Papa Bhaal's House of Horrors teaser

This is a slasher/rural horror AU for BG 3, which follows a group of killers in the style of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, House of 1,000 Corpses(and its sequels) as well as just a general gritty horror vibe. It takes place in the Faerun equivalent of the late 70's, early 80's, ages are all done in human terms for our purposes, just consider them equivalent, and our cast is as follows:

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 40

Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

Sentry's newest piece was taking longer than he would have liked. The visits to Moonrise to further discuss plans were eating into his personal time, not to mention the nausea, which was only worsened by the furious disapproval he still felt from his father at the fact that he had 'tainted the bloodline'. Tainted it, Sentry nearly laughed at the notion, 'I have cemented an alliance, I have taken steps to create a more perfect being. The power of both Bhaal and Bane in one perfect heir. You should be thanking me for having the foresight you never did.' He thought all of this as he looked in the shabby, cracked mirror of his usual guest room at Moonrise, lifting his loose linen shirt a bit, fingers dancing over the black handprint above his womb, feeling the growing roundness of his belly. It wasn't obvious, not really, especially if he kept to wearing overlarge clothing, but it was there. He quickly pulled his shirt back down as he heard the door open behind him. “I brought you some tea, brother dear. You've been so ill as of late! We must get your strength back up if you are to lead us in our part of father's most brilliant plan!” Tomi cooed softly, setting a tray down on the end table beside the bed. She was dressed in a fine red and black silk dressing gown, her long inky black hair tied into a braid today. “I think it's traveling into this cursed fog so often. Honestly, it's awfully selfish General Thorm won't meet us in the city. We could be making these plans in some fine upper city cafe!” “And risk being overheard? Probably not the best idea, dear sister.” Sentry chuckled. “But thank you. Is that a hint of ginger? Lovely.” “Yes, it's good for stomach trouble. You haven't been able to keep food down lately, it worries me!” The lovely elf chastised, opening a porcelain jar in the shape of a bee and beginning to spoon honey into a cup, stirring expertly. “You must keep up your strength if you are to contend with this constant pushback from both General Thorm AND sister Orin.”

Sentry chuckled a bit and shook his head, crossing to the bed and sitting down, accepting the delicate black tea cup with the golden image of a decaying animal decorating it. He took a sip and cleared his throat. “Sister Orin will fall in line. She knows I am father's chosen, not her. She is...volatile, foolish, impulsive...but she knows her place, and more than that, she knows she can't challenge me in single combat.”

“That is true.” Tomi nodded, sitting beside Sentry and sipping from her own cup, marked with a wilting flower in similar gold filigree. “Oh, I did wish to discuss with you some of my plans for my part in our little task....Namely my poisons. I'd really love more garden space to try some new ones. I received some samples from a colleague in Thay recently and they have...intriguing...properties I would dearly enjoy testing out on some of these unsuspecting nobles....” Sentry gave his sister a wicked grin. “I see, I see....And what are the effects of these new poisons? Please, be terribly descriptive....” Tomi smiled a coy, dangerous smile and tapped a slender, elegant finger to her perfect chin. “Well....How can I put it exactly? Do you recall that illness you read about that those foolish explorers contracted deep in some jungle to the east? The one that turned their insides to liquid?” Sentry thought back to that book. Gods, it was one of the first ones he'd read while living at the temple, it seemed so long ago. Oh, but he vividly remembered the descriptions, the inspiration that sparked in his mind as he read of bleeding orifices, of innards melting and sloughing out, leaving a twitching husk, mind so delirious from fever it would barely realize it was dying. “I gifted you that painting, in fact, didn't I?” “Indeed you did! It was I who gave you the book that inspired it, after all.” Tomi chirped. “Ah, it still hangs in my bedroom to this day. Such a pleasant reminder of nature's true beauty, the horrors it can create....”

Sentry nodded. “You have my full support, obviously. Write down what exactly you'll need to expand your garden and we'll get you whatever you need. I look forward to hearing news from the upper city in the weeks to come.”

Tomi beamed fondly at her little brother and kissed his forehead as she got to her feet. “Oh, and...keep that a secret from the others. They don't understand you like I do, brother dear.” She nodded towards Sentry's belly. The color drained from his face and he nearly sputtered out the tea that was in his mouth, but she pressed a perfectly manicured finger to his lips and winked. “I won't say a thing! Promise!” She giggled. “Besides, I will make a wonderful auntie.” “Uh...thanks, Tomi.” Sentry managed weakly. He chose to believe it was because of what she was, a being so attuned to nature, of course she could sense it. That was all. The others would have no way of knowing unless he slipped up.

He set his tea down and got up to finish getting dressed, pulling on a slightly loose fitting black silken vest with red embroidery forming the shapes of dragons and flames, a gift from Enver, and made his way to the library, where the chosen would be meeting today. He was quite surprised to see that Gabraela was deep in conversation, unusual for her, but she was speaking intently with Z'rell about something or another. The hooded, stitched man, Balthazar as Sentry had learned he was called, seemed to have upset Jackal as the drow was glaring daggers at him across the table. Ketheric sat at the head of the table, still and silent. Enver sat to one side of him, a glass of liquor set in front of him. Opposite him was an empty seat meant for Sentry. The Executioner ignored it and sauntered up behind Enver, slipping his arms over his shoulders and grinning.

“Okay, I'm here. We can get started.” The tiefling announced, watching as Tomi entered and took her seat. “Oi, what about Orin?” Jackal scoffed. “Yeah, and what about her?” Sentry shot back with a flippant chuckle. “She knows her job, murder people around the docks. It isn't that difficult. We can start without her.”

“I notice your siblings are often this....disorganized...”Ketheric remarked. “How exactly do you plan to fulfill your part of this undertaking when you can't even get them to show up on time?” “Well, considering our part of the plan is to sow chaos, it looks like we're already pretty good at that.” Sentry grinned, leaning in further, rubbing his head up against Enver's neck. “I mean...pretty hard to cause a scene if you're doing everything all regimented and by the book...so...why don't you stick to keeping your shit orderly, General, and I'll do things my way?” The tiefling batted his eyelashes and gave a playful little pout. Ketheric's eye twitched as he looked to Gortash with an incredulous expression, frowning when the human simply smirked and ran his fingers over Sentry's hand, the gold filigree of his gauntlet dancing over the soft, freckled skin. “Well, he's got you there, Ketheric.” Gortash chuckled, shaking his head. “Besides, I think you'll find these Bhaalists have murder down to an art. When the time comes, their task will be done, and remarkably well at that. I have had the pleasure of witnessing a few of Mr. Ojeda's murders and they are truly masterful.” “Oh stop, you're going to make me blush.” Sentry cooed, eyes darting to make sure Ketheric was looking as he ran his tongue along Gortash's ear. Ketheric rolled his eyes, his lips curled into a look of disgust and he looked away from the display before him, eyes scanning the table. “At any rate, we have begun production on the army of the Absolute... Balthazar has his necromancers working at all hours to bolster our forces and luckily for us, hapless adventurers lost in The Shadow Curse continue to provide us with bodies.” “I suppose if you need any extra, I could send some of our kills with your little nightly caravans from the city as well.” Sentry offered. “I mean, once I'm sure they don't have any parts I need for my work, that is.”

“There, you see, Ketheric? The Executioner is an excellent collaborator when given half a chance.” Gortash clapped his hands together, smirking broadly. Ketheric was well aware the two were taunting him. But any price was worth it for what Myrkul offered, he could endure these two idiots if it meant having his darling Isobel back by his side, and when the time came? He would make them regret these insults. “Jolly cooperation, practically my middle name.” Sentry laughed.

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 34

Hey, look at that, a sex scene for part 34. There's an internet culture joke in there somewhere. Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

The two shifted slightly back onto the bed, now fully in the center, the springs groaning in protest at more motion than they were probably used to in quite a long time. The hurried, careless removal of clothing, all tossed haphazardly aside, rips and tears from claws and the metal gauntlets could be repaired later, this was a celebration overdue after all the two chosen had accomplished today. Sentry pushed Enver down on the bed, straddling his stomach. “I have something I kind of really want to try out...See, other than you and some...well, some friends... most of my partners aren't very...lively...if you get my meaning, there are things they can't manage. Rigor mortis reeks havoc on the jaw, you know.” “You need only ask, my dread executioner.” Gortash smirked, the idea of Sentry's back arched in pleasure, lips parted and eyes closed tightly, that cute gap between his front teeth visible between those plush lips as he cried out, impaling himself on a cold, hard shaft, body likely splattered in blood from the rapidly cooling partner beneath him was quite an image. He felt himself growing hard even just imagining it. “You say you love me, but you're still a Banite and I know your nature is to conquer...so...could you defy that nature long enough for me to use your face as my personal throne?” Sentry purred teasingly, giving him such an innocent, questioning look that Gortash almost laughed out loud to see such an expression on Bhaal's own chosen killer.

“I think I could for this privilege” Gortash nodded, running his hands down Sentry's hips and thighs. “Besides, what is a tyrant to a god?” He squeezed Sentry's scarred, powerful thighs, gauntlet claws digging in, drawing small pin pricks of bright red blood. “A god, you really think I'm...?” Sentry seemed taken aback for a moment, pausing mid motion. “You are Bhaal's flesh given life, dear Sentry. I'm merely stating a fact.” Gortash explained, rubbing those firm thighs gently as Sentry slowly repositioned himself, moving them to either side of Enver's head.

“Well, yes, I suppose...but I never thought of it that way is all...” Sentry's expression was puzzled, perhaps a bit troubled. “You'll understand better when you're worshipped properly as one.” The Tyrant offered, gently reaching up, hands gripping Sentry's firm, round ass and pulling him down fully onto his face, spreading him just enough to run his tongue up over that tight, puckered hole between those sculpted cheeks. Sentry's face flushed brightly, the sensation was phenomenal, and only improved when one hand moved to grip the base of his tail, massaging gently. He moaned, arching his back and rolling his hips as his partner's tongue teased at both holes in turn. The vague, half formed idea that with the muscles of his thighs he could probably crush his lover caused Sentry to shudder with delight at the possibility, his slick juices coating Enver's chin and dripping down to his chest. Sentry's eyes were closed, head tossed back in pleasure, so he didn't notice immediately that the door was open and standing in the doorway was quite an audience. The orcish woman from the war table was trying to hide the obvious interest in her eyes as she fought not to look at Sentry's lean muscled body and heavy scarring. The portly figure in robes seemed somewhere between disgusted and amused by the scene playing out. Sceleritas was somewhere between apologetic and mortified as he tried to squeeze past the large figures. All this, Sentry finally noticed when the sound of someone clearing their throat came from the back of the group. He paused, opening his eyes and smirking a bit, not ceasing the motion of his hips.

Ketheric Thorm pushed through the group, glaring daggers at Sentry and Enver. It looked like it was taking every ounce of restraint the necromancer had not to draw his weapon right here and now and kill the two. Sentry's taunting smirk never faltered, though, even as he scooted back, kneeling on the pillows, allowing Enver to see that they had an audience as well. To his credit, the Tyrant also seemed more amused than anything, no shame crossing his face, simply an expression Sentry found rather dashing. “Well, you DID offer us a room for the night.” Sentry explained, grinning widely. “A GUEST room. Not my personal quarters, boy.” Ketheric's tone was cold, even, measured. “In our defense, General Thorm, we were not given a guide, and this room hardly stands out. Look at it, the dust makes it look unoccupied.” Enver slowly got to his feet, nonchalantly claiming his clothing from the floor and beginning to dress as if nothing had happened. “You can't blame us for entering a seemingly random bedroom.” “The door was open anyway. You should really make sure it's locked.” Sentry added flippantly as he, too, rose to collect his clothing and redress. Being with Enver awakened things in Sentry, he no longer felt anxious when he felt eyes on his body. Enver accepted him, Enver loved him. They were equals and together they were powerful. No one could judge him, harm him, or reduce him to 'Vereena the Breeder' ever again no matter what story his body told. So he stood proudly for a moment, giving an exaggerated stretch, allowing the general and his little entourage to take in the view. He finally began to redress and followed as Enver walked to the door. The Tyrant stood nearly chest to chest with The Necromancer, offering a small smirk before easing past him out the door. Sentry followed silently behind his lover, making sure to 'accidentally' bump into Ketheric on his way out. “Sorry, old man. Used to moving in that clunky paladin armor, you understand.” He patted Ketheric's shoulder with abject condescention, earning a cold glare.

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 33

Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

Within what felt like a few short moments, the group was seated at a war table upstairs. Ketheric was in a large, imposing chair, Gortash beside him in a somewhat smaller one. One to match the chair Gortash sat in was at Ketheric's other side, but Sentry ignored it and slid into Gortash's lap instead, earning a look of abject disdain from Ketheric. The rest of the seats, simple dining chairs practically, were populated by Gabraela (who looked furious), Tomi (who was smiling pleasantly and had her hands folded neatly.), and Orin (who glared briefly at Sentry). Other than them, Jackal sat in one of the chairs, his throat covered by a thick scarf and a pallor to his grey skin, then a rather portly man in black robes with a network of scars across every inch of his skin, and finally a confident and rather attractive orcish woman with a scar over one eye.

“So, here we are, finally able to discuss our plan like civilized people.” Gortash began, unable to hide a satisfied smirk as Sentry draped his arms around his shoulders and sprawled across his lap. “I suppose introductions are in order, if we are to work together. I am Lord Enver Gortash, currently a baron, but soon to be Grand Duke should everything go to plan. My role in our little play, as The Tyrant, will be the brave hero who will step in and save the city from chaos and death, provided by you.” Sentry grinned wickedly. “Oh, is it my turn? Yeah, I'm the 'chaos' bit. Sentry Ojeda, The Dread Executioner. My sisters and I...well, and our newly returned brother I guess...will direct our cult to sow chaos in the streets, bloody murder in the name of a brand new exciting god...yet to be named...Patriars and peasants alike will fall to our blades, the streets will run red and no one will be safe from our Unholy Assassins. Really puts a damper on the current ruling class, you know. How can they lead if they can't even protect folks in their own homes? And we DO have access to their homes, make no mistake...Every cellar in Baldur's Gate has sewer access if you know where to look....” He shifted and stretched like a contented cat in Gortash's lap, his hips grinding a bit against his partner's at the thought of all that bloodshed. He felt Enver react subtly and the tiefling leaned over to run his tongue over Enver's neck and up to his ear, adding in a whisper. “After this, let's find a bedroom, yeah?”

Ketheric stared icily at Sentry and Gortash, but inclined his head, closing his eyes and clearing his throat. “Myrkul has instructed me to raise an army of the undead and rally them here at Moonrise Tower. Our ranks will be bolstered by the faithful of this new god. But more importantly, I am to provide what is under Moonrise tower....With that said, however, we will need to exercise caution. To approach an Elder Brain without proper precautions is suicide. We would end up devoured or worse.” “Don't worry about that, we have the solution. Sentry?” Gortash nodded to the Tiefling.

“So...where my temple is in the sewers, it's connected, as I said, to every building in Baldur's gate. Near one of the taverns, I've seen this guy, always in a hood, dumping bodies....Bodies with their heads cracked open like sun melons at a summer time picnic...So of course, I had to let Enver know, such an interesting thing after all, you don't see that every day, so we were laying in bed one night, just having a cuddle, and I couldn't help but mention it...He and some associates looked into it and would you believe it? A Mindflayer. One not being commanded by an Elder Brain.” Sentry explained with a cat-like grin, a smug air of satisfaction about him to be so many steps ahead of this stuffy, dreary necromancer. “And this Mindflayer just told you how to resist an Elder Brain?” Ketheric quirked a brow in disbelief, his voice tinged with doubt. “Most will tell you just about anything when beaten and deprived of food for long enough.” Gortash replied, examining his gauntlet with a self-satisfied smirk. “A Mindflayer is really no different from anyone else when you have it dead to rights.”

“Alright, fine. I trust you two brought this crown with you?” Ketheric steepled his fingers, leaning forward, now trying to avoid eye contact with Sentry and Enver as the tiefling was making even more of a show of hanging on to Bane's chosen and whispering in his ear. “Yes, we came directly from our little excursion.” Enver replied.

“Hey, you didn't actually introduce yourself, old man.” Sentry gave a playful little pout and looked at Ketheric. “We both said our names, so....” The necromancer's expression painted a very clear picture of the multitude of ways he wanted to throttle the young tiefling, but he inhaled deeply through his nostrils and in a weary tone, muttered. “General Ketheric Thorm.”

“There we go. After all, it's important to have trust with plans like this...I'm sure you're familiar with the pit falls of The Dead Three working together, there are so many fascinating stories throughout history, cautionary tales, really....some truly exciting cases of back stabbing and murder, so many I've brought to life in my Bhaalist history period.” Sentry rambled, his voice oozing false pleasantry. He was enjoying needling at the necromancer.

“I have read of these past alliances, yes...which makes me doubt this one even more than your rather flippant attitude, child.” Ketheric stood up, hands on the table. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. There are guest rooms available if you don't intend to return home immediately.” And with no further pleasantries, the elf turned, motioned to his entourage, and left the room. Sentry stood first, arms folded across his chest, watching the old man leave. Gortash stood up beside him a moment later as the door closed. “Know what would be great fun?” Sentry grinned wickedly. “Let's go find the master bedroom.” Gortash fought back a hearty chuckle, covering his mouth a moment. “You're despicable, my dear Bhaalist.” But he didn't object. “What, so that's it!? You're not going to make sure we're alright after being imprisoned here, after I've been dead fuck knows how long!?” Jackal shouted, his voice a wet, guttural rasp now as he stood up, body tensed in fury.

“You heard the necromancer, there are guest rooms. So go on, be a good boy and lie down.” Sentry smirked, barely offering a glance in his brother's direction as he continued towards the door.

As Sentry and Enver headed upstairs, ancient and rotting stairs creaking beneath them, Sentry's ears pricked up, vaguely aware of odd sounds from inside the walls. “D'you hear that? It's like someone punching cut up parts, tenderizing them, that little squishing, squelching sound...” “From what the Mindflayer told me, the colony winds its way all throughout the tower. Have you ever seen Illithid construction?” Gortash asked as he and Sentry reached the upper floor landing. “Can't say I have, though the copper dreadfuls they feature in DO refer to it as fleshy...” He mused. “Quite so.” Enver nodded. “So in all likelihood, that's what you're hearing...” The two of them made their way into a corridor with several doors, presumably leading to sleeping chambers. Sentry began to try each door handle. “Huh...all locked, that's not very hospitable, is it?” “Well, it's fortunate we just came from a heist, isn't it?” Enver smirked, producing the little machine that had opened the door to Mephistar earlier and set it on one of the doors. The thing whirred and clicked, spinning and flashing before the door creaked open, revealing a large, once luxurious bed, now in disrepair. The room was shockingly well appointed for someone who seemed as bare-bones and no-nonsense as the general. There was a fireplace with a fire already crackling, tall bookshelves filled with dusty tomes, a sickly green collection of runes and sigils on the floor, both men could easily clock it as a shrine to Myrkul, the final member of The Dead Three. A cluttered desk covered in correspondences and maps stood beside tall boards with battle plans and formations tacked up. Golden candle holders stood about the room, lighting it in a dim, sickly glow. A portrait hung above the bed, obscured by ages of dust and decay.

“I don't think this bed's been used properly in a couple hundred years.” Sentry announced. “The one side's near perfectly made...I think we can put it to better use.” He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back and giving a coy, playful smile, beckoning his partner to join him. Enver accepted the invitation most eagerly, standing in front of Sentry and leaning in to push him back, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head, kissing him deeply and hungrily, in a way that told Sentry he'd been longing for this the entire night. Sentry lifted his legs, wrapping them around Enver's waist and pulling him down ontop of him, nipping and biting into the kiss. Neither one heard a low, irritated whine from the corner and the sound of fleshless paws tapping at the wooden floor, padding out of the room in a hurry.

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 32

Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Dark Urge

In which Sentry is a little shit to a certain Necromancer

Within the hour, the two were seated in a fairly fine black and gold carriage drawn by clockwork horses, the inside warm despite the chill of the night. Sentry and Enver sat across from eachother, the gnolls and Fel bundled in to the remaining space beside both of them. The road went from the peaceful darkness of night to an eerie fog that seemed oppressive, all consuming...almost evil. As they entered the strange fog, two enormous moon-light blue lights flooded the road from atop the carriage and Sentry peeked out the window in awe, grabbed and quickly pulled back to his seat by Enver. “The lights are a necessary precaution, my dear Exectutioner.” He explained, examining Sentry for any injury. “This area is cursed, blighted by Shar herself apparently. I've done some research while I was working on our little plan.” Sentry nodded sheepishly. “Sorry, the lights were interesting...also that creepy fog was sort of inspiring in a way...There's this story out of Neverwinter about a headless woman who patrols the roads on horseback, she was some sort of wicked paladin...Mum used to tell me the story before bed sometimes....probably a church parable in there somewhere, but really my favorite was she was looking to collect heads...there was this unsettling fog that heralded her...”

“Well, we may not find your headless knight here, but I assure you, dear Sentry, you'll find many things to inspire your work in Reithwin. It's rumored to be a cursed place inhabited by the undead, cursed by these shadows to walk in some horrid half life.” Enver explained. “That is what happens to those who travel without the protection of light or who stray from the path.”

“Fascinating.” Sentry breathed, turning his head to stare out the window, but careful not to lean towards it this time. The carriage came to a stop outside a shabby, crumbling old tower that looked like something out of one of those vampire stories that were so popular in the city lately. Sentry could imagine some stuff old noble sweeping down those steps in a red velvet cloak and charming Enver into his undead clutches, drinking the blood that was Sentry's to enjoy. He growled a bit before chastising himself. 'Calm down, Sentry, you're jealous of your own imagination.'

The door opened and the party stepped down from the carriage. Sentry grabbed a spare lantern from the side of the door. “Hey, I want to go look around, find some inspiration or maybe some new materials. You're better at negotiations anyway, love.” He kissed Enver on the cheek and then turned to face his own entourage. “Fel, you're in charge of my babies. Don't let them wander off and get cursed!” “Ah...yes, master.” Fel bowed, then looked to the gnolls and whistled. “Alright my fine fellows, orderly now! Step lively! Into the tower!” The gnolls looked at eachother, then at Sentry who nodded for them to obey, and then they began to lumber along after Fel who followed Enver to the tower.

Meanwhile, Sentry made his way through the town, breathing in awe at everything he saw around him. Bodies littered the ground, agonized shapes moved through the outskirts of the fog, and the buildings were crumbled ruins. Old blood still stained the pale stones. He could hear screams from the House of Healing, he could hear off key music and moaning from the tavern. The jingle of treasure from the toll house. “Lovely...We should have a summer home here.” He smirked. “Such a beautiful place to raise a child.” He made his way down the road to the old and crumbling graveyard, easily working the rusted gates open and beginning to examine the tombstones. He smiled at some of the more morbid inscriptions, many of them labeled with tragic deaths, early deaths, lovers torn apart by death.

A figure knelt mourning near a statue and Sentry approached, looking at the inscription. It was a large statue near the path to a grand tomb, it depicted a weeping elven woman with a serene face and the phases of the moon adorning her gown. “Ah, I love reading the dates on these graves, nothing more tragic than love stolen early...Take this poor fucker, for instance: Melodia Thorm, dead for....what, can't quite read it, but a few hundred years at least? And then this poor bastard Ketheric, no date...assuming he's an elf or something along those lines, he could very well still be alive and kicking. I almost feel sorry for him.” Sentry mused, stroking his chin as though in thought. The old man turned slowly to glare up at him, rising to his full, imposing height, a little bit taller than Sentry. He was dressed in armor adorned with screaming skulls and his long grey hair hung loose and stringy around his tired face, dark dead eyes stared at the tiefling with cold fury. “Oh shit, you're him then? Well, I stand by what I said. Ouch.” Sentry winced. “But...you're the necromancer as well, aren't you? So...” He gave him a questioning look and then his eyes darted to the grave. “Do you always run your mouth without thinking, boy?” The elf replied, his voice hollow, cold, ominous. “Guilty as charged. It's a bad habit of mine. They say a stream of consciousness can really help the creative process, however. I talk myself through my work quite a lot.” Sentry checked his long, sharp nails carelessly. “Then I assume you're Bhaal's mad dog. It makes sense you wouldn't need the benefit of tact to be his chosen.” The elf turned to leave. “Well, my partner Enver is the one in charge of the tact...SO, that being the case let me get right to what I have to say, since I know who you are now and all: Give me back my sisters or you'll be spending the rest of your immortal life as a chew toy for a pack gnolls.” Sentry stepped into Ketheric's path, blocking him.

“They slaughtered my caravan and made a nuisance of themselves. They will remain imprisoned in Moonrise until I decide what to do with them.” The stern old man replied, a look of annoyance crossing his face. “I would think slaughtering your caravan was a good thing for a necromancer, wouldn't that just mean you could bring back your servants more compliant and able to work without resting?” Sentry shot back, hand going to rest on his halberd. Thorm's eyes fell on the weapon and he gave a brief, wry look of amusement. “Try it, boy.” Sentry felt Father's voice telling him to slice the necromancer up, to make him hurt. He was necessary for the plan, but being unable to die, there was no reason not to indulge. Sentry held back, though. His eyes flicking from Ketheric to a cave in the distance, the path littered with ancient corpses, but otherwise well kept. The corpses wore the armor of Sharrans and Selunites. Time to change tactics. “Hey, what's in that cave over there?” Sentry jerked his head towards it to indicate what he meant. “I...what?” Ketheric blinked in confusion, not quite following the tiefling's rapid change of subject right away. “The one over there, it's part of the graveyard right? You know...I noticed your town doesn't have a place of worship...which is kind of weird for a paladin, presumably married to a cleric of some sort? I mean, the city itself has at least three or four temples, so...” Sentry pressed, stepping out of Ketheric's path to give the illusion of slinking past him towards the path to the cave. A heavily armored hand caught Sentry by the shoulder. “I'll return your sisters to you...your resurrected brother as well. Just....come back to the tower, we should discuss these plans your companion wrote to me about.”

So, he was sensitive about whatever was in there? Sentry made a mental note to send Orin or the recently revived Jackal down to have a look as soon as he could. What was this broken old man hiding? But for now, he pretended to give up asking, nodding his head and turning around on the path, beginning to stroll back towards the tower. “Yes, of course. I do hope your underlings have been more respectful to Enver than you've been to me.” Sentry grinned tauntingly. Ketheric shot him a look of pure venom and the two walked the rest of the way to Moonrise Tower in silence. The only sound permeating the oppressive darkness and quiet was the sound of their footsteps on the hollow stone and the occasional scream from the shadows.