OPEN PLOT LOG ★ THE CULT [LEFT BEHIND]

[hellshaped]

[closed] INTO THE WOODS. At Ramir's request, Hellboy has accompanied her into the jungle, looking for clues as to this rising cult of Ryba. It's dangerous stuff, cults, particularly when those cults have a penchant for sacrificial mutilation: missing villagers can only spell disaster for the recruits themselves down the line, so it's best to nip this in the bud as quickly as possible. Hellboy is worried about the missing half of their team, but until the storm dies down, there seems to be no better way to pass the time than walking around in creepy jungles looking for possible cannibals. THE RESCUE. After Hellboy's warning and the necessary preparations, it's time to rescue King and Ramir -- and as many captured Nalawi as you can. The camp is by one of the largest estuaries on Pu'ulai, camouflaged by native flora and hidden in the shadow of the volcano Nalalona. The cultists have removed King and Ramir's magitek jewellery, but the tracking beacons are still active, making it easier to find them than without. The well-hidden camp is creepy, filled with ramshackle tents and poorly-made effigies. There's a pool in the middle of it all, filled with brackish, murky water. Ramir, King, and a small number of terrified-looking Nalawi are all bound, kept on the far side of the camp. The cultists are all dressed in hooded black robes, doe and stag alike. They are all without their Gifts, but that does nothing to temper their ferocity at intruders into their camp. Despite their diminutive size, they know the forests better than any ALASTAIR recruit, and are suited to blitz attacks on any would-be rescuers; they may pop out of the underbrush in small, seemingly endless waves. They also have sharp hooves and the stags' horns are dangerous, capable of goring anyone who doesn't get out of the way of a charge. The cult is surprisingly large, so it may take some time to defeat them all. Whether you want to spare them or destroy them is up to you -- but it's clear that the cult has no plans for mercy whatsoever. EXPLORATION. Now that the cultists have been dispatched (one way or another), the camp is free to explore. If any cultists are captured for questioning, they'll speak in gibberish and violently lash out at anyone who comes too close. The only thing they'll say that makes any sense is that Ryba is hungry -- Ryba the devouring one has eaten all the lesser gods in the world long ago, and now she needs more. All around the camp are various effigies (poorly crafted from dried kelp), shark's teeth, and other junk of the sea. There are tents scattered around that may be explored; they are filled with mundane paraphernalia such as books, combs, and other trinkets of sentimental value. If one didn't look at the horrors outside the tents, it might be confused for a refugee camp. The pool in the middle of the camp is filled with black water and disembodied Nalawi eyes, its concentrated magical energy more potent than even the water out in the ocean. There is a single doe in it, floating face down, the latest sacrifice before the cultists were interrupted; not dressed in their black robes, she is one of the missing villagers who was not so lucky. If she is turned over, it can be seen that her eyes have been gouged out. The surviving kidnapped villagers are badly shaken up but have no answers as to what happened other than they were captured by what they refer to as a "death cult." Apart from some slight hunger and dehydration, none of them are injured. They're just glad to be alive, and ask to be escorted back to the Pu'ulai temple.

Comments

[heelies]

[Slaughter is always such a convenient solution...!]

There is reason in what you say, daughter of Jolanda. Then in the shadows shall I remain while you complete this business, until ripens the time that I may sow retribution.

[Whispering thus, he settles into silence and keeps his eyes keen that he may detect the cloaked movement of the renegade Nalawi who flit about the forest as do shadows upon a wall.]

[heavyhitter]

[ Daughter of Jolanda. Man, she's glad she gave him that one, she likes hearing it even more than she thought she would. It's encouraging, a reminder of who she's striving to live up to.

So, with a quick nod, she slips away. She works quickly and subtly, moving only when she's sure she's not being watched, sidling up next to a hostage and keeping their hands out of sight, back to back, as she works through the ropes. Each one gets a hissed whisper not to move. Progress is good, but good luck can't keep up forever.

Maybe one of the cultists finally noticed that Ramir's shifting position way more often than she should, or maybe she finally slipped up and someone saw the flash of a knife in torchfire. Either way there's a shout, and then the gig's about up. The hooded deer move swiftly, some moving to surround the hostages and some leaping to subdue those already free. Ramir scowls and keeps working on the one she'd started on. ]

Your move, Achilles! [ He knows, she knows he knows, but she makes it official anyway as the last of the current set of ropes frays away under her blade. ]

[heelies]

[Before she even begins to shape his name, the balls of his feet already dig into the earth and the muscles in his legs launch him forward through the thick underbrush. His spear is poised in his hand as an eagle perched upon a branch, and its eyes are keen and its talons ready to close around the flesh of its prey. With a sharp cry godlike Achilles thrusts the pitiless bronze into the shoulder of a cloaked Nalawi who bends over a hostage purposing to pin limbs once more: a scream is scraped from the throat of the cloven-footed man as the tip pierces his back and then dives again through the hole it tore open. He staggers to the ground and the soil drinks of his blood.

So too with the next, who lunges at him with the blade of a knife flashing in the thin moonlight: Achilles pushes her back with his shield, which although roughly hewn from wood serves its purpose here, and runs his spear through her stomach, spilling guts as dark as the cloaked night. As vicious as these Nalawi may be with their hearts whetted upon desperation, Achilles stands more than a full head above even their tallest warriors. Thus, he converts his size to raw power and wields this to his advantage.]

[heavyhitter]

[ She'd really, really like to be devoting full attention to Achilles over there, but all she's able to manage to steal are glances. It looks good, though. He looks good. Murdering cultists has never been so stylish. But most of her attention is by necessity on the Nalawi still bound, and she cuts as quickly as she can manage. Each one freed gets a quick whispered go! and a shove toward the trees. Some of them stay to try and free those still bound, and Ramir has no problems with that. The quicker this goes the better.

She does have to stop, at one point, when one of the cultists decides she's a better target than the crazy spear-wielder over there. She darts a glance over at Achilles when she sees the cultist approaching, but that dude looks pretty busy. This guy has a spear of his own though, and Ramir's really not eager to try out spear versus knife.

So she wraps an arm around each of the Nalawi she'd been working on cutting free and lifts them both (staggering only slightly under their combined weight), and slinks backward toward the trees behind them. If he follows, she decides, she'll circle around to Achille's side, wipe this guy off on him.

He does follow. So she groans, grits her teeth under the self-imposed deer-burden, and nudges her knife into one of their hands to finish cutting while she works on moving them. Hopefully Achilles isn't too busy over there. ]

[heelies]

[The diverted Nalawi man folds into Achilles' rampage as does a leaf which falls upon a river's current: the pitiless bronze finds him and drains him of his blood, and soon he is swept through death's gate. More cultists pour forth from the jungle to try to halt his destructive course, but for all the desperation which froths and thrashes within them, every last one falls short of this aim: they invariably meet death upon Achilles' spear. How could they expect to succeed where even the strongest warriors of Troy had failed? Here is a man who was not meant to be felled by mortal hands.

So the night lurches on, drenched in blood and smelling of panic. By the time the last of the captives has slipped into the safety of the trees beyond the camp, the son of Peleus has slain more than a dozen of the dark-cloaked Nalawi and their ruined bodies litter the underbrush, nothing more than food for carrion birds. Throughout the encampment, others of the rescue crew clash with the cultists and capture them for questioning, but here in this corner the shadows fall still for now.

His gaze whips around, seeking Ramir once more.]

You are the last of the kidnapped to remain in this foul place. Will you not take this opportunity to claim freedom as the others have?

[His voice presses urgently, making clear his intent: he does not wish for her to stay here.]