Another day at the Slaughtered Lamb closed as morning light touched the courtyard, lifting the veil of night from the entrance of the mysterious tavern. Chairs closed near the table and the bartender yawned, a wet rag held in his right hand. With a toss, the wet rag went into a bin behind him, splashing water in a spike over the cleaned wood. His boots loose and untied, Jarol Moor waltzed over to the back of his tavern, where his more permanent patrons stood down below. On down he walked through the twisting corridor, unlatching a torch on the way. It was abysmally chilly in the lower levels.
“Oy!” he called out, stretching his neck around the large bonfire in the center of the room. The warlock masters spread slightly, some nodding silently in greeting, some rolling their eyes instead. At least one was still stumbling hazily, an empty tankard attached to her hand. They must have had quite the drinking party the night through. Gakin the Darkbinder eyed the bartender from his corner, and a smile turned his lips beneath his thick black mustache.
“Did they leave?” was the question from the elder Master. All eyes were upon Jarol now.
“You chased them right out, sir. Didn’t even stay by to drink in some ale!” A laugh heaved from the bartender, the bonfire flickering.
“Ah well. Make sure to send a message to our contacts, Mr. Moor. Tell them our end of the bargain is completed. If the Cathedral wishes to send their dogs to fraternize with a spy, there is nothing more that can be done. They can take care of the matter, far as I’m concerned.”
“Really now? Haha, duly noted.”
“At least he took care of the damned succubus.” Gakin sighed deeply, straightening the tethers of his robes. “I’ll need the lower catacombs left alone for the next…hour perhaps, Mr. Moor.” His grin seemed like a sliver of ivory against his dark skin. “Put the inconvenience on our tab, as always.”
“I only live to serve, Gent,” Jarol chuckled, his eyes darting to the back of the den.
Down below a floor, where Jarol’s eyes could not see, the neonate warlock put a care into her task. The withered remains of the Game Master’s victims burned now, providing the deeper catacombs with an eerier light than usual. Anisse shook her head: what a waste! The organs in all of the bodies had been useless, with no point in salvaging anything. Having torn the wings off of the demon's corpse, she smiled as they lay up against a fresh coffin--such lovely leather wings they were.
A slip of her fingers, and fire leapt from the "cleaner's" hands, burning up the remains of the succubus. The creature's body contained a heart, which she now admired through bloodied glass. The heart was of a unique shape, and hot to the touch: it had sizzled when she put it into the jar's solution. It seemed to glow now, even through the jar and it's liquids, and an otherworldly heat even warming the glass itself. Such things should be put on display, Anisse thought, for all to see.
Unfortunately, such things weren’t meant for everyone’s eyes.
Opening one of the crates locked into the darkest area of the crypts, Anisse smiled upon her treasures: five large jars containing perfectly preserved human organs. Laying the newest addition into the nestled crate, she eyed the other glass jars and sighed contently. Cleaning up the catacombs all night had been worth it after all.
Then, Anisse noticed something off about the jars.
The glass was opaque, and she could no longer see the trophy organs behind the glass. Her lips twitching into a frown, she took a jar into her hands, and opened it slowly.
Dust.
The jar was filled with nothing…but dust.
Every bit of thick control she had over herself came crashing down as she spilled out the white, dried remains from the jar onto the crypt floor. Now the second, the third jar, all spilled out as white dust. By the fifth jar, Anisse was weeping steadily behind her cowl. All her work, her precious trophies, the beautiful pieces of flesh….gone. She took the succubus heart, and hugged its jar to her chest, rocking back and forth on the ground, trying to figure out what had happened. It had been the right measure of formaldehyde, hadn’t it? Teary eyes peered around the catacombs as she went over measurements in her mind. Then, something clicked, and her body froze in realization.
The paladin.
The whirring aura of his consecration spell purified all of her precious trophies.
In silence, Anisse rose up off the crypt floor, the useless remains like sand poured around her feet. Her small boots crushed through the jar’s mess as she walked through, looking straight up the steps that lead to the next level. There was a solution to all this, even without one to play the game with anymore.
Anisse would have to kill, and harvest on her own.
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