The room the miners had found was much bigger than Kat's, but also far, far filthier. It was an abandoned cistern, and sewage water covered the bottom in septic mud.
"Goodmax this!" "Yupyup. Youlot rockbig, stiffbeast bringin! Er lamekin plus." Rocky seemed to think the room was 'perfect', and Pantimus ordered the slab Rocky had been carving when they first met and the corpse of the monster he had slain to be brought in. And, almost as an afterthought... The minion which formerly held the sword?
That minion was not only still unconscious, but was severely wounded when the predator had attempted to carry him off by his legs. From context Arc could infer that filth must be beneficial for minions, but couldn't imagine that they intended to heal this guy. In fact, Arc wondered why he hadn't already been left behind... Until realizing the only one who'd bothered to carry him in the first place was none other than himself.
Knowing he'd been taken advantage of make Arc a bit depressed, but he didn't really regret his decision. So he continued to stand back and watch the minions dancing in the grime.
Dancing they were: all except Pantimus who ordered them around from a ledge, and Rocky, who was standing on the rock now placed in the center, and of course the wounded minion, who was -
Arc suddenly understood, and it didn't sit easy with him. He hoarsely whispered, "Are- aren't you going to intervene?" {No.} It seems Kat wasn't one of those goddesses which unconditionally cares for everyone.
Rocky brought his carving stone down on the sacrifice's chest, and - the sacrifice exploded. Not into blood and guts as one might assume, but into a thick yellow goop that splattered the walls and floor.
The carvings on the altar glowed yellow as well, and the minions cheered. Within seconds, the mud started to bubble violently as if boiling. Within minutes, the room was filled with all manner of odd fungi. The bubbles reduced to a single lazy burst every once in a while, but the mud now felt hot to touch.
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The first minion spawning pit had been created.
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"I'm telling you, I didn't lose my trousers, a trio of imps yanked them right off me!" Alaric looked up from his drink. He wasn't naturally one to pry, but this sounded like it'd make a particularly juicy bit of gossip. Plus, it paid to keep your ears open in his business. Even around a belligerent foreign adventurer. No, especially around a belligerent foreign adventurer.
"Pete, we all know you were drunk and 'with company' at the time. She probably spiked your drink to run off with your money." It seems even the man's friends didn't believe him; it was a pattern Alaric had seen before. Far too often, it ended in preventable accidents.
Other bar patrons interjected. "You sound like that fat merchant I met yesterday. Claimed a miniature fiend as black as night ran off with his wallet." "Prob'ly just an urchin covered in soot." One man scoffed, others nodded in agreement. "Well, at least he put his money where his mouth is. Promised employment plus the contents of the purse to whomever brought him its hide."
The belligerent man - Pete, was it? - suddenly spoke up: "I'm in." The others were shocked. "You serious?" "I told you I wasn't lying. I'll find the beasts that shamed me and teach them a lesson, and if I can get paid then that's all the excuse I need."
Alaric returned to his own thoughts as the conversation drifted elsewhere. He wasn't interested in the merchant's offer; he already had steady employment. But as someone who kept the sewers clear of monsters for a living, he knew there was no telling what would emerge from the depths next.