Game: Cross Purposes

The bard grins wickedly. It's apparent that his ego is bolstered even more by the compliment -- not that it really needs any further encouragement. "Years of practice, my dear. As for the peel... if you find yourself against a pit fiend, in the first place, you're doing it wrong. The Blood War is mostly fought by grunts. You'd dance circles around some of the dim-witted berks I've met, believe me."

"Actually," Alastryn suggests, "I would like to come with you. I imagine you might find magical support to be of some use." While the branded tiefling is speaking in Common, Icanthas is very familiar with the 'loth language (for a mortal) and with Gehennan culture in general. That last sentence practically screamed 'Understatement!'

Maltheniir gives a sidelong look to Alastryn before addressing Icanthas. "I'm missing one of my blades, actually. I'm rather fond of it, and would like to see it returned." He describes a distinctive, ornamented longsword; for those who actually follow his music, the bard has actually mentioned that blade in his own lyrics a few times. He points at Icanthas. "And don't let Alastryn get her hands on it. She'd likely have it melted down just to spite me."

The black-haired tiefling chuckles, but says nothing.

Rivullira adds her own request: "My holy symbol has gone missing. I can get another in town. While I can handle myself in a fight, it's not really a good idea for anyone to go around Curst alone, especially at night. And especially now. I'd appreciate it if someone comes along. Once I have that, I definitely want to help free the other prisoners. This being Curst, a lot of them won't be especially nice people, but no one deserves to be pressganged into the Blood War."

"I don't know," Maltheniir muses, "I can think of scores of cutters who deserve even worse. Regardless. I'll help with the prisoners."

The black-haired tiefling laughs aloud. There is a certain surprised note to the sound.

"If I'm right," Rivullira says, quite seriously, "that was Incarnate Grisev, a high priest of Erythnul, the Lord of Slaughter." The priestess makes what must be some kind of warding sign against evil. "Erythnul's priesthood isn't as organized as some of the others, like Hextor's, for example," she makes the warding sign again. "In Sigil there are several rival groups of priests, from what I've heard. He ran the biggest one for a long time. When the Factions started fighting -- openly, that is -- he got a bunch of his priests, lay followers, and Defier-haters together and started slaughtering Athar wholesale. He and his followers played a big part in kicking the Defiers out of the Cage, actually. I heard he was trying to get to the factol himself at one point. Anyway, he got himself Mazed, along with others, and no one has heard about him since then. Until now."

"You think correctly," Alastryn adds, actually deigning to speak to the priestess. "This leads us to an interesting question. Given what he is, why are our heads still attached to our necks? If not that, then why did he not sell us all into slavery, the better to increase his own wealth? Why did he not, at the very least, torture someone just because he could?" The tiefling shrugs her shoulders. "He has a plan. That, I do not doubt."