ROTR Session 15 Report

Gifts for the mother

“…And may the Three-Eyed Gaze see me.”
Nualia’s voice, low and reverent, echoed off the blood-warmed stones of the sanctum. Before her stood the idol of Lamashtu—an obsidian jackal's head with three lidless eyes, each one carved in a grotesque leer. Faint incense curled in the air, smelling of rot, iron, and wild musk.
She let her gaze linger on the idol. That phrase, that mantra—the three-eyed gaze—still echoed in her mind. Was it a blessing? A warning? Or simply another mask the goddess wore to hide truth behind madness?
Her arm, where her thoughts inevitably drifted, was draped across her lap. Crimson scales shimmered in the dim light. It ended in a wicked claw, barbed and coiled with divine power. A gift from the Mother of Monsters. But only a beginning.
The rest of her skin still retained the smooth, pale tone of her Aasimar bloodline—like cheap silk stretched too thin over flesh. Unworthy, it whispered to her. The transformation was not yet complete. And Lamashtu did not give without taking. She demanded devotion. Sacrifice. Blood. Fire.
Then, from somewhere deeper in the keep, she heard it: the baying of hounds.

The Yeth hound beside her raised its grotesque head, ears twitching at the call of its kin. Its fanged maw curled into a smile.
Nualia's lips followed suit.
Her prayer had been heard.
She rose from her knees in a fluid motion, claws flexing. The air crackled faintly as she chanted the familiar litany of protective spells, her voice calm, unhurried. She took the blessing from her medallion. Sword in hand, she stalked down the stone hallways, each footfall deliberate and echoing like a war drum.
The stairway was long, narrow, ending at what seemed like a solid stone wall. But Nualia knew better. She reached out with her mutated hand and pressed a worn stone. With a heavy grind, the wall slid aside, revealing a secret passage.

She stepped through—and found herself staring directly into the tear-streaked face of Lyrie.
The Garundi woman sat hunched beside a makeshift barricade, her eyes puffy, mascara smeared. She clutched her robes like armor, trembling, small. Her white cat arched its back and hissed, crawling protectively into her lap as Nualia's hound padded into the chamber behind her.
"Ripnugget didn't send a warning?" Nualia asked, her voice calm but sharp as a drawn blade.
Lyrie shook her head quickly, wiping at her face with a trembling hand. "No, they slipped past him."
Nualia’s eyes drifted from the barricade to Lyrie’s face. She had been crying for a while
"They took the time to tell you," she said flatly.
Lyrie froze. Her breath caught in her throat. Thoughts raced behind her eyes—too slow.
"You have no options to weigh, Lyrie."
"Yes." The answer came like a gasp. "They're the ones from Sandpoint. They snuck into the fortress somehow. They killed the druid, but Ripnugget still lives." Her lip trembled.
A snarl silenced her stammering. Nualia waited. The rest came, spilling out like rot from a split corpse.
"They killed Tsuto," Lyrie whispered, the last words clinging to her like a wound.
Nualia didn’t flinch. She clenched her clawed hand into a fist, brought it to her lips, and whispered into the tight curl of her fingers.
"Ripnugget, if I don't see you and all of your mongrels fighting the intruders, I will use every last drop of your blood to write poetry."
She blew across her hand, the magic carrying her words to the intended target.
Lyrie's sobs returned, quiet and ugly. Nualia let them be—for the moment. She considered her next move, her thoughts like coals beneath her skull.
"Was the three-eyed Gnome there?"
Lyrie nodded.
"And the Saerenite girl?"
A shake of the head.
"Pity..." Nualia mused aloud, her voice like silk dragged over thorns. The girl would have made fine breeding fodder, a fitting role for a follower of the hated goddesses calling themselves the Prismatic Ray. She thought.
Lyrie shuddered, her breath shaky.
"There was a northerner, a Varisian, a Tiefling, and a flying blade of sorts."
Nualia arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the mention of the Tiefling. She turned back toward the blocked door.
"Let's meet our guests. I want them burned by nightfall."
Lyrie blinked in confusion. "I'm no warrior..." she offered weakly.
The priestess’s grip tightened on her sword, and the air around her seemed to tremble with rage.
"Don't you want to avenge — our — boy Tsuto?" she asked, her grin cruel and wide.
It struck the nerve Nualia had intended. Lyrie flinched, the wound reopened with surgical precision. She knew that Lyrie hated that Nualia mated with the half-elf, that she had feelings for him. Nualia also knew that Lyrie needed to know her place in the pack.

  And there was no place for cowards in the pack. Only converts… or corpses.

 

When it all goes to shit: II

Round 10 - Continued

Rabie stood in the hallway, blood soaking his robes from the ragged hole the bugbear’s arrow had left in his chest. Just ahead, through the splintered doorway into a chamber that reeked of spoiled meat and spilled ale, Cletus stood in the abandoned feasting hall. He was the first to hear it—the long, guttural blare of a warhorn echoing from the stairs above. His eyes snapped toward the harem room, where Vannrik and Andromeda stood among the shrieking Goblin widows, then to Jinx, who stood tensely before a hallway stretching westward.
They needed to move.
"Guys, I think it's time to find an exit," Cletus said, already springing into motion. He sprinted past Jinx, disappearing into the eastern hallway. The corridor opened into a chilling chamber—a grotesque scene of rusted iron and scorched stone. Along the southern wall, six iron doors marked the row of prison cells. The rest of the room was unmistakably a torture chamber: a rack sprawled against the far wall, an iron maiden loomed like a steel coffin to the north, and a fire pit glowed under a suspended, spiked cage. Two more doors—one in the northern wall, one to the northeast—offered potential escape.
Each step Rabie took sent a jolt of agony through his ribs, pain pulsing with his heartbeat, but he pressed forward. When he stumbled into the torture room behind the tiefling, he found Cletus scanning the walls with growing desperation. "I don't see an exit here. Perhaps that door behind you," the tiefling offered. "I think the other door leads to the temple." Rabie gave a grim nod and opened the northeast door.
The room beyond stank of old blood and damp straw. In the corner, a crude nest of rags and hides sprawled in a heap. Along the southern wall, a workbench sagged beneath a cruel array of tools—pliers, hooks, bone saws, blades dulled by too much use. Back in the torture room, Cletus froze as two glowing red eyes blinked open beneath the workbench. Rabie hadn’t seen them.
Jinx slipped past the witch and into the grisly chamber. His sharp eyes flitted across the corners, hunting for anything—anything—that might offer salvation. But this place was designed for agony, not escape. With a grimace, he pushed deeper into the lair, toward the bed of straw and bone.
Vannrik arrived just behind them, his boots thudding across stone slick with spilled wax and dried blood. He glanced over the room, then turned to Rabie, pulled a clay urn from his pack, and smeared its cool salve over the witch’s chest. The pain dulled, a cold relief seeping into his burning wound.
Then came the sound they all feared—an explosive crescendo of snarling, barking, and guttural chanting. From the prison room, Cletus saw them: a goblindog barreling forward with feral purpose, its matted hide twitching with anticipation. Behind it surged a tide of shrieking goblins, their eyes manic, blades flashing in the firelight—dogslicers and horsechoppers held high like crude banners of war. They poured through the narrow corridor with reckless momentum, a living wave of madness crashing into the chamber.
The goblindog lunged with savage speed, its yellowed fangs snapping just inches from Rabie’s ankles. The witch barely twisted aside in time, his breath catching as the creature's teeth clashed against stone. In that brief moment, Rabie counted six goblins scrambling in after the beast, their warcries echoing between the stone walls. And still, from deeper within the corridor came more—more yips, more snarls, more of that relentless, feverish chanting.

Round 11

Cletus ran like a devil was behind him—because, in a way, it was. Just how many goblins could this forsaken fortress hold? He didn’t have the luxury of counting. The others had managed to retreat into the northeastern room, but he was cut off, a surging wave of shrieking green bodies stretching between them like a living tide. No path back. No time to warn them about the thing beneath the workbench. No time to wonder if Andromeda still stood—though he took comfort in the absence of pain from their shared link. That had to mean she still drew breath. Or whatever she did.
He flung himself at the northern door, splintering it open with sheer momentum. Stairs. Up. At the top, a door carved from temple stone—his way out.
Back in the chamber, Rabie bared his teeth and snarled like a feral beast, purple light blazing from his eyes. The goblindog recoiled with a whimper, startled by the unnatural power radiating from the witch. Shadows clawed up from the floor, coiling around its leg as Rabie’s magic tightened its grip. From deeper in the room, Jinx whispered to Misery, whose serpentine hiss slithered through the air and helped deepen the creature’s fear. Then, with a grim nod, Jinx twisted the shadows further around the goblindog, freezing it in terror.
Vannrik, hammer in hand, didn’t hesitate. He surged forward and brought his frozen warhammer crashing down. The goblindog’s skull cracked like an egg, and its body crumpled with a wet thud. Vannrik stepped over the twitching corpse, pressing toward the hallway, determined to meet the tide head-on.
Another goblindog approached—but this one didn’t attack. It paused, ears pricking, and its expression shifted to something almost joyful. Tail wagging, it gave a bark of recognition. Vannrik narrowed his eyes. Venison jerky. The Dog remembered.
Cletus was nearly at the temple door when a low growl made him freeze mid-step. This was no goblindog. It was deeper, darker—an abyssal sound that clawed at the spine. A Yeth Hound. The stone door creaked open, a Goblin warrior had opened the door, the Yeth hound was beside him, and behind more goblins follwed in its wake like rats behind a piper. Among them was Lyrie, tear-streaked and grim, and behind her strode a pale, blonde woman in plate armor that left her scarred belly exposed. In her red, scaled hand, she held a jagged blade. Nualia.
Back in the corridor, a Goblin jabbed his horsechopper at Vannrik, the crude weapon biting into his leg. He hissed in pain but barely faltered—there was no time. Another arrow whistled past his head, missing by inches. The hall echoed with the goblins’ discordant chants, a cacophony of chaos and violence.
Cletus felt the sting of an arrow along his shoulder, slicing his coat and drawing blood. A minor wound—but a reminder that the tide was unrelenting.
Vannrik moved like a man possessed, parrying and dodging, his every step an act of survival. There was no room for retaliation—only to endure. Amid the shrill noise, a Goblin broke from the chant, pointing at him and yelling in broken Common: “You... bad!” The goblindog beside him yipped eagerly, pushing forward, confused but hopeful—waiting for meat or purpose.
Then Cletus caught sight of it—beyond the Yeth Hound and the pressing goblins, another goblindog padded into the temple.
Looking over the throng of goblins in the corridor Vannrik saw even more problems. A massive gecko, limbs suctioned to the ceiling, crawled silently across the stone. Astride it rode a Goblin with a sword in one hand and a crown barely clinging to his lopsided head. His voice rang out above the chaos:
“How dare you trespass Lord Ripnugget’s domain!?”

Round 12

With all the agility that he could muster, Cletus jumped over the horsechopper held by Goblin that opened the door to the temple. Stepped out of the way of the Yeth Hound's maw and leaped over the Goblin Dog standing in his way. Braving deeper into the temple he halted at Lamashtu's statue. He eyed the incoming stampede of enemies. Nualia showed a brief smile as he saw the Tiefling infront of the edifice. Then Cletus simply pointed to the door from whence he came. The tiefling's voice was firm, despite his inner desperation. "They're over there! In the other room!"
The crowd looked at the door expectantly, by the time they glanced back, there was only dust where Cletus once stood. The Yeth hound was the first to folllow the Tiefling's direction, and the wave of goblins and the Goblin Dog followed.
Just as Cletus disappeared in front of the goblins, in the harem room Andromeda could feel herself dissapearing as well. Their distance had become too great, and therefore their link too weak. "I hope that good-for-nothing knows what he is doing." She thought before returning to the heavens.
Rabie retreated further in the rank room as he saw more goblins pouring into the prisons. There was an open door between them and the green tide. He took a quick look at the workbench and all its tools, then he saw it. A rusty keyring. He rushed towards the bench. Then, something sharp sliced across the ankles. The Varisian cursed, as a dogslicer was dragged back under the bench. A stowaway Goblin. Still he snatched the keyring from the workbench. "There's a Goblin here!" he shouted. Rabie stumbled his way back to the door on his bleeding leg. "Vannrik, Jinx! Get in! I can close the door!" The Varisian warned to his friends.
Jinx liked that plan. He rushed back into the room, harrowcards in hand. He pulled the hammer card. And an arc of lightning shot from the cards. Jolting the Goblin under the workbench, his horsechopper clattered violently.
Vannrik remembered the time he spent in Goblin Squash Stables, jumping, screeching. Learning the yapping language of goblinkind "Burket!" he yelled at the Goblindog in front of him. Hoping that the beast knew the word for "Attack". Then he followed Jinx. In the fragile safety of the room he took a moment to douse himself with the balm of the ocean.
The Yeth hound pushed through the throng of the Goblin warriors and commandos to get to the Sentinel's bolthole. While Rabie is rummaging through the keys, trying to find the right key for the door the beast is upon him. But the beast snapped its maw shut to soon.
From the corridor comes the sound of hoarse barking, and the dying screams of goblins. Vannrik's new pet has taken the command. Unfortunately, the Goblin Dog's efforts were soon cut short by its former masters.

Behind Rabie, Jinx is thrown on the floor. The horsechopper sweeped violently across his legs in retalliation for the elecrical spell. Then the makeshift polearm cuts the Gnome through the robes and across the knees.
The Yeth Hound barks at the witch. from behind the beast a horsechopper jabs forth, wielded by a Goblin in the row behind the hound. The weapon is hooked behind the leg on which Rabie is forced to put its weight. He falls, still clutching the keys.
"Goblins eat and take by force" echoes throughout the prison chamber. A bolsterous laughter erupts from the chieftain on the ceiling as he sees the Sentinels cower in their hole. "This is what you get for entering Ripnuggets domain. Surrender now, or make it fun for us."
From his hiding place behind the statue of Lamashtu, Cletus sees four copies of the archeologist walk past. Doubtless a spell of some sort.
Nualia appeared to slow her stride, eyeing the giant statue of Lamashtu.
"There is always an opportunity to die. But you have the unique opportunity to join me."

 

Round 13

With every ounce of agility he had left, Cletus sprang forward—vaulting over a Goblin’s horsechopper, twisting just past the slavering jaws of the Yeth Hound, then clearing the goblindog with a graceful leap. His boots hit temple stone, and he skidded to a halt before the grotesque statue of Lamashtu. A wave of shrieking madness bore down on him. But Cletus didn’t flinch. He locked eyes with Nualia as her wicked smile curled at the edges. Then, he pointed back toward the corridor he’d come from and declared, voice steady and clear, “They’re over there! In the other room!”
Dozens of Goblin eyes snapped toward the door.
By the time they turned back, Cletus was gone—just dust swirling where the tiefling had stood. The Yeth Hound snarled and charged first, followed by goblins, goblindogs, and the chaos of steel and stench in pursuit of the others.
Back in the harem room, Andromeda blinked—and for a split second, felt herself fading. Their bond—her tether to Cletus—was weakening. Too much distance. She sighed. “I hope that good-for-nothing knows what he’s doing.” Then, she vanished once more into the celestial heavens.
In the reeking torture chamber, Rabie stumbled backward as goblins began to flood the prison hall. Between him and the advancing tide, one final door remained open. He scanned the workbench—pliers, tongs, bone saws—then spotted a rusted keyring among the scattered tools. He lunged for it.
Pain flared bright and sharp—something sliced across his ankle. A growl followed, and he saw the crude dogslicer dragging back under the bench. A stowaway Goblin. Rabie snarled, but seized the keyring anyway, limping back to the door. “There’s a Goblin here!” he shouted. “Vannrik, Jinx! Get in! I can close the door!”
Jinx didn’t hesitate. Cards in hand, he darted through the doorway, drawing a hammer card. A flash of lightning surged from the deck, blasting under the bench. The Goblin shrieked, his weapon clattering violently across the stone floor.
Vannrik, still standing near the corridor, narrowed his eyes at the goblindog. He remembered the chaos of Goblin Squash Stables, the yips and yaps of goblin-speak etched into his memory. “Burket!” he barked—a command to attack. The creature perked up and lunged at its kin. Vannrik turned and sprinted after Jinx. Inside, he took a breath and splashed the cool balm of the ocean across his wound.
But the safety was fleeting.
The Yeth Hound barreled through the prison room, shoving past the mass of goblins and crashing toward the doorway. Rabie fumbled with the keys, fingers slick with blood, searching for the right one. The beast snapped its jaws, but Rabie shifted just in time—the monstrous bite closed on empty air.
From the corridor, the sound of dying goblins, caught in teeth. Then the yapping of Vannrik’s new companion gave way to a more brutal sound—the goblindog’s yelps, followed by its death cries. The goblins had turned on their former ally.
Then came a scream.
Jinx toppled to the ground, a shriek of pain escaping his throat. A jagged horsechopper lashed out from beneath the workbench, carving across his legs. His robe tore, and blood splattered the stone.
Rabie turned just as the Yeth Hound barked—loud, disorienting. A Goblin from the rear jabbed a horsechopper past the beast’s flank. The hooked blade caught Rabie’s weight-bearing leg and yanked. The witch crumpled, the keys still clenched in his hand.
“Goblins eat and take by force!” roared the Goblin voices in unison. Above them, Lord Ripnugget howled with glee, clinging to the ceiling astride his massive gecko. “This is what you get for entering Ripnugget’s domain! Surrender now—or make it fun for us!”
Back in the temple, hidden in the Shadow of Lamashtu’s grotesque form, Cletus peeked out. Four identical copies of Lyrie passed by, illusions marching in sync—spellwork, clearly. Then came Nualia.
She slowed before the altar of Lamashtu, her gaze fixed on the monstrous idol. Her voice, cold and rich with conviction, echoed through the stone halls.
“There is always an opportunity to die. But now, you have the unique opportunity to join me.”

Round 14

For a breathless moment, Cletus held still behind the towering, monstrous idol of Lamashtu. The chaos had shifted, echoing from the prison halls now filled with shrieks and snarls—but Lyrie lingered, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Nualia stood unflinching at the center of the temple, the very image of calm menace. She waited—for an answer, a betrayal, a choice.
Then Cletus spoke.
"Lyrie! Now is your chance! Let four good people die, or aid them! And put an end to this obscene cult of the demon goddess! Help them!"
Nualia rolled her eyes, exasperated by the outburst. And both gazes turned to Lyrie, who stood silent, still. Weighing. Calculating. A second passed, then another. Her boots shifted. But instead of defiance, she descended toward the prison—slowly, methodically, offering no clue of allegiance.
Cletus swore under his breath. If she had intentions of helping, she buried them deep. He made his move—springing from behind the idol and bolting toward the temple’s heavy stone doors. Every heartbeat thundered in his ears. Behind him, he could only hope she didn’t give chase.
But hope was never enough.
Back in the jailer’s room, Rabie clawed his way upright, clutching the ring of keys, blood still slick on his palms. Jinx remained on the floor, locked in a brutal scuffle with the Goblin stowaway beneath the workbench. Vannrik stood in the open doorway, staring down the green tide that poured through the prison hall like a flood.
Then, his grin returned.
Snowflakes began to fall—soft, gentle, beautiful. Then more. A flurry. A storm. Winter took root in the heart of the prison. Ice and wind blasted through the corridor, seizing goblins in its biting clutch. Vannrik raised his hand and slammed the door shut. It wouldn’t kill them all. But it would hurt them. It would slow them. And for now, that was enough.
Rabie spun through the keys. One stood out—old, thick, wrong for a cell door. His instinct proved right. The lock clicked into place. The door bolted just as fists and blades started hammering on the other side. The goblins were already at it.
How long would it last?
Jinx, still prone, extended an arm toward the Goblin stowaway. Misery slithered from his sleeve, forked tongue flickering, eyes flashing. The Goblin recoiled, startled, giving the Gnome just enough space. He pulled the top card. The Stars. A guiding light. Vannrik felt the surge of clarity. Jinx followed with a sharp motion—his fingers drawing a sigil in the air. A translucent shield shimmered into place between him and the Goblin, crackling with otherwordly energy.
The door thundered under the weight of Goblin rage. A relentless beat. A terrible rhythm. Behind it, Ripnugget’s voice roared orders, mixing with the barking of hounds and the shrill clamor of metal.

Back in the temple, Cletus dared a glance over his shoulder.
Lyrie was gone—vanished into the lower levels. But Nualia was there. Closer. Faster than he’d thought. Her blade turned in her grip, catching the temple’s dim light. Her voice, low and serrated, cut the air.
“I don’t need you to join me willingly.”
Then the world went dark.

A lesson in desperation

A woman's voice bellowed above the chaos—a cruel, theatrical bark that cut through the shrieking goblins, the battering at the door, the chieftain's arrogant laughter:
"Surrender, open the door, and get on the floor! Or your Tiefling friend dies."
It was a threat wrapped in mockery, and worse—it was probably true.
Inside the crumbling jailer’s room, Rabie turned with a fury that barely masked his hopelessness. The walls felt like they were closing in, the door groaning under every blow. But in this cage, there was still one target. One thing he could kill.
"Not before we get this one.." he spat, his purple eyes burning holes into the last Goblin inside with them.
The shadows burst from him like smoke under pressure. They surged around the Goblin, devouring light and warmth. The creature didn’t even have time to scream properly—it just twitched, shriveled, and folded in on itself. By the time the darkness receded, what remained of the Goblin was little more than rust-colored husk, dry and brittle and lifeless.
But the room was no safer for it. The walls still shook under the weight of Goblin fury. The door warped visibly with each slam. And that was just one Goblin. Outside were scores.
Including the chieftain.
Including Nualia.

  Rabie's breathing slowed. The triumph of killing faded instantly, replaced by the cold truth of where they stood.
"I think we need to give up," he said quietly, voice barely audible under the steady thump of Goblin fists and the raking of claws.
“They will kill us all if we surrender,” Vannrik answered, unmoved, even as the door behind him trembled on its hinges.
"But Cletus is dead no matter what." Rabie slumped against the wall, his voice hollow. A smear of blood soaked into the floor beneath him.
Jinx, still nursing the wounds on his knees, gave a casual shrug, as if they weren’t seconds away from death. "Well, I need to get back to Bethana. So.." He adjusted his sleeve. "So I need to get out of here alive. One way or the other."
"I think our best shot, sadly, is still fighting." Vannrik pressed, though his eyes were distant—doing the grim math of survival.
"Then we fight." Rabie said, but the words didn’t carry much weight.
"None of us actually needs weapons to fight, right?" Jinx asked, glancing between them as he ran a hand through his tangled hair.
"That's true, but we do need our hands. We'll have problems if they shackle us." Vannrik replied grimly, watching the planks of the door bow inwards.
The sounds of pounding had become a rhythm—a horrible, warlike beat echoing through the bones of the room. The wood began to crack at the seams.
"Maybe we can find a way get out of this. Maybe they'll kill us. But it could give us a bit more time to get out of this alive." Rabie offered. His voice trembled with exhaustion and fear, but there was a sliver of clarity in it.
Vannrik's face was stone, but inside, he knew they were out of time. Out of options. He looked at the door. Looked at his companions. He couldn't win this alone.
"So, you want to surrender?"
Rabie's eyes were fixed on the blood pooling on the floor. “It’s too much. We just need to surrender for now and see how we end up.”
Vannrik looked to Jinx, the one who always saw the angles.
"Jinx, what do you think?"
The Gnome laughed. Not mockingly—just because everything else hurt too much. "Now, that is a good question."
Vannrik scowled. "I think we're dead if we surrender."
Jinx shook his head. "Dead? No, I don't think we're dead if we surrender."
Vannrik rubbed at his temples, trying to think his way out. But nothing came. “They sacrifice people to Lamashtu…” He trailed off.
Jinx shrugged. "I think we're dead if we fight."
Rabie pushed himself upright with a grunt of pain, still clinging to the keys. “We can talk to her. Pretend to join her maybe. She might keep us alive for a while. From that point we can betray her again.”
The tip of a crude horsechopper wedged itself between two of the door’s planks. It wiggled through, then pulled back. Another tip joined it. And another. Beyond the cracks: red Goblin eyes gleamed in the dark, wide and eager.
A chorus of guttural panting, grunting, cackling.
“We give up!” Rabie shouted.
And just like that—
It began.

Rabie turned the key and unlatched what little remained of the battered door. On the other side, goblins growled and barked out orders under Nualia’s command. The witch barely had time to glance back before Ghurab took flight, vanishing into the gloom. Two goblins gave chase, nocking arrows as they ran. Rabie’s heart clenched—was that the last he’d see of his companion?
One by one, Rabie, Jinx, and a reluctant Vannrik stepped out and dropped to the musty flagstone floor. Rabie winced as the hidden keyring pressed into his ankle, but he kept it concealed. Rough hands bound them—wrists behind their backs, legs forced together. Their weapons were stripped away. Goblins ransacked the room, flinging rusted torture tools aside in a frantic search for the keys that were no longer there.
They weren’t tossed into cells, just dumped in a corner like refuse. From outside the bars, the prison looked no less hopeless.
Nualia didn’t spare them a glance. “Ripnugget,” she said coolly, “send some to guard the entrance. Stay here and watch the prisoners. I’ll prepare the ritual chambers. I want them burned by nightfall.”
Ripnugget, reclined on the back of his massive gecko, grinned as his Goblin entourage howled and jeered. The warchanter struck up a discordant tune. Tales of conquest and carnage filled the room.
Minutes passed. The air thickened with heat and the stink of Goblin breath. No one dared speak.
Then Rabie broke the silence.
“So… we try to escape?”
Vannrik shifted closer, whispering, “It’s that or getting burned.”
“Do we wait, or do we try it now?” Rabie asked, eyes flicking to their captors.
Vannrik’s gaze swept the room. “Cletus!” he called out suddenly, crawling awkwardly across the floor toward the tiefling’s motionless form—equal parts ruse and worry.
Cletus was breathing. A deep scrape ran along the back of his head, blood tangled in his hair, but there was no fresh bleeding. A concussion, at least. But he was alive—for now.
Silence returned… until Cletus stirred. His eyes blinked open.
Cletus stirred fully now, his voice thick with fog. “Did Sheriff Hemlock and Shalelu come to rescue us?”
A dry chuckle answered him. “No,” Vannrik muttered. “But the good news is we don’t have to worry about this tomorrow.”
“They want to burn us at sunset,” he added, angling his neck to glimpse Ripnugget and his goblins still cackling at the same joke for the fifth time. “And I don’t think they’re going anywhere before then.”
Cletus groaned. “Where are Nualia and Lyrie?” There was a flicker of hope. “Have you seen Lyrie? The wizard?”
“No,” the others replied in dull unison.
“I saw her,” Cletus said, more certain now. “She went in this room. I saw her.”
Jinx tilted his head, considering. “That’s interesting.” Was this clarity—or concussion?
“She vanished?” Cletus asked, blinking at the pain in his skull. “She said something. About getting others. Maybe she’s getting help? Maybe not?”
The tiefling exhaled in frustration. “Ah, forget the wizard. We can’t count on that one.”
Jinx twisted his shoulders, trying to get a better look at their captors. “Maybe we can turn the goblins against Nualia.”
If Cletus was physically capable of shrugging, he would have “I was thinking about that. But… how?”
“Well, I think the chieftain’s not being treated too well by her. We might be able to lean in on that a bit.”
Rabie nodded once—quick, certain.
Then he started whispering.
“This is beneath you.”
The gecko grunted as Chief Ripnugget sat up straighter, his weight shifting abruptly. His beady eyes scanned the room with sudden anxiety, levity draining from his face. He sank his chin into his palm, caught in a fog—unsure if the words came from within or beyond.
The warchanter faltered mid-song, glancing nervously at the chief, fearing he’d failed to amuse him.
“This place could be yours,” Rabie whispered again, his voice slipping magically into the Goblin’s ear like a snake in the dark.
Ripnugget’s gaze narrowed. Confusion twisted his expression. He turned toward his entourage with suspicion, unsure who had dared plant such treason in his mind.
Cletus caught the shift in the room—the change in posture, the crackle of tension—but not the cause. “Vannrik, did you do something to that Goblin chieftain?”
Jinx shook his head, giving a subtle nod toward Rabie. “Rabie,” he hissed under his breath, “what are you doing?”
“Just give me a minute,” the witch muttered, eyes focused, voice low.
“She’s alone. Only the Dog is there,” Rabie whispered again, more insistently now.
Ripnugget jerked his head violently, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts. His gecko reared slightly under him, unsettled. Then the Goblin’s eyes flared with rage, locking onto the bound prisoners.
“What’s wrong?” Jinx asked, daring a glance upward.
Ripnugget reeled his mount toward them. “You will be silent in the court of Lord Ripnugget!” he snarled. “Be silent, or Nualia will need to burn your tongue separately.”
“This is your court, right? You’re the chief?” Jinx pressed, voice cautious but deliberate.
The Goblin puffed up, chin high. “Yes. You are prisoners of Chief Ripnugget.”
Rabie’s tone sharpened with purpose. “So why are you taking commands?”
Vannrik played along, feigning awe. “Oh!” he gasped, theatrically. “The great Chief Ripnugget they all talk about in Sandpoint?” He turned to the others. “All the stories are about him and his mighty deeds.”
Some of the goblins glanced at each other, curiosity stirring behind their eyes.
“You look like the strongest one,” Jinx added, casually baiting.
Ripnugget’s laugh erupted, filling the chamber like a thunderclap. “That is something I already know! Now SILENCE! I was listening to a good story.”
He pulled on his gecko’s reins and waddled back to his post, the tension easing. The goblins loosened their grip on their weapons, the moment of opportunity slipping through their fingers like smoke.
“Next time I will have your tongues,” he growled.

  And then: nothing. Hours crawled by. Between now and sunset lay a slow death sentence.
The Sentinels sat in silence, their minds racing. Every idea led to ruin. Every plan ended in fire.
They were bound, bruised, and stripped of everything—but for the first time that day, their aching bodies had no choice but to rest. Even despair needed sleep. Some, against all odds, managed to close their eyes.
Many hazy hours later a voice resounded from the temple.

    "It is time."