“I pride myself on keeping a level head,” Thistle replied. “Now then: you’ve heard all we know. The time has come for you to speak.”
“Very well. What I have is more rumor than knowledge, but rumor that has persisted long enough that it has begun the ascension to the rank of legend,” Sierva opened. “Over the past several millennia, the demon eggs have appeared only a handful of times. In each known occurrence, they hatch, release some variation of infernal monsters on our plane, and kill everyone within a defined area before vanishing.”
“Wait, that’s not right,” Gabrielle said. “Demons kill until they’re slain or banished. They don’t just stop and go home.”
“Normal demons, no, but, as we already know, these are a special breed,” Sierva reminded her. “Usually, demons are summoned through gates or magic, not hatched from gem-eggs, and rarely do they show the sort of tactics and teamwork exhibited by the ones you have encountered so far. These demons are different, special, and their method of destruction is just one aspect of it.”
“You said these types of demons had appeared before. When and where?” Thistle asked.
“The reports are scattered, chiefly because survivors of these incidents are so rare,” Sierva explained. “It is my theory that the attacks have actually happened far more frequently than we realize, but because no survivors were left, it’s been impossible to identify the demons as the killers.”
“All right then, let’s gloss past the wheres and whens, and jump right into the meat of it: why? What you’ve described is more like a wizard’s blast than a demon attack. They appear in one area, kill all they see, and then retreat to some unknown location. That suggests a targeted strike, not demon slaughtering,” Thistle said.
“He’s a quick one,” Galdrin said, pausing from enjoying the last of the giant-snake fritters.
“Quick, and correct,” Sierva added. “Yes, Thistle, you and I arrived at the same conclusion. From the way the eggs appear, to how the demons attack, it all points to a single conclusion: these are effectively bombs, sent to wipe out specified targets. Even yesterday, we saw it at work: despite the plethora of demons released, not one of them ventured outside the tournament arena, despite all the townsfolk so close at hand. The people who fled past its borders reported seeing the small demons chase them to the edge, then turn around to find prey inside the grounds.”
“Maybe I’m missing something, but what does this really tell us?” Eric asked.
“Nothing, unfortunately,” Thistle said, letting out a small sigh. “We now have a better idea of the purpose of the demon eggs; however, we have no idea why the goblin camp, or the tournament, was targeted. One could argue that we’re the thread connecting them. Then again, in both attacks, no demon made any attempt to target us. At the camp, they went after the goblins first, and in the tournament, it was a general melee. If the eggs were for us, the demons should have made turning us into corpses their first priority. Even with as much as we know, that knowledge still leaves us with no clue as to why they’re appearing.”
“I must, sadly, agree,” Sierva said. “I’d hoped that a key to understanding the attacks would be buried in your observations, yet it seems this mystery remains unsolved. All we can do is continue searching for answers. I do thank you for your time, at least. I’m sorry to have imposed on you and not delivered results.”
“Dinner was thanks enough,” Grumph said, rising from the table. The others followed his lead and the room became a bit chaotic as hands were shaken and formal goodbyes exchanged.
When Thistle went to bid farewell to Sierva, she handed him a small bundle wrapped in burlap.
“What’s this?”
“A gift, as a way to say thank you and good luck,” Sierva said. Most of the others had headed into the hallway, stretching their legs after such a filling meal. The elf and gnome were all that remained in the room of nearly-empty plates.
“I cannot accept it, you’ve already been too generous,” Thistle objected.
“Please, I insist. You’ve shown us a great deal of trust when you weren’t obliged to; this is merely a token of my appreciation. Besides, we have to look out for others of our kind.”
Thistle tilted his head a few slender degrees off center. “Our kind? We’re clearly not of the same race, so I take it you mean you’re actually a paladin?”
Sierva said nothing at first, merely standing back to her full height and looking down at Thistle with a smile.
“Your story hangs together well, but remember that real adventurers would brag more about the kobolds they slayed, adding detail and embellishment whenever possible. Don’t fault yourself for making a misstep; it takes practice to get accustomed to such deception.”
With that, she was gone, leaving Thistle alone in the room, gripping his gift with uncharacteristic intensity as he watched her gather up the rest of her party and head back toward the stairs. Were one exceptionally perceptive, they could make out a few muttered words passing his lips just before he left the room.
“Aye. Our kind.”
Russell stretched his back, a series of small pops echoing from his vertebrae. He took a moment to remove his glasses and wipe them on his shirt. They were ill-fitting, and his eyelashes would begin smudging them the moment they were donned. This resulted in the Sisyphean task of endlessly cleaning them, an annoying activity that Russell privately regarded as excellent training for dealing with tabletop players. Minor comfort and vision attended to, he resumed his role as GM and began the narration.
“After many hours of pitched battle, you finally manage to tear through the last of the ogres in the encampment. I’ll roll up loot later tonight and let you all decide amongst yourselves how to disperse it. Your characters can take a rest in the now corpse-filled enclosures, and we’re going to call the game here for the night.”
“Come on, just roll us loot now. We want some of that sweet, sweet gold,” Terry egged on. His plump hands clutched a mechanical pencil, one that was practically vibrating in excitement as he spoke. He loved loot like the rogue he’d rolled; any delay in receiving his payout was deemed unacceptable.
“Calm down, it’s not going to be a lot,” Russell informed him. “This was a watch post, filled with scouts and messengers, not guards. Why do you think you were able to beat them so easily?”
“Because we know how to bring the pain!” Glenn leapt up from his chair, thrusting his fist into the air to illustrate his point. For someone who’d only managed to throw a few paltry sleeping spells in the battle, he seemed to have no problem laying claim to what he considered his share of the glory.
“That’s bullshit,” Mitch piped up. Russell had been wondering how long it would take for him to find something to object to. “You’re just trying to keep us gear-starved by nerfing the loot. We took out a whole ogre post, there’s no way they don’t have at least a few magical items.”
“If they had powerful items, wouldn’t they have used them on us?” Tim’s eyes studied the map, a serious expression on his slender face, replaying the battle in his head with exceptional detail. “We’re not that high of a level, and we tore through them without taking much damage, so it sure seems like they wouldn’t have very good equipment.”
“Stop being a GM kiss-ass,” Mitch snapped. “Clearly, the good stuff is hidden away, awaiting conquering adventurers to find it.”
“Yeah! There has to be a cache of items somewhere. Maybe we could all roll our own independent searches and see what we come up with.” The greedy glint in Terry’s eyes spoke to the discrepancy in what his character would find versus what would be reported to the party.
“If not weapons, then maybe a few more ogres still hiding from the fight that we could finish off,” Glenn suggested.