Why am I the only human with this bunch of freaks? Ragnar thought to himself, because only a fool might say something aloud in the presence of so many armed associates. The assassin looked around at the group who was traveling with him in the forest. There were four—four!—reptiloids, an insect man (was it man? did insects have sexes? Ragnar wondered), a furred cat-fox that walked on two legs, and a fairy. He was trying to remember the names that they had told him.
The reddish dragonborn, the guy with big axe, barbaric for sure, not sure of its name. The other dragbonborn, the blue one with leather armor, and all kinds of weapons dangling loosely, that was Kyriee’, although Ragnar wasn’t quite sure how to pronounce the apostrophe, because he’d never learned the draconic tongue. The turtly one—another axe, I mean, how many big axes did a party need?—was one of those holy warriors, and maybe called Xopa; it was weird, like, you could see the abs through its under-shell. The last of the scaly ones was really small, not bulky like the other three, and had patches of what looked like dirty gold or maybe a shiny rash on his skin; he was Grazztttt. The fourth ’t’ was silent, Ragnar remembered that, and if he had to hear one more time about the greatworms that were coming to eat the earth, he was going to cut that little kobold’s throat, it didn’t matter who his dirt gods were or how he served them. The insect had six limbs, was a self-professed card shark named See-Ess Lewis-Hyde, if Ragnar had heard correctly, and surely he had, because the dang thing spoke right inside his head, not like normal. The pixie was called Cassia, was raised by birds, was all into nature, and had some alleged tragic backstory. You want tragic backstory? Ragnar’s backstory, now that was tragedy. The only other mammal was at least quiet, and liked to help people, and that was Sami. Ragnar had seen this foxling throw ice knives and frost and even sprout thorns from the ground, so that was cool, even if the weapon was a crummy old sling that was certainly no ginormous axe.
All this cogitating had made the journey fly by for Ragnar, and now they had arrived in a village, the most boring, generic village he’d probably ever been in. Wait. A. Minute. The door to the butcher’s was open. There was a bunch of red inside, moreso than usual for a meatmonger’s, and there was no movement visible. Strange.
Within moments this party, this great bunch of warriors and worshippers jammed their way heedlessly inside, rather incautiously considering the amount of blood on the walls of the place, blood without any obvious corresponding source. Within seconds, the kobold was licking the gore, and he said, “It’s a mix of two creatures’ fluids. Let us call them A positive and B negative. I cannot tell how long this has been here, but among the tall, fleshy ones, there’s always murder in places like this.”
Ragnar was offended by the short lizard, but he didn’t have time for dudgeon, because he was looking for the cash box. As this search was going on, the kobold’s eyes rolled back in his head and the door slammed.
It was then that the tortle suggested they should interview the villagers about this potential crime scene, but thereupon learned the door was somehow now locked. The paladin slammed its be-shelled body fruitlessly against the wood in a failed bid to escape. The red dragonman tried, too. While all this was going on, the creepy bug guy leaned up against the spattered walls, and Ragnar swore he disappeared. No, wait, there he was … just very hard to pick out, that carapace, or whatever you call it, mostly matching the texture and color of the surface.
The pixie started going on about the vibe of the butcher shop, and someone said, “It’s meat retail, that’s what the vibe is, plus there’s extra blood all over the place!” She was already peering behind the counters, though, and shouted, in her tiny voice, “There’s a grinder back here, but it’s … surprisingly clean.”
No sooner than this happened the paladin was swaggering (as paladins tend to do) toward the icebox, where presumably the carved and dressed wares were stored in this store. Grazztttt drew his mace and Sami started swinging a sling in a tight circular motion.
There was meat in the coldroom, but not the normal kind for a merchant. Two human bodies hung from the meathooks in there. Two bodies that were mixed and matched. Two bodies that had pieces from other bodies sewn in.
For being an assassin, Ragnar was remarkably panicky, and looked for a place to hide, almost bumping into Lewis-Hyde.
All the reptile-folk were fascinated by this development, some of them literally licking their chops, and they crowded into that room, despite the issues that might cause considering their cold-bloodedness. “You got this, buddy,” the kobold said, patting the tortle’s shell, and the paladin sorted out, or rather, pieced together that these two corpses had originally been only two bodies, but certain parts had been removed and swapped and re-assembled. The blue dragonman said he wanted to put the cadavers back into their proper order.
It was then that two rats were noticed, one crushed and one cold, but living. At least half the reptoids started discussing the ingestion of the deceased rodent.
Suddenly the fairy was gone, and in its place was a third rat, “New-York-sized,” whatever that means, squeaking apparently in conversation. In the meanwhile, however, the kobold cleric had begun trying to speak with the creature via other means. “I’m pretty charming with rats,” he noted aloud. In a preternatural show of willpower, the non-wildshaped, non-expired rat resisted Grazztttt’s overtures, which worried the cleric inordinately.
“You, too, shall be devoured by the worms, rat!” he spat.
“Shush, you’re ruining this, I’m trying to have a conversation here!” the pixie yelled, but no one understood her because she was just another squeaking rat, if extra-large.
Kyriee’ asked if he could kill the living rat, and no one asked which one.
All this talk of rats brought a weird question unbidden to Ragnar’s mind. How could you tell if a rat was male or female?
Cassia tried again, dropping into what she hoped was rodent idiom that would be familiar enough to loosen those rat-lips, “How long you been chillin’ here, bro?”
The surviving rat looked totally traumatized. You could see it in his little rat face, if you, too, were a rat.
“A devil,” it squealed, “I saw a devil, I saw demons!”
“Hey buddy, why are you so wise?” Grazztttt couldn’t let it go.
“A demon came into me, made me that way.”
It kind of sounded like the living rat was bullshitting. The kobold told the rest what he had heard, and somehow the party also learned the information Cassia had extracted, even though she wasn’t telepathic like See-Ess.
The paladin, one of those god-botherers who loved demonic lore, got the cleric to ask the rat if he knew the fiends’ names, even though Grazztttt said, “Demon names are closely held secrets in Gehenna,” for besides his encyclopedic knowledge of the beasts of the soil, he also knew of the nature of the beings of the lower planes.
The maybe just plain-old-York-sized rat revealed the “demons didn’t have a mind of their own, though,” which seemed to be an important clue. It was then that nearly everybody was grabbing at this informative vermin, but when the dust settled, the rodent was stuffed inside the tortle’s shell.
It was just after that the barbaric dragonkind noticed a trail of carnage toward a back entrance, which remarkably not one person–if they were persons here, because let’s admit it is a reasonable categorization question under the circumstances–had registered earlier. There were dead trees and a hole, and before long the lot of them were clambering down the pit to where a pool of murky water lay, its contents unknown, until the kobold set alight the branch Ragnar was holding to make a crude torch, and the pixie had made the water transparent with some minor magic. Sami readied the sling.
There were bones in the water. And there was an eye. Staring at them. Nearly everyone tried to grab the eyeball, which proved to be attached to a withered skull. The reptiles all wanted to possess and/or consume the skeletal contents of the pool.
Ragnar again asked himself, Why am I in this group filled with freaks?
A tunnel continued onward. There was a light at the end. There was also a door, a bit unclear where.
Kyriee’ had a brilliant idea: he checked the passage for traps … and found one, or at least an alarm system made out of rattling bones.
Sami readied the sling.
* * *
Tune in next time, when the mysterious geography might get sorted out, when we might find what lies at the end of the tunnel, and who or what exactly set the alarm, not to mention who exsanguinated and (re)arranged the nearly forgotten mixed-up corpses in the shop above.
When we might also answer the questions … [answered later]
Will Kyriee’ trip the trap he found? [no, traps were pretty much avoided, and Kyriee' left the group for the time being]
Will we find out the red dragonborn’s name? [yes, Bron]
Will Grazztttt finally be allowed a delicious meat snack? [we will have to ask Mister]
Will Ragnar realize the value of teammates? [yes, to hide behind when a chain devil came out]
Will Xopa roll less than a 17? [amazingly, no, against very long odds]
Will rat-Cassia change back forms? [yes]
Will See-Ess un-camouflage? [yes]
Will Sami ever launch a slingstone? [no]
Will the party magically split into two? [yes]
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