In Service: A Science Fantasy Quest

With the skittering, scraping sound growing closer, you make a split-second decision to go after Sean.

Releasing the hold you had on your heavy pistol, you plant a foot on the edge of the hole, the inky darkness within hinting at its unknown depths.

(Athletics Roll DC 40: 85, success)

After a few moments of climbing, you drop to the debris covered floor, flicking on your flashlight as you recover. You frown as the beam cuts through the darkness, illuminating it and revealing your odd surroundings. Walls of gray rock greet your eyes as you shine the light around the cavern-like room. There's no sign of Sean anywhere near, he must have gone deeper in.

(Intuition Roll DC 35: 44+10=54, success)

You press a hand against the stone, feeling its smoothness as your frown deepens. It's too smooth and uniform for a natural cave, it must be man-made somehow and it's definitely not a sewer—there's no tell-tale smell for one.

What sort of thing could have made this? Regardless of what made it, it's probably going to have something to do with what's going on. And knowing your luck, you're gonna be running into it soon enough.

Goodie.

(Perception Roll DC 30: 56+10=66, success)

Pebbles fall, brushing against your shoulder, and your head snaps up, the flashlight following as you stare up at the source of the skittering noise. Your nostrils burn and your eyes from the acrid, sulphuric stench wafting in the air.

Long teeth, pointed and jagged, jutting out from a snarling, slobbering maw. Sickly pale red skin, clammy with a sheen of glossy sweat in the flashlight beam. Long, angled ears ending in blunted tips, ragged and torn from hundreds of fights. It has footlong claws, five on each hand, which are jet black and razor sharp, glinting in the light. Topping the whole hunched thing off, a pair of smoking yellow eyes glare out beadily from small eye sockets set deep in its bald head.

This is an Imp, a Minorus Imp to be exact, and it doesn't seem to like you much, given the way it glares down at you from its hunched perch on the piled debris.

(Perception Roll 25: 29+10=39, success)

Your ears pick up the sound of combat, coming from behind the Hellspawn in the darkness beyond. It's a snapping sound, like a spine breaking again and again. It's the sound of Sean's whip, if you were to make a guess.

If you want to back him up, you're gonna need to get past this Imp. It seems to realize this too, if they way it lowers itself is anything to go by. Your eyes narrow, fingers dancing across the hilt of the dagger at your side. Too much noise and you'll draw the Imps from above, looks like you're knife-fighting the knife-handed monster.

Great.


It moves, leaping at you with its hands outstretched, a hiss on its breath as it lunges. Those claws are deadly, able to slice through a metal wall like it's not even there. It'll easily be able to get through your armor if you let it hit you, which is why you don't.

You move too, the Service Knife at your waist flicking out as you lean into its charge. Your gloved hand snaps out, wrapping around the hellspawn's heated throat as it gurgles in confusion. Its back slams into the ground as you pivot, the knife glinting in the light as you raise it towards the unseeing heavens.

It flails in your rock solid grip, your weight pinning it down as your knife slams home, the broad blade splitting its neck wide. Blood, black and brackish, sprays out as the creature wobbles, its head limply falling back as it loses its strength.

You slide the dagger away as you rise to your feet—after you wipe the blade clean on its oddly hot corpse, of course. You turn away, greatcoat flaring behind you as you head into the darkness, towards Sean and his fight.

~~~~~~~

(How's Sean doing?: 57, he's doing fine, but he could use some help as he's starting to flag)

You turn a too smooth and rounded corner, flashlight bobbing as you come face to face with a pack of Imps. A pack of Imps facing off against a whirling cloud of twisting death.

Sean flicks his wrist and the spine whip sails out, snapping against the body of an Imp, keeping them at bay as best he can. A few Imps lay dead or dying, slumped against the walls or on the floor, but it's not enough, not compared to the Imps still standing. Forked tongues slip from between pointed teeth as they hiss at him, trying to encircle him.

Sean's holding his own, but you can tell that he's starting to flag against the onslaught of foes. Along his sleeves you can see frayed cuts, drops of pale blood pooling in the wounds.

(Resolve Roll DC 55: 92+50=142, success
95+42=137, double success
97+37=134, triple success, Itza once more showing off how determined she can be
78+34=112, quadruple success, lmao
97+12=109, quintuple success, oh my god
51+9=60, sextuple success, phew, I was running out of quips!)

Your heart skips a beat as you see all those Imps, at least a dozen of them still standing. Then, you feel your fist clench around your knife, ironclad determination overtaking you and dashing your fear against the rocks.

Your partner is in danger, are you just gonna sit there and let them take him? Let them cut his life short with cruel, scything claws?

Hell no!

With a snarl, you leap into battle, knife a bright blur as you gut one top to bottom, infernal intestines spilling to the floor alongside its tainted blood. Another spins, claws wide as it lunges. You meet it halfway, jamming a pair of gloved fingers in its eyes as your knife slams to its hilt in the underside of its jaw.

You yank the blade free, the blood spray sliding off your greatcoat with ease. They've taken notice of you now, the sulfur stench joined by the rotten smell of death as they screech at you, like nails on a chalkboard

Sean grins at you, his mouth peeled too far back. You return the smile, knife at the ready as your own teeth glint in the flashlight.


You move first, closing the distance between you and the next Imp in but a few steps, knife flashes and blood spurts from the stump where its head used to be. It's head lands in front of the next demon, hitting the ground with a thud, tongue lolling from its lipless mouth.

The next lunges for you, claws sparking along the rock wall as you shoulder check its chest, feeling it crumple from the force as you slip your blade up under the ribcage and puncture its heart. With a twist, you step aside the falling body, ready for the next in line.

Which you don't have to deal with as a spine-like whip sails by your head, punching a hole through the neck of the spindly Hellspawn in front of you. You shoot your friend a grin and a thumbs-up, which he returns—snapping his whip and yanking another Imp into the path of your blade.

Together, you battle against the hordes of the Hellpit, planting a boot on their necks and kicking in their teeth with a furious stomp.

A pair of armor piercing claws slice right past your face, drawing a thin line of blood across your cheek. Your knife removes the offending limb, the creature screeching in pain as you plant your dagger in the side of its head.

Drawing back from the blood-spraying red-skinned beast as it falls to the ground, you take in the carnage you left behind you.

Bodies litter the narrow corridor, limbs splayed at odd angles and with numerous puncture wounds at odd places. Blood splatters against the walls, as Sean leans against one of the rare bloodless spots. He breathes heavily, drawing in ragged breath after ragged breath.

As he sees you staring, he pushes off and steps closer to you. "So," he breathes out, a low thing, "that was…"

"Intense?" You finish for him.

"I was gonna say violent, but that works too." The Dullahan nods with a laugh, before turning serious. "Hey, you good? You got a little bloodthirsty there, I think."

You scratch the back of your head, scrunching up your hair in the process as you kick the ground—accidently knocking over a slumped demon in the process. "Ah, well, that's just sort of how I am, you know? I end fights as quick as I can, the longer they go on the more danger I'm in."

"I get you," he nods, seemingly accepting it. "So, what's next?" He flicks a thumb back the way you came. "Want to go back, climb out of here?" He spins, pointing a finger ahead of you. "Orrrrr, we could see what's so special to have a pack of Imps guarding it?"

You bite your lip, picking at the dry skin. Fighting works up a sweat and you're feeling awfully thirsty… You grimace as your fingers touch something cold and wet. Damn, looks like they got your water in the chaos. RIP the water bottle, he served you well.

But, you still have to respond to Sean. What do you say?
[ ] Climb out, you can check this out later but first you've got to…
-[ ] Help Team One out
-[ ] Find the source of the Hellspawn
[ ] Push forwards, find out what they were guarding. Besides, the source might be down here

~~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Hot diggity dog, guys, you just tore that pack of Imps up! Then again… Imps, Minorus Imps at that, aren't exactly very threatening. I'm trying out a new method of combat and I'm liking how it's turning out. Not entirely happy with my writing for this one, but oh well. Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM CST, thanks for reading!

Q: How do Openings work?
A: When you crit on a dodge, and you have something that gives you the chance to get an Opening, you get an Opening which is just a free attack that the enemy can't dodge against.

"Team One sounded like they needed help, so let's get outta here and back them up." It's the best option, you reckon, out of the choices at hand. Sean nods and fishes his communicator from his coat, some of his pale blood has been splashed against it in the fighting. He clicks it, trying to call up Team One, by your guess, only to receive nothing but fuzzy static. The Dullahan attempts it again, his frown deeping each following try.

"Comms are down." The agent-hopeful sighs, giving the communicator a final, weighty button press. "I think there's something weird with this place."

"Same here," you point a hand at a wall, brushing your knuckles against the too smooth surface, "the walls are too smooth. Here, give it a feel." Sean pulls up next to you and runs a leathery hand against the stone surface.

"You're right, this is too smooth." He steps back, putting a few strides between him and the wall. "Come on, we can talk about it on the way." You half-jog to catch up to him, his previous long steps slowed by a slight limp. You decide to not mention it, if it were affecting him he'd say something.

(Knowledge (Magic) Roll DC 85: 100, success, really?
69+0=69, double success, wow, okay)

You half stumble, missing a step as an idea comes to mind. "Hey, is the jam caused by a magical source or a technological one? Cause I just had an idea." Sean, by virtue of being a magical being, has a degree of magical senses.

Sean's brows furrow. "Magical, but… I'm not sure, it feels weird."

"Weird? In what way?"

"Weird as in it feels…" He shakes his head, struggling to describe it. "...Lifeless, for lack of a better word."

"Lifeless? Like it's been killed or died, or was never alive in the first place?"

"The former." You nod, thoughts circling.

"These walls are smooth…" You trail off, muttering as you fish out half-remembered lessons on magical ritual. Your eyes shoot wide open, an idea spiraling into existence. "The walls! Smooth! Magic!" You shout, ranting and raving as your super-science aligned brain switches gears—arms flailing as something akin to mad science takes hold.

"You okay?" Sean's bewildered fear is a simple thing to deduce for one such as yourself. After all, you are the greatest of all ti-!

You blink, heat rising to your cheeks as you rapidly stumble over yourself. "Sorry," you offer sheepishly, taking several steps away from him.

"No biggie," he shrugs, dismissing it with a wave of the hand, "but, you said something about smooth walls and magic?"

You blink again, memories striking you like a comet. "Right!" You nod rapidly, reaching the hole in the floor––or ceiling, rather, that you came through. "The smoother something is, the easier it is for magic energy to move along it. Without any rough parts or ridges to catch on, any magic finding its way into this network of tunnels is going to get channeled towards something, likely some kind of magical ritual." Sean's eyes widen, his own thoughts racing.

"The ritual, if there is one, is cold. The magic's dead and gone, now at least. However," he mutters, conclusions and possibilities running through his mind, "it's completely possible that the ritual was activated recently…"

(Obsession (Lower Realm) Resolve Roll DC 35: 49+30=79, success)

"We can check it out later, for now, we've gotta back up Team One and check up on Team Three." You declare, beginning the climb back up. You shake off your impulse to examine a potential hellish ritual, you've got a job to do and you're not going to give up on it that easily.

Sean agrees, following in your 'footsteps'.

~~~~~~~

(How is Team One doing?: 32, not great, not great at all, though they're giving as good as they get)

Your footsteps beat a steady staccato as you stomp through the halls, your boots slamming against the tiled flooring as you run towards Team One. The sound of violence, of clashing weapons, rings louder and louder as you draw closer. A booming sound, the noise of a gunshot, joins the cacophony of combat.

You round the corner, skidding to a halt as you lay eyes on the scene before you.

Large, statuesque men dressed in jaguar pelts and leather belts wield what you recognize as macuahuitl, a wooden club with lengths of embedded obsidian blades. Their skin looks as if it were carved from stone, a brick-like pattern decorates their bodies. Flaming eyes that remind you of the sun stare blankly from their sockets.

Jaguar Warriors, the standard warriors of the Mayan Gods.

Across from the warriors, of which there are three, is Team One. They're still standing, though the blood staining Ryan's clothing doesn't bode well for their condition. Amelia has a cool exterior, placing the sights of her pistol on them and blowing a small chunk of stone away with every pull of the trigger. Ryan has a katana in hand, lightning arcing along its curving edge—he's keeping the Mayans away from the rest of you the best that he can.

(Resolve Roll DC 65: 26+50=76, success)

You ready yourself, ignoring your knife and drawing your pistol, wishing you brought something a bit heavier along for the ride. Regardless of any wishes you may have, you throw yourself into the chaos––Sean by your side and with whip in hand.


Lightning sparks, arcing along the blade of Ryan's katana as he moves, sliding under the sweeping swing of the first warrior. His legs bend as he reaches where the wall meets the floor, bouncing off it and twisting midair, delivering a deep gouge across the chest of the Jaguar Warrior as he lands, like a canyon on a rocky landscape.

The second warrior steps in, grabbing Ryan by the scarf and slamming him to the wall, dust poofing up as he impacts the red brick. It rears back, aiming to decapitate Ryan with a well placed swing—a well placed swing that never connects. Ryan slips from his scarf, letting obsidian-bladed club turn it to tatters as he hits the ground with a roll, already setting up for his next attack.

Until a holy bullet whistles in, whispers of prayer follow in spirals. It craters in the head of the first warrior, blowing a chunk of its brow clean off and exposing its eye. If it could glare, you think that it would be now. Amelia meets its gaze with one of her own, sliding a fresh magazine in and racking the slide all in one smooth motion.

The Jaguar Warrior swings at Ryan—who's darting across the hallway to meet it. They clash, the blue arcs of the Ninja's blade sparking against the polished wood of the stone Mayan's club. The warrior advances, its crushing weight forcing Ryan to move—right in the way of the thing's rocky fist.

He bounces off the ground, right into the path of the third Jaguar Warrior, Sean's whip embedded in its uncaring neck. The razor sharp obsidian blades carve across the Ninja's back, peeling skin and cloth away as one.

The first stomps forwards, a heavy stone foot aimed to crush Ryan's rib cage in and finish him off. It raises its leg up, the weighty, death-dealing foot falling with a heavy thud—except for a trio of bullets, bullets from your gun, cracking into its exposed eye, shattering the golden sun into fragments. It falls back, away from the recovering Ryan and towards the approaching second. The first crumbles to dust, its yellow mixing with the gray of the school.

It raises its own macuahuitl, ready to finish what its sibling started. But it's not to be as Ryan leaps away, springboarding to the left—towards the third. The third Jaguar Warrior swings, aiming to bisect Ryan down the middle. The lightning spouting blade meets it halfway, a brilliant blaze of blue electricity thunders out, the front half of the macuahuitl falling away as Ryan spins, landing on his feet and ready for the charging second.

A spinal whip sails out of the blue, Sean stepping forwards, and arrests the sword arm of the stone warrior, forcing it to the ground.

Ryan leaps forwards, feet falling on the side of the club as he runs up it, twisting off and carving a deep, very deep line across the neck of the third. He spins, the sword following him as he drives it through the head of the living statue.

The American-born Ninja lands on his feet, sheathe in hand as he slowly, as if in slow motion, slides the blade home. With a click of the guard, the two stone Jaguar Warriors turn to dust as one—crumpling in on themselves as they become piles of dust on the ground.

The hero of the hour stands there, swaying slightly in the breeze-less air. Red blood spurts out of the wound on his shoulder, coating the dust-filled ground and muddying it up. You swear you can see bloody bone through the debris of his back.


He falls to his knees and the rest of you rush to him, medical supplies in hand.

~~~~~~~

(How's Team Three doing?: 8, that's not good)

You step away from the blood soaked Ryan, he's been patched up as best the rest of you can give him—making sure none of the dust, be it from the school or the Mayans, got in it.

Pulling out your communicator, you call up Team Three, who it turns out has been trying to reach you for the past several minutes.

"Finally!" Jess snarks, flecks of anger sparking in her voice. "I've been trying to reach you forever now!" Her speech is hushed, like she's trying to stay quiet from something.

"What's going on?" You frown into the communicator.

"It's… easier to explain if you see it. How close are you to the gym?"

You glance down the hall, counting the doors. "About four-ish doors away, why?"

"Come and take a look at this—and be careful!" The urgency in her hissing voice causes you to take note, creeping to the doorway and looking out the window.

(Knowledge (Hellpits) DC 50: 69, success, nice)

"Fuck me running… that's a big demon." You breathe out in awe, a slight edge of fear tinting your words.

And you're right, it is a big demon—or devil, rather. This particular specimen is large, slightly taller than the decrepit basketball hoops that line the gym. A long gray beard sweeps across the floor, as it drags a long sword behind its hunched back. This is known as a 'Great Bearded Devil' and they're a large degree more dangerous than your common Imp. Though, thankfully, there don't seem to be any Imps near the Devil, probably because they don't get along very well.

"You got any ideas on how to take this big bastard down?" Jess pulls you from your thoughts. "I guess we could call in the Kill Team…" She seems kinda grumbly about that, probably because she hasn't fought very much yet, if you were to make a guess.

Well, first things first gotta get an inventory of your options. Amelia has Holy Water Grenades and Incense Grenades, two of each—along with a supply of holy bullets. You're pretty sure that TJ's machine gun would do some damage, and the breaching charge he brought along too.

Any plans?
[ ] Plan name
-[ ] Write in

Or you can just call in the Kill Team… but you won't be able to explore the ritual zone and a good portion of your fellow trainees aren't gonna be very happy about it.
[ ] Call in the Kill Team

Or you could go back to the ritual zone, see if there's anything there that could help you deal with a dangerous Devil? After all, if they were summoning things, surely they were prepared to accidentally summon something they weren't ready for, right?
[ ] Explore the rest of the ritual zone


~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Hot damn was Ryan the MVP of that fight. I got inspired and speed ran this one. Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM CST, thanks for reading.

"Sean and I discovered a sub-level, an artificial cave which we suspect is being used for a ritual of some sort. Likely to summon Hellspawn, like it or not." The communicator crackles as you speak into it, a slight buzz in the air. "We're gonna go check it out, see if there's any chance the summoner's were smart and prepared rather than dumb and stupid, over."

"Got it, stay safe out there. We'll keep an eye on this big bastard while you do that. What's the condition of Team One, over?" Jess' voice crackles out as you peek around the corner, looking out at the makeshift machine gun nest that Team Three made out in the bleachers.

You look back at Ryan, who is currently sitting up in the lotus position––doing some meditation, by the looks of things. Even if the wound across his back is patched up, he's in no shape to be fighting. Amelia's standing off to the side, still as a statue. After the fight she loaded another magazine into her gun and placed it back into her suit jacket, which had become scuffed in the fighting.

"Yeah… yeah, Team One's down a member, Ryan took a hit across his back. Amelia's in fighting form, though, and looks to have a supply of anti-Hellspawn weaponry on her. We're going to bring her along with us, when we explore the ritual zone. Sound good to you, over?" Amelia's ears twitch as you speak her name––the tips of her ears poking through the veil of her hair.

The communicator is silent for a moment, Jess is likely talking with TJ about it, before her voice comes back in with a slight crackle. "...Sounds good to us. Drop Ryan off with us, over."

"Got it. We'll be on our way soon, over and out." You click the communicator off and stuff it back in its pouch.

~~~~~~~

Your knees bend slightly as you drop into the cave, flashlight beam joining your partners' as you rise fully.

"Amelia," you begin, catching Amelia and Sean's attention as you gesture towards where you suspect the ritual takes place, "Sean and I encountered some Imps, Minorus, when we came down here earlier so be on your guard, alright?"

(Perception (Visual) Roll DC 70: 69+10=79, success)

For a moment, a shadow of a smile passes over her face. Her impenetrable eyes gave way to a joyous spark. A hint of emotion emerges on her cheeks, giving her something of a glowing aura. If she had a drop of Angelic heritage, you'd bet that there'd be a halo over her head, such was the level of emotion compared to her previous.

And then, all at once and all of a sudden, it's gone––once more replaced by her normal stoic mien.

She nods, racking the slide and chambering a blessed round in her pistol and drawing her holy knife. "Acknowledged." The half-elf speaks, a hint of excitement unfolding from her syllables like a flower blooming in spring.

Sean doesn't say anything, simply unfurling his whip from his waist and adjusting his grip on it.

And with that, you set out into the inky darkness of the smooth caverns––weapons ready for whatever comes your way.

~~~~~~~

It doesn't take long for your progress in the smooth caves to be harried. In this case, it's a wooden door at the end of the tunnel. A trivial obstacle in your way.

It also doesn't take long for the problem to be solved. All Sean had to do was step forward and let his natural Dullahan magic take effect. The door unlocks, swinging open to reveal the large chamber hiding behind it.

Your flashlight beams dart across the room, revealing the dome-like nature of its structure. In the center of the chamber is what appears to be a summoning circle, geometric shapes with infernal characters line the ritual. In the 'front' of the smooth space, right before the door, is an altar. An unsettling aura rises from the dry red marks on the cubic altar, something that grabs all three of your attentions.

(Investigation Roll DC 45: 92+10=102, success
56+2=58, double success)
(Amelia's Investigation Roll DC 35: 29, failure)
(Sean's Investigation Roll DC 45: 79, success)

"Blood," you whisper, brushing the back of your glove against the sticky substance. A shiny something, a coin, catches your attention as you examine the altar. The coin is a thin gold circle with a man's head on the side—the image's mouth is sealed shut.

(Knowledge (Magic) DC 65: 66, success)

That's… that's the source of the jamming effect, if you were to make a guess. Picking it up, you slide it into an evidence baggie, the magic blocked by the enchantments on the bag. Clicking your communicator on, you see that you've got a signal. Looks like you found the source of the jammer.

"Somebody died here. Several somebodies." Sean speaks up, his Dullahan nature kicking in. "Kate Willgrove, James Logger," you close your eyes as Sean carries on, unable to stop speaking the names of the dead, "Jeremy Myers, Laura Myers, Adam Green, and Harry Hroldsson." He finishes, each of you silent in respect of the dead. "May their spirits find rest." His words ring hollow to your ears, being sacrificed in a ritual like this one… spirits are weak immediately after death, easily consumed by a stronger being. You open your eyes and Amelia unclasps her hands from a quick prayer.

"Any more information you can gather from that? Their identities? Date of death?" You ask as you step in next to Sean.

"They've all been sacrificed recently, the earliest six days ago, another sacrificed each day since. Nobody was sacrificed today." He says as you put two and two together.

"Six days? Why not seven? Seven's a much more magically potent number then six for mass summoning…" You frown, connections forming in your mind. "Which means there's still time to save the seventh!" A sense of urgency lays its way across your mind, mirrored in the thoughts of the two next to you.

"We have to find them." Amelia's words scythe their way across your racing mind. "We cannot allow those responsible to complete this ritual."

"But where are they?" Sean steps in, drawing closer to her. "You have an idea?"

In lieu of answering Amelia clasps her hands together, intertwining her fingers as her eyes screw shut with focus. It doesn't take a genius like yourself to recognize prayer when you see it, the sheer weight her following words carry is clue enough.

"Oh Holy Father, our Lord in Heaven, please show us the way, reveal to us what we are missing. Lend us Your Sight so we may be so blessed to carry out Your Will on earth. Amen."

As her words trail off, carving themselves into the silent air of the chamber, a rumbling thrum of power answers her prayer.

White fire burns itself into existence in front of her hands, spreading out and lathering the room in holy flames. They ebb around you and Sean, avoiding your touch as they focus on a single point: an outline of a door carved into the wall.

Amelia falls to her hands and knees, her body convulsing as she hacks up a chunk of blood-stained phlegm. You rush over, you and Sean helping her to her feet as she wipes her mouth, a handkerchief appearing from nowhere.

"You okay? What happened?" You demand as she pulls away from your grasp, steadying herself on shaky legs.

"I invoked a miracle." She hesitantly says, as if that's enough of an explanation for what just happened. "I can do one more."

"And," you gesture at the slimy piece of… something on the floor, "that happens whenever you do that?"

"It is the price I pay." She says, back to her stony exterior. "We will not have much longer, please examine the results as I need to keep it focused."

Sharing a glance and a shrug, you and Sean approach the outline, examining it for any useful clues.

(Perception Roll DC 75: 80+10+30(Prayer)=120, success
81+20=101, double success
95+1=96, triple success)
(Sean's Perception Roll DC 75: 33+30(Prayer)=63, failure)

Sean begins scratching at the bandages around his neck as he frowns. "I don't see anyth-"

He's cut off as you push him out of the way as your arm darts out, clicking the button hidden in the wall. You smirk at him as the outline disappears, he returns with a flat expression as a hidden door slides open. Dust floats in the air as you peer in, flashlights illuminating a figure chained to the wall.

"H-hello?" The voice of a subdued young boy calls out from his chained position on the floor. "A-are you here to t-take me away too?" He blinks at you, blinded by the light of your flashlights.

You don't say anything, keeping your distance from the child––refusing to step any closer than you already are. There are many things out there that could easily impersonate a child, and none of them would have good things in mind for you if you get too close.

(Perception (Auditory) Roll DC 60: 2+10=12, failure, uh oh)
(Sean's Perception Roll DC 60: 44, failure, that's not good)
(Amelia's Perception Roll DC 70: 43+10=53, failure, well crap)

Claps echo from behind you, a cruel noise in the silence of the domed room. You freeze as you turn, Sean stock still beside you.

The first thing you see is a smug smirk under a pair of darkened eyes. The second, and more pressing thing, is the gun shoved in Amelia's mouth. The wisps of gray hair and the heavy wrinkles on his skin gives him an air of advanced age. Long red robes brush against the ground as the man holding the gun opens his mouth to speak, the image of a horned goat has been tattooed onto the roof of his mouth.

The cultist speaks, the cruel, spiraling dagger on his waist rattles as he does. "So you've found my ritual chamber, good job. Not that you'll be able to stop my plans!" He laughs and you oh so dearly want to shoot him but with Amelia held hostage… "And soon my plans too will be complete! This place is easily accessed by the demonic because of those events so many years ago, when my predecessors nearly completed their ritual. They were stopped, of course, by your own predecessors in the Service. Now, however, all that's needed to finish the ritual is a single life." He grins, jostling the pistol in Amelia's mouth. "And if any of you make a move, well, I don't need to tell you what happens, now do I?"

What do you do?
[ ] Play along with him
-[ ] Also contact someone (Optional) (Unlocked)
--[ ] The Kill Team (Requires no stealth check)
--[ ] Team Three (Requires a stealth check)
--[ ] Both
[ ] Attack, maybe you'll be fast enough to shoot him before he reacts—he is rather old after all

~~~~~~~

GM's Note: Shit's gone south, but maybe you can make something from it? Not super happy with this update, but it is what it is. Voting will be called tomorrow at 6 PM CST, thanks for participating!