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Chapter #7
"Our god will eat you alive!"
by: Unknown
She spits defiantly!
"The Silk Sonant are all-seeing! You'll never escape this place. We'll feast on your screams of laughter as --!"
You stuff a wad of balled vellum into her mouth, reducing her threats to incomprehensible muffled babbling, with a self-satisfied smirk.
Spotting a fortuitously shadowy alcove nearby you heft the bound and gagged cultist by the rope between her wrists and ankles. She lets out a startled squeal as you carry her with some effort into the darkened recess and deposit her roughly on the floor, where she begins to feebly squirm and pick at the expertly knotted rope.
You return quickly to the other cultist sprawled out on the floor and formulate a cunning plan!
Deftly slipping her blue robe over your own clothing, you meticulously begin wrapping her in rope: tying her thin, pale wrists to each opposite elbow behind her back and cinching her exquisite feet crossed, before anchoring her bent legs to her freckle-dotted body, with her knees just below her collarbone.
The ropes hold her firmly in a tight little ball and the slightest bit of nipple peeks out where her pert breasts are press into her thighs. Just as the young blonde is regaining consciousness, you stuff a thick wad of cloth into her mouth, causing her large fluttering eyes to open wide in astonishment. She stares angrily at you and starts muttering muffled nonsense into her gag as you tie it in place with several coils of string.
You drop the naked and trussed cultist down next to her companion in the shadowy niche. It's a tight fit: the blonde is wedged uncomfortably against the wall by the hogtied cultist, who is bent even more uncomfortably between the blond and the opposite wall. Even if they could untie your knots -- and you're certain they can't -- you doubt they'd even be able to dislodge themselves from the recess without some serious assistance and a pry bar.
You wink at the captured cultists and escape down the corridor, coming eventually to an elaborately vaulted intersection where a half-elven male floats by, laughing uncontrollably, his outstretched arms held above his head by two levitating cultists. The breathless captive wears only a strange ceremonial shawl over his shoulders and mystical runes have been painted over his entire naked body with dizzying complexity. His bare feet seem to glow as they clench and fidget wildly. He is followed by a train of the cerulean garbed cultists carrying a long, deep, intricately carved stone container. The air is thick with the susurrous chanting of the magis and you flinch and shiver reflexively.
You do your best to look like you're floating and the passing cultists seem to ignore you. The poor adventurer is probably some ceremonial sacrifice to their dark, gibbering god; but, where there's ceremony there's often treasure, you think, rubbing your hands together comically.
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