Outside of the cave entrance Cedric stayed back and let the people with better-suited eyesight go in for a look. The young priest didn’t feel at all confident about going underground into a dark place where there might be gigglers lurking behind every rock. To his logically organised mind, it was total madness; suicide even. But Cedric’s mind was not the sharpest of the group. He knew it and accepted it. Smarter people than him were in charge for a very good reason. He tried to approach the situation from all angles, but couldn’t force it to make any sense.

The thought of divine, magical light made him calm down though. It brought back a memory from a few years back when he was sixteen and about to graduate (a fancy word for a short ceremony in morning light) from the Monastery of Eternal Illumination… 

It was on a fine, warm, evening of their fifteenth Autumn, one coloured by the setting sun and reddening leaves when Cedric and a fellow student called Tamas were summoned by Abbot Pleat to join him in his private quarters on the second floor of the monastery’s library. The boys were well aware of the large, but simple room with a single window and a lockless door. But neither had ever been inside. They’d heard rumours from olders students saying the Abbot’s room was filled with untold treasures or was in fact the armoury of the peaceful monastery or as the naughtiest of tongues suggested, it was a place where the Abbot satisfied his relentless sexual hunger with both boys and girls and sometimes both at the same time.

So when the call came, the lads cast a worried look at each other, but really had no idea what to expect. Tamas and Cedric were the only ones in their class who had managed to advance so far in the hard tuition. Their teachers were kind and helpful, but at the same time very, very demanding. And then there was the matter of covering the costs of the education too. Each student was expected to pay the monastery no less than two full Royals, every year. The golden coins were rarely seen in the hands of people of their standing. Both boys were from lowly peasant families, but both of their fathers already had elder sons to one day take over the farm. So Tamas and Cedric had in a sense been fortunate enough to get a chance to take on studies at the only school within 200 miles from their village.

The students were allowed to work for small pay at the monastery in addition to their daily chores. And some even left the peace and quiet of the place for a few weeks every year to work on farms or the mill in the nearby town of Redfall. But planting turnips or harvesting oats was hard work and the pay was generally not very good. And jobs at the mill were hardly better. So coming up with the needed money was not easy and without help from their families, neither of the lads would’ve been there that day.

As they stepped through the door into abbot’s chamber, both boys relaxed and nearly sighed in relief. Clearly no orgies or flagellation was going to take place and they couldn’t see any piles of gold or racks of swords in the room either. It was just a simple study with a bed, table and three chairs inside. Abbot Pleat asked the boys to sit down and asked them to pray with him. And pray they did, for hours. When the morning had turned first into a day and then into afternoon, Cedric had already guessed what it was all about. They had been summoned without any notice for their final examination and tests. There was no chance for last minute cramming.

During the rest of the day, teachers of different subjects visited the room and fired questions at the lads. Some where simple to answer, while others required more concentration and consideration. There were tests for their memory, smarts and wisdom. There were queries of the teachings of Solanis. There were questions about the history of the monastery, the religion, the nation of Ertain and even the World. They had to come up with solutions in difficult situations where the choice often had to be made between two evils.

When darkness had fallen and the day had finally turned into evening, both Cedric and Tamas were exhausted mentally and surprisingly also physically. They’d had nothing to eat the whole day and very little to drink too. So when the Abbot stood up, called for the other teachers to join them in the chamber and congratulated the boys, they could only hug each other in silence, happy. But they day was not over. The Abbot threw a feast that lasted well into the night in their honor at the refectory before summoning them into his quarters once more. It was then that he told them the most sacred secret of the Monastery of Eternal Illumination:

“For two hundred and seventeen years, our priests have been chosen by our Lord Solanis to spread his light into Ertain. The Radiant Father in his omniscient wisdom appeared to my predecessor of the time, Father Thoma and taught him a certain holy ritual we will now go through together. As part of the original ritual the Lord promised to permanently share a small part of his power to the friars of our monastery on the day of their graduation to the service of the Luminary. This power, which I on behalf of our Lord will now bestow upon you, will allow you both to summon magical light without the need of praying for divine powers. Sometimes, as you will doubtlessly one day find out, there simply is no time or possibility to say prayers to the Blazing Star. During those moments, His light can mean a world of difference in the survival of you or someone else.”

The young priest, or in fact friar, was still deep in thought when the group came upon the first door in the cave, one marked by the laughing skull of D’hurgen. The symbol made Cedric remember the giggling ghouls and shiver. The gasp let out by Kithran brought the cleric out of his thoughts. At first he believed the undead had already ambushed them, but quickly realised the rogue had experienced something when she examined the door. Cedric was about to ask what happened, when sharp words started flying in the gloom cave between his friends and Davena. He couldn’t quite understand what had happened. Why did the blonde woman’s voice have such an edge to it? Still silent, Cedric observed how the situation developed ready to act if need be. Fortunately the thing, whatever it had been, passed as quickly as it had appeared and Aranwen moved ahead to try the door again. The Syl seemed to flinch just like Kith had, but Cedric really couldn’t be sure if she had or if he had just imagined it.

The door opened to reveal a small room lit by strange green flames, an antechamber leading to a second doorway beyond which a much larger room was visible. Another door awaited, but this time as Kith examined it, there was no gasping or flinching and even Midge confirmed the portal bore no magics. The tunnel behind the door was just as quiet as the room was, almost disturbingly so. Everyone took their places like they had planned earlier and they headed down the hallway in single file. Cedric felt uneasy about the silence. He felt like the gigglers could be leaping at them at any moment. 

And then! There it was. A giggle in the dark ahead! And then there was another, this time behind them! Trapped in a tunnel with ghouls on either side, the cleric felt an involuntary shiver of fear in the small of his back. Things looked bad, but then they turned even worse. Chanting, not completely unlike that of Midge’s or even his own could be heard from somewhere. And the moment it ended, adarkness fell on Cedric and judging by the surprised cries of his companions, them as well. A darkness so thick he couldn’t even see the light from their torches.

Panic struck Cedric when he heard the third giggling sound all too close. He knew they needed to act fast and that was when Abbot Pleat’s words rang in his mind. “Sometimes there simply is no time to say prayers…” Grasping the holy disc hanging on a chain around his neck, the young priest summoned the piece of Solanis’s power bound within his soul and cast a spell of light to cancel magical darkness around them. 

Silently doing as instructed and keeping his head on a swivel as they traverse the tunnels, Moreno can't help the ghastly images of his nightmares from grinning at him within every shadow. The air is cooler but the priest sweats with gallows anticipation the further they proceed unchallenged. His death is something that the battle priest has come to terms with but the horrid end that could be his friends is intolerable. Thus is his mind occupied when past the glaring torch he hears the first spine chilling giggles.

"Behind me, Kithran!" the bladesinger calls, her commanding voice echoing off of the green-flushed walls. Gib shifts his shield before him and adjusts his grip upon the hilt of his sword, settling himself on the balls of his feet as his companions shuffle into new positions before him.

Haunting notes prick at his ears, penetrating the protective covering of his helmet, and he immediately realizes the implications. Turning on the heel of his left boot, the cleric of Therassor faces the rear position and steps as close to the Kazari as he dares to avoid interfering with his companion's effectiveness. 

Two... we've dealt with two before without Davena and Garn, Gib sets his jaw and brings his longsword up over his right shoulder to stab down and underneath Ch'dau's strike... then, over the scraping and rustling of feet and clothing, Moreno hears the foul and oily ancient words of prayer and his voice catches in his throat drowned in the darkness. Therassor protect us! Grinding noises answer him from overhead freeing another wretched giggling and then comes Davena’s scream. 

“Bhak’chu’s balls,” the Kazari growls and Moreno hears the distinct whistle of his friend's blade through the air. “Your shoulder to mine, Gib, let us not lose sense of our own positions in this!”

"Focus!" Aranwen calls out, "Recall the hall in your mind - feel the slope! Cedric, face down the slope and step to your right. Garn, turn up the slope and stay to your right - help Davena! Gib, Ch'dau, keep the back ghoul from us. Get ready to move."

“As you say, khatun,” Ch’dau growls in reply, seemingly right on top of the battle cleric. Then, the big warrior calls to their mage, “If there is anything you might do to dispel this accursed darkness, little one, now is the time!”

"Attack, Ch'dau! Keep talking. We've another between us and our friends," Gib calls out with heated fervor. Now, we will dispose of this evil and send the priests of D'hurgen to their god! His visions of friends' faces on ghoul bodies have vanished, the darkness taking them like moths to a flame. Practiced devotions and prayers that are burned into his mind by repeat study are instinctively reviewed and Gib subconsciously knows that any of the miracles the Battle Lord may be willing to provide in this fight will come through his sword arm.

“Swing high, Ara, I’ll trip them up from below.” Kith's soft voice spills into the chaos of blackened battle. Attempting to gain a sense of where the enemies are and loathe to strike out without that knowledge, Gib's heart leaps with Cedric's prayer.

"Yes!" Moreno grins and closes his eyes to prepare his vision from being burned by the sure to come instant sunlight. As soon as his lids turn red, the warrior priest's eyes pop open and seek his target... the rear attacking ghoul, with any second to spare trying to pinpoint the position of the opposing priest.

The the utter darkness, the attack of the giggling obcenities against both flanks threatens to instill unthinking teror into even the stoutest of hearts.  If not for years of training and experience, the warriors might not have been able to stand firm.

“If there is anything you might do to dispel this accursed darkness, little one, now is the time!” Ch'dau roars to Midge.  The little mage shakes his head, not than anyone can see that fact.  "I have no spells of light, no way to break the spells of others!" he nigh wails.  At the giggling of the third ghoul - and Davena's scream - the cid begin a chant of his own.

Aranwen slashes out, high, though she does not connect... the invisible ghoul steps inside of her guard and sinks fangs into her forearm.  The Bladesinger can feel the grip of the grave reach into her bones, but she is able to resist the cold evil. 

At the rear, the second creature leaps in, thinking to flank Ch'dau, only to run into Gib's shield.  The warrior priest holds firm, giving the Kazari the opening he needs to drive a falcatta deep into its rotting guts.

Midge may lack a way to counteract darkness, but Cedric knows that the Radiant Father has given him just such a blessing.  Gripping the shining disk of Solanis, the priest entreats the god of light and life to bestow light upon the party, and the deity immediately responds, melting the darkness away. 

In an instant, the crippling darkness is gone.  The corridor is hardly well lit; the divine influence of each priest has merely cancelled the other out.  But the greenish glow is visible once more, as is the warmer torchlight. 

One would think that, in such a desperate struggle for survival against the living dead, the ability to once again see would bring a measure of comfort those who oppose them.

In this case, it does no such thing.

Oh, the light does reveal the giggling creatures well enough, allowing Aranwen to take advantage and cleave the lead ghoul nearly in half.  But not everything revealed is so comforting...

"DAVENAAAAAAAA!!!!!" Garn screams in anguish.  A glance at the big warrior's position reveals that the blonde women is... gone.  There is no trace of her in the hall whatsoever.

Gib stabs the rear ghoul, and while it is so pinnned, Ch'dau finishes it off with a vicious strike. 

The incapacitated ghoul lying at Aranwen's feet somehow manages to choke out another giggle, its mouth wide in an expression of hilarity as it stares towards the middle of the group.

In the moment, it becoes obvious that Kithran is also missing.

Aranwen's golden eyes were cold as the steel she wielded as she cut down the ghoul before her, ending her song with a sharp cry. She looked down at her left forearm and grimaced. But the lingering pain was soon forgotten.

At Garn's cry she turned, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the hall at the middle of the group. No ghoul, no Davena. 

No Kithran. 

The bladesinger lost her composure in that moment, her lips twisted in a soundless snarl, hardly paying attention to the blood dripping from her arm as she clenched her fingers white. She could have screamed. But she clenched her jaw. 

"Not. Again." 

Aranwen walked up to beside Cedric, motioning him to step back, before she brought the flat of her blade against both walls beside her, one then the other. Lastly she considered the floor, blade pointed down and quivering in her hand. But she stepped back. 

Taking a breath, Aranwen turned, looking down the passage once more, forcing herself to calm her breathing. She kept her sword drawn.

"We move," she told the others, "No point in trying to hide our movements now. We will catch up with them. Be ready to fight."

Not this time. Not if I can help it. 

Yet as Aranwen steeled herself once more, she heard a chilling voice from a distant memory echo forward through time, Always looking forward, like good wooden soldiers lined up in a child's toy army. Never do you look at what you want to protect.

"I couldn't see," she grit her teeth, muttering under her breath, "This doesn't count."

Even in the dark, Ch’dau and Gib worked well together as a team. The priest’s discipline and the kazari’s savagery went a fair way to holding the giggler that approached from the party’s rear at bay, even if putting it down wasn’t quite entirely accomplished until the light returned. The pleasure that Ch’dau found in seeing the ghouls vanquished in the Solanis’ light was short-lived, though. It was the scant two beatings of his heart following the light’s return in which Garn’s anguished shout echoed along the hall and, from the front of the line, Aranwen’s angry words murmured through the dank air…

“Not. Again.”

Something in the tone of the Bladesinger’s voice… something in the way the sounds wafted to his ears as if uttered from behind clenched teeth… bid the Kazari to turn and, in the same instant, warned him against doing so. He did, of course, and, at first, only registered the distraught Garn lamenting the apparent loss of Devena. The blonde woman was nowhere to be seen. Then, as if a single blink had clarified the picture he now viewed, Ch’dau realized that Kithran, too, was missing from the party’s formation.

“No…” He growled, the sound deep and low in his chest, to being with. Then, louder, even as Therassor’s cleric pressed a hand into the fur of the Kazari’s chest in an attempt to restrain him. “NOOOOO!!! KITHRAN!!!”

Had it been anyone other than Gib (or, perhaps, Aranwen) who had attempted to restrain him in that moment, the Silver Cat might have mindlessly torn through them in order to charge off in search of his missing friend. As it was, though, the Kazari found himself held back by the solid bracing of Moreno’s shield pressed to his chest, the soft words and promises of satisfaction uttered by the priest, and, of course, the determination that now burned in Ara’s eyes. The cool, burnished gold of her gaze now molten and angry…

The Bladesinger trod the length of the fetid corridor between the vanguard and Cedric, motioning aside the priest whose call upon his Lord had saved what remained of them. As the young man stepped away, Aranwen clanged the flat of her blade against one wall and then the other, searching, perhaps, for any sign of the passageways which might have granted passage of the third giggler to the troupe’s heart. Finding no such sign, the Syl woman drew in a deliberate breath and, with scarcely a glance needed in the kazari’s direction, turned back to survey the passageway ahead, refusing to sheathe her blade.

“We move,” she said, not bothering to offer up the plan for debate or deliberation, “No poinht in trying to hide our movements now. We will catch up with them. Be ready to fight.”

Ch’dau’s response, at first, came in more of a snarling Kazari dialect than it did one of intelligible Apanonese but, as the Bladesinger stalked back to her position at the front of the line, the big cat managed a few words. “Ara,” he growled, using the foreshortening of her name for the first time in this company, “give me the fore and I swear by Rrowl’s tooth and claw that nothing will stop me until we find her…” his narrowed gaze flicked briefly to Garn, then, and back to Aranwen just as quickly and he amended… “THEM…” Still blocked by Gib’s shield, the Silver Cat’s features softened (if only a bit) from demanding to imploring. “Please, Khatun,” he growled, a fraction softer now, “I promised her… you know this…”

((OOC: Okay… there’s the kitty offering himself up as the meat-shield going forward. Up to Aranwen (and the rest) as to whether or not this happens, of course. Just felt appropriate that he would at least ask. Also, minor liberties taken with Gib, here… If he’d have done otherwise, I trust Brom to let me know and will edit as needed.))

Stinking, rotting appendages flail about the edges of Moreno's shield. The soles of his boots slip on the damp stone as the creature presses against his defenses. A glancing blow careens off the crown of his helmet giving the priest cause to lower his head further to protect his face. The Kazari's attack is felt and heard, providing Gib with an instinctual moment to drive his blade home, pinning the squirming beast. Grunting against the twisting on the end of his sword, Moreno feels a spurt of hope as his lids bleed the returned light. Opening his eyes, the warrior priest grits his teeth, withdraws the length of steel from the undead core and watches with satisfaction as it crumples to the floor.

Doubt easily invades when a soul's purpose is reduced or in the face of failure. That Gib has been facing the pitiless sucking creature since Kithran's terrible encounter isn't something even he will deny. In the bare face of their current losses, doubt is staved off out of pure necessity.

“No…” Ch'dau growls, the sound deep and low in his chest to begin with, only to grow louder to the point where Moreno instinctively tucks his gory blade under his shield arm and uses his gloved right hand to hold his big friend back. “NOOOOO!!! KITHRAN!!!”

"She lives still, friend," Gib whispers feeling his own doubt change to determination with his words. "We will find them together."

Shifting his position so that he can better survey the rest of his companions, Moreno uses his shield to continue his contact with the lamenting Kazari.

The Bladesinger strides the length of the fetid corridor between the vanguard and Cedric, motioning aside the priest whose miracle had saved them from the darkness. As the young man steps away, Aranwen clangs the flat of her blade against one wall and then the other, searching, perhaps, for any sign of the passageways which might have granted passage for the third giggler into the troupe’s heart. Finding no such sign, the Syl woman draws in a deliberate breath and, with scarcely a glance needed in the Kazari’s direction, turns back to stare at the passageway ahead, refusing to sheathe her blade.

“We move,” she declares, not bothering to offer up the plan for debate or deliberation, “No point in trying to hide our movements now. We will catch up with them. Be ready to fight.”

Ch’dau’s response, at first, comes in more of a snarling Kazari dialect than it does one of intelligible Apanonese but, as the Bladesinger stalks back to her position at the front of the line, the big cat manages a few words.

“Ara,” he growls, using the foreshortening of her name for the first time in this company, “give me the fore and I swear by Rrowl’s tooth and claw that nothing will stop me until we find her…” his narrow gaze flicks briefly to Garn, then, and back to Aranwen just as quickly and he amends… “THEM…” Still blocked by Gib’s shield, the Silver Cat’s features soften (if only a bit) from demanding to imploring. “Please, Khatun,” he growls, a fraction softer now, “I promised her… you know this…”

While Gib feels the urgency he cannot disregard their need for caution. "While we certainly cannot afford to tarry long, rushing forward blindly will not serve anyone but the enemy.

"Allow me to implore the Battle Lord to give insight into potential traps in our path. We've already encountered one and been ambushed despite our best defenses. Let's not fail our companions by falling prey to more.

"And while I pray, perhaps Cedric will implore the Lord of Light to care for..." taking his sword in hand again, the warrior priest uses it to point to the blade singer's wounded arm.

(OOC: Gib's intention is to cast Find Traps. If I read the spell description correctly, it should last for a half hour.)

“Ara,” he growls, using the foreshortening of her name for the first time in this company, “give me the fore and I swear by Rrowl’s tooth and claw that nothing will stop me until we find her…” his narrow gaze flicks briefly to Garn, then, and back to Aranwen just as quickly and he amends… “THEM…” Still blocked by Gib’s shield, the Silver Cat’s features soften (if only a bit) from demanding to imploring. “Please, Khatun,” he growls, a fraction softer now, “I promised her… you know this…”

Aranwen looked back to Ch'dau, her face unreadable for a moment. Just a moment. Internally, she wanted to hold the front. Was it pride? Perhaps a little; it took no more than a second look inward to know why. But that moment passed, and her eyes softened around the edges as she nodded, "Of course," She managed a smile.

"While we certainly cannot afford to tarry long, rushing forward blindly will not serve anyone but the enemy," Gib offered

Aranwen felt her jaw clench. Every moment that passed was another which could be spent searching for her daughter and Davena. Not that she'd ever admit aloud to seeing herself in the place of Kithran's mother, especially not to Kithran. A Syl mother had failed her once already; Kithran had no need for a second.

"Allow me to implore the Battle Lord to give insight into potential traps in our path. We've already encountered one and been ambushed despite our best defenses. Let's not fail our companions by falling prey to more," Gib continued.

The sound reasoning tempered Aranwen's haste, and once more she relented, taking measured breaths and holding the fear back, "Yes, you are right, Gib," She nodded, "We can't afford to fail them. Especially not here. Please, do what you can."

As she walked to Gib to let Ch'dau forward, she added, "And Gib? Thank you."

Using the power permanently stored inside of his body did not feel quite the same as praying for the power of his God directly. But cancelling the darkness with a spell of his own did make Cedric feel proud of himself for a split of a second. A fleeting thought in the back of his mind wondered whether this was how Midge felt every time he used his magic...

As blackness subsided and he took in the view, there was a slight tremble of fear within Cedric. Strangely enough, for a short moment the idea of fighting the ghouls in total darkness had almost seemed better than battling them in the torch-light. For now that he could see them again, the hideousness of the monsters made them even more terrible. Fortunately, before the cleric had any time to even consider his next action, his companions had struck down the gigglers.

A childish sense of happiness filled the young man and he began to raise his free hand in the air as a sign of victory when he heard first Garn and then Ch’dau cry out. With the fist still half-way in the air, Cedric scanned the hallway and the severity of the situation hit him. It hit him hard. The ghouls had picked the two women in the group they knew were not immune to their paralysing attack or better yet, they had ignored the one that could and would resist the foul side-effects of their strikes. He still couldn’t understand why a being in the state of undeath would want to do the unspeakable things they had witnessed the gigglers do to women before. And he didn’t really want to understand. Cedric just wanted to stop them. He wanted it more than anything he had wanted before in his life.

The lad barely noticed when Aranwen motioned him aside and did something to the walls with the flat of her beautiful sylvari blade. He didn’t even notice the bleeding wound on her arm where one of the monsters had bitten her before Gib pointed the injury to him. Forcing the fog of the shock away from his mind, Cedric nodded to his fellow priest and moved to their furious-looking leader. ”Aranwen, please give me a quick moment and let me heal your wound before the rot of the undead starts infecting it. The prayer will not slow our pursuit much, but the wound might.”

Not really waiting for her reply or permission, Cedric in his customary way grabbed the holy symbol of Solanis with one hand and held the other right above the wound in the bladesinger’s forearm. His prayer was faster and even more fervent than usual. The priest very much wanted Aranwen to be in full fighting condition when they caught up with the woman snatchers.  “Oh Radiant Father! Heal this wound with your miraculous POWER! Let Aranwen bring GLORY to your name and lay destruction to the servants of the Death God! Give us STRENGTH to wipe this plague from the face of the World!”

As soon as the healing magics of Solanis had done their work, Cedric nodded to Aranwen. “Ready.”

Aranwen and Ch'dau may have both been angry, but they were far from alone.  Garn is apoplectic - and seems to be seeking to blame anyone.  "How could you let her be taken?" he railed.  "We saved you, we trusted you... then they pull her from under your very noses!  We must find her!"

After Cedric's insistence on healing Aranwen's wound, the party presses on in the new configuration.  Much like before, the fetid stench of decay hangs over everything.  The weird greenish light never wavers.

The long hallway continues to slope gently down until, at last, another simple wooden door is encountered.  Like the one at the top of the tunnel, this one is plain, with a simple handle. 

Suddenly, Gib speaks up.  "Therassor has revealed to me that this door is magically trapped," he states. 

Midge nods in agreement.  "There is an evocation charm of some sort on it.  The signature is not powerful, but it is there.  It's not the same as the front door," the cid offers in addition. 

Then, you hear it - groans from the other side of the foor.  Judging from the sound, several, zombies sit just beyond it.

The world slowly settles into focus.  Kithran finds herself coughing, her mouth horrifically dry and tasting of metal shavings.  A flask is pressed to her lips, and the rogue reflexively drinks the sweet liquid offered.  "There, there," a feminine voice coos.

Full consciousness finally snaps into place, and Kith is able to focus on her surroundings.

She is lying on a relatively simple wooden bed in a small chamber with one (closed) wooden door, a small table, and two simple chairs.  The damndable greenish light is not present; the light in this room is provided via normal flame on a wall sconce.  The voice comes from the lovely, scarred face of Davena, who is capping a metal flask.  Two men stand silently behind her, near the door.

With a start, Kithran realizes that she is dressed in a long, flowing white gown; her normal clothing and adventuring equipment are nowhere to be seen. 

Davena smiles in a knowing way and nods.  "I am certain that this is very confusing for you, Kithran.  I want you to be as comfortable as possible, and you must certainly have questions.  Feel free to ask anything, and I will answer to the best of my ability."

She glances back towards the door.  "Brothers Charl and Hagan will not harm you unless you make that necessary."  A scarred corner of the woman's mouth lifts slightly.  "You may try to run if you wish, but I think that you will find it useless to do so, and it will try my patience."  Her voice hardens.  "As the brothers can attest, it is not healthy to try my patience." 

Even across the room, Kith can pick up on the men shrinking from the tone.  It is abundantly clear that they hold Davena in deep esteem - and likely view her with mortal fear.

The smile returns to Davena's face and voice.  "I understand if you are angry or afraid, anyone would be. But I want you to understand - you are special.  You have been chosen.  You are valuable.  You have every opportunity to be treated as such... provided you have the wisdom to make the best of things."

She puts the flask away in an inner pocket and fixed Kith with a gaze.  "What can I answer for you?" Davena asks.

"How could you let her be taken?" he railed.  "We saved you, we trusted you... then they pull her from under your very noses!  We must find her!"

Aranwen regarded Garn with cold eyes, "Our formation was sound; we all stood ready to defend. We cannot ask more of our past selves. Seek no blame. It clouds the mind more than fury," her eyes hardened, "We will find her."

Inwardly she sighed. She could not fault his reaction being as it was. Aranwen knew that feeling. But right now he was as a lost child, and all of them had to hold their wits about them.

At the end of the corridor, they reached another door. Another barrier that blocked their path. Would that Aranwen could cleave through them with her blade... But alas, even if she could, it was not advisable. She had felt one trap already, and others were likely to be as potent.

With Gib's observations, Aranwen nodded, "So then the ideal would be to open it without opening it, in a manner of speaking. Perhaps if I was able to open it from slightly further from the door, using my blade's sheath, perhaps," she mused, "Have we other options?" 

"How could you let her be taken?" Garn railed.  "We saved you, we trusted you... then they pull her from under your very noses!  We must find her!"

On his way to take the lead, Ch’dau stopped in his tracks and turned to face the man. “Your nose was as close as any of ours,” the kazari snarled, not bothering to try and hide his teeth, “and, on the chance that you cannot see past your nose, monkey, your woman was not the only one taken!” He pressed closer to the man, his voice lowering but losing none of its menace; “We will find them both, I assure you, but your casting blame will not help to do that. Now, act like the warrior you believe yourself to be and let us get to it, yes?!”

((OOC: Talk back! I dare ya!   ))

With an irritated snort, the Silver Cat leaves it at that, taking his place at the front of the line and leading the group forward. No more attacks come as the sloping hallway leads them into the putrid depths, the only thing to be encountered, it seemed, was another featureless door at the tunnel’s terminus. Faced with the thing, Ch’dau silently laments Kith’s absence all the more…

"Therassor has revealed to me that this door is magically trapped," Gib said as if to comfirm and compound how much they might have used the thief’s talents just now.

“There is an evocation charm of some sort on it,” Midge added to Gib’s assessment, “The signature is not powerful, but it is there.  It's not the same as the front door.”

…Ch’dau chuffed in irritation, giving thought to simply putting his foot to the door and taking whatever might come from doing so. Before giving into his instincts, though, he cast a glance back at the rest. “We have few choices, here, my friends,” he rumbled even as the groaning of the dead welled up on the other side, “and, however we choose to proceed, a battle awaits. What say the rest of you?”

((OOC2: Had that written out before I saw Rer's post... Doesn't change much, though, so I'll leave it as is until we sort out how we open the door.))

Gib had chosen to ignore Garn's outburst chalking it up to his concern and grief. The warrior had offered little by way of words thus far which leaves the cleric with little to weigh his current behavior against. Now, they are presented with another dilemma in the trapped door.

Considering his companion's suggestions, knowing that they face an enemy immediately behind the door and that the doorway itself is a strategic advantage they can ill afford to relinquish, the warrior attempts to think outside the box.

"Aranwen," Gib turns to the Cidal. "The door trap is activated when the door is touched--" glancing at Midge for confirmation, he continues, "by living creatures. We have undead enemies on the other side and possibly an enemy cleric or two. We must take advantage of the strategic opportunity this can provide. 

"Thread a rope or cloak through the handle without touching the door. Those of us with ranged weapons stand back and aim at the center. Melee specialists take up position on the side. Someone pulls the door open, ranged combatants fire through in the first wave, followed by melee combatants striking from the side. We keep the enemy funneling through the doorway striking them down with ease as they do."

The wagon rocks gently and she lays on her back, staring unseeingly up at the herbs thrashing about from the ceiling, the jars lightly clanking, strapped as they are to the shelving lining the walls. She’s humming a tune she’s been working on, and watching as the sun breaking through the cracks above her illuminate brief clouds of dust, swirling about the cabin.

It is the dream she has most often, she knows, but it doesn’t matter.

She tilts her head back and can see her father’s back as he guides them home, humming along to her song.

She smiles and closes her eyes . . . .

* * *

“There, there,” Kithran felt herself ripped from the memory as a soothing, grating voice wrenched her back to herself. A sweet liquid suddenly coursed down her throat and she rolled onto her side choking, taking in her surroundings, confusion slowly giving way to clarity. The meager room glowed warmly by the sconce, but Kithran’s gaze went no further then where it had landed on Davena’s wretched face.

Kith watched as it twisted into a malignant smile, "I am certain that this is very confusing for you, Kithran. I want you to be as comfortable as possible, and you must certainly have questions. Feel free to ask anything, and I will answer to the best of my ability."

The half-Syl thief opens her mouth to tell her to f*** off but the witch glances back to the door at the worms awaiting their mistress, "Brothers Charl and Hagan will not harm you unless you make that necessary." She turns back to Kithran with a look that makes her teeth grind together, "You may try to run if you wish, but I think that you will find it useless to do so, and it will try my patience," this time the corner of Kith’s mouth twitches and Davena’s soft voice becomes a threat, "As the brothers can attest, it is not healthy to try my patience." The worms wriggle in their boots as if on queue, and Kith glanced around the room once more, lingering for just a moment on the door she willed a silver Kazari, a bladesinger, and a few spellslingers to burst through.

The smile returned to Davena’s voice as she continued, and Kith drew her eyes back to the cat food, "I understand if you are angry or afraid, anyone would be. But I want you to understand - you are special. You have been chosen. You are valuable. You have every opportunity to be treated as such... provided you have the wisdom to make the best of things." She put the flask away in an inner pocket and fixed Kith with a gaze. "What can I answer for you?”

Kithran drew in a deep breath, attempting to clear her thoughts of the unrelenting anger she felt for the woman--perpetuating the horror of those ghouls out in the world, deceiving her and her friends, bringing them to this cursed place, and putting her in this ridiculous outfit. The woman deserved to be torn into however many pieces Ch’dau saw fit. She nearly smiled at the thought.

Instead, she looked up at Davena, who still held her patronizing grin, and finally spoke, “I suppose, my first question is--”

Kithran punched Davena in her smug face, then swung her legs around to kick at her. Instead, one of the worms at the door slithered forward before she had the chance and commanded her to “Halt!” And she did, right in place, a kick poised to knock the rat off her wooden throne.

Though her body is frozen, her head is still able to turn from worm to witch, and she forces out a laugh as Davena’s face turns smug again and she begins to chant, “They’re going to find you, you rotting bitch, and they’re going to carve you int-” and then even her words freeze in her mouth, as the familiar embrace of the ghoulish paralyzation takes her once more.

Davena's face settles into a tight lipped smile as she dabs once at her bloodied lip.  The two dark-robed men look entirely uneasy with the situation. 

"Mistress, shall we..." Hagan begins, but Davena cuts him off mid sentence.

"Silence," she hisses, and he instantly complies.  The blonde woman takes a deep breath.  "Brother Charl," she requests in a tone like one would use to ask for more wine, "please fetch one of the ghouls for me."

He bobs his head.  "Of course, Mistress," he replies, rapidly exiting the room. 

Meanwhile, Davena - much stronger than she appears - effortlessly maneuvers Kithran back onto the bed, taking a moment to smooth out the gown as she arranges the garment around the rogue's prone form.  The silence of the room is broken by quiet giggling as Charl returns, leading a large ghoul with a particulalry savage - and insane - expression.

Davena looks down at Kithran.  "Understand, I could continue to channel D'hurgen's power to hold you still, or we could bind you.   But I will not waste my Dark Lord's blessings on such trifles, and I see no need for the crudeness of ropes." 

She glances at the ghoul, then back at the rogue.  "If you resist again, I will have my companion here bite you.  I can instruct him to do so shallowly - but it will be enough to fix you motionless.  We can do it every time that you so much as flinch; he does not grow weary.  And of course, there are plenty more of his brethren where he came from."

"Each bite will hurt, of course," she states lightly, as if discussing seating arrangements at a dinner party, "but I would be amenable to the acolytes practicing their use of the Dark Lord's gifts of restoration upon you.  We can keep you like this... indefinitely, really.  That is, of course, assuming that we wish to minimize your discomfort."

Her expression grows very cold.  "I would prefer to minimize your discomfort.  I would prefer that the events to come are a positive experience for all involved, I truly would.  But if you refuse to accept our Lord's blessings willingly, if you insist on making a nuisance of yourself... I can ensure your compliance with a depth of agony that you cannot begin to imagine.  Great and powerful men have begged for me to end their suffering, have lost their minds to the agony, have lacked the ability to reason, to speak, to do little but soil their own breeches and wait for death.  All that makes you... YOU, will be long gone.  Is that truly what you want?"

For a moment, a crack shows in the facade - Davena looks ever so slightly weary.  But the crack soon closes, and her expression warms as she takes the rogue's hand in her own.  "Kithran," she speaks, "I understand that right now, you wish me dead.  You hope and pray for your friends to arrive and save you - but that will not happen.  If you ever see your companions again, it will be their reanimated corpses in one form or another; your time with them as you know them now is done."

She stares wistfully into the distance for a moment.  "You have been brought here to receive a great gift, Kithran.  I would choose for you to enjoy all that it entails, for you to receive the honor and power that comes with it.  You do not yet understand, but you will.  In time, you will."

She releases the rogue's hand, places it carefully at Kith's side as she stands.  "You will receive this gift, whether you wish to do so or not.  I have communed with the gods, have spoken with an Oracle of the Sands - you WILL be the one to bring the anchor into the world, regardless of your feelings on the matter. Exactly how that happens is largely up to you, child."

She steps back, and at a gesture, the ghoul steps forward.  A droplet of ichor falls from its fangs to the floor.  Davena speaks again.

"I will release you from the hold now, "she states.  "Once more, I will offer to answer any questions that you may have."  She pauses, her expression grows hard and cold again.  "I would advise you to stay where you are, however.  If you move, the ghoul will bite you - and you will receive your first punishment after.  If you were not aware, you will be unable to move or resist, but you will feel absolutely everything.  Do you understand?"

With an uttered syllable, the paralysis is gone from Kithran's body.  Davena's beautiful, scarred face wears an open, almost hopefuly expression.