Aarnr growls at the hypocrisy of the civilised word.  No, it wouldn't do to bleed these fishified, muddy-mettled bum-bailys before they have their heads cut off and nailed to a post and all the other unpleasantries that their demise would involve !

The priest glares at the remaining cultist belligerently.  "Ye'd better speak up else I'll peel thy turnips, thou venomed, clay-brained horn-beast !" he warns him in low, menacing tones.

Another grimace from Eilieen; it seems they have limited time for questions, and she's not the best person to be doing the asking.  But it was her choice, so....

She strides forward, stopping before the cultist and dropping into a crouch to look him in the eye.  "I will not lie to you; I strongly doubt these villagers will release you.  But if you answer our questions, I will beg them so clemency - mercy in their sentence.  Swift death, rather than hanging, if you like.  Or poison; something without pain."

Hanging sounds...atrocious.

"What were you doing in the crypt in Bard's Gate?  And for who?"  Or what, she considers darkly.

The mason looks nervously at Aarnr.  Then at Eilieen, and he shakes his head in negation, before he opens his mouth.

What spills from his lips is in direct contradiction to the head shake.

"We was there ter bring down the cult of Muir."  Fear is creeping across his goblinish face, but he appears to be too frightened of Aarnr to stop speaking.  "The priests at Rappan Athuk sended us ter Bard's Gate, an' others ter diff'rent places.  We was ter place marks in Muir's Hall what'd open Ways fer Orcus ter send his Chosen through.  An' ev'ry one what came through'd open the Way a mite more.  An' in the end Orcus would climb out an' kill all them knights afore takin' the city."

"But it don't matter what yers do ter me.  He's going ter take this world fer his own.  We's ev'rywhere, an' you ain't got time ter stop all of us."

Aarnr snorts at the sheer stupidity of the plan.  Having had the privilege to see Sir Galdean slaughtered then  even if the rest of the Justicars were but half as self-sacrificing, that is to say, carelessly suicidal in pursuit of a good fight, as that good knight, then that puttock Orcus would have froggin' been handed his horned head !

What is disturbing, though is the mention of all the different places that these unmuzzled, scale-sided wagtails have infested.  That's a lot of very tiresome running around (for a given definition of sitting impatiently in a cart hauled by plodding oxen) in order to kill the lot of the gorbellied, reeling-ripe rampallians as they richly deserve.

Though perhaps there is an easier way ...

"Let's fobbin' go kill those ruttish, toad-spotted priests !" Aarnr asserts.  Yet another reason to go to Rappan Athuk - as if the chance to kill and be killed by the various monstrous denizens of that rank pit were not enticing enough !

The confession is... worrying.  There are so many places in the world they could go to to further their evil aim, and that's just the ones that Colwyn has heard of.  What if the vile priests of Orcus know of other places, like Arkan's distant homeland?

And the worrying thing is that the places don't have to be anything big and important, or all that obvious.  What if some of them are just stone circles on the summits of mountains, or lost ruins on jungle-choked isles, or ancient haunted temples in the midst of endless deserts.

Orcus might deem any of them vital to his schemes, and direct his minions to them with ease.  His enemies, meanwhile, might be hard-pressed to locate them and stop any cultists sent there.

The whole plot, unfolding in Colwyn's mind as the mason speaks, is terrifying in its implications...

"Bloody 'ells!  Blooy 'ells!  Bloody 'ells!" the rogue murmurs, then, "The sooner we's gettin' ter the Dungeon of Graves, the sooner as Aarnr can be startin' ter kill everythin' what's in on this 'ere plan."

Seated at his place next to his companions, Arkan has been watching the proceedings silently, absorbing all that's going on.

But when one of the foul cultists finally expouses their plan, Arkan is stunned at the implications. "Different places...so the cult of Orcus plans to attack everywhere at once?" he breathes out loud.

Hearing his companions words Arkan nods while staring daggers at the mason who had broken under the interrogation and spilled the beans. "Aye my friends, 'twould appear Rappan Athuk is the source of this madness, yet also where it can be ended before it can begin."

Clenching his fist he adds with fervor, "We should make haste and send word to the Justicars and the mayor in Bard's Gate, they need to lead an army to the Dungeon so it may be destroyed it once and for all."

Though Arkan doesn't doubt the capabilities of his companions, especially not the sword arm and mighty thews of Aarnr, can the small lot of them really be able to stop a plan hatched, as it would seem, in the very pits of the Abyss? Or should they risk the treasure and glory, swallow pride and seek aid from Bard's Gate?

The stakes are too great should they fail...

"We'll need food," Aarnr suggests, hoping that Eilieen and Erista do not undermine the enthusiasm that Colwyn and Arkan are showing.  Indeed Bilfro will probably be overjoyed, while burning Ozzie's body atop the raging pyre of Rappan Athuk would be a fitting send off for his blood brother.

Of course, the priest is thinking not at all of provisions, but merely the needs of the moment.  While it is customary to enjoy a Great Feast and offer blood sacrifices to Bowbe before any battle, Aarnr is realistic in his estimation of what this pitiful city can provide by way of edibles ... though he does appreciate that they've been kind enough to arrange for the second of his requirements to be met.  He smiles in a most predatory fashion at the talkative and soon to be hung, beheaded, burned and carpentered demon-worshipping mason who might not have realised his death would be so meaningful.

"Agreed."  Eilieen nods along with the others.  "Mayhap someone here could send word to Bard's Gate, Arkan.  I would have others know of this threat.  I feel, myself, that time grows thin.  We could head back, only to find it has run out.  We might spend the next year chasing around, finding these cultists, but they will keep sprouting up.  Rappen Athuk is the source; it is there we must go, to tear the infestation out by the roots before it blossoms."

Returning her gaze to the cultist before her, she slowly nods.  "I shall speak with the people of this town, try to convince them to show you some mercy.  It shall not be sufficient to keep you alive, I'll warrant, but at least your death might be without pain."

"Nah, not everywhere."

The cultist's fear drives him to speak, and when he does, Aarnr's prayer makes him speak true.

"But lots of places, an' no sure way ter know 'em all."

Anja, meanwhile, is talking quietly to the magistrates.  Finally she turns to face the adventurers.  "We can send a message to Bard's Gate.  Maybe as far as Reme and Freegate.  There they can find others to carry the message further afield, choosing only those who can be trusted - priests of Muir or Freya, paladins, and the like."

Aarnr woudn't normally trust any of those mentioned further than he could comfortably spit a rat, but Sir Galdean's example will serve to earn the Justicars of Muir the benefit of the doubt, while Fergus's sacrifice will stand for those who worship Freya.

Unlike Arkan, Aarnr is entirely certain that he is more than equal to whatever dangers Rappan Athuk can throw his way, though is quite prepared to share the glory with his friends, as they've more than earned it.

All in all, the visit to this city has proven to be better than the priest expected, and he's glad his companions spoke against burning it to the ground - if only because ... well, Aarnr isn't entirely certain what has happened here, but is pleased that it's resulted in the recent or imminent demise of the masons and seems to have decided everyone to head as fast at their oxen can lumber for the hell-pit where the hordes of Orcus lurk .

It's a pity he killed the former advisor to the king, of course, as the puttock proved unworthy of the honour and it would have been amusing to watch him dance on the end of a rope ...

"Ye should nail the froggin' bunch-backed greybeard's head up too," the priest suggests to Anja.  Burning is too good for the beslubberin' dog-heared knave, of course, but if there's any truth to their belief that this ritual will stop his soul going on to further the goals of the Prince of the Undead, then why not.

Aarnr's mention of Currinder causes a puzzled expression to spread over Anja's face.

After a moment's thought she walks across to the prisoner, and demands, "Why did you come here?  There could be nothing to interest you in Crossroad, except that your leader wanted to speak to Currinder.  Why?  What was he to you and your group?"

And the compulsion to tell the truth still holds the man in its thrall...

"A priest of the Lord Orcus, given orders ter help them what went to an' from Rappan Athuk, an' ter send reports back ter the temple.  He was ter tell us were ter go next, an' he did, only these lollygaggers put an end to our doin's with the Great Plan, an' made Currinder ter part comp'ny with his head."

He shrugs his shoulders, and winces as the binding ropes pull at his wrists.  "I s'pose they'll have ter send some other buggers ter Darnagal an' Palmer's Field now."

Maps are just so much scratchings in the mud, place names much the same only a lot more squashed up.  Yet the talkative mason's words send a chill of foreboding down Aarnr's spine.

Believing the fates to be more than unkind, the priest holds little hope that either of the grand cities mentioned lie in a direct line between here and Rappan Athuk.

Aarnr glares murderously at the doomed mason, then turns his gaze warily towards his friends and travelling companions, silently pleading with them ...

Don't froggin' say it !  Don't froggin' say it !  Don't frogg ...

Eilieen considers.

They've dealt with the priest, here; Currinder is dead.  However...

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forward - likely to Aarnr's horror.  "Why were you travelling to Darnagal and Palmer's Fields?" the priestess inquires, unaware of Aarnr's silent supplication (so to speak).

"I don't know.  Currinder only talked of that with Jafin, and he's dead now.  Jafin telled us where we was ter go just 'fore you showed up terday.  Never got no chance ter tell us why.  But I'm bettin' we weren't goin' ter trade fer horses."  The mason laughs nervously at his little jest, as he realises that nobody else is finding it funny.

"That were jus' my joke.  No, I'd say as how we were bein' sent there ter do somethin' ter help Orcus's plan.  But no one telled me what."

Anja nods, her lips compressed into a tight line, and glares at the mason.  "We can ask in Freegate and Reme if somebody can take word to Darnagal and Palmer's Fields.  As he has stated, their goals are too widely spread for one group to hope to stop them.  The best chance is to spread the word as far as possible.  And that we can do."

"As well as sending messengers, we can give the information to travellers on the Trade Way."

Not finding the ensorceled mason's joke to be amusing in the slightest, Arkan glowers at the man, nay the filth for a long, hard moment before glancing at Anja and his companions.

"Yes, that would be most appreciated Anja. My companions seem to have the right of it, the root of evil is the dungeon to end all dungeons, and it is there we must go to end the infestation," he says, albeit with more confidence than he feels.

Perhaps with their skill and their talents they may be able to destroy the evil, or at least delay it until the Justicars arrive with an army of Light to end it.

"Like in the tales," he murmurs suddenly, recalling the legend of the dungeon he had heard what seemed so long ago back home, before starting on this journey.

Aarnr's face creases as Eilieen speaks, but Arkan's contribution causes his eyes to wide in disbelief and his head to bob up and down in complete agreement, his gaze flicking to each of his companions in turn as he looks to them to join in.

The priest doesn't lack for confidence, of course.

Colwyn signals his assent - the quicker they get to Rappan Athuk the better, as far as he's concerned.

Though in his case it might have less to do with the destruction of the cult of Orcus based there, and more to do with their rumoured wealth.  In the end, it matters little, since the cult is unlikely to let anybody just walk out with a sack full of gems and gold, so leaving with their wealth is likely to be a somewhat bloody job.

And there are some things that he an Aarnr can happily work together on, even if their underlying motives might not be exactly the same.

"By my reck'nin', we's bein' 'bout 'alf way ter the Dungeon of Graves.  All bein' well, I's thinkin' as 'ow we'll be gettin' there inside of a ten day.  Then we can be clearin' the buggers out, prob'ly in a day or so.  I's meanin' ter say, 'ow big can the place be?"

"A whole froggin' day ?!!"

Aarnr makes no attempt to conceal his disbelief.  Even he has heard the rumours that there is an entire goblin city down there, but they're only little creatures, so how big could it possibly be ?  Bard's Gate seemed impressively big, reluctant as he is to admit that, but even so, he believes that city would take only an hour or so of concentrated slaughter to have the streets running red with blood.

It is a mark of his growing wisdom in matters of dipolmacy and etiquette that he does not point this out to Eilieen.

"My thanks, Anja."  Standing, Eilieen bows to the woman.  "Your assistance will make it possible for us to seek the source of this evil without ignoring the possible repercussions in outlying areas.  Perhaps the countryside will rise against this darkness."

She indicates Arkan.  "My friend has the right of it.  We shall make our way to Rappan Athuk."

She grimaces at Colwyn's supposition and Aarnr's annoyance.  It seems they have different ideas of the magnitude of the issue.  Still, there is business yet with Anja.  "If you would, might you grant this poor fool a merciful death?  A sharp blade, or venomous sleep?" she quietly inquires, somewhat green.  Executions are not her style.  "Whether by magic or no, he has assisted us against the dark.  I know he must be dealt with, but..."  A glance toward the pitiable creature follows.

"We are not them."

"A sharp blade is as merciful as it can get for them, though far more than they deserve," Arkan says to Eileen, glancing with disgust at the cultists. "Whatever assistance he gave to us was coerced due to Aarnr's spell, they likely curse us inside with every breath they take."

Arkan does not volunteer his own sword for the deed though, not wanting to stain Crescent Fall's blade with the foul blood of the masons. Instead he says to Colwyn, "As I mentioned before I have heard of this dark place even all the way in my homeland; I do not know much but it is vast. This will not be an easy journey, we should ensure we are well stocked and supplied, for there is little that grows or lives there of use to the living."

Anja shakes her head, "I have no authority to order the manner of his execution.  Only the King can do that, or his appointed magistrates.  And they have already stated that these men will be hanged."

The prisoner suddenly shakes himself and looks about, confused, before starting to yell...

"I curse yers all fer this!  We're just innocent masons going ter Freegate ter work.  Yer's all going ter die horrible, painful deaths.  Filled with pox, an' so mad with fever that yer'll chew on yer own flesh and beg ter die.  And after yer's dead, Orcus'll... "

A rag is stuffed into his mouth by his guards, none too gently, and a strip of cloth is used to bind it in place.

The effect that Aarnr demanded of Bowbe has clearly worn off, allowing the cultist to spit out whatever foul lies, insults and untruths he chooses...

Oh dear.  How sad.  Never mind.

Aarnr grins enormously at the prisoner's insults though sneers at the filthy, boil-brained boar-pig's invective or lack thereof.

A horrible painful death sounds about right, while fever-madness is no stranger to one who must bear the god's presence on a regular basis.  Which really just leaves the pox and the begging to die.  That last sounds very unlikely indeed, and can be safely ignored, while the threat of disease is ever present in the decadent world of the civilised where they practice such unclean practices as regular washing and bathing, removing the protective layer of mud and grime that everyone knows wards away such foul spirits and imps as spread such infections.

"Froggin' cockered, flap-mouthed, pukin' nut-hook," the priest refers to the mason somewhat derogatively as the guards, sorry, the fen-sucked, hell-hated, tardy-gaited guards, set upon him with gags and bindings.

"There's mushrooms there," Aarnr tells Arkan, vaguely recalls hearing someone swearing to that truth, "though we'll fobbin' need meat."  Which along with ale constitutes the two known food groups.

"An' fodder for the oxen, unless we want to walk home."   Since he's in charge of the cart, he's not minded to treat the beasts as portable rations.

Unable to help smirking as the foul mouthed cultist is gagged, Arkan replies to Anja, "As the king so wishes then. I suppose it is for the best, they do not suffer a quick and clean death, and their hanging corpses shall be a warning to all of their ilk."

Looking at his companions he says, "Very well then, we should stock up on supplies here for ourselves and the oxen, before we set off for Rappan Athuk. And more importantly, perhaps give our fallen companion a decent burial fit for a hero?"

Anja looks a little startled at Arkan's words.  "We can certainly supply provisions for your journey, should you need them, and at a fair price."

"But you say that one of your companions has fallen?  There is a graveyard in the forest to the north, if you need to bury him.  Some of us have some knowledge of various faiths, and can perform a funeral service.   If you know which god your friend followed, we might have somebody who can give him the correct rites."

Colwyn speaks up, "Aye, Ozzy were bein' 'is name.  Poor bugger.  I was 'earin' from 'im once as 'ow 'e were bein' a follower of Note."

"Ah, the God of the Golden Harp." replies the woman, "Unless one of you knows how to perform them, I can have the guards ask if any are here in Crossroad who know the rites for Note."

"Please do, and my thanks."  It's short, but Eilieen is deeply upset over the choice of executions.

She allows the others to take charge of discussing things with Anja - they have already begun, after all.  Cutting in would be rude.