the trapdoor he was exiting. He had been sent above-ground to check out the commotion in the courtyard when our unexpected presence in the chapel spooked him. We cautiously followed him. He had a good lead on us, but there was only one path.

The tunnel brought to a filthy room, smeared with blood and feces. Strange hellish symbols were scrawled into the filth. We soon found the ‘artists.’ Another pack of the vaguely potato-shaped peons guarded the pathway. Unfortunately we had their full attention this round. They attacked with wild lunges, trying to skewer us with their gangrenous claws. Quick reflexes and good teamwork thwarted the throng, earning our entrance to the next chamber.

Jarod, being a bit cautious, peeked through the crack left by a hastily shut door. What he saw would frighten most, but strengthened our resolve that we were the hand of a holy crusade, a righteous rebellion, an exalted extermination (take your pick). He described a winged devil; pitchfork, horns, cloven hoof-feet, and pointed-tail; the whole package. After taking a moment to catch our breath, and to pick off some of the filth, we readied our weapons, kicked-in the door, and charged the demon.

Kilkas, eager to smite the overgrown imp, headed the charge; the mighty blow from his hammer flattened the fiend to the wall. Two arrows sped from Ethiriel’s bow and sunk deep into the devil’s chest. Jarod whipped his chain over the dwarf’s head, and buried itself in the fiend’s face. Aida leapt past her comrades, becoming a human spear, tipped with her soulknife (in her gut, she knew that was what it should be called). The girl sheathed her soulknife in its stomach, sending the dumbfounded demon back to the hell from which it came.

In the final chamber, we found the family chanting around their unconscious brother. A feeling of dread came over us as we passed through the doorway, but it quickly passed. Three of the chanting siblings broke off of the circle to fight us. Aida and Kilkas charged the two who drew melee weapons, and Jarod positioned himself to split their attention. Ethiriel and the sorcerer sent a wave of missiles speeding the one who seemed to lead the chant.

As each sibling fell, another took his place, defending the chanters who eagerly tried to finish the spell. One had summoned more of those disgusting hell-spuds and they had taken a liking to Kilkas and Jarod. The sorcerer battled it out with a sister who favored a wand that made her touch burn like white-hot embers. One by one, all the siblings were defeated, but not without dealing significant damage to us.

The spell that the coven had been chanting was not completed. Fortunate for us, not so much for their brother. His body was left in a twisted, mutilated conglomeration of man and devil. We kindly ended his pained existence.

We returned upstairs to find that the townsfolk had finally risen up against the horrible rumors they knew to be true, and stormed the manor. They had laid waste to all the guards and servants they could find, and were about to break in the chapel door when we came around the side. They seemed relieved to hear of our total victory, and disappointed they weren’t a part of the battle.

That week the town was our oyster, we drank ourselves silly in any tavern that would hear our tale. We proudly displayed the horned-head and barbed tail of the defeated devil, embellishing the story with more hardship and flair until it grew into an epic. We found shops to sell the loot we did not care to carry, and made off with a handsome profit.

Our tale of ‘Dining with Devils’ soon became old-hat, and the ale didn’t flow so freely for the town heroes the week after. The townsfolk returned to their lives, and we were out for one last hurrah before we parted ways, when we stumbled upon a bloody corpse…