Temple of the Unclean Sire.

Althea held her staff out ahead and stood as straight as possible. Sucking in her stomach, she began the squeeze through the mysterious crevice. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or disgusted by the fact that the smelly, slippery slime lubricated her body just enough to pop through the narrow stone gap. Althea shuddered at the foul essence that coated her body. Blinking a few times, she quickly recognized her new location as some sort of storage room.

The stone walls appeared hand-worked, but the numerous cracks that ran along the surfaces stood out in dark contrast. She held up her glowing stick for a closer look, only to confirm her suspicions. Black mold filled the cracks, though clearly far tamer than the stuff that killed… Fabian and Lorna.

“Goddess forgive me… how could I have forgotten?” she said softly, a tear forming in her eye. Due to the trauma suffered at the hands of the two zombies, she nearly forgot all about her fallen comrades. She briefly bowed her head and closed her eyes in silent prayer.

Returning to her current predicament, Althea assessed the storage room, panning her broomstick side-to-side like a torch. Within the moderately-sized room she discovered crates of iron tools, blankets, a few stacked wooden chairs, and crates of food. A growl rose in the acolyte’s stomach, and she realized she hadn’t eaten in hours. Althea cast a furtive glance toward the lone wooden door leading out of the room before walking over to the food supplies.

She reached out toward the first crate and saw the full extent of her state of filthy wretchedness. This would not do. The young priestess stripped down from her ceremonial robes, their torn fabric stained with the rancid ichor of her violators. At least the room was warm. A good towel-down with one of the blankets cleaned off most of the filth, but a fine residual stench lingered everywhere it had touched.

Perhaps a small helping of food and a change of clothes might prove an appreciated respite from her tortuous journey. While most of it was dried or otherwise preserved meats and fruits, she found one crate that had a number of strangely warm meat pies. Althea sniffed one of the savory pastries warily, but it smelled as fresh as it looked. At the behest of yet another stomach growl, the blonde acolyte sighed and took a big bite out of the nearest meat pie. What exquisite flavor! Almost immediately, she felt a rush of warmth surge throughout her body, gathering most notably in her loins.

Again, the dark corner of her mind pulsed stronger, and she caught herself with one finger slipping inside her naked, ichor-painted pussy. By the goddess, what was happening to her? Althea brought the wet, blackened finger to her nose and gagged. It stank of rotten meat, and she immediately wiped it off on her blanket towel. In spite of the nauseating odor emanating from her abused pussy, Althea finished the meat pie and let out a petite belch. She covered her mouth in shame before remembering she was alone. And naked. On that note, her eyes flicked to the pair of pale-green, hooded robes hanging on a rack in one corner of the dimly-lit room.

Althea’s hips ached, and fatigue was beginning to set in. Nonetheless, she leaned on her broomstick and pulled herself to her feet with a meek grunt. Upon closer inspection, Althea noticed a familiar icon sewn into the back of the robes. If she remembered correctly, the white skull dangling from a black hooked chain was the icon of Nihilipox the Unclean Sire. The demon lord of disease and undeath.

“Why are these here?” she whispered to herself. Though she felt ashamed to wear the emblem of a demon, it would prove an invaluable disguise if this place was indeed controlled by the followers of Nihilipox. She gingerly slipped her arms into the sleeves and wrapped the sickly, green fabric around her body. Disgust filled Althea’s body. Dizziness made her stumble, but she caught herself with a hand on the wall. It felt as if donning the robe sent a gurgle throughout her stomach.

The blonde priestess pressed a hand to her discontented tummy. Did it feel bigger? Surely it must have been gas bloating. From the meat pie. Nothing more. Althea’s hunger felt sated, so it was time to move on and put this miserable nightmare behind her. She made for the door, grasped the knob, and swung it open just as a pair of hooded cultists passed in front. They stopped in their tracks and turned simultaneously toward the wide-eyed priestess. Each had a dagger tucked into the waistcord of their robes and they each had a baffled expression.

“Who in the infinite layers of the Abyss are you?” one of them asked. Though the hood hid most of their features, this one looked and sounded like a male elf judging by his slender physique. The other looked was a gnome woman who stood no taller than Althea’s knees. She wondered if she could take them in a fight, but she was only equipped with a broken broomstick.

“I’m… um…” Althea bumbled over her words before trailing off. To her fortune, or misfortune, the priestess doubled over with a sharp pang of pain in her stomach. “Nnggghhh…” she groaned. She clasped a hand over her mouth and puffed out her cheeks. A cold sweat erupted across her browline.

“Toilet is that way…” the gnome jabbed a thumb over shoulder down the direction from whence they came. Althea fervently nodded her thanks and sprinted down the hall toward the first hole she could find.

She thanked the blessed mother when it was easy to find. Throwing open the door, she barely made it inside before exploding into a frenzy of vomiting. Black ichor spewed from her lips, spattering the lid of the toilet and pooling on the floor around it. Another lurch rose in her guts, and she emptied the contents in another font of the vile serum. It felt like more of it missed the toilet than made it in, and Althea could swear she saw small, pale larvae writhing amidst the black bile. What if the cultists came to check on her? She had no time to dawdle. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she stumbled back into the hallway.

“That’s her!” the male elf shouted from halfway down the hall. Althea gasped and sprinted as quickly as she could. Purging the foulness from her stomach renewed her vigor, and she rounded the corner. The hallway continued, ahead, but there was also a pair of doors to her left and a third door to her right. If Althea didn’t act quickly, the cultists would catch up to her.