Chapter 2

In which Yuri makes new friends and learns to compromise

Inside, the cathedral was dark.  So dark that Yuri had to pause just inside the door and wait for his eyes to adjust.  The door slammed shut on a violent blast of wind as though it had been pushed by the hand of Pharasma herself... surely she wasn’t angry with him too?

Around him there were several devotees praying peacefully in various pews but the cathedral was bustling, full of hooded acolytes and black-robed priestesses moving to and fro on their various tasks.

One particularly young acolyte passed close to him, darted him a glance from beneath her hood, screamed and fled.

Surprised, Yuri glanced down.  Anatalia’s scarf lay in a crumpled pile on the floor, apparently having been blown off by the gust of wind when the door closed.  Shrugging, he bent to retrieve it.

As he straightened, an imposing woman in the black and blood-red robes of a high priestess came sweeping up the aisle towards him, her icy blue eyes disapproving as she tossed a bundle of rough-hewn brown fabric at his chest.  He caught and unfurled it.  It was an acolyte’s robe. 

He looked at the woman in confusion.

“Put it on.”  She snapped, “We only help those who are decently covered.”

“I cannot.” He replied, “I have taken a vow of nudity – and I will not wear a dress.”

She smiled, “Then we cannot help you and I must ask you to leave.”

Panic pierced Yuri’s gut, if he could not garner the help of these mumbling priests he would be cursed forever to roam the world, unable to indulge in the pleasures of a woman.  That would not do.  “Very well.”  He conceded regally, “I shall dress and then I shall return.”

***

Several hours of haggling later Yuri returned to the temple clothed only in a plain brown leather vest and the simple, rough-hewn pants of a peasant, Anatalia’s scarf wound around his waist as a belt to hold up his whip.  It did not take him long to find the woman who had thrown him out earlier.  She stood in the main aisle, deep in conversation with a hooded stranger. 

As he approached them they glanced at him and Yuri was surprised to see that the stranger’s face was, in fact, that of a bird.  His cloak’s hood was drawn low over his face, but Yuri could still see that his black feathers had a blue-green sheen and his eyes small, black and bird-like.  A strange white streak in his feathers led from his eye down below the collar of his dusty travelling clothes.

“I have returned.”  Yuri said majestically, “And I would like some help with my... ahem, problem.”

The priestess glanced at the stranger, who nodded and moved off, following a faceless, hand-wringing acolyte through a small side door.

“What is your problem, supplicant?” She asked coolly.

Yuri shifted uncomfortably, “I have been cursed by a cleric of Pharasma for reasons I would rather not go into... it has left me, Yuri the Magnificent, pleaser of countless women, no longer able to... rise to the occasion.”

The priestess looked him up and down, “I see.  I believe we can help you however our services are not free.  First you will help us.  Agreed?”

Yuri nodded, “Anything to cure myself of this vile curse.”

“Good.” She grinned, “Follow me then.” She swept through a small side door without looking back.

The stranger from earlier sat in the room beyond, ensconced in a chair at one corner of a large table, his hood drawn low, beady black eyes watching the door with guarded interest.

Yuri seated himself on the opposite side of the table, “I am Yuri the Magnificent.” He said, “What may I call you?”

The stranger clacked his beak once and said in a raspy, squawking voice, “Magpie.”

They sat in silence.

Soon a tall man dressed in the style of a renaissance plague doctor was ushered in by another acolyte.  Every visible inch of his green-tinted half-orcish skin was pock-marked and soaked in mysterious, swirling tattoos.  At the belt of his dark red and green robes hung a strange, hook-nosed mask which Magpie eyed with obvious disapproval and mild offense.

A few moments later, at precisely one minute to midnight an exotic-looking, honey-skinned man strolled into the room, waving a haughty hand to dismiss the acolyte who could not seem to stop staring at the mark of Pharasma burned into the flesh of his bare shoulder.  His head was bald on top, but a short black beard grew on his face.  He was dressed in the flowing clothes that Osiriani merchants seemed to favour.

He was closely followed by two more people who staggered into the room, arm in arm and smelling strongly of drink.  The first was a large man wearing nothing but a loin cloth, his tall body built of layer upon layer of sinewy muscle.  His hair was blackish, long and greasy and there was a curved sword hanging at his waist. 

Yuri would have to have been blind not to know that this man was one of the fabled barbarians of the north lands.

His companion was a woman, mid-height and slim.  She was pleasingly curved, wearing a snug mixture of leather and cloth.   She was lovely but for the distinct lack of eyebrows and curious burn-marks on her forearms.  As she swept around Yuri to fondle the hooked mask on the plague doctor’s belt he noted with some dismay that she smelled strongly of sulphur and alcohol. 

She lifted her eyes to Magpie saying, “Hey!  Is that a mask too?”  To everyone’s horror she approached the bird-man, firmly grasping his beak and yanking on his face.  Magpie retaliated with a beak-snap and loud squawk, drawing blood.

The girl pulled her hand back, “Ah, a feisty one, I see.”  She peered deeper into the hood, “Wait.  Don’t I know you from the boat?  I do!  Oh my gods it’s you!”

The stranger sighed, “By the gods, I thought you’d died.”  His tone suggested more that he’d hoped.

“Not yet.” She grinned, bouncing over to plunk into a seat next to the barbarian.

After a rousing round of introductions the room fell into an awkward silence.

After an uncomfortably long moment an austere looking woman entered, Yuri recognised her as the priestess from earlier.

“I am Valanth Nerisia, cryptmistress of the Godsmouth ossuary,” she proclaimed, “and I’ve brought you all here for a purpose.  Bodies have been disappearing from the ossuary.  This obviously reflects badly on us as the bodies put there tend to have belonged to very wealthy citizens of Kaer Maga.  We need someone to get to the bottom of these disappearances.  The crypt itself is also likely inhabited by a few monsters.  Whilst you are down there I would like them cleared out.  We do this once a year and are long overdue.”

Yuri blinked.  By the seven veils, these Kaer Magians were even stranger than his mothers had warned.

“I can offer a reward for stopping whoever is behind the disappearing bodies,” She continued, “as well as an additional reward for clearing out the monsters: 500 gold crowns for unravelling this macabre mystery, and another 250 for clearing out the monsters.  In addition, you may keep anything that you come across which is not a Pharasman relic.  The only thing I ask is that you keep this quiet.  We do not want it getting out that the bodies in the ossuary are not secure.”

She offered the group the remainder of the night to rest and asked that they be back at the first light of day to begin their task.

The disappointingly dumb girl and her drinking partner wandered out again - presumably to continue drinking - while the rest of them found a place to rest.

*****

As the rising sun kissed the cliffs of Kaer Maga daylight found the unlikely group of six back in the room off the main section of the Godsmouth cathedral; rested, clothed, armed and armoured.  Valanth wasted no time in ushering them silently down into the ossuary, guiding them down a narrow, twisting path and through the Mouth of the Unnamed King.

She walked directly past the upper levels, where priests were busy preparing the dead for burial, and down a series of steep, winding staircases, finally stopping before a large, imposing door.

She spoke, “This is the only known door into the lower levels of the crypts.  Once you pass through it we will lock it behind you to prevent anything... unpleasant which you may release from escaping.”

The woman, who called herself Valeria, spoke up, “Umm... how are we supposed to get back out if the door’s locked?”

Valanth eyed the woman with strained patience and reached into a sack dangling from her arm, withdrawing a number of tiny, plain vials.  Some were filled with a translucent blue liquid and others with something resembling water, “Take the blue potion if you find yourself injured,” she instructed, “It will aid in the healing of your wounds.  The other vial is simply holy water, to be used against any... undead things you may come across down there.  Use these wisely for you are only allowed one each.” 

Once those were distributed she withdrew a hollow silvery metal tube from inside her robe, handing it to Valeria as she said, “This is a device to assist you in opening locked doors.  Strike it once and the tone it produces will open any lock, no matter how complicated. You may use it five times before it loses its potency... I suggest you save one of those uses to get back out.”

With that she withdrew a heavy-looking iron key and unlocked the door, opening it to reveal a tightly spiralling staircase on the other side.  The half-orc, Davros, sucked in a deep breath and secured his hook-beaked mask to his face, ready for anything.

Just before they could plunge intrepidly into the darkness an acolyte came running full tilt down the hall calling, “Cryptmistress!  Cryptmistress!  Someone demands to see you!”

The acolyte stepped aside, revealing a lovely red-haired gnomish woman holding an enormous spear twice her height.  She waved awkwardly and smiled, “Hi.  I’m Olivine.” She said, yellow eyes friendly.

Valanth appraised her cooly and nodded, “Excellent, the final member of our little group.  What kept you?”

Olivine shrugged, “I was... detained.  Sorry.”

Valanthe merely looked displeased and gestured them through the door. 

Valeria bent and picked up a stone, muttering some words over it.  The stone began to glow and she handed it to the barbarian, who went first down the stairs.

Winding down into the pitch black, the glowing stone their only light, they moved cautiously, finally emerging into a small stone chamber. Each of the three walls was broken by a single door sealed with a heavy bronze medallion emblazoned with the symbol of Pharasma.

No sooner had the gnome, the last of their group, cleared the bottom stair than the room was plunged into an unnatural, choking darkness that smothered every light source they’d carried with them. 

There were shouts and shuffling; chaos as everyone struggled to find light again or pierce the darkness in some other way.  A hideous leathery flapping sound came from the stairwell behind them and Yuri heard the gnome woman scream as the chamber filled with the sound of claws scrabbling against armour and flesh.

Akura, the Osiriani, split the air with a battle cry as he shoved his way back through the group in an attempt to save Olivine.  A wet thump followed his yell, his fist connecting with something unpleasant.  Something that sounded suspiciously like a heavy weapon whizzed past Yuri’s nose, cracking harmlessly into the stone floor before him.  He pasted himself against the wall as another blade zinged through the air, narrowly missing him.  Damned fools were going to kill each other, swinging their weapons blindly in the dark like that.

The gnome yelled again and there was a sound of something liquid splashing into the wall next to Yuri’s hand, followed by a hissing sound as it ate into the stone.  Acid.  Brilliant choice.

The barbarian, whose breathing had been growing steadily heavier, screamed with rage and charged his way through the party, swinging his weapon wildly before him and muttering something about “cursed unnatural darkness.”

A moment later Davros’ voice cut through the general chaos as he exclaimed, “By the great balls of the destroyer, this is ridiculous!”  With a plink and a grunt the half-orc hurled something towards the noise.  It landed with a metallic thunk, a booming thud echoing off the walls seconds later.  A heartbeat later there was a wet thump as the mysterious creature finally died, the heavy darkness dissipating as though the creature had been emitting it.

“A darkmantle.” Someone muttered, “Perfect.”

The gnome was shaking slightly, claw marks all over her face, “That... that could’ve killed me.”

Davros moved to the left, “Let’s start here.” He fiddled with the lock for a moment before saying, “This must be some kind of magical lock thingie... Valeria, where’s that tube the priestess gave you, I think we’ll need it to open this door.”

“You mean this tube?”  Magpie squawked, producing it from his cloak.

Valeria sputtered, “How.. how did you?”

Magpie laughed, “You should pay more attention to your things.”

Valeria leapt at the Magpie, hands grasping for the tube.

“I’m tired of you two children.” Davros sighed, striking the silver tube in his hand once on the door before slipping it into his clothing as the bird-man and woman looked at him in shock.  No one had seen the man move, let alone take the rod and replace it with the two shiny stones currently glittering in their palms.

The door fell open, revealing a long room ending in another, unsealed set of doors.  Next to the doors stood a strange statue; half snake, half woman with a disc for a head.

“That’s a statue of Lissala.” Davros muttered, “One of the old Thassilonian gods.”

Frellik shrugged and moved past it to the doors, clearly not fascinated by old relics.  These doors pushed open with no resistance revealing a long hallway, two passages branching off to the right and a single wooden door on the left.  Clearly a man of action instead of words, the barbarian pressed on through the doors, glancing down the passages before trying the simple door to his right.  It didn’t move.  With a growl he kicked it in.

Two voices rose in shrieks from the darkness as two shadowy figures drew their swords and attacked.  But after a brief, furious battle the new friends prevailed, handily slaughtering the two bird-like creatures.  Already they were starting to work better as a team.

When the dust settled they saw that the room beyond was richly decorated; plated thinly in gold and semi-precious jewels.  It was obviously dedicated to greed, one of the old Thassilonian virtues of leadership. A few of them paused to pry some gems out of their settings before moving on down the first of the two hallways to try one of the six doors that lined it.

The first room was bare save for a single scroll of remove paralysis and a large circle drawn on the floor in silver powder and designed to contain evil.  It was broken, but the threat seemed to be long gone.  The austerity of the room suggested it was dedicated to sloth.

The next room, directly across the hall from the first, was covered in bright paintings of triumph over gods, peacock feathers and the like.  On biers in the centre of the room were several bodies all looking exactly as they had the day they died.  They soon realized that everything in the room was an illusion.  Yuri shook his head, reasoning that it must be dedicated to pride, but how could pride be a bad thing?

The walls of the following room were covered in shockingly graphic images of orgies.  The blood and bones of unfortunate critters littered the floor around the feet of a creature with the bloated body of a human woman, hooked claws for hands and a massive, toothy lower jaw which split into two halves.  Suddenly the thing lurched forward, attacking.  The barbarian began to laugh as the group flailed and slashed at the creature, attempting to beat it back.  The creature landed several successful blows before the barbarian managed to pull himself out of his laughing fit long enough to grip his sword firmly in both hands and cleave the thing from collarbone to crotch.

Davros, rifled through a cabinet against the wall, pulling out two vials; an elixir of love and a potion of eagle’s splendour.  Meanwhile the gnome was salvaging about 400gp in jewellery off of the dead thing.

The next room was locked, both with a mundane lock and magical wards.  In the interests of moving forward, they agreed to skip the room and press on for now.

Frellik pushed forward to the next door.  Inside it was full of biers, bodies and embalming tools.  With a groan, one of the bodies sat up, its torso rotting, skin straining over its bloated body.

Akura and Frellik advanced, swinging wildly at the thing.  Their blows did some damage, but bounced off as though the skin were thick rubber.  Davros threw a bomb, which detonated with a boom at the creature’s feet.  In reply the creature swung a meaty fist, connecting with the monk’s jaw and sending him reeling.  With a mighty swing of his scimitar, Frellik finally managed to kill the creature.  It exploded in a shower of fine, fungal dust which the barbarian accidentally inhaled, choking and spluttering.  The plague doctor moved forward, purging Frellik’s lungs of the dust. They found only two shining black onyxes worth 50 gold each which sat safely tucked away atop a cabinet against the far wall.