Burger Warrior

Korvarl shook his head with a heavy sigh, glancing at Valya. “We’re both lucky and unlucky, lass.” He decided. “Yer somehow not booby-trapped to death, but we’re gonna need a key. These things ain’t like nothin’ I’ve had t’break before.”

The sound of footsteps descending behind them prompted the dwarf to lay a hand on his weapon as he turned back toward the way he came… though he relaxed noticeably when he recognized it was just Malvolio and Allya coming to check on them. And give me paperwork. He noted silently, eyeing the sheaf of documents in the Templar’s grip. “Ah, just what I was looking forward to. Reading for the illiterate…” He muttered dryly. It was mostly a jest - he knew humans that could afford that much plate armor tended to be given some kind of education. Just not the kind that was useful when delving into old dwarf ruins.

Hard as it was to read by torchlight, Silvershield did his damnedest to skim the papers, grumbling at every useless document. “Bloody census-”

"THIS IS AMAZING!" Elnira’s voice had become slightly squeaky again as it pierced the darkness - and Korvarl’s darkening mood. He didn’t resist as she took the paper out of his hands, beaming widely. "This is exactly what I was looking for! Thank you!"

She kissed his cheek excitedly, and ran over to look at more papers.

Even under his thick beard and in the darkness, it was hard not to notice Korvarl blushing. He cleared his throat gruffly, trying his best to cover up as he looked through more of the documents… though his gaze did flicker back toward Elnira, each time bringing a small smile to his lips.

He’d scarcely finished reading with a small sigh of relief and a rub of his tired eyes when the Templar cut into his thoughts, however. "What do they say?" Malvolio asked. "Anything of use to us?"

“Surprisingly, aye.” The dwarf nodded, carefully stacking the papers again. “We’re gonna need to find King Hreidmar himself. Or rather, what’s left of him. Both th’ key to this place - an’ every vault in the city, sounds like - an’ Dainsleif are on ‘im, or at least in ‘is quarters. No point in lootin’ without snatchin’ both first.” Korvarl finished, tucking the papers under one arm. “So… unless you wanna check fer booby traps on these vaults the hard way, let’s get to ‘is palace. It’s tha’ big building in the center, or I’m six feet tall.”

------

Percula had gladly stayed by Caid as they - and Agethar and his dog - headed to the local temple in the hopes of finding the others. Halfway there Caiden’s stomach made quite a bit of a racket, and the pixie gave him a funny look; it was almost teasing as she eyed him up, though she quickly stopped before Agethar noticed, hopefully. She almost forgot he was present.

What they saw in the temple was noticeably scarier than Voros’s lack of lunch - it was a demon, apparently trapped in some kind of summoning circle. Saffron stared at it in unconcealed awe, though she couldn’t help but pout a little when Caiden inches in front of her, blocking her view ever-so-slightly. “H-heyyyy…!” She protested quietly, slipping around him with inhuman grace.

Agethar was - of course - automatically suspicious of the old blind guy, who seemed to have been talking to the monster, but Perky herself wasn’t so quick to jump to conclusions. Besides, the demon didn’t exactly seem unfriendly. Right now, anyway.

"May I ask to what purpose mortals such as yourselves would enter a place such as this?” The demon was asking, mostly that weird blind guy. “You spoke of those with you who fancy themselves demon slayers. I must warn you: if you came to slay demons, you should turn back. It is not myself of which I speak, but a far, far greater power. Unless you are here because of that binding upon your souls...?"

So polite! ...Wait, what? Bindi-

"I cannot tell you the nature of it, only that it is there. I sense a power hanging over each of you - the power of a binding contract. The only one present free from that binding," he pointed a long, black claw at Percula, "is her."

Caiden said nothing, but he did look at Percula and set his jaw.

It dawned on the pixie once she caught that look in his eye: she had been tiny and stowed away back in the tavern, when this all started. She remembered something Caiden had told her - that he hadn't wanted her to sign the contract... Agni's contract to return Dainsleif to him, one way or another. Now it was suddenly very clear why he’d done such a thing.

“...Wow, I didn’t think dwarves were weird like that.” Was the first thing that came to Percula’s mind, escaping her lips before she could even think about what she was saying. “Contract magic. Who would’ve thought?”

Perky shrugged to herself, wandering closer to the Huo - and the demon, as a result. “How do we banish this thing, anyway? Do I need to zap it or something?” She asked, more curious than anything, and not minding the humans in the room judging her magic. She’d cast spells in front of an Inquisitor before, after all. Venatori should be fine with it… and a weird old man who was tooootally not Gifted, too.

Drake gave a dry chuckle. "Funnily enough, I was just wondering what a Marks was doing here, too - looking the way you do, no less," he said in a friendly tone, with a smile to match.

Dammit.

“Of course you would.” Morwyn murmured, her voice slowly freezing over. “Though I do believe it is polite to answer a lady’s question before asking your own.”

Marks took the glass that Agnar passed her, paying the innkeeper no mind. She needed all of her wits and focus to deal with a tantrum-prone (or berserker-prone or whatever they called their kin) brute like Thomas Drake. “But if you must know, I’m not exactly a Marks anymore, so if you still take issue with one of them, I’m not ferrying any messages. Understand?” Morwyn explained, finally, tiredly meeting Drake’s gaze with a worn expression.

The sound of gold dropping on the counter was followed by a vaguely familiar voice. "It's on me."

Morwyn’s exhausted mind didn’t make any connection between the voice and certain people she knew of just yet, though, even as she heard footsteps approach from the man’s direction. It wasn’t until after he spoke again and she managed a glance up at him that the lady’s eyes widened slightly in recognition - and not exactly the good kind. Especially since there weren’t many Drakes that could be mistaken for the Demon Slayer.

"Rough day traveling, m'lady?"

“Uh…” Marks managed, her jaw slightly slack, before she pulled herself together with evident effort. She recognized him, but that wasn’t from any real direct interaction. He couldn’t possibly know who she was. Well, possibly my last name, I suppose. We don’t exactly look different from each other, us Marks…

“Indeed.” Morwyn agreed wearily. “...Still, I wonder what the mighty Thomas Drake is doing this far from Illikon.” She couldn’t help but remark, her ‘mighty’ comment coming across with barely-restrained sarcasm.

Her train of thought was briefly interrupted by a man she assumed was in charge of this dump. "What can I get you?"

She waved her hand vaguely. “Perhaps a little wine would do me well.” Marks figured. “Whatever you have that’s good.”

Percula had spent some time with Caiden a the corner of the tavern before finally moving away, glancing at Agethar as he spoke. "What should we do?"

The pixie in disguise shrugged, her gaze flickering back to Caid for a moment. “I don’t think we’re gonna find anything useful in here… and it doesn’t seem like whatever’s trying to escape is gonna for a bit, sooooo… how about we go anywhere else?” She offered, heading for the door.

-----

Korvarl - and one of the humans, a big berserker lady - descended the fairly long staircase and stepped out into a chamber lined with metal bars guarding various vault rooms... the doors were still intact. But, behind those bars and sturdy locked doors, they saw treasure.

Silvershield frowned as he realized nothing was conveniently labeled ‘Dainsleif’. That made things slightly problematic.

"Recognize anything?" Valya asked Korvarl, looking at the heaps of treasure locked away.

He shook his head. “I’m not a Dimmlundar, ‘aven’t quite been in a place like this… much less seen Dainsleif m’self.” He replied, peering in at the treasure.

"Any ideas on opening these doors?" She asked, going over to the nearest door and giving it a powerful tug.

“...Wouldn’t advise doin’ that, lass.” Silvershield commented with a wince. “Never underestimate what a dwarf’ll do to keep their treasure safe.” He grunted, examining one of the other locks. He was no thief or locksmith, but he’d had to break into a number of dwarf-run establishments as an Enforcer of the Iron Gauntlet. Sometimes those establishments involved some fancy locks that had to be undone through means other than brute force… perhaps he could figure out whether these would need that sort of attention.

Morwyn Marks hadn’t expected to wind up back in the middle of Achaean civilization… but at the same time, having grown up in a fine noble house and rarely going outside for most of her life, she wasn’t exactly great at navigation. Or travel. Or being a fugitive.

With an exhausted sigh, she decided there wouldn’t be many people who would recognize her in such a town as Stonebridge, and thus meandered through the streets with the hood of her traveling cloak rather half-heartedly pulled over her head to try covering her face from passersby glancing in her direction. She decided that, for now, it was just fine someone could identify her with little more effort than that.

By a small miracle the exhausted mage made it to the door of the Rusty Axe without getting apprehended, slipping inside with just enough grace to separate herself from a commoner but not nearly enough pomp and circumstance to flare up on anyone’s ‘nobility radar’, per se. It helped that she very nearly collapsed into the nearest chair with a sigh that was equal parts relief and exhaustion. “Finally.”

For a few moments she simply sat there, her arms on the table and her face resting on her arms as Morwyn simply tried to get some form of energy back into her body. Finally, she managed to raised an arm, a finger pointed upwards.

“Someone get me a drink.” Marks groaned. “...Please.” She added, clearly unused to being polite to bootlickers and peasants like those who undoubtedly swarmed an establishment like this.