Old Man Hatry cocked his head toward George and whispered, "'Ey, what's a hostess again?"
George didn't need to answer though: the one paying for their drinks in this particular case. Their resident paladin, Jane. A little metallic clanking sound from her vambrace as the doctor patted her forearm. And he pressed them for their opinions.
Hatry and George and Blacksmith Telford all craned their heads toward one another to share glances, their glasses all down on the counter as they did. And, wordlessly, they all turned their heads back around to regard Jane--Telford included--with vicious grins.
George kicked it off: "Beauty? Hell, doctor, I'd say she's as beautiful as that slick of mud I left in my chamberpot before we went hunting today."
Hatry: "I heard a story once from some pirates said they had found a treasure map, yep, a real damn treasure map; problem was it led right to Jane so they done throwed it away! Ha!"
Telford: "Jane's the kind of woman who could fuck up a wet dream."
George: "You know, when Jane does that flagellation thing and whips herself, I feel sorry for the whip."
Hatry: "Ol' Dirty Dave passed on that one, and my pal Dave been to a few rank fish markets before, lemme tell ya that!"
Telford: "If Jane was on fire and I had a cup of my own piss, I'd drink it."
Jane, with her sixth glass finished, her belly feeling the weighty swish-swish of being gorged with drink, was leaning rather heavily on her elbows atop the counter, head slouched with a sloppy smile, and she lifted and twirled her hands about for a moment before flipping up a pair of middle fingers at the three Guillotiners tearing into her. Ugh. Glass number seven might be doable, but...fuck...the prospect of glass number eight was looking pretty dim. Ymir's mead wasn't fucking watered down.
Ymir, as she was filling up Asa's glass, just gave him a sly look and said, "All the honest truth right there, doctor Asa. Guess that means if anyone's getting slapped, it's you, if you got some lies to tell."
Ymir finished. Started filling up Jane's seventh. And Jane, ah, what would she do with her sweet little home away from home? The Mainland would be a whole lot less fun, that was for sure.
Asa whispered to her. A messy giggle rolled off of her tongue, and she said, "Unique constitution, my ass." Another giggle. "Drink faster, you fuck. I think you're just going slow. That's what I--"
He touched her thigh. Her eyes--though she couldn't possibly see it from how she was leaning over the counter--slid down in the direction of the contact. Then back up.
A curl of the corner of her mouth like a devil's horn. "I'm going to get what I'm owed."
By the time Tavian realized the danger, and that he had been played for a fool, it was too late. His soul was imperiled and his mind was as a gate fallen to a battering ram.
The entirety of the conspiracy was laid bare:
Of the conspirators there were three: Tavian the demonologist, Tina the necromancer, and Torrence the adventurer (whom Jane, if she knew, would recognize of as the handsome stubbly-faced leader of her old adventuring party). It was Tavian's task to spread the Seeding Plague throughout Guillotine, Tina's task to raise the undead and to send them in dangerous but manageable waves, and Torrence's task to be the facilitator for the mastermind behind the plot: Hyatta the succubus. She had come to set up permanent residence on Arethil, was indeed intentionally stuck here now thanks to the Laws of Magic after crossing over from her realm, but her first invasion of Guillotine--the place she felt belonged to her on account of Lord Greyfell--had gone sour. To avoid actual death, she faked it. With heroes and defenders of the town closing in, and having enthralled Torrence to her side, she had him "banish" her. It impressed the few locals who had seen it. But she was not banished, not dead, but rather imprisoned into a soulstone. Now, of course, she needed to be free of the damned stone. So she had Torrence recruit Tavian and Tina for the plot she had in mind. Though Tina providing the distraction was important, and though her undead kept the town's concerted efforts focused outside, the real way enough power could be gathered and explosively harnessed to free Hyatta--oh, and her hulking bodyguard Trenk as well--from the soulstone was through the Seeding Plague. Tavian had to be made immune, of course, so he could spread the infected liquid--he still had the small bottle of it in his pocket--via contact. Handshakes, taps on exposed shoulders, it didn't take much. The disease itself mimicked symptoms of a mild flu, hardly lethal on its own, but underneath, very subtle, each and every infected person carried with them the seed of demonic magic. Once a critical mass was reached, it was up to Torrence to then unleash the Awakening, not only freeing his mistress Hyatta and her servant Trenk from the stifling confines of the soulstone (without her dying, of course, as simple shattering would result in), but also allowing for the horrific possession and demonic transfiguration of every infected person in Guillotine, launching Hyatta's second invasion thereof. The critical mass was the most important part, of course. Without enough people carrying the Seeding Plague, the massive burst of power necessary for the Awakening could not happen. And this critical mass was, to Tavian's knowledge, very close at hand. So Torrence with Hyatta's soulstone awaited patiently in a not-so-distant cabin outside town whose exact location was evident in Tavian's memory, and Tina--the exact location of her makeshift camp also evident in Tavian's memory--had dutifully gone off to do her part rather early on this particular night.
And that was everything.
Asa Renwyk
George didn't need to answer though: the one paying for their drinks in this particular case. Their resident paladin, Jane. A little metallic clanking sound from her vambrace as the doctor patted her forearm. And he pressed them for their opinions.
Hatry and George and Blacksmith Telford all craned their heads toward one another to share glances, their glasses all down on the counter as they did. And, wordlessly, they all turned their heads back around to regard Jane--Telford included--with vicious grins.
George kicked it off: "Beauty? Hell, doctor, I'd say she's as beautiful as that slick of mud I left in my chamberpot before we went hunting today."
Hatry: "I heard a story once from some pirates said they had found a treasure map, yep, a real damn treasure map; problem was it led right to Jane so they done throwed it away! Ha!"
Telford: "Jane's the kind of woman who could fuck up a wet dream."
George: "You know, when Jane does that flagellation thing and whips herself, I feel sorry for the whip."
Hatry: "Ol' Dirty Dave passed on that one, and my pal Dave been to a few rank fish markets before, lemme tell ya that!"
Telford: "If Jane was on fire and I had a cup of my own piss, I'd drink it."
Jane, with her sixth glass finished, her belly feeling the weighty swish-swish of being gorged with drink, was leaning rather heavily on her elbows atop the counter, head slouched with a sloppy smile, and she lifted and twirled her hands about for a moment before flipping up a pair of middle fingers at the three Guillotiners tearing into her. Ugh. Glass number seven might be doable, but...fuck...the prospect of glass number eight was looking pretty dim. Ymir's mead wasn't fucking watered down.
Ymir, as she was filling up Asa's glass, just gave him a sly look and said, "All the honest truth right there, doctor Asa. Guess that means if anyone's getting slapped, it's you, if you got some lies to tell."
Ymir finished. Started filling up Jane's seventh. And Jane, ah, what would she do with her sweet little home away from home? The Mainland would be a whole lot less fun, that was for sure.
Asa whispered to her. A messy giggle rolled off of her tongue, and she said, "Unique constitution, my ass." Another giggle. "Drink faster, you fuck. I think you're just going slow. That's what I--"
He touched her thigh. Her eyes--though she couldn't possibly see it from how she was leaning over the counter--slid down in the direction of the contact. Then back up.
A curl of the corner of her mouth like a devil's horn. "I'm going to get what I'm owed."
* * * * *
By the time Tavian realized the danger, and that he had been played for a fool, it was too late. His soul was imperiled and his mind was as a gate fallen to a battering ram.
The entirety of the conspiracy was laid bare:
Of the conspirators there were three: Tavian the demonologist, Tina the necromancer, and Torrence the adventurer (whom Jane, if she knew, would recognize of as the handsome stubbly-faced leader of her old adventuring party). It was Tavian's task to spread the Seeding Plague throughout Guillotine, Tina's task to raise the undead and to send them in dangerous but manageable waves, and Torrence's task to be the facilitator for the mastermind behind the plot: Hyatta the succubus. She had come to set up permanent residence on Arethil, was indeed intentionally stuck here now thanks to the Laws of Magic after crossing over from her realm, but her first invasion of Guillotine--the place she felt belonged to her on account of Lord Greyfell--had gone sour. To avoid actual death, she faked it. With heroes and defenders of the town closing in, and having enthralled Torrence to her side, she had him "banish" her. It impressed the few locals who had seen it. But she was not banished, not dead, but rather imprisoned into a soulstone. Now, of course, she needed to be free of the damned stone. So she had Torrence recruit Tavian and Tina for the plot she had in mind. Though Tina providing the distraction was important, and though her undead kept the town's concerted efforts focused outside, the real way enough power could be gathered and explosively harnessed to free Hyatta--oh, and her hulking bodyguard Trenk as well--from the soulstone was through the Seeding Plague. Tavian had to be made immune, of course, so he could spread the infected liquid--he still had the small bottle of it in his pocket--via contact. Handshakes, taps on exposed shoulders, it didn't take much. The disease itself mimicked symptoms of a mild flu, hardly lethal on its own, but underneath, very subtle, each and every infected person carried with them the seed of demonic magic. Once a critical mass was reached, it was up to Torrence to then unleash the Awakening, not only freeing his mistress Hyatta and her servant Trenk from the stifling confines of the soulstone (without her dying, of course, as simple shattering would result in), but also allowing for the horrific possession and demonic transfiguration of every infected person in Guillotine, launching Hyatta's second invasion thereof. The critical mass was the most important part, of course. Without enough people carrying the Seeding Plague, the massive burst of power necessary for the Awakening could not happen. And this critical mass was, to Tavian's knowledge, very close at hand. So Torrence with Hyatta's soulstone awaited patiently in a not-so-distant cabin outside town whose exact location was evident in Tavian's memory, and Tina--the exact location of her makeshift camp also evident in Tavian's memory--had dutifully gone off to do her part rather early on this particular night.
And that was everything.
Asa Renwyk
