Part 9 - In Pursuit of a Redress
Ceol and Crew travel as far as they can on the first day while fighting the howling winds and loose footings through sand and gravel. Finally spent, the group settle down for a respite, finding a crevice that offers some shelter from the elements. The crevice is tight, forcing the group to crowd in on top of each other, except for Pixie, who maneuvers through the tight spots with relative ease.
Sethe rummages through her supply bag, and pulls out a smaller cloth sack. “Mana biscuits, anyone, compliments of Calliope before her departure?” She removes one from the sack and wiggles a little so she can hand the biscuit to Ceol, who is seated next to her.
“Sure,” Ceol says. “Love me some mana biscuits.” Sethe chuckles lightly, followed by Nebula and Pixie. “The trick to enjoying this is…” Ceol continues, pausing long enough to rummage through the pouch on his belt, “…is to make a deli sandwich.” Ceol pulls out some dried meat, and places it into the biscuit. “Wallah! Instant hero sub!” He takes an exaggerated bite and feigns an ecstatic reaction. “Mmmh mmmh mmmh.”
“Oh really?” Sethe says with a smirk. “That delicious, huh?” She hands more out to Nebula and Pixie. Appalling waves off the offer.
“They should serve these in the Legerdemain!” Ceol says.
“A waiter comes by with those on a big plate,” Nebula adds, tearing her biscuit in two. “Pardon me for the interruption, sirs and madams. Would you like a mana biscuit?”
“Woohoo,” Pixie adds while chewing with her mouth full. “Please sir, can I have another? I’ve eaten ten already.”
“Goodness,” Ceol remarks with a chuckle. “Waiter, can you summon a bucket of water, too? We’re quite thirsty!”
“Ooh, that reminds me,” Pixie says, dashing between the members toward the crevice entrance, where her spiderbot stands guard. “Time to check the water extractor.”
“I’d be interested in seeing what you got this time,” Ceol offers while picking at the biscuit. “And answer the age-old question…is there water in the Maw?” Looking to Nebula across from him, he nods sideways while mouthing, “No.”
After a brief moment, Pixie returns holding a glass vial. There’s a smidgeon of dark, smudgy fluid at the bottom. She tries to swish it, but it’s thick and sticky, so she abandons the idea with a hard look of disappointment. “No! Just recycled oil from my spider’s butt.”
“Ah hah!” Appalling bellows, surprising the others. She scans them briefly, and after seeing their reactions, she falls silent.
Pixie eyeballs her suspiciously, building a moment of awkwardness between the two. “Were you there?” Pixie asks.
“Pixie!” Ceol reprimands gently. “Now may not be the best time.”
“No doubt!” Pixie says, waving off the criticism. “But inquiring minds wanna know.”
The Forsaken warlock studies the gnome’s expression. “Yes,” Appalling says finally. After another moment of silence, Appalling continues. “Do you want an explanation?”
“Maybe,” Pixie says with a shrug and a wave of her hands. “Something.”
“Windrunner believed in her cause,” Appalling says, her raspy voice laced with a tinge of sadness. “We believed in her.”
“Hmmph,” Pixie responds, following with a pause in deep thought. “Which poses the question. What good is a belief, any belief that ends with a bunch of bad ideas?”
Appalling drops her gaze for a moment, before finally turning and locking onto the emotionless gaze of Sethe, who responds with a raised eyebrow.
“I have to change the subject,” Sethe begins, her gaze locked with Appalling’s, before finally breaking away to address the group. “Well, sort of.”
“Oh?” Ceol says. “What’s on your mind?” He finishes off the last bite of his crude sandwich.
“The Sisters of the Fates,” Sethe continues. “There are supposed to be three, not two.”
“I’ve heard that term applied to so many groups of crazy ladies,” Pixie says while scrambling to a spot near Appalling. “How many sisters of the fates are there, anyway?” She stares at Appalling, but the undead warlock ignores the gnome. “Kind of loses its meaning, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” Sethe says. “But a coven needs three members to twist the fates.”
“What about the third one?” Ceol asks. “Where was she?”
“That’s the prime question,” Sethe says. “I was expecting her at any moment. Her absence was…rather conspicuous.” Sethe bites into her meal, taking a moment to chew and swallow. “The third one is usually the worst of the bunch. Putrid focuses on decay and corruption. Wretched focuses on death and destruction. The third focuses on pain and castigation.”
Appalling stares at Sethe with a frown.
Sethe notices, but continues. “The third is the glue that holds them together, giving the coven a reason to exist.”
“And what is her name?” Nebula asks with an exhale and a shifting of her weight to loosen the earth’s grip on her gown.
“Rancor,” Sethe says, wiping her greasy fingers on the hem of her robe.
After some time of rest, with what little sleep can be managed under such extreme conditions, the group continues on. They stop for several more rest cycles along the way, only delaying to deal with the onset of various threats or overcome numerous obstacles in the terrain. Finally, Appalling leads the group deeper into a ravine that ends in an opening of a cavern.
“Remind us again what we’re looking for?” Ceol asks, as he peers over Appalling’s shoulder into the cave opening. He struggles to keep an appropriate distance from her while following, all the while wanting to push her along at a faster pace, but her stride is slow and methodical, almost to the point of meandering.
“The Wailing Confluence,” Appalling answers, her lifeless, empty eyes peering back at Ceol. “It is an amalgamation of souls.”
“Has Dyark Lehdeh provided any details on what we’re to expect?” Pixie asks.
Appalling hesitates, avoiding the gaze of the gnome hunter, but eventually answers. “I have the location and the name of the creature. Nothing else.”
“Let’s be on our guard,” Ceol says, giving Pixie a bit of a sly smile. “We don’t know what to expect.”
The lair of the Wailing Confluence is a cavernous maze whose uneven ground is a treacherous mix of loose gravel and jagged stone, while razor-sharp stalactites hang menacingly from the ceiling like teeth in the maw of a great beast. Shadows pool in every corner, and the air is thick with a nauseating stench of rot and decay. Faint whispers flit on the cold, damp breeze, their words just beyond comprehension, while sporadic, bloodcurdling screams echo far from the depths, sending chills down the spines of the crew. They make their way into a larger chamber, where the faint sound of scurrying echoes from behind jagged boulders, accompanied by low, mournful moans that seem to vibrate through the air itself.
Ceol puts his helm on and draws his sword, stepping around Appalling to take the lead. Sethe begins her ritual of summoning the shivarra named Keliva. Her body rocks with controlled convulsions, arms moving in rhythmic, deliberate gestures, almost as if conducting an unseen orchestra. Dark energy crackles and arcs around her, illuminating her gaunt form as she chants through gritted teeth. A swirling portal of violet and crimson light tears open, and Keliva strides forth, her six arms flexing dramatically. The shivarra surveys the group with a bemused smirk. “Again, mortal? How so very brazen of you!”
Appalling’s summoning is more disturbing. She hunches over as her back contorts and swells unnaturally while her neck elongates with a sickening crack. She spasms violently, while growling like a feral predator. Finally, she rasps her demon’s name in a slow, guttural tone, summoning it from the nether realms, “Nee…maan…shee…aah!”
From the depths of the swirling portal, the succubus Nimantia emerges with a theatrical flair, her silhouette framed by the last flickers of demonic energy before the gateway snaps shut. Her crimson-tinted skin glistens under the faint, ominous glow of the chamber, and her black, leathery wings stretch wide as if savoring their newfound freedom. With a sly grin, she slaps her hip sharply, the sound echoing through the cavern. She then lets out a sultry, teasing laugh. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” Nimantia says. “I am irresistible, after all.”
The air grows colder, the whispers intensifying into a clamor of anguished cries. Shadows writhe across the chamber walls, as if alive, and a faint glow begins to emanate from the cavern’s depths. Ceol steps forward, shield raised and sword gleaming faintly in the unnatural light. “It’s coming!” He warns.
Emerging into the torchlight, the creature shows itself a swirling maelstrom of translucent forms, their ghostly faces locked in endless screams. They twist and claw at each other, as if desperate to escape the swirling vortex that binds them together. Their hands reach out, not to help one another, but to pull others into their eternal torment. The air itself seems to shudder under the weight of their despair.
“By the Light,” Ceol says through clenched jaws, stepping into a defensive stance. “Stay together! We face it as one!”
The battle begins abruptly as spectral forms break away from the Confluence, launching themselves at the group with unnatural speed. Ceol’s sword arcs through the air, cleaving one apart, but it dissipates only to reform moments later, merging back into the swirling mass.
Sethe gestures sharply, her voice rising in a commanding chant. “Attack!” Keliva leaps into action, her six arms a blur of deadly precision as she hacks at the spectral forms. “You’re pathetic!” The shivarra snarls, her strikes sending ripples through the ghostly tide.
Pixie scrambles onto a higher vantage point, her mechanical spider whirring to life. She aims her weapon at the Confluence’s core, unleashing bursts of explosive projectiles. “Nope and double nope!” She shouts while kicking as spectral claws swipe at her legs, narrowly missing.
Appalling stands at the rear, her hands raised as Nimantia cackles with glee, diving into the fray. The succubus’s whip cracks through the air, snapping at a ghostly form and dissipating it into a glowing cloud of nothing. Appalling’s lips curl into a sinister smile as she weaves dark magic, tendrils of shadow reaching out to absorb the essence of the scattered spirits.
The Confluence surges forward, its screaming forms colliding with Ceol’s shield like a tidal wave. He grits his teeth, bracing against the impact as the vortex tries to pull him in.
“We need to find its core!” Ceol shouts. “We can’t keep this up!”
Nebula raises her staff glowing with holy light. “Leave that to me,” she says. She calls forth a beam of radiant energy that pierces through the Confluence. The vortex recoils, the ghostly forms screaming louder as the light burns through them.
“That worked!” Ceol calls, slashing at another spectral figure. “Press it hard!”
As the battle rages, the Confluence begins to shift, its movements growing more erratic. The ghostly faces turn toward the group, their screams merging into a single, haunting voice. “You cannot free us. You cannot save us. Join us!”
“You offering a hug?” Pixie yells. “Here! Hug this!” She fires another explosive round into the ghostly mist, which booms with a scattering of ectoplasmic vapor in all directions.
Ceol lunges forward, his sword blazing with consecrated light. “You’ll find no new souls here,” he says with defiance. “You’ll find only judgment!” He summons the Light’s justice, and two glowing hammers form above the entity, falling into it with a golden explosion.
The group presses on with their assault, their combined strength beginning to unravel the Confluence’s form. With a final, piercing wail, the vortex collapses in on itself, the ghostly forms dissipating into the ether. The chamber falls silent, the oppressive weight of the Confluence lifted.
Breathing heavily, Ceol lowers his sword, glancing at the others. “Everyone all right?”
“If by all right you mean still in one piece, then yup,” Pixie says, wiping sweat from her face. “That thing was a nightmare!”
Nebula approaches, her light still faintly glowing. “The souls are free from the amalgamation now,” she says. “Was the child’s soul among them?”
Appalling’s gaze lingers on the space where the Confluence once occupied. “No,” she mutters in a raspy voice. “Those souls were twisted and bound to the Maw’s torment. Innocence has no place in such despair—it would have lingered, searching for refuge.”
Keliva strides toward Sethe, her six arms folded in a display of feigned impatience. “Isn’t it time you send me back, mortal?” She hisses, her words dripping with disdain. “Or do you intend to waste more of my invaluable time?”
Sethe narrows her eyes at the shivarra, her jaw tightening. “You can go,” she says as she waves a dismissive hand. “I’m done with you.”
The shivarra bares her fangs in a snarl as a shimmering portal of violet energy spirals into existence behind her. With deliberate steps, she backs into the portal. As she disappears, the portal snaps shut with an audible crack.
Ceol exhales sharply. “All right,” he says, glancing at the group. “Where to next?”
Appalling’s hollow voice cuts through the lingering silence, her gaze fixed ahead. “Another amalgamation is not far from here,” she says. With a flick of her wrist, she dismisses the succubus Nimantia.
Nimantia tilts her head with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with mischievous delight. “You’ll miss me,” she purrs, blowing a dramatic kiss in the air. “Mwah!” With a graceful spin and a swirl of her long, jet black hair, she steps into the swirling portal, which snaps shut behind her in a flash of crimson light, leaving the chamber eerily quiet once more.
The group weaves their way back through the winding cave system, their progress slowed by wrong turns and dead ends. Finally, the dim light of the outside world of the Maw greets them. Emerging into the narrow ravine, they retrace their path with cautious steps, eventually reaching their previous rest stop—a shallow gap between boulders tucked under an overhanging ledge, offering meager shelter from the harsh elements.
Ceol and Crew gather under the ledge, weary and parched, their movements sluggish. Pixie fusses over her water extractor, muttering under her breath. “Come on, you hunk of junk. Give me something!” She gives the contraption a sharp smack, but only a few drops of murky, oily liquid sputter out. “We’re running on empty here.”
Ceol, seated on a rock with his sword resting across his knees, glances at Appalling. “What are we dealing with next?” He asks the Forsaken warlock.
Appalling stands motionless for a moment, her gaze distant. “The Fleshshard Leviathan,” she replies. “Its den is to the south of here, not far.”
“And how many more after that?” Nebula asks while seated and massaging her calf muscle.
“Several more,” Appalling says.
“Pshaw!” Pixie utters, having taken a seat on a rocky shelf above the group. “Any of them named a Basket of Kittens?” She begins wiping off a thin coat of dust form her technogoggles.
“In the maw, that would still be horrible to see,” Sethe says with a smirk.
“Not sure how much further we can go like this,” Ceol says with drooping shoulders. “Let’s investigate the…uhm, flesh thingy…and if we have no luck finding the child, I say we head back to Oribos and rest up before we continue.”
The group rests as best they can, each member drawing upon dwindling reserves of strength and will. Appalling takes the lead once more, guiding them around sharp bends and down through shadowed ravines. Finally, the trail ascends into a steep, treacherous path that clings to the edge of a towering cliff face. Below, a dark gorge spans, its depths hidden in shadows. After what feels like an eternity, they enter a narrow passage, the oppressive walls pressing close for dozens of meters before spilling out into a airy, open expanse. A wide, naturally formed berm hides what lies beyond.
“On the other side is the den of the Fleshshard Leviathan,” Appalling says, coming to an abrupt stop. “We should prepare ourselves.”
Ceol approaches the berm, his eyes scanning the wall. He places his helm on a nearby rock and leans his shield and sword carefully beside it. “Hold up just a sec,” he says to the group. “I want to see if we can get a look before moving in.” Slowly, he begins his ascent, his hands and feet testing each hold for stability. Reaching the top, he crouches low and peers cautiously over the edge. He stares over the top for a several minutes before climbing back down.
“I don’t see the creature,” Ceol says, “but there are two people in the den’s yard.”
“People?” Nebula asks. “What are they doing?”
“Nothing,” Ceol says. “Just standing there, like they’re waiting for something. They look like mawsworn.”
“Let’s rush 'em!” Pixie says. “Take 'em by surprise!” She lifts her rifle.
“Might not have to,” Ceol says. “After Zovaal’s defeat, the Primus now controls the mawsworn. Let’s see if diplomacy will work here. I’m curious as to what they want.”
The group rounds the corner of the opening and steps cautiously into the wide yard before the den, their hands near their weapons but not yet drawn. The two mawsworn figures meander about, their shadowy forms etched against the jagged rock behind them. One appears militant, a towering figure clad in blackened plate armor adorned with jagged spikes, a massive greatsword strapped to his back. The other is lithe and tall, her form shrouded in tattered veils that seem to drift ghostly, her eyes burning with a brutal, malevolent light. Both have tattered bat-like wings folded inward at rest.
The plate-armored militant steps toward Ceol non-threateningly, removing his helm from his head and tucking it under his right arm. His long hair is haggard, and his face is square and weathered, but beardless. “Ceol Abrion, I presume?”
“That would be me," Ceol answers, easing his way forward to address the figure.
“I am Heleomarc,” the militant says, “a captain in the Oblivion Regiment under the Mawsworn Military.” He nods to the other figure, who is dressed in cloth armor. “This is Vaethra, my lieutenant.”
“Glad to…uhm, meet you?” Ceol asks with a fake smile and raised eyebrow.
“You and your associates hunt for the child known as Dawn-So-Pure Whispersoftly,” Heleomarc says.
Ceol’s gaze darts briefly to the others before returning to the captain. “Correct again. We want the child.”
“We don’t,” Heleomarc says sternly. “Want the child, that is.”
“Okay?” Ceol responds with an sort of question, a look of bewilderment draped across his face.
“We propose a trade,” Heleomarc continues. “The child…for you.”
Nebula steps around Ceol to shield him. “Absolutely not!”
Pixie whips out her rifle and aims it at Heleomarc. “We can take 'em!” Pixie says, her voice reaching a fevered pitch.
Heleomarc and Vaethra stand silent, offering no reaction. Heleomarc then shakes his head while looking off in the distance. He shifts his weight from leg to the other, and lifts his left hand to his hip. “You will not win this encounter,” he says. “We don’t have time to battle it out or even debate. The child is of no concern to us.”
“But I am?” Ceol asks. He places his hand on Nebula’s shoulder and pats her gently. She looks at him worringly, shaking her head no. “Where is the child, anyway?” Ceol continues. “We’ve been searching for a long while now.”
Heleomarc points to the den. “In there,” he states.
“So, the child’s soul is part of the amalgamation?” Ceol asks.
“Worse!” Heleomarc says. “Somehow, it’s gained control of the vehicle.”
Ceol pauses briefly, still wrestling in his mind to understand. “The leviathian…is a vehicle?”
Heleomarc sighs heavily, but continues to explain, “These constructs are our war machines and are fueled by anima. They’re empty vehicles until a soul assumes control of it. We farm the Maw for most demented of souls, as they make the best operators.” Heleomarc casts an angry gaze over at Appalling, taking note of the sigil on her tabard. “Zovaal flooded the maw with souls of innocence, mainly to thwart our efforts. Well, he succeeded. Now one of our most powerful constructs is controlled by a timid child.” Heleomarc turns in the direction of the lair and raises his voice. “Even now, the creature hides in the shadows, afraid to venture forth to defend its lair.” Heleomarc watches the opening of the den. Nothing stirs within the darkness. He turns back to Ceol with gritted teeth.
“And so you need me to drive the vehicle,” Ceol says, weighing the words as they’re spoken. “To replace the child as the operator.”
“I can do it!” Pixie says, stepping forward. “Let me!”
“We do not choose you,” Heleomarc says to Pixie. “We choose him. There are only two kinds of souls preferred to drive these vehicles, those who are demented beyond aid and those who well-disciplined by the Light.” Heleomarc pauses only momentarily. “In truth, the latter are better operators, but only if they’re willing. Of course, none are ever willing.”
“How do we know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?” Appalling interjects.
“You don’t!” Vaethra says. She stares at Appalling menacingly, her body tense as if holding back a rage.
“We have no control over this situation,” Heleomarc says, raising a hand for Vaethra to stand down. “And we’re running out of time. You take control of the vehicle. You expel the child. Your companions take the child and leave to wherever. We don’t care about that. You operate the vehicle and accompany Vaethra and I to the frontlines.”
“Where are the frontlines?” Ceol asks.
Heleomarc pauses briefly, staring into Ceol’s eyes. “Don’t concern yourself with that right now.”
Ceol stares at him silently.
Heleomarc sighs, “It’s in the nether. That’s all I’ll say.”
Ceol lowers his head and closes his eyes.
Nebula steps close to him. “What if he’s lying?” She says, placing her hand on his chest plate. “This feels like a trap.”
“I believe him,” Ceol says, taking a deep breath.
“You don’t have to do this,” Nebula whispers. “Not this way. We’ll find another way.”
Ceol begins to unstrap his plate bracer. He looks up to Heleomarc. “Give me a moment to speak to my companions.” He then turns to face Nebula and Pixie, just as he removes the bracer from his arm.
“Ceol!” Nebula says, grabbing the other arm and tugging at it.
“Take the child,” Ceol says.
“No!” Nebula says.
“Listen, we can’t pass this up,” Ceol says. “It’s okay. Take the child and get her to the Arbiter.” Ceol removes the other bracer. “The Arbiter already has our petition. We just need to go through the motions.”
Nebula steps back with a look of horror on her face. She stares into Ceol’s eyes, her own beginning to water.
Ceol drops both bracers to the ground and turns to face Heleomarc and Vaethra. “How do I make this happen?” He asks, undoing his belt.
Heleomarc purses his lips tightly for a moment. Then he lifts his chin and takes a deep breath. “Allow the creature to devour you.”
Ceol jerks his eyes up alarmingly to meet Heleomarc’s.
“You’re a crazy person!” Pixie says to the militant. She begins to flip switches on her rifle.
“Ceol!” Nebula says weakly. Her lower lip trembles.
Sethe and Appalling cast glances at each other, standing off to the side, both opting to remain silent.
Ceol pulls off his pauldrons and unlashes the shoulder straps holding his chest plate in place. The pieces of his armor drop to the ground with loud thuds. He removes his sabatons slowly and then sets them down next to Pixie’s spider bot. “Take my gear back with you, if you would, please?” Ceol asks her. Pixie nods affirmatively, but remains quiet. He removes the leg pieces, having nothing else on save cloth breeches and an undershirt.
Barefooted, Ceol walks toward the lair. But he pauses one final time and turns to Nebula and Pixie. “Get the child to Ardenweald. Return to Dalaran and rest up. When you’re fully recovered, come get me. Don’t let me linger.”
Heleomarc hears and begins to shake his head no, casting his gaze off to the side, but he stays quiet except for heavy sighing. Pixie nods affirmatively again. Nebula closes her eyes and lowers her head. Her body shudders.
Ceol approaches the den’s opening. It’s completely dark inside, but a faint silhouette of a dragon-sized creature stirs slightly. Two lit pupils flash in the darkness. The leviathan is staring at Ceol, but makes no motion toward him.
“Hey!” Ceol yells, his voice echoing inside. “Hiyaaah!” The creature remains still. He whistles loudly, the shrill sound piercing the empty quiet. Nothing. Ceol casts a quick glance in Heleomarc’s direction. The mawsworn captain’s only response is a raised hand, motioning for him to persist. Ceol reaches down and picks up a few stones. He tosses the first, and it hits the far wall inside, stone clanging around on stone. The creature growls slightly and stirs a little but settles back down. He tosses the second stone and it hits with a dull thud. The creature growls louder and then steps forward out of the darkness. Ceol drops the remaining stone and instinctively backs up but finally wills himself to stop.
The Fleshshard Leviathan emerges, revealing itself a four-legged, winged, collection of rotten, jagged flesh and exposed sinew, its massive form riddled with shards of bone that protrude like splintered armor. Its glowing eyes, pulsating with unnatural energy, dart erratically. The creature’s presence exudes an aura of relentless anguish, each step punctuated by the sound of grinding bone and tearing flesh. It steps up to Ceol and slowly takes a hold of him with a foreclaw. He looks up into its eyes as it opens its mouth, its fetid saliva gushing forth and spilling to the ground.
Appalling glances at Sethe, who is staring at the scene with morbid fascination. Appalling then glances to Nebula and Pixie, who have already looked away. At this moment, the sounds of bone crunching and Ceol screaming fill the air. Both Nebula and Pixie cringe at the sounds, closing their eyes tight and gasping in horror. Appalling glances to Vaethra, who is staring back at her with the same menacing look as before. Appalling curls one corner of her mouth before finally looking to Heleomarc, who is focused on the scene with the creature. Ceol falls silent and the creature finishes its horrid task. Heleomarc turns to face the group while nodding his head affirmatively.
Nebula takes a few steps away, stumbling slightly and reaching at empty air while looking for something to grip. Pixie whips up her rifle and aims it at the mawsworn captain. “This better work! If you’re lying, your carcass is next!” Heleomarc looks at her disapprovingly, offering her no more a response than yet another sigh.
The creature roars, and everyone locks their eyes on its rotten form. It convulses and shambles, and bites at an empty space. Suddenly, it jerks violently, and a bulge forms in its long throat, working upward toward the mouth. The creature then vomits a steaming ball made of flesh and bone. It plops to the ground with a sickening splat. The creature roars at everyone present, but makes no movement foward.
“It is done,” Heleomarc says. He then turns to Vaethra. “Get the creature to the third phalanx stationed between the first and second battalions.”
“Acknowledged,” Vaethra says with a nod.
Heleomarc steps away from her and approaches the group. “If we ever have the misfortune of meeting again, I will kill you.” Without waiting for a response, he lowers himself slightly, outstretches his wings, and leaps into the air, flying upward into the sky. Vaethra’s lips curl into a snarl, but she remains silent, folding out her wings and leaping into the air to follow. The creature roars again, and then leaps into the air to follow Vaethra.
The remaining four watch as the pair of mawsworn and the leviathan fly further into the air until all three are completely out of sight. Then the remaining four members surround the steaming ball of flesh and bone. Pixie walks over to her bag near the spider bot, and pulls from the bag a motorized saw. She turns it on and pulls the trigger, and the saw’s toothed chain rotates noisely. Pixie then approaches the ball, and starts cutting a slit into the bone. She stops part of the way, stepping back momentarily.
“Ugh,” Pixie mutters, whipping out a rag from her pouch and tying it around her neck. She lifts it up to cover her nose and mouth. She then returns to cutting on the open slit. Finally, she straightens and turns the saw off. Placing a foot on one side of the slit, and gripping the other with both her gloved hands. she forces the slit to open wider. It cracks loudly, but gives way to expose its contents. Inside is a small child-sized humanoid figure curled up in the fetal position, deformed and motionless.
Appalling removes a lantern from her backpack. It bears the sigil of the Valkyr, a winged sword with its tip of blade pointed down. She holds it above the figure, and touches a rune on the side. Swirls of bluish, white light seeps from the small figure and enters into the lantern.
Pixie pulls the face mask down and gives an approving nod to Appalling. The Forsaken warlock responds to the gesture with her own nod.