As Amel's hand pressed into the shallow depression in the door, the magical energy it held flared to life with a crackling sound like dozens of tree branches being snapped and shattered. A sickly green glow emanated from the runes all around the stone for a brief moment, and then suddenly the noise and light disappeared entirely. Amel could hear a series of clicks from internal mechanisms at work in the door, and a low scraping sound could be heard as it started to slowly open on its own.
"Yes, well done." Another illusory image of Highlord Bressos appeared in the air in the center of the room, facing toward the door. "Often the truth lies beyond the obvious and right in front of your nose, all at once. This is the forbidden truth the Lords of the Moon unveiled: the gods are ascended from mere mortals. The means of this ascension are still being researched, but know that speaking of this truth outside of this room, shielded from the prying eyes and ears of gods by decades of painstaking warding work, will invite death and destruction upon you and all who hear it. I shall return shortly, and until then you may wait in my sanctum above. Eat and drink freely of what my constructs provide, and peruse my books at your leisure, but speak naught of what you have just learned unless you return to this very room. Your journey to join our ranks is nearly over, and I shall guide you to the end once I return."
The speech and door had very obviously been synchronized, given the way the door's slow opening finished at exactly the same moment the illusion dissipated. There was another curving flight of stairs leading upward, and with the illusion gone they could now hear a continuous low murmuring drifting down from above. Rather than pursue that oddity, Jehan shook his head vigorously for a moment before heading straight for the stairs leading down, and those who managed to get a glimpse of his eyes could see that same disconcertingly sharp and bright cast to them that Griselda and Lienne had possessed when they started behaving strangely.
Torgun held up a hand and opened his mouth, but one pointed glance from Jehan was enough to dissuade him from trying to stop the Elf from leaving. Instead he directed his words to those who remained more or less in control of themselves. "I think I've decided that I really fucking hate this place. I don't give a shit about gods and whatnot, don't know that it matters how they're made. Let's just get this over with, eh? And you, keep hold of the nice kitty." As he passed by Wank, the Dwarf noted the now familiar confusion on the Goblin's face and guided him over to place a hand on Masawa to act as a guide, much like the cat had done for Jehan and Arwen on their way through the maze below. He ascended the stairs quickly but quietly, pulling his battleaxe free and gesturing for the others to follow him.
The chanting grew louder and louder as they went up, and by the time an opening appeared at the top of the stairs it was clear that the masculine voice was in fact shouting his words rather than speaking them. It was a harsh and caustic language, one that none of them knew, and it neither slowed nor stopped as Torgun cautiously poked his head up to see what was waiting for them. He pulled back and looked at the others with a confused grimace, then boldly walked right out into the open. Some low chittering noises started up, and any who followed him would see that they came from the three imps in the room, but the chanting never even wavered. The imps looked to their master for guidance, rather than immediately attacking, and they received nothing at all. The Human man looked the stereotype of a foul summoner of demons: pale skin, long and greasy dark hair, and features sharp and gaunt enough to make him look almost feral. Strangely, his eyes also hard the same too-bright and painfully intent quality that had just taken over Jehan before the Elf departed their company.
The room had perhaps at one point been lavishly furnished, but it was now decayed and wrecked, with rubble from the collapsed roof taking up a good portion of the floor. Near the center of the room there was a wide wooden beam, and it was currently being used as a makeshift bed, or perhaps an altar. A blonde Human woman, no older than her late teens or early twenties, was laid out unconscious on the wood with a tattered robe preserving her modesty. Her hands and feet were both bound by rope, and the man was using some kind of sharp metal instrument to etch runic markings on her flesh. Her face and one bared shoulder were already covered, and he was almost finished with her left arm as well. Each rune flashed with a dull red light as it was finished, then faded into an inky black color, and at the start of each new rune the man primed his instrument with more of his chosen ink: his own blood, courtesy of a large cut on his forearm. He showed not a single sign of realizing he had company, and as one of the imps tried to shake him he swatted it away with his bleeding arm without slowing his work. The three imps then gathered protectively in front of the unconscious woman, hands poised to start hurling fire, but they kept exchanging uncertain glances with one another.
Torgun looked back to the others with a confused shrug, wordlessly asking them what they wanted to do with this strange situation.