Runelords 06.1 - A Serious Turn of Events

Luna and Virgil scuttled out of the chapel and back into the hallway, hastening lest the imp-like devil decide to give chase and attack them further. As they jogged away, Luna fumbled around her belt pocket for a vial; Virgil watched as she pulled out a small glass filled with an ominous black liquid and drank it without hesitation. The potion served to mend her body, but it wasn’t strong enough: she looked fretfully and despondently at her hand, where the rough-edged hole ripped by the monster’s ranseur remained, made all the more grotesque by the lack of blood that issued from the ugly wound. Virgil pursed his lips as she fixated on her injury, heedless of the space around her. “...Here,” he said, catching her attention as he cast a minor spell, followed by another. He repaired her damaged clothes and cleaned them, hiding the lingering evidence of the battles she had been in: the burns she had received from Korvus’ acidic vomit and her own mis-thrown explosive, unnatural-looking on her undead skin. “I don’t have anything for your hand though, but, you should just be able to hide it in a pocket until you’re out of sight and can make more potions.”
Her gaze glanced between him and her hand, “I...yes. I can’t make more until tomorrow though…”
“It will take us until tomorrow to make a new plan,” he replied. “We’re going to have to deal with that quasit, and we aren’t prepared. Obviously.”
“We can’t just leave it now!” Luna protested, looking at him firmly for the first time. His face was pale and he had a look of fear about him: a jarring effect when compared to his usual cocksure expression. “...Are you alright?”
He nodded, his voice firm despite, or perhaps because of, the shaken state he was in. “It’s a spell to cause fear, nothing more. Usually, it wouldn’t even faze me, but considering how weak I am, even an imp is something to worry about.” He sighed, “We aren’t leaving it, but right now, we can’t handle it. We’ll think of a plan, then come back. Who knows how long it’s already been there; might have been under the town for years by now. It doesn’t seem to have an army ready, and it’s a servant of Fierna; it’s unlikely to leave the shrine. But, it is going to keep making those golems, so it can’t be left long.” He looked at Luna, “We will deal with it. But I’m not letting you die for it, and there’s no sense getting us all unsummoned because we were complete idiots.”
Luna looked at him for a moment before nodding resignedly, turning back to her hand again. They had come to the end of the church-like ruin, where tunnels had been dug from the walls and connected back to the glassworks. Ahead, they could hear quiet chatter: Eamon, Khyrralien and Quint had gathered their wits and stopped their frantic flight. The group rejoined, and decided it would be prudent to withdraw for the time being.
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The mayor had left the glassworks by the time they returned to the building, leaving the guards, the town mortician and his apprentices to clean the mess. Quint took his leave of them, returning to his house to log the day’s discoveries; meanwhile, the other four walked towards the mayor’s office to deliver their report. The crowd still milled outside, and at the sight of the adventurers, they clamoured for further information. However, they kept their lips tight, only reassuring them that there was no present danger, not wanting to mention anything about a shrine to an evil goddess or an ancient artifact of purest sin laying under their feet.
At the town hall, they reported their findings to the mayor. The news obviously did little to hearten her; she worried about an attack that might come from the depths, but they reassured her that, provided that the guards were vigilant, they were unlikely to be attacked that night, considering they had culled the number of creatures in the depths. She gave them until the following night to dispatch the quasit and secure the sunken outpost of the Magelord Alaznist, as they would be sealing the tunnels regardless of the outcome. With another reminder to maintain decorum and, above all, peace, the four were dismissed.
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It was nearly sundown by the time they stepped out of town hall. Virgil rubbed his eyes, “Well, I could use a drink about now.” As the four walked away, Luna lingered behind, gaze downcast and distant as she was obviously deep in thought; Virgil noticed this, and fell back to match her step. He regarded her quietly for a moment before saying, not without gentleness, “You should go home.”
Her eyes snapped up to meet his. “Huh?”
“You should go home,” he repeated, expression concerned. “I didn’t expect this to happen when I invited you. I thought it would be a quick thing, a short vacation, and even if something did happen, I really didn’t think it would get this...unpleasant. This has gotten serious, and you don’t need to get involved.” He gestured to the other two, walking a respectful distance ahead, “This is our job; we’ll route out what’s cursing the town, stop the goblins, catch Tsuto, Nualia, or whoever is behind everything, and make sure Sandpoint is safe.”
Luna pursed her lips, expression defiant and confused at the same time. “I...I can’t just, just leave this,” she said, her voice holding a definite note of uncertainty, replaced with a bitterness as she continued, “Why? I wasn’t helpful enough? I’m not dead weight, I was just as useful as anyone else, even if I couldn’t get the doors open…”
He cut her off, “This isn’t about the doors or how helpful you are or anything like that, Luna. This is dangerous. This is how people die. You aren’t an adventurer, or a soldier, or anyone else who’s signed up for that, and I don’t…” he trailed off, frowning.
“Don’t what?” she asked flatly.
“I don’t want to need to worry about protecting you,” he replied. “Worst case for us is, we get unsummoned. You’ll die. You’ve never had to deal with things like this, so it’s safer for everyone if you go home, and let us handle this.” Luna stared at him, her emotions a curious mixed state that was hard to read. Blinking hard, she shook her head and turned away, heading off in another direction. “Luna!” Virgil called after her. “Don’t be like that, I’m just worried!”
“If you’re so worried about people,” Luna retorted over her shoulder, “why don’t you worry about why Katrine Vinder thought her sister would care that you had gone missing?” With that, she huffed off. Virgil frowned, gave a snort of derision himself, and caught up with the other two. 
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Shadliss Vinder was in her room when she heard a tapping at the window. Looking out into the darkening evening, she saw an iron raven perched on the sill, pecking at the glass lightly. It had to be one of Virgil’s birds: ravens didn’t often fly into the town, acting so bold. When it saw it had her attention, it began hopping about, looking at her. She watched it for a minute before guessing it wanted her to follow it somewhere. She tossed on a sweater and popped out, careful not to draw the attention of her mother, who might wonder where she was going at this hour. Walking around to stand under her window, she saw the raven on the sill and its two compatriots on the roof above. Sighting her, they took wing, landing not far away and eying her intently. Striding after them purposefully, they led her away and down towards the dockyards.
Eventually, they took her to where she had always assumed she was going: Virgil stood waiting by a pier. The birds flew to him, crowing impatiently, as he grinned and mimicked their calls, placing some muffins on the ground that they fell upon with a fervor. Dusting his hands off, he turned to her, “Good evening.”
“Hi,” she said, looking at him expectantly. “...So, what happened today?”
He leaned back on a dock post, “Well, why don’t you tell me what you’ve heard, and I’ll fill in the blanks.” Sighing and crossing her arms, she looked thoughtful before rhyming off what she had picked up from the chatter in the streets: there had been murders in the glassworks, perpetrated by goblins; Mr. Kaijitsu was dead; the adventurers had gone in to investigate, and though they had killed the goblins, they hadn’t found Tsuto Kaijitsu, the person who had let the creatures in. Virgil nodded, and added that there were smuggling tunnels under the glassworks, out which Tsuto had likely escaped, and where he and Khyrralien had “disappeared” for a short time. 
“On that note,” he said, “I heard from Luna that she ran into your sister; Katrine thought it might be important to tell you that I had gotten separated. Just to be clear, I thought we weren’t telling people about what we’re doing.”
Shadliss crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly, “She’s my sister. She doesn’t count.”
He snorted good-naturedly, “She counts if she tells other people.” Shadliss only glared at him, and he put up his hands in mock defense, “Alright. Just checking. Wanted to make sure we were on the same page.” 
The young woman flipped her hair and changed the topic: the vague declaration of a tunnel under the town wasn’t enough of an explanation for her. In response, Virgil merely offered that there were the usual things there, and nothing of particular interest to bring back to her. He mentioned that he had found an old bible of an unsavoury religion and a disappointing bottle of wine; he had collected a rather nice sword though, and at this point she accused him of stealing. As a defense, he explained that it had been the late possession of an enraged, mutant 3-armed goblin, to which she rolled her eyes, slapped him and reaffirmed her statement that everything he said was a stupid-sounding lie, which only made him laugh all the more.
When she urged him again for the truth, he regarded her for a moment before saying, “Well, I suppose I can tell you...but you have to swear not to tell anyone else.”
“Why not? What’s down there?”
He held up his hands placatingly, “Nothing dangerous. Well, too dangerous. We just want to get everything cleaned up and made safe before letting everyone know. Don’t want people rioting over nothing, and it’s always better to tell people about these things after everything’s said and done.”
She frowned angrily, “Tell me what’s going on!”
Still smiling, Virgil replied, “There’s a ruin. A shrine or outpost or something, under the town. Maybe it’s connected to the lighthouse, maybe not. But there’s an artifact, some sort of altar of sin, and there’s a quasit, a tiny devil, kind of like an imp, who’s sitting there and praying to Fierna at it, making these golem things. Not too powerful; we killed all of them. But the devil’s still down there, so we have to go back tomorrow and finish the job.”
Shadliss blinked at him, her expression slowly shifting from one of disdainful disbelief directed at a poor liar, to that of disquiet, the fear of someone hearing news they’d much rather belief was false. “You’re...you’re making things up…”
Virgil was unperturbed, still seeming to think the whole thing rather amusing, “Oh no. Who knows how long it’s been down there. Might have been there for years, just sitting in that tiny room. We think the smuggling tunnels dug into it by mistake, but we aren’t sure yet. The quasit shouldn’t be too much of a problem, then it’s just a matter of what to do with that artifact. The thing is so evil, it just sitting there is probably what’s causing Sandpoint’s bad luck. We’ll get rid of it, seal up the tunnels, and then let everyone know. But no sense getting everyone riled when we can just handle the problem.” Shadliss sat very still as he talked, becoming more agitated as he did. Eventually, he noticed, “What? What’s wrong?”
“There’s...you’re telling me there’s a devil, under the town?” she said with no small amount of shock. “There’s some sort of evil thing, right under my house? Where I live? Where my family lives??” 
He shrugged, “There’s always something under or over or in every town, that people just don’t know about: some sort of ruin or shrine or Underdark entrance, some fey or cult or ancient magic. If it’s not that, it will be a migration route or a leyline or some other nonsense that only happens once every two centuries that everyone’s forgotten about, and suddenly the town is full of griffons or ghosts or something. It’s fine; we’ll take care of it. You’re not in any danger.”
“How do you know that?!” she was obviously afraid now, and she leaned over on a post, hugging herself and looking distant. She muttered some things quietly and brokenly, not sure what to think or do. 
“It’s just what adventuring is; happens all the time,” he said lightly. “It’s my job. It’s what I do: I find these things and I fix them.” He looked at her as he spoke, and it was his turn to be confused: he obviously didn’t understand why she was reacting as she was. He moved closer to her, looking at her with concern. “...It’s alright, you know,” he said gently. “We aren’t going to let anything happen. We’re going to fix it, and it will be perfectly safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or the town.” 
Shadliss muttered, uncertain and afraid, “And what, you just leave after you think it’s ok? What happens after that? You can just leave; I live here. My sister lives here. With devils and gods know what else right under us…”
With a measure of regret, Virgil added, “...I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to scare you...I probably shouldn’t have said anything…”
She shook her head, mumbling, “No...no, I’d rather know…”
Slowly, apologizing again, Virgil put his arm around her shoulders and drew her into a hug. “It will be fine. It’s scary now, but we’ll fix it. You and your family are fine.” She pushed her face into his jacket, as he said, “I’m not going to let anything happen.” They stood like that for a long while, until Virgil walked her back to her home.
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It was much later that night: well past midnight but not quite threatening dawn. Not only had Luna never returned to the inn room, but many of her things were missing as well; either they had been robbed by the housekeeper, or she had come and taken her belongings while they had been at the Hagfish earlier that evening. Virgil lay on a bed, flipping idly through the ancient Infernal bible of Fierna they had found, seeming to care little. 
Eamon looked at where Luna's bag and her various tools and tinkering equipment usually sat, eventually asking, "Should we be concerned about her whereabouts?"
"No," Virgil replied with a veneer of detachment, flipping a page, "Her clothes are still here; she planned to come back. She isn't one to do stupid things on her own, so she probably didn't leave town. Probably just sick of this room. I'm getting sick of this room."
Eamon considered this for a moment before standing up, "She saw some unsettling things today, for a civilian. She probably shouldn't be alone after that."
Virgil was still unmoved, "It's a small town, and given the option, she stays away from people. Shouldn't take you too long to find her. Beach, lighthouse, or docks." Eamon pursed his lips at the flippant attitude of his subordinate, but left it be. As he readjusted the cloak that hid his wings and went to the door, Virgil added, "When you find her, you should tell her to go home. This isn't the kind of thing she should be dealing with. She's not a soldier or an adventurer, and we shouldn't be worrying about protecting her when we're routing devils." 
The angel considered this thoughtfully before stating, "I will deliver your message to her." Virgil frowned slightly into the book as Eamon stepped out into the hallway, fully understanding the implications of his wording.
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Luna sat on the grass by the ruins of the lighthouse, overlooking the water. Her tools were spread out in front of her, and she laboured dutifully away at the device in her hands. A long, hollow, metal tube, it seemed, with an embellished sort of handle and trigger on one end. She tweaked the mechanisms in the base, making fine adjustments. The last adjustments, she hoped: this piece had been nearly finished when she brought it with her, though she had been spending much of her time teaching an angel language, so it wasn't as if she had been trying hard to make progress. 
As she alternated between fine tuning the mechanics of the rifle and bringing it up to her shoulder, testing its balance and aim, her mind wandered about. A handkerchief had been wrapped about her hand, covering the disturbing hole that still remained, waiting until morning when she could refresh her infusions. She didn't know how long damage had to remain on a wight's body before it became a permanent degradation of their form, but she dearly and desperately hoped it was longer than 18 hours. She didn't like gloves, and didn't want to have to wear them for eternity to cover up a permanent gaping wound. She idly considered that she would probably have to wear gloves for eternity anyways, seeing as how eventually her hands wouldn't be much more than bone no matter what she did, but she clenched her teeth and put the thought away; considering her future was always depressing.
She had already made up her mind hours ago, as she had left to finish her gun in solitude in a place where she didn't have to tolerate Virgil's self-absorption. She wasn't going to go back to Columbia. Not yet, anyways. She'd go back after this was settled, when people weren't in danger. She couldn't just ignore it; she couldn't live with herself if she just went back and hoped that Virgil and the other two could handle it, and didn't just leave people to live with solidified sin under their homes and goblins picking them off like sheep. She knew that she could help, that she could be just as useful as any of them, even if she wasn't some sort of seasoned adventurer or trained soldier or whatever Khyrralien was. If she could help save lives, how could she consider doing anything else?
Besides, even if she was the sort of person who could ignore suffering, wasn't this the point? Making sure that humans could be just as powerful as extraplanars so that Materia wouldn't be a playground for devils and angels: that was the purpose of the Augmented Human Project, the research she had dedicated herself to. Wouldn't ignoring people being hurt by devils undermine her work, the project, and whole the point of why she, and most everyone else in Columbia, was born? This was just as important as anything she'd be working on in Columbia.
But that was the crux of it, wasn't it? she thought with resign. It wasn't with bitterness that she considered her state, but rather with defeat. She wasn't an augment, and hadn't been for over 70 years. She was undead, and like all undead made by design, she was created with a purpose: to be a tool of the augments to further their research. As a human, she had happily agreed to take that role for the sake of the work, and indeed, a tool had been what she had become. When her usefulness had run out as a research subject, she had been relegated to a janitor, a disposal agent for the risks the scientists would rather not take, and her persistent sentience unsettled the people who would rather their implements not eat live animals or have opinions. She did what research she could do, but she knew that there was little that she contributed, other than the odd containment or clean-up. What was the difference in applying herself as an object towards the achievement of the project's written goals or towards its design intent? Assisting research or assisting in the repulsion of extraplanars; as a tool she was useful in either context. She wouldn't be missed in Columbia, and the dangers she was protecting people from here were more significant. It was, after all, why she had been made.
Category:Rise of the Runelords