ROTR Session 21

A feast for three whispers

 

Second thoughts

"Just tell them that I couldn’t take it anymore and that I took my own life." Rabie’s final words rang in Cletus’ ears like a curse. The witch had pleaded for a few hours’ delay—enough time to disappear. But something about it gnawed at him. The Sentinels had offered Rabie a clear path to freedom, yet he had chosen to run toward the island lair of a notorious killer, seeking shelter beneath its cursed ground. This wasn’t a desperate escape—it stank of purpose. Maybe the Sentinels had misjudged Rabie’s devotion to his god. By the time they reached the trapdoor, the fleeing man no longer looked like someone running from danger. He looked like someone arriving at his destination. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. This no longer felt like doing the right thing.
At the island’s edge, Cletus paused, casting one last look toward the path that led back to the ruined house. Guilt churned in his stomach. He couldn’t even summon Andromeda—too ashamed to face her judgment. She’d have plenty to say, and none of it kind. Without another moment of hesitation, he descended the rope still tied in place, then sprinted across the beach, the tide reclaiming the sand behind him. He had to warn Sandpoint—and fast.
Back in Sandpoint, the search for Rabie pressed on. Every street, alley, and shadowed corner had been searched, all in vain. Sheriff Belor Hemlock, now growing frustrated, instructed his men—Vannrik and Jinx—to begin a search through the forest on the town’s border. A fugitive’s most obvious route, he reasoned. The pair obeyed the order, silently relieved. At least they knew their friend wasn’t hiding in that direction.
When Cletus finally scaled the cliffs of Junker’s Edge and stumbled into Sandpoint proper, the town was quiet under the dim glow of predawn. There were no guards combing the streets—just a few early risers readying for their day, and some lingering revelers from the previous night’s celebration. It wasn’t long before a curious fisherwoman approached him.
"Are they looking for someone? I heard they were looking for someone."
Cletus let out a frustrated groan and kept moving, but she kept pace.
"Just tell me where I can find Hemlock."
"He and the guards went into the woods I think."
"The woods!?" Cletus barked. Their cover story had worked too well.
"Yes," she replied, her eyes alight with interest. "The sheriff and your friends went through the north gate, I think."
"And where is the north gate?"
"I will show you," she offered with a mischievous grin. She wasn’t just skilled at fishing—she was angling for gossip too.
"So, what are you looking for?"
"The Sheriff is looking for an escapee, someone he had in custody."
"Was it Billivar Wheen, the wheelwright? Was he held for drunkenness again?"
"Haha, no, no. It’s one of my companions, ok? Just get me to the gate."
Her jaw fell open. "One of the Sentinels? What did Jinx do this time? He’s a gnome. He must have been up to some mischief, right?"
Silence.
"Was it Jinx?"
"It was not Jinx.."
"Please tell me it was not Vannrik!"
"It wasn’t Vannrik, either."
"So… Rabie then.. What did he do? Did he get too drunk? Did he get too close with a girl?"
"We don’t know the whole story but the Sheriff had him in custody. It is the Sheriff’s job to explain this to the townsfolk. Not mine." Cletus clenched his jaw. Each step made courtesy harder to maintain. Thankfully, they reached the North Gate, and the woman wisely stayed behind. Unaware of the wildfire of rumors he had ignited, Cletus pressed on—his mind racing with ominous theories about Rabie, each darker than the last.

    Flickers of lantern light danced between the trees. "In for a copper, in for a gold crown..." Cletus muttered, pushing forward. Luck was with him—Jinx and Vannrik were close, joined by Yoska, a local guard.
Three bright beams hit Cletus in the face as he stumbled into their circle, breath ragged.
"I need a moment to catch my breath."
"What happened?" Jinx asked.
Without drawing attention, Cletus slid a message scroll from his pack.
They heard his voice in their minds. "Rabie isn’t leaving Sandpoint. He’s under Chopper’s Isle. He might be summoning Pazuzu, or something."
"He’s doing what!?" Jinx blurted out.
Yoska raised an eyebrow. "Did you learn anything?"
"So, did you find him?" Vannrik asked, unable to respond through magic.
Cletus hesitated, lips tight. Then finally— "Yes, I think I know where he is."
"Where!?" Yoska demanded.
Jinx gave Cletus a warning look.
"I don’t think he’s in these woods."
Yoska stepped forward. "What have you found?"
"I need to talk to the Sheriff himself. Can you find him for me? I ran all this way, I need to catch my breath."
"You need to talk to the sheriff?" Jinx asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
Yoska paused, deliberating. But there was no reason to doubt the Sentinels. "Yes. The Sheriff must be included in the plan." He vanished into the woods.
The moment Yoska was out of earshot, Jinx snapped— "What is wrong with you!?"
  "I wanted him to escape. I thought he had a boat or something. But he’s hiding on that island, like he’s being led by his dark god, and the raven..." Cletus was at a loss. "I’m pretty sure he’s going to summon something."
"I trust Rabie with my life, he has saved it several times." Jinx stood firm, arms crossed. "If he really did something like that, then he’s on his own, but until that moment, we help him."
Cletus remembered Rabie’s impassioned speech under Thistletop. "But what if he is going to summon something evil, even if he doesn’t realize it? What if he’s doing something with that Pazuzu of his on Chopper’s Isle!?"
"Yes," Vannrik leaned in, careful not to be overheard. "Summoning some kind of fiend or something sounds rather horrible. Even if I don’t know who or what a Pazuzu is, it doesn’t sound natural to me." He gave Cletus a hard stare. "But how did you reach the conclusion that he’s going to do something like that?"
"He didn’t even know what he was doing." Cletus rubbed his temples. "He didn’t seem convinced that that trapdoor would lead off the island. He was trying to find something. I don’t know for certain, I could be wrong, but I can’t shake this creeping feeling."
He paused. "How did Ghurab—or Pazuzu—know there was a trapdoor beneath that murderer’s house? Rabie grew wings! Not strong enough to fly off the island—just enough to lift him up. If that’s a gift from his god, then Pazuzu doesn’t want him off that island."
Jinx and Vannrik exchanged a tense look. "Ok, can someone please explain to me what manner of god Pazuzu is? Because I am a bit lost." Vannrik confessed
"I didn’t get these horns because I was sick, I’ve got demon blood in my veins." Cletus said grimly. "Pazuzu is a rival to Lamashtu. He used Rabie to get rid of her minions, and now Sandpoint is ripe for another demon lord to take root."
He continued. "I’m not saying Rabie knows all of this, but he’s getting pulled into something."
Jinx glanced nervously toward the trees. "We have three choices: blow our cover and risk jail, go see for ourselves, or lie."
"Whatever we do, we can’t leave this unchecked." Vannrik murmured.
"I hadn’t even considered investigating ourselves before the sheriff returns. But I like your idea." Cletus said, nodding.
But fate wouldn’t give them the chance. Whistles shrieked through the forest—Hemlock had been found.
"You want to run, Jinx?" Cletus dimmed his lantern.
"Yeah, on your back!" the gnome snapped.
"We already asked for the Sheriff. It’s going to look really suspicious if we’re not here when he returns." Vannrik said.
"That would be weird, yes." Jinx groaned.
"We have to decide right now." Cletus urged.
"Just tell the Sheriff what you saw, but don’t tell him that we helped him escape," Jinx pleaded. "Please!"
"That’s going to be impossible." Cletus said. "We can’t stay here. Let’s talk on the island."
Footsteps pounded closer.
Jinx grabbed Cletus’s wrist. "He escaped. You followed him. We didn’t help him escape, and that’s the only part you will have to lie about." He squeezed hard. "You’re a demon, right? Start acting like one."
The Sentinels wondered how they had let it come to this.

  Sheriff Hemlock emerged from the woods with a half-dozen guards in tow. Cletus gave his story: how he saw Rabie flee the tavern, climb to Chopper’s Isle, and use his wings to reach the top. He shared his suspicions—Rabie hadn’t run from Sandpoint, but toward something dark. That island wasn’t his escape. It was his destination.
Belor didn’t ask questions. With a sharp blow on his whistle, he led the charge—guards and Sentinels at his heels—as they raced to Chopper’s Isle.

 

The Isle of Chopper

The beach was still passable, though each step splashed through ankle-deep surf. Nearby, Rabie’s abandoned pack lay strewn across the wet sand—half its contents already claimed by the creeping tide. The rope dangling from the cliffside drew questioning glances, but Cletus offered a simple explanation: he’d used it to climb after the fugitive.
As the first hesitant fingers of sunlight reached the island’s treetops, the group advanced upward, following a winding trail into the undergrowth. That’s when they heard it—flesh tearing, bones cracking—a sickening, primal sound. Something, or several somethings, were feasting.
Rounding a bend, they saw them: three gaunt figures hunched over a human corpse. Their skin was a flaking, deathly white, stretched tight across skeletal frames. They turned as one to face the intruders, hollow sockets staring, mouths twisted in silent, tongueless hisses. Then they lunged.
With practiced swiftness, Cletus called upon his divine ally. Andromeda surged forth, radiant and eager to rend the undead. Jinx, ever calculating, observed the creatures’ movements. As he pieced together their nature, realization struck—wights. Beings twisted by hatred, whose very touch could spread their curse.
"Wights!" Jinx warned, "They carry a curse that can turn the dead into more of them!"
The creatures attacked like feral beasts, scrambling on all fours with unnatural speed, their dry rasping breaths filling the forest air. Belor and his patrol intercepted the charge, holding the line as Jinx and Andromeda maneuvered to strike.
Vannrik knelt beside the injured, working quickly to prevent the wounds from becoming deadly—or worse, undead. The cost of failure was steep. Anyone slain by a wight could rise again as one of them.
Then, amid the fray, Andromeda spotted something chilling: the mangled corpse on the ground wore a skirt and bracers she recognized—Rabie’s. Her wrath ignited. With holy vengeance, she brought swift retribution to the foul creatures.
  By the time the fight ended, four bodies lay twisted among the tangled roots: the three wights, and one more—the mangled remains of their missing companion. Rabie’s face, arms, and hands had been devoured, but his tangled hair and familiar stubble confirmed the truth.
"I think Rabie made a poor judgement." Vannrik declared.
"What have you done to yourself?" Cletus whispered.
Their gaze shifted to Sheriff Belor, who had stumbled away, hunched beside a tree, retching from the sight. With a strangled growl, he slammed a boot into the trunk and stormed back toward them.
"What happened here?!" he demanded.
Vannrik shook his head slowly, still trying to comprehend the horror. "I don’t know," he admitted, eyes scanning the forest now dappled in golden morning light. "What I do believe is that if there were three of them, there could be more. We need to find where they came from and make sure they pose no more danger to Sandpoint."
Belor nodded, jaw tight. It was hard to argue with that logic.
"Let’s fan out!" he ordered.

Belor divided his patrol, leading the guards into two groups to search the forested island. One team, the Sentinels, followed Cletus through the underbrush. His steps were silent, his expression unreadable, until they reached the scorched wreckage of Jervis Stoot’s old shack. The trapdoor at its center yawned open.
"This is where Rabie went in." Cletus said, eyes narrowed. "Whatever he did there, he found those things, and that led to his downfall. They must have come from under here." He turned to glance at Andromeda. Her radiant blade shimmered faintly, as though echoing the silent questions burning in her eyeless gaze. But she said nothing—for now, vigilance came first.
A wordless exchange passed among the Sentinels. With Rabie dead, there was no longer any point in scheming. When Belor arrived, summoned by signal or instinct, they gathered around the gaping passage and stared into the carved stone steps descending into shadow.
"Yes, this must be the place. It is suspicious." Belor muttered, inspecting the stairs. "We go in."
Fatigue clung to them like damp cloaks. None had rested since Thistletop—then came the march back to Sandpoint, the victory celebration, Rabie’s escape, the pursuit. Now, another descent into darkness. Weariness wasn’t knocking—it had moved in.
Below, they entered a long-forgotten chamber: rough oval in shape, with two pillars supporting its domed ceiling, all carved from the surrounding stone. One of the pillars had collapsed, leaving rubble strewn across the floor. The air, though stale, wasn’t suffocating—thanks to the open trapdoor above. Still, this was like a tomb.
The troupe spread out in the entry hall, assessing their options. To the east stood a sealed stone door. To the west, another door already stood ajar. Beside it, a patch of sinister decay crawled up the wall—an ugly, fuzzy mound of brown mold.
Jinx and Vannrik exchanged a grim look. They knew what it was. Brown mold. A single touch, and it would leech the warmth from your body.
"Since it looks like Rabie went through this side, I suggest we first make sure that nothing else will approach us from the other side." Cletus gestured toward the sealed eastern door. "Andromeda, will you do the honors?"
"I can’t see in the dark Cletus, not as good as you." the angel replied calmly.
Vannrik stepped forward, raising the everlight crystal. Its warm glow filled the chamber, dispelling the shadows.
With a nod from Belor, the guards moved westward through the open door, while Andromeda led the Sentinels east, into mystery.
The door creaked open to reveal a narrow corridor, which curved sharply to the right. The stagnant air was heavy—untouched by the faint breeze drifting in from the trapdoor. Rounding the bend, they came upon another door. Andromeda pushed it open.
A wave of blood—thick, congealed, dark brown-red—sloshed out across the floor. It coated the hall just an inch deep, but it was slick, cold, and repellent. Yet it paled in comparison to the horror within the room.
Two iron braziers burned on the far end, their twisted, inhuman design casting harsh shadows. Their flickering flames glinted off a weapon rack to the east—swords, axes, all polished and deadly.
Before the braziers stood a grotesque throne made of cruel metal spikes, each one piercing the flesh of the figure who sat upon it. The occupant was a nearly skeletal wretch, gaunt and wrapped in a gleaming sheen of crimson slime. From the back of its skull jutted a massive, hook-like horn.
The creature slowly rose. Its body clung to the throne’s barbs, the thick slime tearing away with a sickening, wet shhripp, like ripping leather.
"What are you doing here?" Cletus demanded in Abyssal, voice cold as steel.

  From farther down the corridor, Jinx studied the demon with a calculating gaze. He needed data—knowledge through action. Trial and error. His fingers tightened on his bow, and he loosed an arrow that streaked between his companions and struck the creature’s arm. It reeled, pain flashing across its face—but that grimace twisted into a feral grin, then a cold, guttural laugh.
"You will be educated." it rasped, sinking back into a blackness so dense it swallowed the light. Even Vannrik’s magical illumination was powerless against it.
Then came the sound of steel and shouting—fighting from the western corridor, where Belor had gone with his guards. Vannrik narrowed his eyes, straining to locate the demon through the void. But it was impenetrable.
"We have to fall back!" Cletus’s voice rang out behind him. "It’s a death trap!"
"Can anyone get rid of darkness?" Vannrik shouted, desperation seeping in.
"If I could I would!" Cletus called back.
"We needed Rabie for that!" Jinx muttered with frustration.
Vannrik paused, shield up, breath held.
"Andromeda!" Cletus barked as he began retreating through the corridor. "We need to meet him in the great hall. Follow me!" With a flick of his wrist, he cast a spell, amplifying Andromeda’s perception.
Jinx fell back with the others, downing a swirling elixir that cloaked him in a misty veil—his signature defense.
Bringing up the rear, Vannrik stepped backward, shield forward. Then he heard it—the sprinting footfalls of something fast and furious. The demon rounded the bend, its barbed spear already in motion. It swept low beneath Vannrik’s shield and plunged deep into his gut. His vision dimmed, pain flooding his senses as he stared into the demon’s leering, toothy grin. It twisted the spear with malicious delight.
Andromeda surged to intercept, her blade glowing with divine fury. "Vanquish the evil!" she cried. The sword cut air—and then flesh—ripping into the demon. Its skin sizzled as divine light scorched through the slime. A bulbous blister burst, spraying acidic blood.
Cletus winced as it burned his skin, while Andromeda let out a pained cry—the acid eating into her metallic form. But Cletus was already at work, tracing sigils in the air, linking himself to her through their bond. "Andromeda, you’re going to need this! Let your favorite goddess aid you!" he declared. A soft glow passed between them, and their shared pain dulled.
The demon shifted into a defensive stance, spear ready, but Andromeda had no need for traditional footing. She attacked from unpredictable angles, bypassing its guard. Her blade slashed across its midsection, and the demon howled, knuckles white as it clutched its spear.
"Cletus, what did he say?" Andromeda asked, still locked on her foe.
The tiefling gave a tight smirk. "He said he was going to teach us a lesson."
"Looks like the tables have turned!" Andromeda shouted.
To Vannrik’s disbelief, the demon still stood. He formed a spear of kinetic frost and hurled it, but the tight angle of the corridor spoiled his aim. The icy weapon shattered against the wall as Vannrik ducked behind his shield.
Jinx, piecing together the demon's identity from fleeting glimpses, knew now what they faced. A Babau—spawned from mortal souls of solitary killers, grotesque in their precision and joy of murder. Vulnerable to holiness, and to cold iron.
He shifted, angling for a better shot, eyes glowing with eldritch clarity.
The Babau melted into the darkness again, beckoning them forward.
Cletus’s eyes flicked to the western door—Belor’s path. He could intercept, maybe cut off the demon’s escape. He slipped through and entered another corridor that opened into a chaotic workshop, cluttered with carved wooden birds. Many had animated, flapping and pecking violently. Belor and the guards battled among them.
Meanwhile, Vannrik edged forward once more. He had a plan—darkness could block sight, but not cold. He reached out, summoning the chill winds of winter. They surged past him into the void. Screams echoed faintly—perhaps the enemy’s.
Jinx waited, bow at the ready, concealed in a wall’s crevice.
Right on cue, the Babau lunged back into view, frost crusting its blood-slicked skin. Jinx fired—but the arrow skimmed too high, clattering against stone.
The demon lunged with its spear. It glanced off Vannrik’s shield—then angled sharply and plunged into his arm. Vannrik roared in pain, the sound echoing down the hall.
From the workshop, Cletus saw chaos reign—wooden birds swarming his allies. No way through. He turned back, sprinting for the fight. Jinx repositioned, readying another arrow. Vannrik bled heavily, teeth clenched as he fought to hold the demon at bay.
Andromeda arrived, and Cletus reached out, casting a wave of healing.
"Cletus, we’re not turning back anymore! Got it!?" she cried, fire in her voice.
Through the tatters of his uniform, Vannrik’s flesh mended before their eyes. The demon screamed, enraged to see its damage reversed.
Still wounded, Vannrik saw an opening and summoned a hammer of ice—but the Babau ducked, and the weapon shattered harmlessly against the floor. He stepped aside, giving Andromeda room to strike.
An arrow whistled past him and struck the demon’s shoulder. Jinx stood boldly in the doorway, his mist still trailing behind him.
The demon snarled and charged, thrusting its spear through the fog. The tip slammed into the pillar behind Jinx with a sharp clang.
Andromeda tried to flank, to block its escape to the blackness—but the Babau spun, spear in hand, and cut off her angle. Then it smirked. It had seen something hurtling toward it.
It tilted its head, ready to dodge—
—but this was no blade. It was a massive temple bell clapper, hurled with divine force. It slammed into the wall behind the demon, unleashing a deafening ringing of Iomadae's templle bells.
The air trembled. Even Vannrik and Jinx clutched their ears. The demon screamed, the reverberations shaking its bones.
As the echoes faded, Vannrik raised his hand again. Another gust of winter surged forward. The demon clung to the wall, evading the full blast.
The mist fell from Jinx, revealing him standing tall with Ripnugget’s blade. He slashed—but his reach was too short. The blade sang through empty air.
The Babau thrust again—this time hitting its mark. The spear pierced through Jinx. The gnome choked on blood, gasping.
"This might be my end..." Jinx groaned as his body went limp. With a savage twist, the demon flung him to the ground.
Drunk on violence, the demon stepped forward and swiped at Vannrik—but its claws struck only stone.
Vannrik dodged the blow and summoned the healing power of elemental water. He didn’t shape it into a weapon, but into a tide of restorative brine. The water washed over Jinx. The gnome gasped back to life.
The Babau howled in fury—its glorious kill undone. In blind rage, it dropped its spear. It clawed at its face, digging trenches into its own flesh.
Then, with one final shriek, it ripped out its eyes, cheekbones, half of its face—a grotesque display of agony.
And finally, it collapsed. Motionless. Silent.
Jinx blinked against the haze that still clung to his vision, the lingering sting of blood in his throat as he watched the Babau claw at its own face in madness before crumpling like a broken puppet. "Did I do that? Did I kill him?" the gnome rasped, his voice barely a whisper, cracked with disbelief. He chuckled weakly, coughing up blood. "Was he that scared of me?"
"He seemed more scared of the healing that you received," Vannrik said as he examined the deep gouges in his armor and the blood slicking his side. "Even though it was mostly Cletus and Andromeda that did the damage," he added, nodding toward his companions. "You got a few good hits in there, Andromeda."
"She is the only one of us that didn’t drink tonight," Cletus said with a wry grin. "Made her a bit steadier."
Grimacing, Jinx pushed himself up from the ground, brushing grit and grime from his robes. "Well, I’m getting up now. The floor here is dirty."
Cletus stepped toward the western corridor, glancing over his shoulder. "The Sheriff is still in the other room. They were fighting some bird statues."
Vannrik followed, still clutching his side. "We should see if they need any of our help. Additionally, does anyone know how long that magical darkness is going to last?"
"It will fade eventually," Cletus replied, his eyes narrowing as he stared down the dim hall. The clang of weapons had quieted, replaced by strained breathing, low groans of pain, and someone calling hoarsely for a healer. Vannrik’s ears perked at the sound, and he quickened his pace.

  They regrouped with Sheriff Belor and the battered guards. Three lay on the ground, bloodied and groaning, wounds open and raw. Jinx immediately recognized the grim handiwork: the carved figures of Jervis Stoot—once known as the Chopper. Vannrik dropped beside one of the wounded, and went to work with herbal medicines and the healing brine of the oceans.
"The statues, they came to life," Belor gasped. "I heard fighting from your end as well. What happened?"
"We faced a demon, sitting on a throne," Cletus explained, eyes still dark with adrenaline. "I think Jinx recognized what kind of demon that was."
"It was a Babau, but we took care of it," the gnome confirmed, though his eyes remained fixed on the distant shadows.
"Demons..." the sheriff muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
The Sentinels detailed the creature’s resistance to weapons and its strange aversion to witnessing healing magic, which had seemed to drive it mad.
Despite Vannrik’s efforts, a blackened scar still marred the purity of Andromeda’s gleaming blade. The acid had eaten deep.
"Andromeda, you’re stained," Cletus noted, nodding to her weapon.
"A used blade never dulls, Cletus," she replied solemnly, invoking the words of Iomedae.
Belor exhaled heavily, running a hand down his face. "I cannot believe that we never saw the full extent of Jervis Stoot’s malice. And now Rabie as well, it seems."
"Jinx, could that murderer have returned as a demon somehow?" Cletus asked, voice hushed with dread.
Jinx stroked his beard thoughtfully. "That would make sense. He died performing some ritual, if I recall correctly. And demons take the shape of their sins in life. It could be something like that, yes."
"So we just killed Chopper?" Vannrik asked. "Again."
"For good this time, hopefully," Cletus said with a faint smirk.
Belor shook his head, dazed. "Let’s make sure that we are safe."
The Sentinels pushed deeper into the ruin. Another hallway extended from the crumbling workshop and led to a cross-section. To the left, a square room gaped open, with a pit at its center that plunged beyond the reach of torches or light spells. Southward stood a dark altar before an ominous eight-foot-tall statue.
It was monstrous. The creature had a wiry humanoid form twisted with unnatural additions—a raptor’s talons, two sets of immense eagle wings, a bird-like head carved with cruel precision, and a serpent for genitalia. Its tail ended in a venomous scorpion’s stinger. It wielded a hooked staff of blackened metal.
The altar bore a silver tray, and upon it sat three organic lumps: shriveled, half-rotted... unmistakably once eyes and a tongue. A simple copper ring lay beside them—Rabie’s ring. Jinx recoiled slightly as memory returned: Stoot had mutilated his victims and himself in the same way, removing his eyes and tongue.
Vannrik broke the silence. "Is this ring magical?"
Cletus frowned. "Or has its power gone with the wearer?"
"Normally we had Rabie detect magic," Jinx said, sighing.
"I can do it," Cletus cracked his fingers.
"Would you, kindly?" Vannrik asked with a nod.
"Of course. Iomedae, we will destroy this heinous temple for you if you help us identify this ring. Does this still hold any power?" Cletus intoned, casting the spell with solemn reverence.
The usual pulse of magical detection didn’t behave as expected. It neither bounced back nor passed cleanly through the ring. Something in between. Distorted. "I don’t think it has any magical power," Cletus said slowly, "but it feels different... Maybe we keep it for further study."
Jinx lifted the ring. At the touch, his fingers itched unnaturally. "I will keep it. I will identify it later on," he said, slipping it into a pouch.
"As long as the altar remains, and that tongue and those eyes, the demon may come back!" Andromeda warned, voice ringing with authority. "We must destroy all of it!"
"I agree... I wonder if this is Chopper’s, though," Jinx mused aloud. "The timing fits." He looked up at the statue. "You take care of this, Andromeda."
She struck at the granite beast, her blade ringing against stone. After several blows, she halted, panting. "Perhaps we should leave this to the clerics. I’m sure a Sareanite can do it as well."
Cletus took the tray and flung it into the pit. "Goodbye, I say." It was a long drop. They waited several seconds before they heard the echoing clatter far below. "That’s how far it goes... Let’s hope it never comes back," he said grimly.
They explored the rest of the complex. There were no other hidden rooms—only the workshop, the altar chamber, the pit room, and the demon’s throne room. Aside from skull-mounted candles and a few braziers, the place was barren. Cletus eyed the Babau’s thorny throne. "I would not be surprised if the killer dragged his victim to this very room, to have his last way with him."
"I don’t think he killed them here," Jinx said, brow furrowed. "The victims were found in town, after all."
"Then what was this throne for? It is laid out with spikes," Cletus pondered aloud.
Jinx approached the throne, slime still slick and clinging. "Maybe I can take some of this and investigate later on," he said, bottling a sample.
"I have seen enough of this place. Maybe I’ve seen enough of Sandpoint," Cletus said, voice heavy with weariness.
"I think we are finished here," Jinx agreed. "We’ll have clerics see to the statue, and guards clear out the rest. Then we seal this place off—forever."
"That sounds wise," Belor said simply.
"This place has the stench of evil upon it," Andromeda added, her voice like a prayer.

 

The fire was hot

When they resurfaced on the isle, the Sentinels skipped ceremony. The bodies—Rabie, the wights, the Babau—were dragged into a pile. They lit the pyre without hesitation. The fire took hold quickly.
"I would say you let yourself in with the wrong people, but I don’t think these count as people," Cletus whispered to the flames. "You made wrong choices, and you paid the price for it."
"He helped us out a lot," Jinx replied softly, never looking away from the fire. "Let’s just keep the good memories alive, and leave the bad memories with his death. He was still my friend, you know."
"I would like to think that in his last moments he defied this demon god and tried to escape from his clutches," Cletus said, with more hope than certainty.
"He took off his ring, right?" Belor asked, his face unreadable.
Jinx turned to him. "We need to tell the story in a way that doesn’t harm Sandpoint."
"Yes," the sheriff agreed with a weary sigh. "But there is also a grieving family that deserves to know the truth."
"I’m at least glad that we got rid of that dangerous demon," Vannrik said. "Who knows what could’ve happened if some youth wandered onto this island and into that place?" He looked to his companions. "I still wonder why he decided to go off on his own."
"He was deceived somehow," Cletus said quietly. "Perhaps he thought Pazuzu would save him. But it turned against him. Of course, it is all speculation at this point."
"I’m glad he sought redemption somehow, in his last moments," Andromeda said. "I shall pray for the wellbeing of his soul. Maybe there is a chance that he will find his way up to heaven instead of the afterlives of the evil and the chaotic."
"It’s up to Pharasma now," Vannrik said flatly.
They nodded in solemn agreement. Behind them, the fire consumed the bodies. The flames crackled, devouring the last remnants of darkness in the air.

  The fire was hot.

 

Hooves in the night

Nothing was more welcome to the sentinels other than the soft pillows and sheets of the Rusty Dragon. There was hardly time to appreciate the relief that the sheriff’s lack of suspicion brought. Vannrik and Jinx drifted to sleep like stones to water, but for Cletus, slumber came only after addressing one final matter: Andromeda's relentless questions.
By the time they stirred, the sun had already climbed well past its zenith. Mid-afternoon warmth filtered through the inn’s windows. Ameiko, ever tactful, still hinted at the obvious: "you might want to use the baths." No one argued. Vannrik’s gifts made the water just right—another small miracle. They decided to remain in the Rusty Dragon for the day, choosing comfort and ease over exploration.
Even so, peace was a fleeting thing. As they gathered for their evening meal in the common room, a familiar voice broke through the inn’s calm: Daverin Hosk, their gruff neighbor and the local stablemaster, bellowing with all the subtlety of a bar fight. A glance through the window confirmed it—he was yelling at poor Yoska, one of the town guards. Through the heated exchange, a few words rose above the din: "Sheriff," "Horse," "Stolen," "When."
The Sentinels shared a silent look and synchronized eye-roll.
"Good morning there," Cletus said as he stepped out to greet the scene.
"Morning?" Daverin replied, eyeing the sinking sun with a pointed glare.
"Did you say a thievery happened last night?" Cletus yawned, scratching his head. "You were quite loud, I could hear you through the window."
"Not last night!" Daverin huffed indignantly. "If it was last night I wouldn’t be on this man’s tail. It’s been two nights! And I get that the Sheriff was out partying, but my horse was stolen! And I have not heard about anyone looking into it."
"What kind of horse?" Vannrik asked, stepping forward. "Your own or one that you stabled for someone else?"
"It was a horse that I was planning to sell, but now I can’t," Daverin explained, moving toward Vannrik with the familiarity of shared history. "You must understand my frustration, Vannrik." He delivered a hearty slap to Vannrik’s back. "Goblin slayer!"
"So how do you know it’s stolen? Can you be sure it didn’t just escape?" Cletus asked.
Daverin’s answer was emphatic—a firm knock on the freshly installed padlock. "Last time I checked horses don’t pick locks, and I know my horses." He growled. "Twas the night before you folk came home."
"I wish we could help but we are traveling to Magnimar later." Cletus said with an apologetic shrug.
"Tomorrow morning," Vannrik added.
Daverin’s frown lingered. "Just tell your buddy the Sheriff to look into it. And if you find my horse, a gray dappled Criollo—fairly young, in the Magnimar stables, then get me the horse first and the asshole who stole it second."
"You expect it to be at the Magnimar stables… Why?" Vannrik asked, his brow arching with curiosity.
"Tracks led south, only one place to go, Magnimar." Daverin shrugged.
"Any idea who might have stolen it? Someone showed interest but didn’t have the coin to buy it?" Vannrik pressed further.
"No, she was young, growing up to be a fine horse. It seems like someone was fast, or desperate. Just nicked it in the dead of night. It went off south at high speed."
Daverin provided a detailed description of the dappled coat, the faint streaks, the distinctive leg markings. No saddles were missing. The thief, it seemed, rode bareback.
"Did you get all that Jinx?" Cletus asked.
Jinx nodded without missing a beat.
"I will ask around to see if anyone noticed someone leaving town. To see if it was someone from Sandpoint." Cletus offered.
The Sentinels split up and began their inquiries. Vannrik checked with Ameiko, but no guests had vanished suddenly. The townfolk hadn’t seen travelers, either. Just one notable detail surfaced: someone had heard a woman's groaning in the alley between the inn and the stables that night—assumed to be lovers in a drunken haze. But Cletus’s instincts kicked in.
"Did they hear a cat?" he asked.
To their surprise, the answer was yes.
A shared glance passed between the companions before Cletus gave voice to their collective suspicion. "There is only one woman that we know around here who disappeared two nights ago; Lyrie. Our favorite wizard scholar of Thassilonian lore."
"The missing scholar, yes." Jinx nodded, a knowing grin spreading.
"I think we’re going to find Lyrie in Magnimar." said the tiefling with quiet certainty.
"You think?" Jinx arched a thick eyebrow.
"I know so. Actually, it’s a real prediction. What about that, Jinx?" Cletus replied, clapping the gnome’s shoulder.
"Let’s leave the predictions to me." Jinx smirked, returning the gesture with a grin.

    Throughout the day, the Sentinels prepared for the road ahead. They enlisted Vorvashali Voon’s help to transfer the runes they’d recovered onto weapons and armor. Meanwhile, Cletus and Andromeda sat in quiet meditation, realigning the bond between them, sweeping aside clouds of ignorance, and embracing new potential.
They also arranged for passage to Magnimar—ship fare and cargo alike, including a rather unwieldy Giant’s helmet kept at the Sandpoint townhouse.
"Have you ever been outside of Sandpoint before?" Cletus asked Jinx as they finalized the arrangements.
"Yes, I studied in Magnimar." the gnome replied with casual ease.
"Good, then you will be our guide. Because I’ve only seen the inside of a few sleeping places there." Cletus grinned.
"Oh Cletus, you and your sleeping places." Jinx rolled his eyes.
The tiefling motioned Vannrik closer. "One more thing. If we stumble upon some people who revere Iomadae, or they even look remotely like they might be from Cheliax or Hellknights or something, then eh.." He hesitated. "Please keep a low profile." He chuckled nervously. "That’s all I’m asking."
"Did you piss off the Hellknights?" Vannrik asked sternly.
"No?" Cletus faltered. "Let’s just say that my history with the church of Iomadae is not the best. Perhaps someone in Cheliax might have called upon the services of the Hellknights. If they did, I would rather stay clear of them." He cast a paranoid glance around. "Just to be sure."
"I’m sure that our stories will have reached Magnimar by now. We have a friend there, by the way." Jinx offered a reassuring tone.
Cletus turned to Andromeda. "Unfortunately, Andromeda, that means that you have to stay sheathed for most of our time there."
A surge of indignation surged from the blade. "That’s preposterous, there is a temple to Iomadae there, and I will visit the—" but before she could finish, the blade vanished in a radiant beam of light.
Cletus exhaled with relief.
 

The weight of treasure and promises

The next morning, under a sky of soft autumn gray, the Sentinels stepped aboard a merchant vessel called Soralyon’s Exposee. With creaking timbers and the call of gulls in the air, they sailed southward toward Magnimar.
It was a quiet voyage, each of them slipping into their own thoughts and tasks, the hum of the sea acting as a balm after the recent chaos. But as dawn broke the next day and whispers spread across the deck that Magnimar had come into view, the Sentinels hurried topside.
There it stood on the horizon, proud and impossible to miss—the Irespan. The broken bridge, massive and defiant, soared three hundred feet above the waters before crumbling into emptiness. A monument to ambition and mystery.
Once the ship docked, with the bustle of port life surrounding them, the group—joined by the Magnimarian guards who had shared their journey—unloaded the colossal golden helmet, its gleam masked under heavy canvas.
"Do we take this directly to the museum? Is that the best course of action?" Cletus asked, eyeing the unwieldy artifact.
"It is not subtle to walk around with this giant treasure..." Jinx muttered, brows knitted in concern.
"Then someone needs to find some storehouse to rent so we can store this thing for a few hours or a day," Cletus proposed, casting a glance around the busy dock.
"At least, until the deal has been struck."
"It's a port, there should be enough store houses to rent."
Jinx didn’t look convinced. "There could be a lot of scammers also."
Vannrik shared that doubt. "I was afraid of that too. This thing is difficult to move but it is quite valuable. But it would be worthwhile for thieves and scammers to try and take off our hands illegally. If we’re going to store it somewhere I suggest two of us stay behind to guard it while the other sets up a deal with the museum curator."
"I think we should take it with us," Jinx said. "If we want to strike a deal then they will want to see it, no?"
"Even better," Vannrik agreed.
"We tell the museum that they bring the guards while we wait here at the docks. You don’t easily steal a giant gold helmet like this." Cletus countered.
"They might want to chip something off it." Vannrik warned.
"There are shrink spells that could have been useful right now." Jinx sighed.
"Ok, so how close by is the museum? If it’s close we just take it there." Cletus relented.
Jinx raised a finger, his gesture tracing an invisible path. Magnimar was divided by a jagged cliff, and the museum—though relatively near—sat atop the rise in the more affluent district. The road leading up promised sweat and sore arms.
Cletus’s eyes drifted to the Magnimarian guards. "Julia, before you go and get your promotion, could your people help us get this thing safely to the museum? I’m sure you want that the Magnimarian guard gets a cut of this." He patted the covered helmet in the cart.
Julia hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "It’s along the way to the Arvensoar, we will help you carry it." She hesitated again, then added with a shrewd glance, "If we were to partake in the money of the sale we would need to do that hush-hush. Otherwise our spoils would have to go the city’s administration. I would prefer not to do that."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "But, I am wondering… You’re going to be in town for at least a day, right?"
"I don’t intend to return to Sandpoint anytime soon." Cletus replied, eyeing her curiously.
"I am eyeing that promotion, and what could really help me is a first hand account of what happened. If the Justice that arranged our going to Sandpoint could put in a good word with my captain... That would work very well for me. I would have no need of any secret deals with the curator and all the money for the helmet would be yours."
She let the offer linger. "Would you be willing to talk to the Justice for me? You would be able to count on us anytime that you’re in Magnimar."
"That speaks for itself," Cletus said, his smile sly. He turned to the others. "We’ll shake on it, right?"
And just like that, the deal was sealed.
Julia and her fellow guards wasted no time helping push the cart through the maze of Dockway. The streets bustled with the rhythm of trade, the air thick with the scent of sea salt, fish oil, and exotic spices. Sailors barked to one another across piers. Foreign traders hawked goods from a dozen lands.
Dockway was Magnimar’s beating heart—chaotic, noisy, and alive. But not without its shadows. Behind the markets, old warehouses and crooked alleyways hid smugglers and spies alike.
The group pushed onward, and soon the grand sprawl of the Bazaar of Sails unfolded before them—an explosion of color and sound, teeming with goods from across Golarion.
Cletus chuckled, nudging Jinx with a grin. "I suggest we return here once we get rid of this helmet."
The ascent to the summit of Magnimar's Capitol District was anything but easy. The cart groaned beneath the weight of its golden burden, but the guards—gritting their teeth and digging in their heels—pushed onward.
As they crested the final incline, the city transformed around them. Gone were the weatherworn docks and bustling markets. Here, everything gleamed—stone buildings polished to a marble-like luster, facades so intricate they could’ve been lifted from the walls of a cathedral. Walking these streets felt like wandering through a living museum.
Not far ahead stood their destination: the Founders' Archive and Museum of Ages. The campus consisted of two grand buildings, but only one drew every gaze. The Museum of Ages, with its stately columns and twin statues flanking the main doors, was unmistakable. The marble giants, posed in solemn guardianship, cradled the threshold like sentinels of history.
Once the Sentinels explained their business to the front clerks, a flurry of activity followed. Moments later, a tall, bespectacled man approached—Doctor Ernst Landis, the museum's curator.
At first, his expression was polite but skeptical. That changed the instant the tarp was pulled back, revealing the treasure underneath: the enormous golden helmet of a giant.
"Ah!" Landis gasped, stepping forward. "What a magnificent piece!" He barely contained his excitement. "This will make a fine addition to our collection."
Eager to impress—and to perhaps grease the wheels of negotiation—he offered a guided tour of the museum's highlights.
They passed the Eye of Rakzhan, an enormous cyclopean eye, petrified by powerful magic and fabled to come from a remote island in the Shackles. Then came the Gemstone Regalia of King Chadris Porphyria III, its vibrant violet gems glinting proudly despite Korvosa’s long-standing protest over its "temporary" loan. And finally, the Lions of Siv—one carved from red marble, the other black—locked in eternal, silent watch.
Each relic seemed more precious than the last. But after the tour, it was time for business.
"We are prepared to offer 350 gold pieces for the helmet," Landis said with a practiced tone.
Cletus crossed his arms, brow raised. "It was an artifact belonging to Runelord Zourag after all."
A moment of silence followed. A raised eyebrow.
There had never been a Runelord by that name, and the helmet—clearly giant-sized—had no connection to Thassilon’s human rulers.
Cletus gave a sheepish shrug, glancing at his gnome companion. "I'm sorry Jinx, I thought you were the Thassilonian expert."
The curator’s eyes lit up with curiosity. "Are you Jinx, from Sandpoint?"
Jinx straightened a little. "Yes, that's correct."
"Aren’t you Brodert Quink’s apprentice?"
"Yes, that’s correct."
Landis chuckled, a warm, knowing sound. "Is he still going on about the Old Light being some kind of weapon?"
"Didn’t you hear what we found?" Jinx countered.
"Utter nonsense, I say. Brodert is a man who doesn’t realize that there was more going on in Thassilon than just constant warfare."
"That is a fair point you made there. However, we did find some new clues about Thassilon. I still have the documents on me if you’re interested in reading them."
"I would love to see the evidence for that one day." Landis replied. "Do you have them on you?"
An agreement was quickly reached, and Jinx handed over the documents to be copied and studied.
After further discussion, the curator revised his offer. They settled on 390 gold coins for the artifact. Of that, 90 gold would go to Sandpoint—a gesture of goodwill.
Cletus grumbled a bit but ultimately agreed to part with a piece of his share.
When the Sentinels emerged from the museum, Julia was waiting by the steps, arms crossed.
"Did it all go well?" she asked.
Cletus clapped a hand on Jinx’s back. "Jinx was able to sell it off as a top Thassilonian artifact." He flashed a grin. Then, remembering their agreement, added, "Just tell us where to go."
"You don’t have to go now. I won’t subject you to Magnimar’s bureaucracy and red tape. How about this—I will arrange the meeting for you. Do you know where you will be staying?"
"I had a pleasant night at the Old Fang before. I guess we can book rooms there."
"When I know at what time the meeting is, I’ll inform you." Julia said, confident and professional.
"Sure, let’s hope it won’t take too long." the tiefling replied with a nod.
"No, I’m sure he is curious about what happened." Julia assured him.