Session #03 - Bloodbath At The Butcher Shop

The Owlbear Butcher Shop had clearly seen better days, but that was do be expected since it was located in a floating city slowly being dragged to the surface of hell on rusted chains.  That being said, the dwarves the party rescued earlier were correct that the western half of Elturel seemed to be in much better shape than the eastern side.  

 

The building itself was a simple free-standing one story L-shaped structure.  The front façade was roughly forty feet across and painted a light blue.  The wall sported two large messages scrawled in what appeared to be oxidized blood.  One read “Heretics Welcome”, the other “Hail Zariel”.  A tattered red awning with the shop name in gold writing flapped in the constant infernal wind.  Clearly worse for wear, it likely wouldn’t last more than another few days.  A dwarf wearing a purple robe stood to the left of the entrance, a far-away look in his eyes.  He too had the nine-point symbol carved into his forehead, though his was scabbing over and clearly older than those on the man and woman escorting the party.  Perhaps the most striking thing about the dwarf was his lack of facial hair.  Both his head and beard had been shaved.  None of the party had ever seen a completely shorn dwarf before, the race taking notable pride in their beards, and Kent was particularly disturbed.

 

Kent being Kent, however, this didn’t stop him from increasing his pace and heading for his brethren.  “I’m Kent, friend.  Who are you?” he asked.

 

Without even turning to Kent the other dwarf replied, “Hail Zariel.  Come inside and receive the mark.”

 

Kent continued smiling and tried again.  “Sure, yeah, great.  But what’s your name?  What are you doing here?”

 

With that the dwarf slowly turned to Kent, his eyes unfocused even as he looked at the rogue.  The effect was deeply unsettling.  “I am Vantor Ironhand.  I am a farrier.”

 

“Ah, a horseshoe maker!  My uncle used to make horseshoes as well!”

 

Vantor continued to stare through Kent for another five seconds before turning away, again maintaining his dazed vigil.

 

“Well, nice meeting you then,” Kent said, slapping him on the shoulder and following the rest of the party into the Owlbear Butcher Shop.  He brought up the rear, right behind Katla.  As they entered he whispered to her, “Be wary of that one, he’s not all there.”  Katla nodded imperceptibly while continuing to look forward.

 

Upon entering the shop, two things struck the party.  The first was that it did not even slightly resemble a butcher shop.  The showroom, as it were, was roughly forty feet wide and thirty feet deep.  There was one window, which was along the same wall as the entrance.  Directly across from the front door was a thirty foot long wood counter, the top and front of which were splattered liberally with dried blood, black ichor, and other dried fluids of indeterminate origin.  Against the right and left walls were cabinets with open tops, each containing various improvised and even a few legitimate weapons.  Knives of all shapes and sizes, hammers, metal pipes, makeshift spears and clubs were laid out haphazardly, some clearly recently used.  A poor man’s arsenal of sorts.  In the left hand corner nearest the door was a pile of bones with remnants of flesh and sinew attached, all showing signs of having been cut with large knives or, worse, gnawed by teeth.  Two large red-eyed rats scavenging the pile turned to look at the newcomers, their eyes filled with malice, before returning to their disgusting feast.  A small table in the middle of the room was home to innumerable stacked and filthy bowls and plates.

 

The second thing they noticed, about one second after taking in the scene, was the stench.  In fact stench was much too generous a term for the odor that attempted to escape the open door, wafting past the warriors like slow death.  It was a combination of rotting flesh, mold, and various unwashed animal scents, the entire thing infused with a strong dose of sulfur.  Katla put her hand to her face, both in an attempt to prevent herself from gagging as well as to cover her mouth and nose with her robe’s long sleeves.  Reya’s features went from disgusted to hard as soon as she saw the makeshift arsenal.  Even Donyxn, who had thus far been immune to the smells of Avernus, was clearly discomfited.  It would be days before they could fully get the smell out of their noses.  It was clear to everyone that they’d eventually have to burn their clothes.

 

Behind the counter sat two human men.  Piled next to them were at least a dozen purple robes in various states of construction or repair.  The older of the two, who appeared to be about sixty years old, worked with needle and thread.  The other, perhaps ten years younger than his partner, was using a large pair of scissors to cut some fabric.  Both were bald with a scabbed over nine-pointed symbol carved on their foreheads.  They were gaunt, their own purple robes hanging loosely.  Both looked up when the group entered, the older greeting them.  “Samuel.  Dortina.  I see you have brought us new recruits.  You’ll be needing robes I suppose.”  He reached under the counter and withdrew a tailor’s measuring tape.

 

“We hope so, Bardos.  Is Laura available?” replied Samuel.

 

“Indeed.  In the back,” replied Bardos.  “Now let’s start taking some measurements.”  He walked around the counter and approached Kent.

 

Samuel and Dorita turned to the group.  “We’ll go speak with Laura and ask if she is able to see you.”  They passed Bardos as he was coming around the counter and went through a pair of full-length swinging doors. 

 

Bardos attempted to take Kent’s measurements, but the dwarf was having none of it, slapping away the old man’s hands.  Bardos took a step back.  “Sir, this will only take a minute.”  He then turned to look at the rest of the group for support.

 

Over the years Almont had mastered giving a look of pure hardness.  When Bardos met his eyes, the smile slowly melted from his face.  “Perhaps… perhaps after you meet with Laura…” the tailor stammered.

 

“Let’s just go see her right now,” Almont replied, continuing to stare menacingly at the old man.  And with that, he headed around the counter toward the swinging doors, Reya immediately following him.

 

Kent looked to the ceiling and rolled his eyes.  “So this is how it’s going to be then,” he muttered, shaking his head and following a few steps behind the determined pair.  Donyxn too headed toward the back doors but at a slower pace.  As he passed Katla he whispered, “Make sure these two don’t come in behind us unexpectedly, and watch out for the dwarf.”  He then followed the others, though remained leaning against the doorframe holding one of the doors open with his shoulder. 

 

Katla looked at Lola.  “Stay with me.”  With that she took up position in the far right corner, a spot that put her as far away from the front door as possible while also positioning herself in a way that the two old men would have to walk directly towards her to reach the swinging doors.  

 

The back room was no better than the front, and in some ways it was worse.  It was slightly larger, roughly forty feet on each side, with no windows and a single door at the middle of the wall to the right.  In the far left corner was a statue of a warrior in a suit of armor.  Much like the front room there were various stains and piles of bones strewn about, as well as some discarded tattered articles of clothing.  

 

In the center of the room was a large butcher’s table.  Mounted on six sturdy metal legs, the surface was made of a huge slab of wood.  The top was angled slightly so that the two longer outer edges were slightly higher than the center of the table.  Inset into that center was cut a small channel running the length of the table, obviously intended to collect liquids emerging from an animal being butchered.  There were hooks on either end of the channel where buckets could be placed to capture the secretions either for later use or disposal.  Currently, however, there were no buckets, and thick black ooze hung from either side of the table like mucus.  

 

The source of the effluent lay on the table.  The gnoll was clearly a younger example, only about six feet in length and similar to a cross between a human and a hyena.  Standing over it and holding a cleaver with a foot-long blade was a beautiful blonde woman wearing a leather butcher’s apron.  She looked to be in her early twenties, her skin almost radiant in its whiteness.  She was covered in gnoll gore up to her elbows and had a stack of various cuts on one side of the table, internal organs on the other.  Behind her were two old women in their sixties, one on either side and both wearing purple robes.  Off to the right between the end of the table and the door to the other room was an owlbear standing upright on its hind legs.  The beast had to be at least eight feet tall, it’s head just below the ceiling.  As a ranger Donyxn recognized that this owlbear did not look like other of its kind.  Its eyes glowed orange, while its body feathers and fur were jet black, though they gave off a strange orange sheen in the torchlight.  On the side of the table closest to the door, across from the butcher, were Samuel and Dortina.

 

Everyone turned to face Almont, Reya, and Kent as the walked into the room.  Donyxn remained in the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed in front of his chest.  “Ah, these are the newcomers we were telling you about,” said Samuel, a smile on his face.  “Friends, this is Laura.” 

 

“Welcome,” Laura said warmly.  “I understand you are here to receive the blessing of Zariel.”

 

“Well, we haven’t completely decided on that yet,” replied Almont, Reya to his right and Kent a few steps back and on his left.  “What is the purpose of your group?”

 

“We’re here to bring the message of Zariel to the people of Eltruel,” Laura answered.  “We also help the devils by keeping the demons at bay.”

 

“And how do you go about that?” inquired Kent.

 

She turned to the dwarf, the beatific smile never leaving her face.  “You surely saw our arsenal in the other room.  We don’t have proper weapons the likes of yours, but they are generally sufficient.  Would you help us slay demons?”

 

“What about the paladins?  Do you fight them as well?  Are there any remaining in Elturel?” asked Almont.

 

Laura turned back to the cleric.  “I don’t know anything about the paladins.  We haven’t seen any for days.  But enough questions.  Samanatha,” she said to the older woman to her left, “go fetch the razor so that we may shave these new members and prepare them to receive their marks.”  With that the woman addressed as Samanatha headed toward the door to Almont’s right, walking behind the owlbear as she did so.  

 

“I’m not sure we’re ready to commit to that just yet,” Almont stated flatly.

 

“You can either submit to it voluntarily, or we’ll do it the hard way.  It’s up to you of course.  You have until Samanatha returns to decide,” Laura said, an overabundance of confidence in her voice, her eyes becoming hard as Samanatha disappeared from view.

 

A stillness settled on the room as time came to a near stop.  Back in the main room Katla felt the silence and knew immediately what was about to happen.  The two old tailors were, unfortunately for them, oblivious, and they failed to see the sorceress’ hands starting to glow with head as tendrils of flame began moving through her veins.

 

In the back room Almont had a decision to make.  Who should he attack first, the cult leader Laura, or the owlbear?  Ultimately he made the wrong decision.  Assuming Laura to be armed with nothing more than cleaver, he turned to the monster and unleashed a bolt of radiant energy… and missed, the beam striking the far wall and blasting pieces of it loose.  Almont’s heart sank.  By missing the opportunity to injure what he thought to be the most dangerous enemy in the room he sentenced his friends to what would surely be a brutal fight.

 

He quick learned just how brutal it would be, and how badly he miscalculated.  Laura took one step back from the table, her arms outstretch and her eyes glowing with fire.  Almont, Kent, and Donyxn had seen this kind of thing once before, when Katla used a scroll to cast a fireball upon a dragon they ambushed, and it was that moment of recognition that may have ultimately saved all their lives as they each stepped away from their current positions.  Unfortunately Reya didn’t know what was coming and stood her ground, which was directly within the sphere of flame that engulfed their half of the room.  The three adventurers all received burns, though they could have been hurt much worse.  Donyxn had the additional advantage of a natural-born resistance to fire, so was relatively unscathed.  Reya, however, was not so fortunate and screamed as the burst of flame scorched her skin.  Also not as fortunate were the cultists Samuel and Dortina, both of who were entirely consumed by the flames, leaving not a single trace behind as the fire disappeared.

 

Back in the front room Katla sensed the impending fireball just before she heard it and felt the effect as it consumed half the air in the back room.  As the cooler air of the front room rushed into the void left by the flames the front window exploded inward, startling the tailors.  They looked to the window and then to Katla, her glowing hands the last thing they ever saw as she incinerated them with a pair of flaming bolts, the momentary satisfaction of turning them into cinders offset by the knowledge that her friends were in the fight of their lives in the next room.

 

The owlbear turned to Almont and bit down savagely on his shoulder, tearing at his already burnt flesh.  Reya screamed in pain and rage as she retaliated against the owlbear with her mace, a pair of Donyxn’s arrows following her strike as the beast roared in anger, it’s beak releasing from Almont’s shoulder and red with his blood.

 

As he skirted the flames Kent noticed the other old woman headed towards the statue in the corner of the room, and with the brightness of the fire gone he could see she was on her knees praying to it.  He didn’t like the looks of that, not one bit.  He drew his scimitar with his right hand as he charged towards her.  At the same time his left hand reached to a pouch tied to his belt, unclasped it, and deftly tossed it across his body and towards the door on the right side of the room.  It was a perfect throw.  As the pouch hit the door hundreds of metal ball bearings spilled to the floor in front of it. 

 

How had things gone so wrong so fast, Almont wondered.  It was his hubris that got them into this fight, and they were in danger of losing it if things didn’t start to take a turn, and soon.  With that he took a step towards the table, planting his left hand on it and vaulting himself over the dissected gnoll.  Laura, startled by the unexpected move, started to stumble backwards as the cleric launched himself over the table, reaching out and grabbing her by the throat with his right hand.  One of Almont’s abilities was to generate a necrotic reaction within people simply by touching them.  It was a risky maneuver in combat, as it meant he needed at least one hand weapon free, but it was also tremendously effective.  Given that he’d yet to draw his hammer or mace, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to strike a blow at the fireball-throwing witch. 

 

Laura looked shocked as he tightened his grip around her neck, and she began to rapidly age and wither before his eyes.  It turned out her youthful appearance was some kind of fell magic.  He experienced a grim satisfaction as he felt the life start to drain from her.  Before backing away from the table she grabbed a smaller knife and used it to stab Almont’s right arm and break his hold.

 

Pandemonium raged around Almont and Laura.  Two more cultists emerged from the side room but both immediately fell when unexpectedly running into Kent’s field of ball bearings.  The witch in the corner swayed as she prayed to the statute, and Kent swore he saw it starting to move as he raced towards her.  Reya continued to battle the owlbear with support from Donyxn’s arrows and a beam of frost from Katla, who had now taken up Donyxn’s position in the doorway.  

 

All of Almont’s focus was still on Laura, who continued to back away from him with her bloody knife.  The cleric unhooked his warhammer from his belt and struck her with the spiked side, sinking it into her neck.  He watched as the life force drained from her and she continued to age, eventually crumpling to the ground and appearing as a seventy-year-old woman. 

 

The owlbear roared in despair seeing her die and began wildly attacking everything within sight.  It was overmatched now, though.  Reya again pounded it with her mace and Katla conjured a ball of lightning that struck it in the chest, creating a gaping wound and filling the room with the smell of charred flesh.  The beast was momentarily stunned, and that was the only advantage Donyxn needed as he fired two arrows in such rapid succession that they both seemed to arrive at once, the first striking it in the left eye and the second hitting the exact same spot, splitting the first arrow and driving deep into the owlbear’s brain, killing it.  

 

Back in the far corner, Kent managed to kill the old witch, but not before she used her magic to animate the suit of armor, which he was now engaged with.  At the other end of the room the two fallen cultists were back on their feet and ready to fight, but overall the party seemed to now have the advantage.  Or so they thought.

 

The eyes of the witch in the doorway began to glow, and this time some members of the party weren’t able to react quickly enough as the room burst into flame for a second time.  Almont and Reya took the brunt of the attack, along with the two remaining cultists who were fully consumed by the conflagration.  As the flames disappeared Reya took one step toward the witch, stopped, and collapsed.  Almont fell to one knee, the smell of his own burnt hair and skin filling his nostrils.  He was on death’s door.  He could feel it coming for him.  Only once before in his life had he been this close to the end…

 

The battle continued to swirl around the badly injured cleric an unconscious paladin as their friends battled it out with the animated suit of armor and the remaining witch.  Almont wanted to help but knew one more blow would likely kill him, and for all he knew Reya was dead already.  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, in a den of cultists.  They still had to find a way to return Elturel and its people from hell. 

 

Almont calmed his mind.  Instead of trying to solve the problem with brute force, his usual approach, this required something more altruistic.  With that he called upon his god and cast a healing spell.  It was as if for just a moment a wave of golden energy emanated from him, outward in every direction.  Where it touched his friends and Reya their bodies were enveloped in the radiance like a film before the light disappeared.  Everyone immediately felt better.  Cuts and burns rapidly, though not completely, mended, and Reya sucked in a huge breath, pushing herself onto her hands and knees.  Now they needed to finish the fight.

 

Kent was taking on the suit of armor, his speed matched against its power, the dwarf’s magic boots and scimitar making him nearly a blur as he darted in and out, trying to keep the apparition at bay and away from his injured friends.  On the other side of the room Donyxn was rapid-firing arrows at the side doorway, keeping the witch occupied and out of the way as Almont and Reya recovered and regained their feet.

 

Katla was about to launch a fire bolt at the armor when her acute hearing picked up sound behind her, just audible over the cacophony of the battle raging in the back room.  She turned just in time, her hands already glowing with wild magic fire, and saw the purple-robed dwarf guard swinging a small blacksmith’s hammer at her head.  Everyone had forgotten about the dwarf with the fight began, and the bursting of the shop’s front window was enough to break him out of his dazed stupor.  Katla raised her left arm just in time, taking the blow just above the elbow but protecting her head.  At the same time she held her right hand palm out and cast a wave of fire into the cultist’s chest, blasting him backwards and over the counter, his burning body sliding across the floor until it reached the store’s front door.

 

Turning back to the melee Katla saw the suit of armor had given up on trying to hit Kent and was now focused on Almont.  Kent quickly took advantage of its change of focus, a blow from his scimitar coming down on the thing’s left pauldron and not exactly severing it’s arm but instead causing the armor pieces to simply fall apart.  The hole glowed a raging orange and it was clear that there was no physical being inside.  

 

A moment later two of Donyxn’s arrows glanced off its right side, failing to penetrate.  “You’ll need to use magic arrows, brother!  This thing is cursed!” shouted the dwarf.  With his attention on the armor Donyxn was caught unaware by a fire bolt from the witch, which struck him on the right side.  While the tiefling wasn’t fully resistant to fire, he hellish blood generally muted the damage and, frankly, he didn’t mind the pain.  The witch looked very satisfied with herself until she saw Donyxn’s face as he turned to her and smiled, his silver eyes reflecting the last of the fire as it extinguished.  Her evil grin quickly turned to a look of concern, followed immediately by fear as the ranger notched two arrows at the same time.  With her last moment alive she had just enough time to see the tiefling wink at her before putting both arrows into her chest and pinning her to the door frame.

 

On the other side of the room Almont was using his hammer and mace to keep the armor at bay.  “Enough!” Katla shouted, unleashing a ball of force that made the thing explode in an almost deafening thunderclap, individual pieces of the armor exploding outward across the room.  And with that what later tales would refer to as the Battle at the Butcher Shop came to an end.

 

Almont’s healing spell left Katla, Kent, and Donyxn in good health, though he and Reya were still badly injured.  As the group glanced around to make sure there were no other threats Lola flitted into the room, a look of concern on the hollyphant’s face giving way to one of relief when she saw that everyone was still alive.  “Nice of you to join us, Lola,” Almont said sarcastically.  His jab was lost on Lola, however, since hollyphants have no concept of sarcasm.  So she simply grinned, wagged her tail, and beat her wings a little faster.  The cleric shook his head.  But he also realized this wasn’t Lola’s doing.  It was his.

 

“We still don’t know what’s in that other room.”  Donyxn’s observation brought everyone back to reality.  He was right.  Two cultists had emerged from it before falling, quite literally, for the trap Kent laid for them.  Were there more inside?  The witch was impaled onto the doorframe, leaving the door ajar but not fully open.  The party formed a semi-circle about twenty feet back while Kent edged along the wall to stand right next to it.  Katla used her magical disembodied mage hand to push it open.

 

As with the other two rooms in the Owlbear, what awaited them inside was carnage.  The room was clearly the shop’s meat locker, and hanging from hooks were a half dozen bodies in various states of dismemberment.  The one furthest from the door was clearly one of the city’s paladins, judging by the remnants of armor piled next to it.  If this was troubling to Reya she didn’t show it.  She was still in shock from her injuries and near-death experience.

 

Huddled in the corner and chained together were five humans, four men and a woman.  While in rough shape, they were still alive and Kent quickly went about freeing them from their bindings and leading them out of the cooler.  

 

When the five entered the back room they were clearly shocked by the carnage.  One of the men, who looked to be about forty years old, looked to them.  “You killed them all?”  

 

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Kent replied.  “Now what pray tell were you all doing back there?”

 

The man turned his focus to Kent.  “We were taken from our homes by Laura and her cultists because we wouldn’t join them.  It didn’t make sense when she first came to us because the Laura we know is an old woman.  She’d run this shop for forty years with her owlbear companion,” he said, looking at the beast’s carcass.  “They were inseparable, but over the last few years the creature was showing its age and in lot of pain.  She loved Pancake, and it looked like she made a pact with the devils that made them both younger.”

 

“I’m sorry, what do pancakes have to do with this?” asked Kent.

 

The man looked confused for a moment, then realized why.  “Ah.  No, not pancakes, the food.  The owlbear was named Pancake.”

 

Kent thought about this for a few moments.  “The owlbear.  Was named Pancake.”  He looked at the owlbear and back at the man.  “You have to be kidding me.”  Donyxn smiled as he stifled a laugh and the man took a step back when he noticed the tiefling for the first time.  “Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s harmless,” Kent told the man.  “His name is Waffle.”

 

The five survivors weren’t able to provide much information other than that Laura’s cult was cannibalistic, which was readily apparent to anyone who walked into the shop.  They didn’t know the fate of the city’s paladins and leaders.  Kent suggested they arm themselves with whatever weapons they could find in the shop and go into hiding.  He also gave them some rations, knowing that Almont would later use his magic to create food for the party.  

 

“What will you do now?” they asked.  

 

“What needs to be done,” said Reya.  “What needs to be done.”

 

After some discussion it was agreed that the party needed rest and that the butcher shop wasn’t a safe place to hole up in.  After all, more cultists could arrive at any time.  With that in mind they traveled a few blocks down side streets until they found a small abandoned locksmith shop.  The one window facing the street had conveniently already been boarded up, so once inside they shored up the door and were able to take their rest.  As expected, Almont’s magic allowed him to create food and water.  The water went into some empty jugs he kept in their magical bag of holding.  The food was arrayed out in front of them and looked like a banquet, with various meats, vegetables, and bread arrayed on a cloth they laid on a table in the room.  

 

The food, while nutritious, was tasteless.  “Well this is disappointing,” Kent mumbled as he chewed on a flavorless turkey leg.  

 

Almont shrugged.  “The gods provide sustenance, nothing more.”

 

“What are you talking about, Kent?  This is delicious!”  Everyone turned to Donyxn, and it was clear he wasn’t joking.  “What?  This reminds me of the holiday feasts we had when I was young.”

 

“It’s true,” Kent said, picking up a hunk of meat, “these taste like Donyxn’s mom’s meatballs.  I ate with the family once.”

 

Donyxn smiled while the rest of the group laughed out loud in spite of their situation, even the normally stoic Reya stifling a chuckle.  

 

Because there was no night in Avernus the party consulted their Orb of Time and found that it was actually late evening.  Assuming they took the equivalent of a full night’s rest Katla and Almont would regain their magic, so with that in mind the cleric cast an extra healing spell on himself and Reya.  Wounds and burns that would have left permanent scars disappeared before their very eyes, and with their pain alleviated they’d be able to rest.  A watch rotation was established and with that the inside of the shop became very quiet and still.

 

Almont looked at his hands as he lay in the corner, his hammer and mace within easy reach.  The burns caused by the witches were gone, thanks to the powers granted him by his god.  He would have no physical reminders of the battle that almost killed him, unlike the first time he almost died.  His fingers traced the nasty scar that ran from the corner of his right eye to his mouth.  He should have died the night he got this scar.  But instead his life was set on a different path.

 

 

 

He’d lived seventeen summers at that point.  Having been kicked out of the family home at the age of twelve he had to learn to survive on his wits and cunning, and when called for his fists and whatever sharp object he could transform into a weapon.  Five years later he was living in a working class district in Nightvale, a sprawling city of merchants, traders, and mercenaries.  He’d worked his way up the criminal ladder until he eventually ran a gang of his own, twenty strong.  Yes, they were criminals.  If you wanted drugs or gambling or a specific kind of job done, and you lived in Almont’s turf, you sought out him and his crew.  They also weren’t above rolling the odd merchant or traveler who inadvertently wandered into their zone of control.  It was during this time he earned the last name Bonecrusher, because if you owed money and didn’t pay, well…  That being said, he had a certain set of ethics and the gang left the regular people of the neighborhood alone, even coming to their aid from time to time if they ran afoul of a gang in a different part of town.

 

Almont was a certain kind of successful.  He had food in his belly, a secure place to live, and generally respectable clothes.  He also had a woman in his life, Sindra, who loved him deeply.  It was a life of sorts, and one he was happy with.  Until it all came crashing down around him.

 

Almont and Sindra were returning home after an evening out.  Three of his crew escorted them home until they reached the final turn.  “It’s only a short way.  You three can go and I’ll see you in the morning.”  They nodded and went in the opposite direction.  Almont and Sindra continued walking arm-in-arm.  What had they talked about in those last moments together?  He couldn’t remember.  Perhaps he didn’t want to because it would be too painful.

 

The ambush happened inside their small home.  As soon as Almont stepped through the doorway he was struck from behind.  He heard Sindra scream as he fell.  After that the memories devolved into blurred impressions and sensation of pain as he was beaten, kicked, and cut over and over again.  He couldn’t hear Sindra any longer, just the sound of boots in his ribs and fists in his kidneys.  The last thing he remembered of the beating was the ice-cold blade of the knife as it carved his face.

 

The neighbors came to them after the four attackers casually left.  Someone went to Sindra’s family and her mother and older sister came to the house.  Almont had a brief memory of her mother wailing, holding her limp daughter.  He knew she was dead.  The only saving grace is he knew he would be soon as well.

 

But death did not come to him that night.  Oh, his attackers thought they’d finished the job and the neighbors made sure that the rumor circulated far and wide.  But they kept the secret that he was alive and in the care of Sindra’s widowed sister, Clementine.  The turf war that resulted from Almont’s “death” was brief, the neighborhood being quickly absorbed by his rival Vincenes.  The same Vincenes who murdered his woman and scarred him for life.

 

Almont was in and out of consciousness for about two weeks before finally coming to the disappointing realization that he was still alive.  Clementine continued to care for him in secret, though it was another week before the pair spoke for the first time.   Almont was sitting up for the first time, his ribs like burning embers in his chest as he nursed a cup of broth.  “Why are you doing this, Clementine?”

 

She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before answering.  “My mother blames you for Sindra’s death.  But I do not.  She chose to be with you.  And while we tried to convince her that she deserved better, she clearly loved you.  And you loved her.  I could see that.  You treated her well, and I respected that.”  She continued to hold is gaze as she sipped at her tea.  “The reason I kept you alive is because you’re the only person who would avenge her.”  With that she got up and left the room.

 

Now he had a reason to live.

 

The visions began to come to him that night as he slept.  A god on a throne of skulls.  A deep, steady voice. I’ve been watching you, Bonecrusher.  You have talent.  I can help you obtain that which you want.  Anything.  Almont would give anything to get his revenge.  I will make you into a weapon.  A weapon for righteousness.  He would wake up drenched in sweat night after night, but always feeling healthier than he had a right to.  A week after the visions started he was fully healed, with the exception of the scar on his face which was still red and angry.  It was nothing short of miraculous.

 

His rapid healing was not lost on Clementine, though she had the good sense to not mention it.  Four weeks to the day after the attack she came home from work to find him packing the last of his meager belongings into a small bundle, clearly prepared to depart permanently.  

 

“Tonight?” she asked.

 

“Tonight.”

 

He knew where to find Vincenes.  He and his crew started their evenings at a tavern called The Bloated Pig.  Almont walked toward the door utterly calm.  It was as if Kiri-Jolith walked alongside him, and in a way the god was with him. He entered the bar and slowly walked toward a table in the back right corner making no attempt to hide his identity.  The cacophony of the conversation slowly died down as the rival gang members realized who he was.  Everyone thought he was dead, after all, and here he was looking as if nothing had ever happened, other than the scar on his face.  

 

Vincenes stood up from his table in opposite corner and headed toward Almont, three of his most able henchmen trailing him.  All eyes in the bar watched in the unfolding drama in silence, the only sounds the four sets of footsteps and the fire crackling in the fireplace.  

 

Almont sat with his back to the wall.  Vincenes took the chair across from him, turned it around backwards, and sat down, facing is rival, his arms resting on the table and his fingers interlocked.  

 

“Well isn’t this a surprise,” he said.

 

Almont said nothing, simply staring into Vincenes’ eyes.

 

“Where have you been, Bonecrusher?”

 

Almont continued to stare.

 

“You realize I can’t just leave you walking around like this, right?  It would be bad for my reputation,” Vincenes observed.

 

“I’m leaving Nightvale.  Tonight.  But I thought I should come by and see you first.”  Almont’s steady words clearly unnerved Vincenes’ henchmen.

 

“Not if we bury you here,” one of the goons said, trying to show a bit more bravado than he felt.  

 

Vincenes waved him away.  “No, let’s hear what the Bonecrusher has to say.  I’m intrigued.”

 

“I want Sindra’s family left alone.”

 

Vincenes raised an eyebrow.  “You’re not really in a position to make demands.  Besides, we have some openings in the brothel and her sister is still young enough to work.”  He grinned smugly.

 

Almont reached into his robe and withdrew his left hand clenched in a fist, putting it on the table.  He turned the hand over and opened it, and sitting in his palm was a ruby the size of a wine cork.  “It’s yours, but you have to agree they’ll be left alone.  And then I’ll leave and you’ll never see me again.”

 

The silence of the room was oppressive as the rivals stared at one another.  After what seemed like minutes Vincenes looked down at the gem.  “A fine stone.  What makes you think I won’t take it and then do what I want anyway?”

 

“We’ve fought before.  And despite what you did to me, and to Sindra, I know that if you give your word you will keep it.”

 

Vincenes considered the offer for a few more seconds.  “Agreed.  But you leave right now,” he said as he reached for the ruby.  It was the last mistake he’d ever make.

 

As Vincenes took the stone, Almont swiftly reached across with his right hand, grabbing his rival’s wrist.  

 

“What… what do you think…” Surprise gave way to anger as Vincenes tried to break Almont’s grip.  And anger gave way to terror as he saw his hand start to turn black and shrivel.

 

Vincenes' jaw dropped open and his three companions all took startled steps back form the table.

 

“Wha.. how…”  The blackness was traveling now and visible as it worked it’s way out from under Vincenes’ shirt and up his neck, making its way to his face.  It was if he was aging and rotting at the same time.  His strength failing, he was no longer trying to break free from Almont’s grip.  His last moments were of incredible pain and bafflement.  

 

Vincenes’ body spasmed twice before his head fell forward onto the table, black gunk oozing from every orifice.  Almont calmly stood.  “Where is Danko?”

 

Danko was Vincenes’ second in command, a hard man who was perfectly capable of filling the power vacuum.  Danko was standing at the bar and he locked eyes with Almont.  Almont held up the ruby.  “Sindra’s family is left alone.  Agreed?”

 

Danko looked at Almont, then looked at what was left of Vincenes.  “Agreed.”  Almont tossed the stone to the ganger.  He then slung his pack over one shoulder.  As he walked passed the chair holding Vincenes’ corpse he kicked it over, the body coming apart with an awful wet sound and unleashing an even more awful smell as it hit the floor.  And with that Almont left Nightvale forever.

 

 

After they rested up the party considered their options.  Ultimately they decided to head toward the Shield Hall to see if they could determine the fate of Elturel’s paladins.  They donned the purple cultist robes they salvaged from the Owlbear and prepared to head south along the side streets.  As they were ready to depart, Lola spoke for the first time since they arrived in hell.

 

Her eyes were glazed over.  “I remember… a sword… a sword in a stone.  I tried to protect it with my magic.  The sword… It can help us… but I don’t know where it is… The sword…”  Then the hollyphant fell silent.  “I will fly above the rooftops and make sure the way is clear.”  With that she departed the room. 

 

“Well that was unexpected,” said Kent, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and stowing his flask.

 

The party began to travel south.  There was smoke rising into the sky from that general direction, but they didn’t know why.  They had only walked for a few minutes when Lola returned.  “We need to change our route.  There is a narzugon riding a nightmare approaching.”

 

“A what now?” asked Kent.

 

“She’s right.  We don’t want any part of that,” said Donyxn.  Everyone looked at him.  “Trust me on this.”

 

“Lola, can you tell where the smoke is coming from,” asked Katla.

 

“The Shield Hall,” she replied.

 

They changed their route, bypassing the narzugon.  As they approached the Shield Hall the smoke became thicker and thicker.  When they were only a few blocks away they encountered two purple-robed cultists, both human men, walking towards them.  They appeared to be dazed.  “Well met,” said Katla.

 

“Well met,” they replied.  They looked over the group confusedly.  “Your hair is not shorn and you do not wear the mark.”

 

“Yeah, you know, there just wasn’t time so we got our robes from Laura and said we’d come back later to get the, you know, the mark and all that,” Kent said jovially.  

 

“But Laura is dead,” said the younger of the two.  He looked to be in his late teens.  “The Owlbear is destroyed.”

 

“No no no,” Kent shook his head.  “We just came from there.  It was all just a bit of a misunderstanding.  Laura’s there now.  You should head over.”

 

“But, but we saw…” the cultist replied.

 

“A fell magic illusion, clearly,” said Katla sagely.  “Trust me.  All is well at the Owlbear.  Go and see.”

 

The cultists looked at one another with a mixture of confusion and hope and scurried north.

 

“Give Laura our regards,” Almont said to no one in particular.

 

A few minutes later the party arrived at the outskirts of the Shield Hall, and it became clear that indeed this was the source of the smoke.  They could hear the skirmish before they could see it.  When it finally came into view they could see the Hall’s gate destroyed.  Paladins atop the thirty-foot walls were firing crossbow bolts at a group of spined devils and zombies laying siege.

Kent sighed.  “Here we go again.”