The air was suddenly heavy and still. The priest holding the knife to Ora-Jean’s throat was not alone. Several kobolds, many showing evidence of freshly bandaged wounds, accompanied him. They looked like beaten dogs and flinched away from the priest whenever he spoke.

‘By all means, make the attempt,’ the priest urged, mockingly, his gaze fixed on Lantha.

The elf held a dagger in each hand, the one in her left drawn back and primed to throw. Her eyes glittered with frosty hate.

‘You think I’ll miss?’ she asked.

‘On the contrary, I am quite certain you won’t.’ The priest’s smile broadened. ‘But I am equally confident that it is of no moment.’

‘Bladeward.’ Lantha lowered the dagger and spit. ‘Boduimel.’

‘Good. You are capable of learning.’

‘Your foul god can’t shield you forever.’ Lantha shifted her stance. ‘And he certainly won’t bother to protect your underlings.’

‘I assure you my most noble and exalted Lord can and will protect me more than long enough for this current purpose.’ The smile dropped from the priest’s face. ‘You and your companions will surrender yourselves. Again. Come now, we all know how this will play out. None of you has the power to challenge my will in this scenario.’

Was this how they’d been captured before? Ora-Jean or one of the others captured in an ambush and the others forced to surrender to save her life? Robin briefly considered trying to throw out a [Cutting Words]. After all, it wasn’t a blade as such, and should be able to bypass something called ‘bladeward’. He dismissed the idea as too dangerous. They were outnumbered and the priest was clearly capable of putting down a kobold insurrection on his own. No. They needed more information.

‘And what’s to keep them from escaping again?’ he asked, drawling out the words as insultingly as he could. If the bastard was talking, he wasn’t cutting throats or ordering his minions to attack.

‘I assure you, they will not have that chance.’ The priest eyed him, his gaze wandering from Robin’s blood-splattered torso down to his rag-wrapped feet. ‘Nor will you. And I warn you, My Lord takes a particular dislike to those who do not know their place.’

‘I’m getting a pretty good handle on my proper place, thanks,’ Robin shot back. ‘And I think it’s entirely reasonable to ask what you intend. Let’s face it, if you are just going to slit the throat of everyone here after you’ve had your beastly way with us, what’s the point in coming quietly? At least if we fight we’ve got a chance.’

The priest considered that for a moment, staring at Robin with a look of intense distaste.

‘Very well,’ he said finally, ‘I am not an unreasonable man. If you and your compatriots answer my questions to my satisfaction and submit yourselves to the rightful dominion of Urkhan, I have no objection to allowing you to go on your way.’

Because that didn’t sound ominous at all. Robin wasn’t opposed to a bit of sub/dom play, but he certainly wasn’t going to engage in it with this dude or his petty tyrant god.

‘How about we just agree to answer your questions truthfully and honestly? “To your satisfaction” is a bit too nebulous a condition to put on an agreement like this.’ Robin countered.

Lantha, Fiamah, and Grathilde were all staring at him, but he ignored them. He couldn’t afford to break his focus away from the cadaverous priest. Ora-Jean was staring at him as well, eyes intense, but if she was trying to tell him something with her body language, he wasn’t picking up the message.

‘Not good enough,’ the priest declared. ‘I don’t think you appreciate just which way the balance of power tilts.’ He pressed the knife ever-so-slightly into Ora-Jean’s throat, drawing a small line of red. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist you lay down your weapons and submit to me.’

Lantha shifted her weight and flicked her eyes from Robin to Ora-Jean. Was that a signal? Should he try and keep the priest distracted? Well, he had already opened his big mouth once.

‘Yeah, no. I don’t have any weapons, so can’t comply with that, and I have no intention of ever submitting to you or Ur-can’t-get-it-up, so I won’t comply with that.’ Robin shrugged. ‘So sit and spin, frakwit.’

‘You—‘ the priest choked, purple in his fury, ‘you dare—‘

Robin regretted not packing those insults with the power of [Cutting Words]. From that reaction, it would definitely have done some extra damage. Ora-Jean flashed him a look, eyes intent. She definitely wanted him to do something. Frak it.

He opened his mouth to let the priest have it, but before he could say a single word the old man shrieked out a command at him.

‘You will [Bow] before the might of Urkhan! I will have you on your knees!’

The words slammed into the roof of his mouth and were lost as Robin literally collapsed to the ground, prostrating himself against his will. He struggled against the impulse, but he felt his mind—his soul?—crushed in the grip of a merciless fist and dragged downward.

Ora-Jean used the priest’s distraction to lash out at the arm controlling the knife at her throat. In a moment she was free and dashing across the cavern to rejoin the rest of the party. The priest spat invective after her.

‘You will all submit before me and the will of Urkhan!’ he all but howled. ‘You, kobolds, attack! But I want them alive! I have questions and they will answer and they will submit before Urkhan!’

Robin struggled back to his feet. The crushing compulsion had only lasted long enough to force him to kneel; it did nothing to keep him prostrate. His knees screamed in agony, however, from the impact.

Lantha tossed a spare dagger to Ora-Jean. Grathilde’s hands began to glow with sky-blue power. Fiamah’s mace was the burning glory of the midday sun. And Robin, well, Robin was going to have words with that unholy wankstain.

If the priest wanted a fight, well he was going to get one.

***

Robin awoke to find himself bound hand and foot. The spear of light that knifed into his brain forced him to shut his eyes immediately. The side of his head felt swollen and sticky, and he immediately regretted moving it enough to find out even that much.

Slowly and with great deliberation, he carefully opened his eyes in small increments, re-accustoming himself to the light. It came from a leaping bonfire. Again. He was in a cavern full of kobolds. Again. But this time he was tied up alongside the rest of the party.

He squinted through the dancing shadows. The other four were all here, and all seemed to be breathing, at least. His memories of the fight were fragmentary, at best, but he did recall having his will crushed by the unholy fist of Urkhan multiple times.

He really needed to do something about that. If blanket immunity wasn’t an option, there had to be something he could do to up his resistance. Increase his level, probably, and/or his properties. Though he still hadn’t figured out how to increase his properties. Quests? A much larger chunk of experience than skills? Well, not a now-problem.

Now, he need to figure out where he was and then how to not be in that place. Preferably with everyone he liked in tow and everyone he didn’t far away.

It didn’t take long to realise that this was not the same cave the kobolds had occupied before. For one, it was much, much larger. For another, the walls were worked stone, not natural. Robin could even make out some remnants of decorative carving and statuary. Oh great. Creepy ruins filled with monsters. Because that will make everything better.

Robin shifted in place, trying not to draw attention to himself. From his vantage, he couldn’t see that bloody priest anywhere. Not that that meant anything. This place was huge, with several entrances and exits, as well as niches and various other obstructions blocking his view.

He did find Chief Bula, however. What was left of her. Her head was sat in front of a large wooden chair. It was currently being used as a footrest by the largest kobold Robin had ever seen. Not that he had the largest sample size, but still.

It even had wings! What was with these tunnels and monsters growing wings? Did the magic not realise everyone was underground?

Robin squinted, trying to get a better view. The kobold looked familiar, somehow. Weird.

‘Food!’ the winged chief bellowed.

That voice sounded familiar too.

‘Food!’ another kobold yipped, ‘food for Chief Ratscale!’

Ratscale? The grumbly kobold from before? That was Ratscale? What—magic was a trip. Just a frelling trip.

Robin took advantage of the noise and the distraction to flop himself onto his other side. He bit back a yelp of surprise as a pair of eyes met his.

Lantha stared at him.

‘Fancy meeting you here.’ The words slipped out before he could think.

The elf did not smile. She did not laugh. No quest points for Robin.

‘Quiet,’ she murmured.

He nodded his head a fraction, indicating he heard and understood. Now that he had turned over, he had a better sense of his surroundings. They were piled up together against one side of the room (and it was more room than cavern at this point). They occupied a large niche all to themselves.

The stone was wet with moisture, and the detritus piled one very corner had given rise to a surprisingly lush bed of moss and no few mushrooms. Robin repressed a shudder at the ones that looked like dead men’s fingers clawing up through the soil.

There was no sign of their equipment nearby.

Of course. Even kobolds learn. Especially when their zealot of a tutor will probably gut them for failing. Fear of death, it’s a great motivator. The magical compulsion probably doesn’t hurt either.

Robin wiggled his fingers. He had some range of movement! They’d just lashed his wrists together behind his back, not bound his hands entirely. He flicked his fingers through a quick series of gestures, summoning a tiny [Lesser Phantasm] in front of Lantha’s eyes.

Blink twice if you can read these words.

The elf started but then blinked twice, slowly. Was it Robin’s imagination or did he detect just a hint more respect in her gaze?

Do you know where they have brought us? Blink once for no, twice for yes.

Lantha blinked once.

Do you have a plan to get us out of here?

Lantha blinked once. Then she frowned and blinked twice.

Is that a maybe?

Lantha blinked twice.

Robin paused, considered what to ask next. They hadn’t bothered to gag any of them. That meant he still had access to [Cutting Words], and while he wouldn’t be able to maintain a chained-casting of [Lesser Phantasm], he still had access to that as well.

Was Grathilde bound the same way he was? He couldn’t see from here. He could just make out Fiamah’s torso. The holy symbol she usually wore around her neck was missing. Did that make it impossible for her to draw on her goddess-granted gifts? Or did it just make it harder? He couldn’t see any other reason to deprive her of it. No, wait. Being a dick. That would certainly fit with what they’d seen so far from the priest that captured them.

If it did interfere with divine spellcasting in some way, however, it might be a weapon they could use. Robin tried to recall what, if anything, on the priest’s person looked like a holy symbol. There were the markings on his armour. Damn.

That was too much. Each piece had its own marking. Any one might be a useful, or a decoy, or something. So that wasn’t immediately useful.

Before he could consider their predicament further, the priest reappeared. Robin couldn’t see him, but the old man’s voice carried well enough.

‘Bring the elf to me. I will interrogate her in the North chamber.’

The kobolds started yipping, and Robin could hear the skitter-scatter of their claws over the stone, rushing towards them.

‘Pretend you’re still out,’ Lantha whispered quickly, closing her own eyes.

Robin followed suit, not having any better options to hand. He forced himself not to move when he felt the cool pressure of their scales and the sharp prickling of their claws on his chest. They dragged Lantha off, right over the top of him.

And then he was alone again, the sound of blood pounding in his ears.