Adventure Thread

A wall of rusted, brittle-looking bars crosses the room. A locked cell door and a floor of straw. Behind the bars sit three male humans and a woman who seems to have elvish ancestry.

The robed and hooded Wayfinders enter the room, and the woman grunts and turns away from the bars.

From the door to the East, you hear the sound of a lashing whip, a stifled grunt of pain, and faint hissing.

I move toward the east door, listening to hear what signs of activity there are on the other side. Work, or...torture? The hissing was hopefully defiance and not some kind of beast the cultists had on hand, but in case, I had my hand on my sword and I leaned cautiously, ready to jump back, if someone...or something on the other side was about to come through.

Ivar makes quick work of the lock on the bars and opens the door. The villagers (from Hillshire) brighten as they are released. The Elvish woman steps forward, speaking to both Ivar and Lillit, "You've been rescuing villagers? Have you seen my Tyrus? They took him earlier, and I don't know where." This elf introduces herself as Kara. She explains that Tyrus is a blacksmith apprentice, and when they came to take him, the cultist in the black robe pointed and said that they needed to convert the strongest one. "Please, you must save him."Llewellyn, Nikkghak, and Hobb open the door heading to the East. A Drow woman stands over an older man who's strapped to the table. Two red-robed figures spectate gleefully. Seems like there is equipment storage on the North wall. Nikkghak looks around Llewellyn and immediately recognizes the man on the table. It is Father Marcus! Bloody welts cover his skin. His eyes are glazed over as he fights through the pain. He does not look well.

The Drow straightens as she looks from Llewellyn, Nikkghak, and Hobb. "Who are you!" She looks to her red-robed companions. "Looks like we have intruders. Gut them!" She raises a finger and points. In her other hand, she readies a three-pronged whip with what seems to be snake heads on the end of each popper.

Llewellyn charges the cultist and cuts him down. The mistress of pain turns and raises her whip, but is struck in the belly with a blast of magical energy. The smell of burnt leather rises into the air.

The remaining cult acolyte draws a sword from his robe and quickly crosses to engage Llewellyn. He swings his sword, but Llewellyn, ever the master of battle, sees the attack before it comes and deftly dodges out of the way.