Daybreak had not yet reared its threatening face upon the unlikely cast of adventurers, hibernating while creeping envious beams of moonlight still haunted over the horizon’s landscape. That jealous, pale eye in the sky caressed the countryside, scrutinizing across the smoky mill to a citadel’s most eastward fortifications, bearing witness and judgement to the morning brawl. Cuckoos and owls juxtaposed their melodies, demarcating the chorus of another potential bright but bleak day, whose radiance would beget within a few hours. Bee hives and their drones rummaged, in anticipation, valiantly along dandelions and lilies, hunting golden ambrosia for the stockpile before the dance of their queen’s throne. The faint perfume of honey permeated the pirate’s olfactory intellect, balancing the sweet scent of the forest, with the bouquet of corpses collected before them. Smell surviving as the most powerful psychic to memories banished, euphoria intertwined with slaughter, triggering his evicted inner bard, to revel in the massacre. Innately, the druid’s tongue ring licked the perspiration beading upon his striped whiskers, recalling a peculiar, reminiscent nightmare.

The phylogenic jury abruptly halted its lurid gala, as blade and vivacity collapsed from the last brigand, under the swift swipes of a green barbarian and a ferine knight harboring a silver medallion. Gore stained through their boots. His minotaur hide callously soaked another soul’s blood.  His regard rose from damp topsoil, to survey the littered cadavers upon the battlefield. Like discarded toys on the floor of a child’s room, the mercenaries’ remains were strewn about as brightness above publicized the mess the heroes had bred.  

[color=fff200]"Let us see ourselves in. Take the bodies."[/color]

The voice beckoned an obvious charge as an orc championed a couplet, while the elder dragged their last fallen foe into the tunnel, wedging and heaving his staff under both of the assailant’s armpits. The insipid stream quickly saturated the cumbersome weight with moisture, spawning further exertion from the swashbuckler. Straining to the guarded portal, the old man spouted grunts mingled with heavy huffs. Three knocks later, once inside and sealed, the sentries soon appropriated his role, freeing the senior from his hunched position. Posturing against his liberated walking stick, he popped his lower vertebrae, conducting a jolt through his beard, as if thick bark had been viciously ripped from a mighty oak. He quietly sneered at the mocked limitations of his current form, but stopped snickering once the cleric motioned them to a higher task.  

[color=pink]"If you'd like, I could use your help getting some answers from her."[/color]

Her no longer blameless ire cried for a semblance of justice, even if it issued bile or wrath. The sailor knew of the spiritual consequence after having eroding many a mutiny, with torture, decades before.

[color=92278f]“Are you equipped for this, priestess? When seeking vengeance, one must be prepared to dig two graves.”[/color]

Satisfied with her silence, he realized the Chauntean acolyte remained indignantly resolute. It was difficult to discern if she was not capable to fathom nature’s indifference to her civilization’s plight. An apathy that fosters survival over mercy. Her scurrying off with the prisoner cemented that righteous blindness, becoming more valuable than the wild’s lethargic ennui. To be useful to her desired endeavor, Torus required more than just his water skin to garner the necessitated intel. He approached the guarded entry once more. Waving his Tethyrian fang, he summoned several gallons over half a minute from under the door’s crevice, eventually sculpting the aquatic force into a large sphere. Slowly, the buccaneer magically maneuvered the saline bubble into the interrogation room, high above the unhooded captive; the briny clock overhead ticked away its existence upon the sedate skull of their malefactor. Crimson droplets continued to plummet upon the convict’s forehead, jarring her eventually to consciousness. The woman, alert now to her chains, was overtly drenched from the slumber she had succumbed to, shivering, the temperature frigid, with intermittent frosty marbles diving and sliding off the detainee’s ears and nose. 

[color=92278f]“Awake? Finally. The reason… Tell me. Why are you here? Why Greenest?”[/color] Sniffing vicariously in front of the female inmate, he delivered a warning. [color=92278f]“Either you can drown us with words. Or.”[/color] He paused to dispense a nodding signal to Kyra, Brannor, Parum and Orchid. 

[color=ed1c24]“We bury you with water and steel!”[/color]

[Hider=Effects]
Torus will employ many uses of the [i]Shape Water[/i] cantrip, to engineer a crude water torture device, after collecting the stream from under the guarded tunnel door. He has altered the color and the opacity of the water to be an impenetrable red, hopeful to encourage her before the quartert uses their “tools.” 

He rolls a Persuasion of [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/rolls/2838]14[/url].

The sphere is hanging overhead in case she refuses, threatening to submerge her head underwater, if verbal interrogating tactics and intimidation become fruitless.
[/hider]
[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@The Harbinger of Ferocity][@Norschtalen]