>>6152518Once you're on your feet, you do come to the somewhat startling realization that there is a wod of meat still in your mouth. “Little fucking monster-” The wounded cultist says as he grasps his bleeding arm before being silenced by a kick to the head. Then you try to spit out the offending chunk somewhere close to where it’s missing from. Keyword being “try” because it ends up hitting the other cultist on his mask, to which he only lets out a choked sob. You’d offer to knock him out, too, but it’s at this moment that some light shone into the dark passage you found yourself in as people moved to investigate the noise from in here. You also hear a woman’s scream, so naturally, you bolt in the opposite direction.
Well, it’s actually the only direction there is to run here. It seems you’ve found yourself in a dark and dank tunnel of some kind. Recently excavated, too, judging by the unworn supports, how cramped it is, and mining tools left scattered about. It’s also incredibly dark, but thankfully, you “acquired” a few matches earlier today, and there’s enough just random junk around for you to pick up something that looks torchy enough and light it on fire as you continue running. Oh, you also push as much random shit in front of you to block any pursuers' paths, but that’s neither here nor there. Eventually, though, you reach the end of the line after a good couple of solid minutes of running. Which happens to be just an ordinary ladder leading up a few feet to a wooden hatch, and with no other way to go-
You find yourself in what looks to be a small barn on the outskirts of town, near the water. The interior seems to be mostly ordinary, save for the large iron cage built into a wall containing an elderly man and a little girl. But before you can investigate that, you take the initiative to lock the hatch by pulling up the ladder and pushing a large crate on top of the hatch. That is not to mention that you place the torch in a rather precarious position, leaning above some hay and the liquor you grabbed. So, say if someone hits the crate too hard while trying to open the hatch, it’ll set this whole barn as light as a little treat. Then, of course, you head towards the jail on the limited time you have.
The old man is grizzled and worn, with long white hair and a large beard; even with cataracts in his eyes, he gauges you warily. Surprisingly, the little girl is much the same, in raggedy clothes and with scars no child her age should be bearing. She stands behind the older man’s knee once he rises, though she tries to appear like she isn’t shaking. “I don’t know who you think you are, kid, but-” The older man starts before you cut him off by flashing your Inquisitor’s medallion bearing a spider lily.
“Alright, don’t get the time for any of that,” You say with a glance toward your shoddy trap, “Inquisitor Asher, now tell me where the keys are.”
