A handful of heavy footfalls had the party spinning round with weapons brought to bear. Before them stood the Dead King and just behind him four men-at-arms, their golden armour gleaming through the steam in the flickering torchlight. The Dead King still had an ethereal quality to him, as did his entourage, but his presence was more solid than before. He himself looked younger and more alive than before - colour was slowly returning to his pallour, his skin loosening and fleshing out, his eyes whiter and his hairline less receded. He smiled upon them in a way that did not ease the tension.
'So my erstwhile liberators see fit to interject themselves into Great Kuolemasykli's holy dawn, as a handful of ants intent on spoiling a royal feast. Perhaps, now seeing your folly, I am to hear another plea for your lives...?'
The adventurers glanced at each other through the corners of their eyes, but said nothing.
The Dead King startled them with a lightning-crack clap of his hands that echoed off the smooth-tiled walls. 'No need, my feeble insects,' he announced, still grinning like a madman. 'You will be guests of honour at the hallowed ceremony of the mortal flesh. It will please the Dark Father no end that his would-be saboteurs observe closely his inevitable arrival to this plane. I can promise an experience the likes of which no man has ever witnessed in all of history!'
The bard was the first to find his voice. 'We would assist with the bride, the elf known as Mayatanay. She is known to us.'
COMPEL (Bond) - Weak Hit
'My tutor of the world!' the Dead King exclaimed, as though he had just noticed Williarth was there. 'This is permissible. Indeed you will have free roam of the temple, albeit at your own peril, with just two caveats. The first being that your weapons will be denied you, of course.'
'And the second?'
'That you will never leave.'
The Dead King uttered an instruction to his guards in some unknown tongue and the four of them advanced on the party, huge halberds leveled to herd them towards one of the Well Chamber's numerous exits. To a man they were great hulks that moved with worrying ease given how much plate mail they carried.
DELVE CANCELLED [8/10]
The group was marched in silence down a few more long streets, some sloping even further down, until the architecture and smoothed walls abruptly returned to the roughness of natural rockface once more just before a large archway opened upon a sight of tremendous scale. They were in a gigantic cavern lit by a sea of magma some stories below them. Before them a flat, wall-less bridge stretched away over the hot, glowing rock to an enormous structure sat atop a large island of black rock. This was the temple at last and they paused to bask in its terrible grandeur. Minarets ascended high above nearly reaching the distant cavern ceiling, flying buttresses and gantries spanned great gaps, windows with large balconies faced in every direction and hideous grotesques of the deepest nightmares leered down at the landing at the other end of the bridge.
REACH A MILESTONE (Defeat the Cult) - [3/10]
As they traversed the bridge in slow silence the heat became nigh unbearable. Sweat poured down them and at times it seemed they might not even make it across alive. Kabeera was the only one to glance back at their escort and noticed a certain concentration in the Dead King's expression. She recognised the workings of some unknown magic and understood that this was the forbidden lore required for entry to the temple. Had they attempted to cross by themselves they might have perished already.
Eventually they reached the opposite landing and ventured through the great open entryway into the temple. It was blessedly cool within its walls. The aesthetics inside were weirdly simple - practical and lacking in embellishments save for occasional carvings running at waist height that depicted men and ... lizard-folk? Whatever they were, it was clear they were subservient to men and that men were in turn subservient to some other that was represented by crowned skull. Perhaps this was the Dead King, perhaps it was Kuolemasykli himself.
They were stopped and searched by cultists who seemed to have been expecting them. All their weapons were confiscated ...
FACE DANGER (Kabeera) - Strong Hit
...save for Kabeera's hidden daggers that remained unfound.
The Dead King was good on his word and they were free to wander the expansive halls of the temple and given directions to the bride's quarters, known as the Chamber of Tears. They passed through a magnificent banquet hall where huge feast tables lined burning fire pits beneath chandeliers bearing softly-screaming candle-flames. Everywhere were robed cultists busying themselves with preparations both mundane and arcane and they were sure that not an inch of the whole temple was free from the echoes of their deep, reverent chantings.
There was a guard on the door to the Chamber of Tears, but no impediment was made to their ingress. Within they found a relatively pleasantly-furnished bedroom. At an ornate dressing table sat Mayatanay, staring blankly into a grimy mirror. She looked older and more haggard than ever and some of them wondered if steps had had to be taken to maintain her life long enough to see the ceremony.
REACH A MILESTONE (Escort elf outcast back to her tribe) - [8/10]
They went to her and confirmed she was well enough and sane enough for reasoned discussion. She was glad beyond measure to see them, though too frail and tired to express it exuberantly.
In hushed tones they all sat close and discussed ideas and strategies in the attempt to formulate a feasible plan. Things looked bleak. A straight-out fight was impossible given the sheer numbers of cultists within the temple. A stealthy attempt to leave seemed similarly hopeless for even if they could outrun the zealots and the spectral form of the Dead King back through the city and labyrinthine caverns beyond to the surface (and this was a big if) they had no way to safely traverse the infernal bridge. On top of all this Mayatanay was in no fit state for exertion, but leaving her behind to her fate was unthinkable since that would enable the rising of a dead god to wreak its evil will upon all life.
There were books in the chamber and Williarth attempted to glean something of use from them, but could not read the old elvish script and required Tekhra to translate as best she could.
AID YOUR ALLY - Miss (-3 Momentum for Williarth)
Tekhra tried her best, but the texts were hugely esoteric and of immense age.
GATHER INFORMATION - Miss
The bard was about to give up before finally hitting on what he believed to be the text relevant to the ceremony at hand. He and Tekhra tried in vain to find some weakness to exploit, but only learned the horrific truth of the ritual - the one ceremony would last for hours and encompass the wedding between the Dead King and the Chosen One, the conception of a child between demi-god and fated elf and the immediate birth of the child into the mortal plane as a vessel for Kuolemasykli. The implications beyond that were dark indeed.
During this time Bjorn ventured out to get a lie of the land around the temple on the lookout for weaknesses and opportunities.
GATHER INFORMATION - Strong Hit
He found the ceremony room. A huge hall that could house hundreds set towards the rear of the temple and several stories up from the ground level. It was appointed with a grand stone altar and magnificent banners of violent heraldry draped down the walls. He particularly noted a truly gigantic chandelier suspended over the centre of the space. Three ropes attached it to three separate walls - the two long sides and the end that bore the main entrance. Then he noticed something familiar - above the altar, hanging vertically by long, thin ropes, the enchanted scythe twisted slowly back and forth in some unfelt draft, gently singing as it did.
Luiden also ventured away from the group, to the storeroom in which their weapons had been stashed. He beseeched the cultist quartermaster for the return of his wife whose spirit inhabited his spear.
COMPEL - Miss
His request was flatly denied. Worse, the sick freak seemed to delight in the notion of having a female captive essentially to himself. Luiden was forced to walk away, not a little sickened.
Bjorn returned and related his findings to the others. Something connected in Tekhra's mind and elements began falling into place. She saw a means to
She related her plan to the others and it seemed the height of fanciful speculation to them, but with time running short they agreed to it should no better opportunity present itself in the meantime.
The first step required Mayatanay to relinquish her elven mask, but she was reluctant.
COMPEL (Tekhra) - Miss
Tekhra impressed upon Mayatanay how important it was that they all commit as best they could to the course of action, but alas to no avail. The old elf informed her in the gravest of tones that she feared the mask was all that was keeping her alive and she feared that dying in this cursed place would condemn her spirit for all eternity. Tekhra was less adherent to the customs and folklore of her people, but did not doubt that removing the mask could prove fatal. Fortunately there were many dresses and fabrics in the chamber and she bade Kabeera fashion a workaround.
Luiden returned and recounted his failure to reacquire his spear. They brought him up to speed and it was agreed that they would need all their weapons back before the ceremony if the plan had a chance at all. Tekhra and Williarth went to try for themselves with the elf wearing the grand cultist robe they'd found in the tunnels.
As they approached the storeroom the bard held close his companion raven, Quoth, and spoke to him of his gratitude and respect for all that the bird had done for him. This might very well be the last call on Quoth for service to his master and Williarth made clear his appreciation and fondness. It was a moment so tender as to even touch upon Tekhra's stoic sentimentalities.
Williarth engaged the quartermaster in conversation, despite the zealot being quite busy, and had Quoth kick up a hell of a fuss just as Tekhra was in position.
AID YOUR ALLY (Distraction) - Weak Hit
FACE DANGER - Miss with Complication (5)
Tekhra loped from the shadows just as the quartermaster was fighting a face full of crow, but on entering the storeroom found more cultists inside. She froze in plain sight, unsure of the best move to make next, and was summarily spotted by the quartermaster after he'd batted Quoth away from his eyes. He saw her robe and her mask and mistook her for his relief, passing on his outstanding duties and instructions to her before gathering some things and turning to leave.
Tekhra worked with it as best she could and spoke to him in his native elvish to cement the misunderstanding. She pressed her luck by asking the quartermaster for spare robes for the guests so that they would not anger the Dark Father on his arrival. Williarth had Quoth harry the zealot again.
AID YOUR ALLY (Raven) - Weak Hit
COMPEL - Weak Hit
The quartermaster's patience snapped and he grabbed the bird by a wing in a meaty fist. He turned to Williarth and asked if there was any chance the raven could do what it was told. Williarth assured him that the bird was normally very disciplined and the quartermaster consented to giving the heathens religious robes on the condition that he be given the bird for the ceremony - ravens being a symbol of great portence. The bard reluctantly acquiesced and took the robes back to the others leaving Tekhra somewhat trapped in the stockroom.
Back in the Chamber of Tears there was precious little time before the familiar, though if anything heavier, footfalls of the Dead King's guards approached down the corridor to collect the bride. Robes and wedding gown were hastily donned. Luiden saw Kabeera was struggling with nerves at the prospect of what might be their impending doom and gave her the rotted finger of Artiga. Gruesome though it was, it did help her to feel his strength and resolve in the face of peril.
When the armoured escort arrived the slow and sombre procession to the ceremony hall commenced. All of them tried their damnedest to keep their nerves steady, but already the atmosphere within the temple was growing weighty with expectation and inevitability.
Tekhra didn't know how far she could push her situation before it would break. On no account could any of them afford for her to be caught in a lie.
She resorted to the approach she knew best - forceful exertion of will - and began ferociously barking streams of orders at the cultists around her in an effort to blind them with intimidation and fear of letting down their brethren at this most important of hours.
SECURE AN ADVANTAGE (Masked) - Strong Hit with Opportunity (4)
OPPORTUNITY - Gain 2 supply
It worked like a dream and she had them scurrying about and avoiding her gaze with great fervour and panicked dedication. She gained more than enough time to locate the weapons and grab some cured meat rations to boot.
The bells began to toll again from high above in the many lofty belfries. She made for a swift and unseen exit.
FACE DANGER - Weak Hit
She dropped some of the food, but made a clean enough getaway that she was soon scurrying down the corridors in the direction of the ceremony hall. If she could just get there precious seconds before the ritual began they might just have a chance...
On entering the ceremony hall from the side, up near the altar, the rest of the party were somewhat taken aback. The space was filled with row upon row upon row of kneeling cultists in perfectly-spaced formation. The ranks of robes were startling their uniformity and from them rose a low, undulating moan of bowed worship. Space had been left for the five of them right at the front and they each said a quick prayer that it would not be noticed that one of their number was missing. Luiden looked to the far end of the hall to where Tekhra stood by the main entrance like a guard. Their eyes met but they dared not so much as nod an acknowledgement to one another. The four took their place in the front row, barely fifteen feet from the altar, and looked up at the morbid omen of the scythe still quietly singing to itself.
The bride followed a minute later without the escorting guards. She walked slowly and a little hunched, showing great age and frailty though her features were obscured beneath thick veils of layered crimson and black. She waited aside the altar and as the moaning from the congregation slowly rose in volume the Dead King made his appearance from the other side. He strode in with an assured regality and sense of purpose. His flesh was now full-bodied and his hair luscious, his apparent age decades lower and his eyes a-sparkle with vitality and strength of will. There was no mistaking it - the Dead King was no longer dead at all.
A cultist in a resplendent robe stepped forward from the shadowed space behind the altar with a great tome of ancient, yellowed pages which he landed loudly on the altar-top, open at a bookmarked page. The room fell silent and he began to recite invocations, incantations and intonations of ominous meanings and implications. The audience was rapt and the party waited for agonising minutes with baited breath for the moment to come. High above them, the candles on the chandelier burned with furious blue flames and their screams harrowingly rose in pitch and intensity as the ceremony advanced.
The Dead King didn't take his eyes off his bride once. His eyes gleamed with relish at the prospect of divine copulence and the eternally-exalted position of fatherhood to a god. He had lived and died more times than he could possibly remember, he had languished in demented captivity alone for centuries, but here and now it was all coming to fruition. His holy purpose was nigh and his devout service on the precipice of rewards beyond any the world of men had ever conjured in dreams.
At a particular juncture in the proceedings he solemnly leaned down to raise the veils...
FACE DANGER - Strong Hit
His confusion twisted his triumphant expression for just a moment, but was then transfixed upon his face by the forceful penetration of Kabeera's dagger through his exposed throat. She pushed it in deeper still with great exertion that gritted her teeth from the effort. The Dead King lurched backwards, clutching spastically at hilt and failing. He toppled over onto his back with an echoing thud that pulled a sudden gasp from the mass congregation. A moment of stunned silence filled the air and rooted everyone present to the spot as Kabeera turned to look out at them with sudden apprehension in the wake of such adrenaline. For another moment not a thing stirred within that great hall.
And then chaos erupted.
REACH A MILESTONE (Defeat the Cult) - [3.5/10]