We Will Find Our Redemption

Chapter 24 - The Hound's Scent

Dismas woke up earlier than usual, the gray light of dawn barely filtering through the windows of the Tavern's Inn. His thoughts were consumed by the strange conversation he'd had with Sarmenti the night before. Sarmenti had always been a mystery, but now, with the cryptic knowledge he'd shared about the Swinefolk, Dismas felt the layers of mistrust growing thicker. It wasn't as if he had trusted the jester wholeheartedly before, but this—this vague, half-spoken information about the Warrens and its monstrous inhabitants—did little to reassure him. The fact that Sarmenti seemed to have wandered off to places unknown, without so much as a word, only added to Dismas's unease. His fingers unconsciously tapped the table as his mind wandered over the strange circumstances. The Swinefolk... disgusting half-animal, half-human beasts, crawling in the dark, putrid tunnels of the Warrens. They weren't natural; no, they were something else, a grotesque product of twisted magic or failed experiments. The knowledge Sarmenti shared made it clear they were part of something much bigger—something tied to the crystal they had found after defeating the Necromancer Lord. And now Dismas was left wondering, how much did Sarmenti truly know? Was he keeping something crucial from the rest of them?
"Lost in thought already?" came a familiar voice, soft but curious. Paracelsus had risen, her keen eyes catching Dismas alone at the table. She slid into the chair across from him, her alchemical instruments momentarily forgotten in favor of a more mundane breakfast. Dismas offered a small, almost tired smile. "More like tangled in them," he said, his voice low. "Couldn't sleep much. Too much rattling around up here."
She smirked lightly, settling into the routine of casual conversation. "Seems like a daily affair for us now, doesn't it? Every time we think we've had enough of the dark places, there's always something worse waiting just ahead." Dismas's gaze wandered for a moment before he leaned forward slightly. "Speaking of worse things," he began, his tone shifting, "what do you make of the Swinefolk? Sarmenti's little revelation about them last night was... unexpected." Paracelsus frowned, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Unexpected is one word for it. The Swinefolk—if they truly exist as Sarmenti described—are nothing short of an abomination. The Ancestor, according to him, used the Warrens as a dumping ground for his failed experiments. But those creatures—half-human, half-pig—it's as if they're something more than just failed rituals. It's grotesque. Purposeful in a way." "Purposeful..." Dismas repeated, turning the word over in his mouth. "You think this ties back to the envelopes?"
The room seemed to grow quieter as he said it. The envelopes they had all received upon arriving in this forsaken hamlet. Letters written in mysterious ink, summoning each of them here without explanation. And now, they were knee-deep in horrors they barely understood.
Paracelsus tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I've been thinking about that too. The envelopes, the crystals, the Collector... it all feels connected, doesn't it? It's like we're caught in the web of something far larger than any of us could've imagined. The cult in the Ruins, the Swinefolk, these cursed places we keep finding ourselves in—they're all pieces of the same puzzle." He nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "And Sarmenti. How much do you trust him?" She raised an eyebrow, considering the question. "Trust is a tricky thing out here. Sarmenti's always been... elusive. But I don't think he's out to harm us. Not directly, at least. He has his secrets, sure, but so do we all." She paused. "Still, I wouldn't say no to keeping an eye on him."
He exhaled through his nose, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Feels like we're missing something. Every step we take, we uncover a new layer, but never the whole truth."
Paracelsus gave him a knowing look. "Maybe that's because we're not supposed to find the whole truth. Not yet, anyway."
Before Dismas could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs caught their attention. Junia, Reynauld, and Barristan descended from the upper floor, their voices carrying the grogginess of sleep mixed with the relief of their return.
"Ah, there you are," Reynauld greeted them, his tone lighter than it had been in days. "Already plotting our next move without us?" "Not quite," Dismas replied with a faint smirk. "Just thinking."
Junia, always observant, picked up on the tension in the air almost immediately. Her eyes flicked between Dismas and Paracelsus as she took her seat beside them. "What were you thinking about?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. Paracelsus glanced at Dismas before answering. "The Swinefolk. And what it all means." She quickly summarized their earlier conversation for the newcomers.
Barristan, having seated himself with a groan of exhaustion, grunted at the mention of the Swinefolk. "As if the monsters in the Ruins weren't bad enough. Now we have to worry about beasts that are part human, part... whatever those things are."
Junia folded her hands in front of her, her expression serious. "It feels like all these things are connected, doesn't it? The envelopes we received, the crystal we found, the Collector's words before he disappeared—it's all leading us somewhere."
Reynauld leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "I wouldn't be surprised if these creatures and the cult in the Ruins were two heads of the same beast. There's an intelligence behind all of this. The Ancestor's hand might be gone, but his influence lingers."
Dismas, who had remained quiet during most of the discussion, glanced at Reynauld, then Junia. "What if we're being tested?" he asked quietly. "What if the envelopes weren't just a summons, but a challenge?" The group fell into a moment of silence, the weight of Dismas's words settling over them like a heavy shroud. The Tavern, usually a place of camaraderie and light-hearted banter, now felt laden with an unseen pressure.
Junia broke the silence, her voice softer this time. "Whatever it is, whatever this... force is that brought us here, we can't let it tear us apart. We've made it this far, haven't we? We can face whatever comes next." Dismas caught her gaze and for a moment, the tension between them that had grown since their return from the Warrens flickered in the air, unspoken but palpable. He nodded, offering a reassuring smile. "We've faced worse. We'll get through this too." Just then, the door to the Tavern creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside. Sarmenti. But instead of heading toward the Guild as he usually did, he made his way directly to their table. The jester's face was unreadable, his eyes carrying a weight of knowledge he had yet to share. Under his arm, a bundle of old, yellowed pages—worn and frayed at the edges—caught their attention. He tossed them onto the table with a casual flick of his wrist. "Thought you might find these interesting," he said with a half-smile. Dismas eyed the pages warily, the sensation of distrust gnawing at him again. "More tales of the Swinefolk?" he asked dryly. Sarmenti chuckled softly. "And then some. Experiments on flesh—both human and otherwise. Our dear Ancestor had quite the imagination." He tapped the top of the bundle. "These go deep. Darker than anything we've seen so far." The group exchanged glances, and the Tavern seemed to grow quieter once more.