Order of the Red Band

Yorastor Internal Dialogue, VI

So you want to fight a demon do you?

Yorastor was tired. He sagged for a moment over the corpse of the presumed quasit. If it had not been so dangerous, terrifying and long to reach this point he would have laughed. His sleeves were torn to shreds from her claws, teeth and spiky protrusions, his arms were scratched, and bleeding from the minor wounds her scrambling inflicted. His hands, dagger and robes were splattered with fine-quality waterproof ink from his backpack and ichor from the demon’s wounds. Finally, his right arm felt like he had cranked a sausage grinder all day, his hand ached from gripping his dagger so hard and the point of the once sharp blade was dull from repeated slams into the flagstones. It was a truly comical situation.


He lifted his hooded head to the eyes of his companions, ringed around him and watching. They could do little throughout the fight. Erylium had quickly turned invisible and only be the grace of her tiny size and his firm grip could he keep a hold of her. The might of his melee companions was negated by her formidable defenses. By pure chance, he had pulled his cold-iron dagger when he grappled her and it was able to penetrate her resistances. He needed to study his demons more – he should have led with this or allowed another member to take over the dagger.

Yorastor stood up and cleaned the daggers blade on his tattered robes. He would need new ones and a new vial of ink. Something to do this afternoon after some rest. He needed rest badly. His magicks had been exhausted; only those spells that took no portion of his might remained to him and they were of little use. He’d been awake for over 24 hours now too and was flagging physically. If he was honest, he was emotionally drained too. It was one thing to chase a boar in the woods while others shot at it or cast a spell to stun and kill a goblin. Or even strike down these foul wrath-abominations they’d seen so often in the tunnels. It was another all together to pin a wretched creature beneath you, hear its screams, pleas and fears as it clawed for life and you slammed your dagger down on it repeatedly. The demon’s healing was supernatural and only served to prolong the inevitable. It was exhausting. Yorastor had no idea how or why Pel and Dorin would want to fight in this manner. It seemed the height of madness. Yorastor chuckled as it struck him – just a few days ago he thought the same thing about being a hero and he’d already changed his mind about that status. Perhaps this melee thing wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be.

On deeper inspection, yes it was. He hoped he could keep his daggers sheathed from now on and just fight with spells, safely distanced from the carnage. He sighed, nodded, and said aloud, “Well it’s done. She has expired. I think we still need to do something about this pool however. I’m not sure what sort of magic this is but my probing so far show it be near-deity strength. Blackheart, can you identify anything further about it? I cannot find a specific deity’s signature however.” Yorastor hoped the destruction of the portal would be simple, safe and easy but he didn’t believe that for a moment. The Thassalonian runes glowed from the walls with ominous pulses. If he could unlock the power of this portal and runes, he might gain some sort of eldritch insight into Thassalon and its magic. He needed to see Brodert first thing on reaching the surface.


Zandu abacus

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