GM Note: Longer wait than I would have liked thanks to, well, unfortunate IRL events. Apologies. Found a relatively good stopping point, rather than just rolling on and on and on for longer given the gap.
Spikes, Horns, and Stone 27
"Are we in that much more danger from the Coven? You have to have known them for centuries, now," you point out quickly, but Hultressa's lip curls in derision at the very thought of it.
"Screamtaker actively ensured that rivalries and pride flared so that no alliance could properly form to depose her," she sneers. "Age mattered little, only power and knowledge. And, to be fair to her," she allowed with a single-shouldered shrug, "It worked for over three thousand years. Orphans were recruited, or made," she growls the last word, "Or otherwise acquired. A myriad mixture of ever changing alliances and groups joining and collapsing."
"No mothers and daughters joining in together?" Johnna tilts her head, and then despite the mask and obscuring magics her confusion is still palpable as Hultressa lets loose a cruel laugh and you exhale slowly with your eyes momentarily wide.
"It's complicated," you say to her quickly.
"It has happened, yes, a few daughters ascending with their mothers, but rarely," Hultressa shakes her head. "Screamtaker would never allow for a blood-born sect to grow strong within her Coven, lest they grow too strong together and overtake her. Other Covens amongst the Druchii are entirely and
wholly blood-related, a network of mothers, daughters, and sisters. Screamtaker refused to take the chance."
Not that it stops them from occasionally sabotaging them or outright killing one another when it suits them, you would imagine.
"Not that it helped her in the end," you mutter, and another harsh bark of a laugh comes from the sorceress, something that you can only described as truly malevolent and genuinely hateful flickering in her eyes as she thinks on it.
"No, no it did not. However long Alyssa spent on preparing it, she only informed
me of her plans a few decades ago," she flaps her hand in the air for a moment, tossing her hair as she does it. "Matters only advanced to the point that she decided to go through with it at Salkalten, prior to that it was going to be sometime after beginning to claim the stones of Albion."
"What?" Johanna's head tilts the other way.
"Later," you and Hultressa say in unison, getting an annoyed grunt from the Talabeclander.
"So the Cult of Khaine, then?" You sigh, still making sure not to actually move your body at all as you say it beneath the layered armor and shell atop it. "I do have to ask, is it not going to look out of place about us trying to gain a closer look at the prisoners or anything like that? Alyssa has to be wary of sabotage, especially at this point."
"Hmph, of course," the sorceress snorts, raising one eyebrow imperiously while her lips form into a smirk. "All sorts of interested parties are going to be trying to do just that. It's part and parcel of anything like this, bribes and secrets and so on. It's all part of the game, especially depending on who succeeds and who fails."
"Makes sense to me," Johanna says, "C'mon, Frederick, it's been a few decades, but you know how it works back in our courts, don't you?"
"Not in Ostland it doesn't," you grump. "I killed a lot of the nobles that did that kind of stupidity."
"
What?" Johanna whispers, straining slightly to make sure no one looking at you would see even the slightest turn of the head.
"Made the rest duel when they brought up stupid shit," you add, "Quieted them down. Mostly. For a while, at least. Natasha made me stop. At the time, I was annoyed, but I understand it wasn't sustainable in the long-term."
Hultressa's face contorts for a moment as she inhales slightly, mouth opening and then closing so she can release a muted sigh as her expression is forcibly smoothed out.
"So, the Cult of Khaine?" You say into the silence.
"Indeed," Hultressa says after visibly working her jaw. "Let's move. Remember, you must be
silent," Hultressa instructs you both, looking between the much taller Johanna and then yourself.
Which is around the point that you can turn your gaze, now that you're moving once more and are slightly behind, upon the vampire. She is taller, you realize. Substantially so. It was part of the reason you were having trouble first even properly recognizing her, even with the disguise that Hultressa presumably granted her. Now that you really can look at Johanna full on without either of you having to shift about too much to maintain the idea of you being am mostly mindless husk and her a mostly silent servant of an elven Goddess, you can really start to catalogue all that is different. Whereas Hultressa has, even without her heels, always stood taller than you, she is only slightly taller than Johanna. Some of it might be the wrappings and armor that swaddles Johanna's form to disguise any hint of her lack of pointed ears or elven eyes, but you can definitely see that the Fuerbach is much wider than she used to be at the shoulder. Generally, her entire trunk appears to have become thicker though not in fat, as well as her legs. Not to the point of becoming something abominable, not even close, but the change is undeniable and thorough. She certainly appears hulking compared to Hultressa, at least.
All of which is quite confusing indeed, considering the fact that one of the main things you remember learning about vampires in the past is that their state of being is generally meant to be eternal.
"Now then," the sorceress says after another moment of glancing between the two of you remaining quiet. "Follow me," she snaps her fingers, and the field of silence about all of you collapses.
Immediately you are inundated once more with the sounds of a massive crowd. For the briefest of seconds you could probably close your eyes and think of one of the busy markets of Wulfenburg, Marienburg, Altdorf, or Nuln. But then you hear the Druhir that each and everyone of the Druchii is speaking, and the sensation of familiarity largely disappears. Of all the dialects of Eltharin, only Druhir is the one that occasionally incorporates the Black Speech of Chaos into it, and so it is one language you are determined to never become fully fluent in, only to understand as necessary. Practically all of the laughter and jokes you hear are harsher, cutting things, the words biting and subjects danced on conversational razor edges. Some Druchii are insulting each other, while others are greeting old friends and allies. Sometimes both are happening at the same time. At others, you can hear the knives that are waiting to be drawn out as two different noble families run into each other amongst the crowds, each refusing to back down and allow the other right of way. There are grudges being spoken of here and there, vendettas, promises, threats, requests, and more, all of it so dizzying in scope that your meager grasp over the language begins to utterly fail you. It would be one thing if it was spoken in Reikspiel, or any of the other languages of humanity, or even just Khazalid. But the simple truth of the matter is that Druhir by its very nature is a more disturbing dialect to hear than most any other than the pure dark tongue of Chaos isolated by itself. It's dirtying of the mind and soul. Not so much as Chaos itself, but that it dances upon that edge so utterly is disturbing in its own way.
Thankfully, a bracing circle of terrors around you all allows Hultressa to largely move about as she wishes through the crowds. Already you can see that the various Cults are beginning to gather adherents and supplicants towards them, while there are whole hosts of Druchii that bear the same noble house crest that are effectively forming their own block formations. Wealthier Druchii that do not possess that same level of pure blood-based superiority make do with a more mishmash group of warriors and guards more often than not, with different symbols or none at all who are nonetheless obvious from the fact that they are all standing together. Strewn throughout the entire courtyard are dancing and strutting Brides of Khaine, each of them spattered in fresh blood and little else save for the daggers that flash in their hands as they move about. Slaves trundle about with spikes driven into them that connect to platters kept upright with more metal and bone reinforcements, steadily bleeding but never so much as to die outright as they carry a multitude of refreshment for the Druchii to partake in. All of which appears to have a bit of blood in it, whether in the drinks or in the food. To a mere layman, it would look like nothing more and nothing less than the sorts of thing you would see at a Chaos cult's gathering, but of course, all of this goes to Khaine and the Cytharai instead.
Definitely nothing Chaos-related going on
here.
Without making it look like you're rushing through the crowds, but not so sedate and slow that you could get bogged down by anyone else, Hultressa leads you on a circuit through the crowds towards one of the buildings which ring the main plaza. Some of them have Druchii going in and out of them, which immediately removes them from the possibility of being where the prisoners are being held. Even if it is possible to get in and see them by some, the volume of bodies moving back and forth is far too high for something meant to presumably be reserved for the particularly wealthy or powerful. Or, failing those two categories, having something that the Cult is truly desirous for to be willing to waive the first two. Thankfully, you have Hultressa, who has all three, though you know that she is going to have to grit her teeth and think of Isha with the offer that she is no doubt going to have to give. In fact, you can see it, ever so briefly, in how the muscles of her back are tensing and flexing as her hair swishes back and forth with each heavy hip-rolling step until she takes another quiet breath and stills such reactions. Whether purely through will or some application of her mastery of fleshcrafting, or both, you can't know for certain. Either way, it is enough that the sorceress feels confident enough to raise her chin and boldly stride straight towards one of the blood-covered Brides of Khaine, this one currently circling around an isolated male Druchii who is attempting to make it look like he isn't nervous. Nearby, a group of friends or enemies chuckle and laugh at him, cajoling him or egging the woman on, or both.
"Witch Elf!" Hultressa calls out.
The response is immediate, the Witch Elf in question's head whips about so fast you're surprised she didn't hurt her neck, and just like that she abandons her current pray. Behind her, the Druchii she was about to extract who knew what fluids from breathed a sigh of relief before scowling at the small bunch that had been laughing. Stalking over to them, he starts speaking in a low angry hiss, though they hardly seem affected. Meanwhile, the Witch Elf's eyes are dark and flashing with murderous bloodlust, head tilting back and forth like a birds even as she flashes a blood-stained ivory gleaming grin. Each of the daggers in her hands are wicked, jagged looking things, meant as much to spill as much blood as possible as actually kill quickly, and as she comes closer while almost skipping you can see that she is in fact completely naked. There's just enough layers of drying blood on her, here and there, to almost protect her modesty. Not that you can be sure if she actually has any modesty to be protected. More concerningly, while she has dark green irises, there is a literal darkness clouding into the whites of her eyes which reminds you all too much of Gwendolyn. Only this appears to be a darkness that she is more than willing to invite into herself. She is gleeful as she comes, so much so she cannot even cackle, but you find yourself more disturbed than enticed by the openly seductive manner in which she moves.
"Terror-Maker!" The Witch Elf cries aloud as she comes close enough, managing a deep and overly flexible bow that bends her past ninety degrees at one point. "You have come!" She says with a joyous smile that is just a few degrees wider than a fully sane individual would have.
"Indeed," Hultressa nods curtly. "Where is the Death Hag? I know you have elected one anew, have you not?"
The Witch Elf blinks rapidly and unevenly before shaking her head slightly, a bit of her mania fading as her will begins to reassert itself.
"Ah, but my Lady," she giggles in a sound that is too much like your daughters before they even reached a decade in age, "Forgive me, but Death Hag Mesarth is currently with the Supreme Sorceress, and they are not to be disturbed at the moment!"
"I do not intend to do so," Hultressa clucks her tongue, "I merely wished to negotiate properly, alas," she sneers. "But I can make do. Your name?"
"Ah," the Witch Elf clasps a bloody hand to her bloody chest, bowing her head once more. "I am Fandni, my Lady. But even so," she tucks her hands behind her back, teetering back and forth on her heels, "It would be unwise for me to-,"
"I wish to discuss the induction of my daughter, o' Bride of Khaine," Hultressa intones gravely, and the Fadni stops her rocking immediately, eyes going as wide as dinnerplates. "Into the proper worship of the God of Murder."
The Witch Elf's mouth forms a perfect astonished circle, so frozen that for a moment she appears to have forgotten how to breath. All of which then disappears as she outright begins to pant, heavily, tongue almost lolling out of her mouth as she seems to practically vibrate from excitement.
"That's...! I…," Fadni pants harder, head whipping about looking for something before she swallows heavily. "I…my Lady, that is most wonderous to hear, and-,"
"I wish to peruse the stock, first," Hultressa interrupts her, drawing the Witch Elf up short once more.
"W-what?" Fadni blinks repeatedly, opening and closing her mouth before swallowing down some air. "My Lady, please, this is a most auspicious night, I do not see the Blessed One here, but if – we should – there are choice sacrifices to be made this night!"
"And perhaps I will," Hultressa gives the slightest of nods. "I shall bring her later. But first, I wish to peruse the
stock."
"T-the Handmaiden is not-,"
"I have no interest in the Handmaiden," Hultressa scoffs, making the Witch Elf and other Druchii in the immediate area who were clearly listening in draw back slightly. "I have tested my arts upon the Asur before. It is the
Asrai I am interested in, Witch Elf. In over a thousand years, I have never even
touched one of the Asrai."
Then she makes use of her greater than elven average height to lean forward and loom over the Witch Elf, reducing the murderous cultist seemingly to a dirtied child.
"But should I find myself displeased enough with the Cult of Khaine, perhaps it is Hekarti that might be the Cytharai to embrace my daughter's soul? The Coven does need replenishing, after all," she murmurs into Fadni's ear.
(Lying Boldly: 39+Gruesome Reputation(20)+Growing Presence(15)+Prior Habits(10)-High Alert(20)-Druchii Paranoia(10)-The Event of the Season(5)+Sharks Scenting Blood(5)+Price of a Daughter(25)-Voidreaper's Orders(15)+Desperate Killers(10)=74/100)
"I…, Fadni swallows again, eyes darting to Hultressa, to the terrors and you, to Johanna, and to the other Druchii all around them.
She can't afford weakness. None of her Cult can, not right now. But neither can they simply dismiss a so-called Blessed of Khaine. She knows it, they all know it. But even if it seems a bit weak to be bowled over by Hultressa, the prize in turn is a champion. Practically tailor-made, personally affected by their precious God of Murder from before birth. If they have her, and raise her up anointed in a Cauldron of Blood, then it would be worth much. You know it, the Witch Elf knows it, and everyone else does as well. But is that enough? You can't say for certain, because you can't turn your head unduly so long as you maintain the appearance and movements of a husk as Hultressa has designed. Even if you wish that you could take
Brain Wounder and cut a great swathe through many of the attendees of this monstrous occasion.
"For a short time, perhaps," Fadni says quickly. "But the Auction-,"
"I am aware, I have participated in these before," Hultressa says dryly as she straightens. "Let us proceed then, yes?"
"Yes, yes of course! I can – I will – the Death Hag will understand," Fadni says eagerly, even as she begins to stride through the crowd, knives flashing in her fingers as she flourishes them with inhuman speed and dexterity.
Anyone who gets a little too close gets cut, something that happens a good three times in rapid succession before the Druchii simply start parting before her with far more speed than they did even faced with the terrors. Said abominations of which are following right behind, Hultressa, you, and Johanna in the center of them. You can watch the whispers and mutterings move like lightning through the crowds, even as you walk past them all. Few things are faster than rumor and gossip, after all, even more so than bullets and cannonballs it seems sometimes. It is like watching the forks of the Empire's rivers, watching as heads turn in waves and then turn elsewhere. From where you walk, you can see the adherents of Anath Raema react first, followed shortly after by those elves who you believe worship Atharti. If only because they look like cultists of Slaanesh, or just about. Piercings, chains, and more abound across their mostly naked bodies, though unlike even the usual clothing that Hultressa wears as a sorceress everything about the Athartists is meant specifically to titillate. The sorceress bears much of her body to the world as a matter of pride, of trust in her warding and shielding spells. The Athartists lounge in lingerie, yet still finger blades and staffs, smoking from hookahs and long pipes while exhaling differently colored smokes. They actually used their slave to haul in huge thick carpets and actual beds and couches to lay upon, a few of them outright grabbing some of the other Druchii from the crowds around them and violently stripping them before bearing them down to the ground. It does not appear to matter what the Druchii given such 'honors' think about the matter, either.
But as the whispers reach them, you do note a good few dozen of them arching up slightly and twisting from wherever they lay, stand, sit, or kneel to watch your party as you pass by.
No one actually reaches out to stop you, though, but it is impossible for you to miss the sensation of so many more gazes upon you. As well as a heavier yet paradoxically distant gaze which definitely feels like it is coming from above. Quite possibly from the statue of Khaine that is taller than any statue of the Gods of the Empire that you've ever seen. It's taller than a lot of buildings in general, in fact. All the while, a strange red tinge seems to fill the air, just enough that it is noticeable but not to the point of even slightly obscuring your vision. Just a bit of haze in the air, almost outright ignorable. Almost, but not quite. This is undeniably consecrated ground that you are walking upon, consecrated to a God that is incredibly malevolent but also utterly opposed to the Dark Gods, as near as you can tell. Too bad you find just about everything about Khaine as you know him objectionable. Thankfully you don't have to be here much longer. Hopefully. So instead you focus on the building you are approaching, this one guarded by another pair of Witch Elves and located on the far end of the temple from the entrance and therefore ironically closest to the Tor of Dominance which you can see stretching high into the sky. Though it is difficult to tell ages amongst elves properly, there is a certain air of maturity that these ones guarding the large doors possess compared to Fadni, making them seem almost like matrons to her maiden. It helps that they are far more alert and wary compared to the blood-drunk junior, short swords in their hands and at the ready, even if they are far less splattered in blood.
"Fadni, what-," one of them immediately barks out, eyes narrowed onto your party.
"The mother of the Blessed One wishes to see the stock available," Fadni interrupts her. "She…she speaks of bringing forth the Blessed One to be properly inducted, just…,"
"I wish to peruse the stock first," Hultressa announces, pushing her terrors aside and striding forward confidently, pausing as the other two Witch Elves stare and mutter between each other, unable to hide their excitement. "I have no interest in the chattel," she snorts. "And the Asur will make a fine prize for whoever desires her."
"You do not?" One asks, though has to stop herself from shrinking back from the withering glare of the sorceress.
"A Handmaiden? Of course. But given the other entrants, I do not see the point in bothering. Let the others fight for her," Hultressa tosses her hair. "Will that be a problem? Or will her very presence make such a thing too great an issue?"
The three members of the Cult of Khaine do not speak to each other, merely share a few very meaningful and pointed looks.
"…no, my Lady, it should be no trouble at all," one of the door guards finally declares, "The Handmaiden is being kept secure by the Supreme Sorceress herself in a separate location. The others, beyond the chattel, are not without their protections. And how could we refuse the mother of a Blessed One?" She smiles, and there is nothing but murderous relief and joy in that Druchii's face. "You have been touched by Khaine himself!"
You have only known Hultressa for a relatively short amount of time.
But you are somewhat sure that she wishes to tear this Witch Elf apart with her bare hands for those words.
Instead, however, she remains silent and expectant.
"You may enter…but only for a short time," the other Witch Elf says quickly, "We can only allow you time before the chattel are all sold off."
"More than enough time," Hultressa says. "My terrors?"
"My Lady…," one trails off, and the sorceress sighs.
"Oh, very well. I shall take the newest, and my guard," she snaps her fingers, and immediately every other terror stiffens and then walks away to form a small block. "Does this suffice?"
"It is appreciated," the Witch Elf inclines her head. "Be welcome, Bringer of Sorrows," she says with the deepest respect.
All of the Witch Elves do so as the doors open of their own accord, actually, which means that none of them can see as Hultressa's grip on her staff tightens for a brief moment as you enter. On the other side, you are forced to withstand an olfactory blow of considerable proportions. Blood. Offal. The distinct smells of pain and sick and despair swirling together to form a potent bouquet that flows from the doors. As it does so, all three of the Witch Elves straighten and inhale deeply, as if refreshed. No, not as if, they literally are. The jitters and nervousness of Fadni disappears entirely, while the standoffish older Witch Elves appear to relax. It's disgusting to you, but to them it is one of the sweetest of smells. Also disturbingly, while Hultressa simply takes it in and keeps going, you do note that Johanna seems to inhale deeply as well as you go, Fadni quickly scurrying forward to escort you further into the abattoir that is one of their temple's satellite buildings.
"We have ensured they are in good condition, my Lady," Fadni says eagerly as you walk along.
All around you are the victims of the Cult of Khaine in various states of disassembly and death. On hooks, on spikes, in cages with internal spikes, or sawing blades, or raised up on boards and peeled open, half of the victims all around you are still alive. Including one weeping man who's lower half appears to have been twisted about into a purpled and mashed mass, from which two trickles of piss and shit continue to flow out of cuts and slits made. You know thanks to Arthur that the Cult of Khaine in the Old World speak much of extending out their kills as much and as painfully as possible, and it appears to be something they share with the Druchii. It is not as if there are just humans here, either. You see and hear some dwarfs, their legendary stoicism ground down enough to make them scream and plead, a pair of ogres who are chained up just far enough away from one another that they cannot reach the other. Meanwhile, there are deep scars all over their bodies from where they are being slowly sliced away at, and as you watch, a Witch Elf laughs as she tosses the cut of ogre flesh from one ogre to the next.
"I should hope so," Hultressa declares, nonplussed. "I do not want to deal with spoiled product. Not after last time."
"I…that was not-," Fadni clears her throat but pauses as Hultressa holds up a hand.
The sorceress narrows her eyes.
"It was a hundred years ago, yes. And I killed Lotha for it, as I'm sure your annals recall."
"They do, my Lady," the young Witch Elf nods eagerly, "A hundred days to die! It was magnificent!" But then her wonder flickers into concern once more. "But I assure you, the same will not occur again!"
"Then lead on, child," Hultressa chides her, and then you are moving once more.
The horrors that you see within that place will never leave you.
But eventually, you do manage to leave
them, and come upon a new chamber, this one which smells much cleaner. Within is a place of dark stone, but that is nothing new on a Black Ark, with multiple torches that do not burn with magical fire but rather with something that smells ominously of burning fat. Enough of them, however, to fully illuminate the chamber. There are, you find, a great many more cages than there are occupants for them all, another sign of the sheer state of the
Claw of Dominion at the moment. At least, you hope so. But in the four cages nearest to the entrance of this prison wing are an elf and three women. All of them have been completely stripped naked, without anything that they could possibly use as a weapon, a shield, or anything that they could even use to try and end themselves in an act of defiance. Though there doesn't seem to be as much of that in their eyes as there might once have been. Where you might have expected burning fires, all you see are smoldering exhausted embers in the eyes of two of the Whitewings, while the third Bretonnian woman is curled into a ball on her cell, staring at the wall rather than anything else.
You also see another party of Druchii entirely, also being escorted by another Witch Elf, this one with a long single sword she bounces the flat of on her shoulder, smirking down at an exhausted looking Kerillian. Though she, and the group of Druchii nobility with her, all turn about to see Hultressa enter with you and Johanna behind her. The other party numbers four, one of whom is a white-haired Druchii male wearing a full suit of masterwork armor, spikes and gleaming silver edges aplenty, including a mask which appears to obscure the lower half of his face which is part of his gorget. It is also painted like a clenched mouth of triangular fangs. Two of the other Druchii appear to be his guards, dressed like the knights you saw before riding atop the reptilian Cold Ones, while the fourth has a still bloody skin from some victim or another forming a mantle over her shoulders. A thickly hafted spear with a design that is quite familiar to you, if currently in a much smaller form than the one wielded by the Avatar back in Athel Loren, is held in her other hand.
"Sorceress," the Druchii noble inclines his head, but shallowly.
"Lord…," Hultressa quirks an eyebrow upwards.
"Razorflense," he answers her.
"Late of the
Fortress of Eternal Torture, hmm?" She tilts her head, slowly looking him and his party up and down.
"Indeed," he says, and you can hear the cold smile despite the mask. "I had scarcely thought to meet the Terror-Maker of the
Claw of Dominion. I had been told you were quite the recluse?"
"I am always interested in new material," Hultressa answers sweetly, before simply moving past him to gaze down at Kerillian, who appears to have had some kind of metal cage-like contraption forced into her mouth.
It both keeps her from speaking and from biting her own tongue, while also forcing her mouth open uncomfortably at all times.
"Such as an Asrai," she continues, as if she hadn't just halfway dismissed the nobility nearby.
"…I see," Lord Razorflense says with a sharp exhale in his words, fists clenching momentarily as he forms up behind her in a posture and distance that is just shy of threatening, only to stiffen himself as Johanna silently moves behind
him.
Then the noble's two guards start to shift, but unlike the rest of them, the Anath Raema cultist is staring straight at you.
"Who was this?" The huntress asks sibilantly, taking another step towards you.
"A human. I rarely use them as materials for my creations, but this one was special," Hultressa says offhandedly even as she continues to examine Kerillian, who is glaring back up at her. "Why?"
"He is…," the Druchii's eyes widen slightly as she inhales, then whips around to glare at Hultressa. "This is the Hohenzollern!"
Fadni and the other Witch Elf slowly start to rotate their heads towards you, blood drunk and sadistic as they might be, now incapable of missing the hilt of the blade on your back. Meanwhile, Kerillian's eyes swivel away towards you in horror, while the two more aware Whitewings start to react as well.
"The killer of Tullaris Dreadbringer himself, yes, yes," Hultressa shrugs a shoulder without turning around. "Defiant. Too defiant, but of surprisingly acceptable materials. I found a greater use for his body than his brutish soul and miniscule mind ever would."
"Did he suffer?" Fadni asks, entranced as she begins to circle you. "Did he scream?"
"His soul ought to be delivered unto Khaine," the other Witch Elf hisses, snarling almost. "His very existence is blasphemy!"
"It is the Savage Huntress which claims his soul," the huntress cries out, stamping the butt of her spear on the ground hard, making the two Witch Elves whirl about on her, glaring. "It was he who struck the final killing blow to her Avatar! His soul, his flesh…," she glances at Hultressa. "We have much wealth and trophies aplenty to feed your appetite for materials, Terror-Maker!"
At that, Hultressa straightens, and slowly turns about with a vague look of interest on her face.
"Oh? I came here to investigate the Asrai's worth for materials. And now you offer me more?"
"We do-,"
"The Asrai is one thing, the Hohenzollern's soul is another!" Fadni protests. "We-,"
"I spent much to come here, and you informed me that you desired the Asrai for-," Razorflense adds, eyes narrowed.
"I-,"
Cultists and one noble start to argue amongst themselves as you, Hultressa, and Johanna watch. You should have expected this, but then, maybe Hultressa did. Was there a glamor that you didn't realize she'd placed on you before now? No other Druchii had immediately locked onto you like the huntress has. Then again, it's entirely possible that she has something that more mundane Druchii do not, after you frustrated whatever it was their Cult was trying to do in Athel Loren. You can't read the expression on Hultressa's face, especially not on Johanna's face, but can see the horror and outrage on Kerillian's and that of the two Whitewings. None of the prisoners are in any condition or capability to speak, not that it goes noticed as the Druchii argue amongst themselves. All of which becomes moot as Hultressa stamps her own staff on the ground to release a louder than it should be clap of metal to stone, causing all of the arguing to cease.
"This is my newest project, and you speak of me simply surrendering it?" Hultressa hisses archly, dark power flaring from her. "Do you not
think," she growls, hand coming down to rest atop one of the skulls on her belt, causing the glowing runes scrimshawed onto it to glow slightly, "That I keep it as it is on purpose? That I do not torment the soul of that creature with every act?"
"But my Lady-," Fadni begins.
"What would you desire in payment for the soul, then?" The huntress interrupts, making both Witch Elves snarl silently as they start gripping their weapons more tightly.
"A price could be reached," Hultressa allows with a sharp exhalation from her nose. "But I am here to look at
new stock, not discuss old," she lifts her chin. "Though of course, I am a fey and mercurial creature. Mayhap my mood will improve once the Auction is complete, should matters be pleasing during."
The message is not particularly easy to misunderstand. If she's happy, she might negotiate for your soul, if she isn't, she won't. Which very much includes whether or not she gets Kerillian. Something which you can see the huntress and two Witch Elves realize as their eyes flicker to the Asrai and the Whitewings and then back to her. Lord Razorflense, on the other hand, looks a bit put out that he has been so swiftly dismissed, though if he really is from the other Ark then has none of the wealth and power or even all of the troops he normally would. A lesser party compared to the negotiating power of two Cults, though at this point you can't tell for certain if the worshippers of Anath Ramea outdo the actual Cult of Khaine upon the
Claw after everything else.
"Perhaps," the huntress declares, inclining her head slowly though her head turns so that she can lock her gaze onto you with a deep and unabating hunger. "Perhaps."
"Priestess?" Lord Razorflense asks, one eyebrow raised.
A slight rumble shakes the entire building, though none of the Druchii seem unduly concerned.
"It has begun," the huntress sighs, rolling her eyes. "The chattel will be sold off quickly. We must return, that we may gather pelts to lay down at the altar."
"Very well," Razorflense sighs as well, and with that, the other party begins to move.
But just as she passes by, the huntress pauses, eyes narrowing, and then without warning she grasps for your chin, wrenching your head around so she can glare into your eyes with her own bloodshot blue ones. Then those eyes widen with shock as you snap out your own hand around her wrist, and squeeze hard. Blades are out of sheathes almost immediately afterwards, with more shouting in Druhir just about to pick up before Hultressa hefts up her staff and then lets it fall forwards while she holds just the bottommost section of the haft. The head of her staff, glowing with power and Dhar, lands right between your face and that of the huntress. It very much burns your eyes and nose to be this close to it, foul as the Dhar is, but you cannot yet move yourself so freely.
"'Ware, priestess of the Savage Huntress," Hultressa says with an icy cold voice. "Do not be so swift as to grasp for that which is
mine, especially one who has protocols and capabilities to defend itself as necessary."
(The Hunters Instincts: 50+20+15+10-20-10+5+5+10-The Huntress' Grudge(20)+Hultressa's Preparations(25)=90/100)
The hand releases your chin, and so you release the wrist which allows the huntress to back away, and only then does Hultressa walk forward while steadily choking her grip up the staff until it is back in normal position. With your sight no longer obscured by a fire an inch away from your eyes, you can see the Johanna is resting a hand on each of the two Druchii guard's shoulders, while the Witch Elves have raised their weapons. Lord Razorflense has his hand on the hilt of his sword, but hasn't actually pulled his weapon free just yet, gaze dancing between the Witch Elves and Hultressa. The mask helps mask most of his wariness, but not all of it. Without losing her gaze upon you, the huntress bows again but more deeply this time.
"My apologies, sorceress," the huntress murmurs softly. "The…awareness and intensity within its eyes deceived me for a moment."
Hultressa looks more like she's seething, and she might well bit, even if for different reasons than the other Druchii might realize.
"Your Ark hasn't had a Terror-Maker worth the name for five centuries," she sneers. "And I find my mood has lessened considerably with such an insult. Go, devotee of the Savage Huntress, go find your pelts. But
go," she says harshly.
It visibly pricks the pride of both the huntress and noble lord, but in this instance neither are willing to make a fight of it. Not right now at least. So instead they turn, murmur more apologies, and then leave, their escort Witch Elf looking murderously angry as she follows them out. Which leaves a still angry looking Fadni seething after them, walking to the edge of the room and then glaring at them out of the doorway until they are a good distance away. Only then does she take a more calming breath, and make to turn back around to try and speak again, only to find that Hultressa has pre-empted her.
"I do not wish for any more disturbances in my examinations," Hultressa informs her, eyes narrowed. "Am I understood? I need but a few moments regardless. Besides which, with the Auction begun, time runs short for me to do it anyhow."
Fadni swallowed, opens her mouth to speak, and then glances not at you but at the skull that Hultressa has repeatedly kept her hand on this entire time.
"I…I understand, my Lady. Please, accept my most sincere apologies," she ducks her head, rising up with a vicious sneer. "We should never have allowed those skulking wretches onto the Ark in the first place. I shall ensure that you have a few moments of privacy," she ducks her head again as she says it before she moves back through the door and lets it close behind her.
Only then does Hultressa raise a hand and cause glyphs of greyish energies to appear and then dissipate as if never there in the first place over the doors and walls.
"We are free to speak," she says with a slow exhale.
"What the fuck was that about an Avatar?" Johanna immediately says, turning to look at you.
"Later," you and Hultressa say in unison.
Kerillian jerks upright slightly where she sits in the cage, causing the chains to rattle, eyes wide and unblinking.
"No not fucking later," Johanna protests, "If the whatever those were," she flaps her hand at the door, "Have some kind of divine bloodhound whispering in their ears about you, it would be useful to know beforehand!"
"Fine, you want me to summarize?" You groan, and now the Whitewings are starting to shuffle about in their cages to get a better look at you, even the one previously curled up into a ball. "I ran into a bad situation, met the Everqueen, met an evil dryad-,"
"There are good ones?" Johanna the Talabeclander scoffs under her breath.
"-and ended up in Athel Loren. Did some fighting. Met their Avatar of Kurnous in Orion, and then an Avatar of Anath Raema. There was more fighting, I killed them, the end, now can we deal with this?" You continue rapidly and end with a pointed gesture towards the prisoners.
"Mmnngh," Kerillian manages through the contraption filling her mouth, and you think you see angry tears in her eyes.
"Lies, lies, all lies," the Whitewing still mostly curled up mutters. "Yet more lies. T-the Lady will protect our souls, you w-will not break us," she says into her knees.
"Calm yourselves, we are here to help," Hultressa declares. "Though whether it is freedom we gain, or merely a denial of their collars around your neck, that remains to be seen."
"Could we break them out now?" Johanna asks immediately, making the others turn their heads to her.
"We'd have to get them out of the temple entirely," you huff. "Hard to do that quietly. Especially because Sadrina isn't here."
It would be difficult to rescue the Handmaiden if you blow your way out of the temple and then have to try and get back in. Assuming that the Auction would continue on anyway after such an obvious deception.
"Mmmnngh!" Kerillian tries to say again, shaking her head in clear disbelief, and it is not helped by you coming closer to the cage and kneeling down.
There is only regret, revulsion, and hatred in those eyes as she refuses to let herself hope.
"Listen, Kerillian. It's me, the lumberfoot," you say softly, making her twitch. "Or thunderfoot, as I recall you might have called me at one point."
She shakes her head wildly, more tears in her eyes.
"It is, you'll see," you say as genuinely as you can, though it does come out muffled thanks to the helmet and everything else.
"No, we cannot free them immediately," Hultressa shakes her head. "As frustrating as it may seem, it would be better to outright purchase them."
"But wouldn't that make it hard for you to buy Sadrina instead?" You can't help but ask, even if your first impulse is to simply try and save the ones in front of you.
"It would. But then, purchasing isn't really what is being discussed for her, is it?" Hultressa hums. "Merely enough chaos. If we know who does end up buying her, we can make a move for them, afterwards."
"What about the bombs?" You ask her, making Hultressa close her eyes in thought.
"If I have judged matters correctly – and the bidding does not become
too lengthy – we should see detonation as the Handmaiden is brough out. Too early, and we risk them not even bringing her out of safe keeping," she finally says.
"I made a lot of bombs," you say to Kerillian, making her make another muffled unintelligible grunt.
"But if we hesitate, they might not make it that long," Johanna speaks up, shaking her head. "I've had a hell of a time running around on this moving island. Some of the worst I've ever seen. Can we risk just letting them hang out in here?"
"They won't damage them right before the sale," Hultressa clucks her tongue. "Not physically, at least. Yes…I can bid for them, and strongly. We
need the sales to go swifter, as the sooner she brings out the Handmaiden, the sooner we can work to rescue her."
Johanna just keep shaking her head, her expression impossible to see through the mask and magic.
"Can't we do
something for them?" She stresses, looking at you.
"...is there anything, Hultressa?" You ask the sorceress. "Some kind of...spell, or...,"
Hultressa sucks air through her teeth, tilting her head from side to side.
"Any overly magical workings would be discovered by Alyssa the moment they get to the block," she dismisses.
"More mundane works, then? Did you bring any extra bombs? A scroll, maybe?"
Her expression screws up for a moment before she glances at them.
"They're naked, not even allowed shifts," she mutters before reaching for one of the scrolls on her belt, a smaller one, then scrutinizing the Whitewings. "This would fit in deep in your mouth and throat, but...no, breathing would be too blocked. A bomb, however?"
She withdraws one of the smaller creations you've managed to make, then lets it float in the air before withdrawing a tiny rectangular object. Then she shocks you by tapping it, making a small flicking clicking sound, before a small bit of fire appears as if from nowhere out of one end of it, then does something else which makes the flame cease.
"Possible. Still, anything amiss, anything at
all, and we might not even get that far. Even with a smaller bomb and a lighter, the most they could manage is a small distraction, or killing themselves by lighting the bomb whilst inside their mouths with this lighter. I can ensure the wick remains dry enough for that. A way out, if we cannot manage to purchase them ourselves."
Sigmar's balls, she's serious.
"But would it be worth it to do that much? Perhaps, perhaps not," she continues before glancing at you. "All it takes is the right pressure," she demonstrates with the rectangle which causes the light to peek out again. "Easily manageable with teeth or tongue, if you are determined enough."
Choose The Path:
2 Hour Voting Moratorium
[] Punitive: You could pull these four out of these cages right now. The Cult of Khaine is not particularly strong here. It would be difficult, but you have little doubt that you could fight your way out of here. But that might not even be necessary. Hultressa is an incredibly powerful spellcaster. Could she not provide illusions of a sort to make it seem like the prisoners are still there? Perhaps. But you aren't here for just them, you're here for Sadrina. Instead, you might provide some small bombs. It wouldn't do much. It would be as much to make them trust you than anything else, and in the most horrific of needs, to provide a way out if you can't actually rescue them. On the darkest, most ruthless level, them managing to do that much to themselves in the auction would be bad for Alyssa as well.
[] Patience: Too much amiss, and you might miss out on your chance to rescue Sadrina entirely. Horrifically, the Handmaiden might well be worth more to most interested parties than either Kerillian or the remaining Whitewings. On the other, more positively looking hand, if you make sure that nothing is too much wrong with them such as trying to hide bombs in their mouths or anything like that, Hultressa might well be able to more smoothly purchase them and bring them to immediate safety. She is more than wealthy enough, and has announced her desires already, so it can't be taken remiss if she wishes to purchase them. If you judge matters incorrectly, either way, it would be bad for these prisoners regardless. You just have to hope you're making the right decision in letting them be as they are, even if it is only for a short while longer.
