The Church of the Hidden Deep!

The square near the eastern docks of Grunt Harbor bustled with activity, the air thick with the mingling scents of saltwater, fish, and the faint metallic tang of steam-powered machinery. Luther stood quietly behind Lowry, gazing at the enormous tavern that loomed before him, its sheer size and boisterous atmosphere pulling his thoughts away.

This was his first time seeing a real tavern. The ones in Evernight Town were humble establishments; barely more than a room with a few rickety tables and a wooden malt stick nailed to the wall for mixing drinks. They were cozy, unpretentious, and designed for no more than a dozen patrons at a time.

But this? This was something entirely different. The tavern sprawled across an area as vast as a football field, its height rivaling the three-story apartment building standing adjacent to it. The outer walls were stained a weathered yellow, as if the building had been battered by years of sea winds and smoke from nearby ships. Above the entrance, a massive sign hung precariously, swinging slightly with each gust of wind.

The sign itself was painted with a crude, oversized wine glass, behind which were four bold, hastily drawn words in Venetian script: 'Twilight Tavern.' But as the dying sunlight caught the surface of the sign, Luther squinted. There, hidden within the reflection of the wine glass, was a faint but unsettling image, a stylized octopus with a comically round head and a human-like body, rendered in an odd Q-version cartoon style. It seemed entirely out of place, yet its presence felt deliberate.

"How is it, Brother Luther? Isn't this place a marvel?" Lowry's voice broke Luther's train of thought, pulling him back to the present. He glanced over at his companion, who stood by the half-open door, gesturing proudly at the tavern like a merchant showing off his finest wares.

Luther smiled, hiding his intrigue. "It's… impressive," he replied, walking toward Lowry. "This really does seem like the perfect spot for a drink."

As soon as they stepped inside, Luther was hit by a wall of sensations. The first was the noise; a cacophony of laughter, shouting, and the clinking of mugs that seemed to reverberate off every surface. The second was the smell. A nauseating mixture of sweat, stale beer, rotting food, and something indescribably fishy assaulted his senses. He wrinkled his nose but kept his composure.

The interior was chaotic, to say the least. Dockworkers dominated the space, most of them shirtless and coated in a sheen of sweat as they crowded around tables, playing cards with wild abandon. The air was thick with crude jokes and boisterous laughter, punctuated occasionally by a thud as someone slammed a hand or a mug, against a table.

The tavern maids weaved through the throng with practiced efficiency, their heavily painted faces masking whatever irritation they might have felt. Their uniforms were deliberately revealing, and though they endured the wandering hands of drunken patrons, the steady flow of tips being slipped into their blouses suggested they didn't mind too much. Or perhaps they were just very good at pretending.

Amid the chaos, Luther's sharp eyes quickly picked out the more solitary figures. These were the ones who sat in shadowed corners, far removed from the rowdy dockworkers. Their postures were tense, their eyes constantly scanning the room. Smugglers, spies, mercenaries; Luther had no doubt that these were the types who thrived in a place like this. But he had no interest in them for now.

Instead, his attention was drawn to the odd decor scattered throughout the tavern. Everywhere he looked, he spotted the same Q-version octopus motif. At first, it appeared innocuously enough, a small design on a plate, etched onto the side of a wine glass, or painted discreetly on a brick in the wall. But as he scanned the room, the frequency of the image became almost absurd. There was even a tiny octopus figure carved into the back of the stool he was sitting on.

'What is this obsession?' Luther wondered, running a hand over the carving. 'Does the owner have some strange affinity for octopuses? Or is this tied to a church or cult?'

Lowry had mentioned earlier that Grunt Harbor was a melting pot for strange religions and secretive organizations. As one of the most vital ports in the Norman Kingdom, the city's wealth and influence attracted all kinds, from legitimate merchants to rogue priests. Luther's instincts told him that this tavern, with its peculiar symbols, wasn't just a watering hole for dockworkers.

Lowry, meanwhile, had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He was too busy recounting his struggles and triumphs as a dockworker, clearly enjoying the sound of his own voice. "Grunt Harbor's called the Dazzling Pearl of the Western Continent for a reason," he said proudly. "It's the beating heart of the kingdom's economy. But don't let the nobles fool you; this place is no polished gem. Beneath the surface, it's a jungle. If you're not careful, you'll be swallowed whole."

Luther nodded along, though his focus remained elsewhere. He'd already gathered as much from Lowry's earlier ramblings. Beneath its glamorous reputation as a prosperous city of science and mechanics, Grunt Harbor was, in reality, a chaotic mess. And that chaos made it the perfect hiding place for all manner of secrets.

The thought comforted him in an odd way. Here, in this sprawling maze of intrigue and deception, Luther was just another face in the crowd. Unlike Evernight Town, where his every move had felt scrutinized, he could operate freely here.

His gaze wandered back to the tavern's decor, the countless octopus symbols blending into the dim, smoky light. 'A church, a cult, or a secret society?' he mused, memorizing every detail. Whatever this tavern represented, it wasn't as innocuous as it seemed.

Still, Luther kept his expression relaxed, his tone friendly. "This place has… character," he said, raising his mug with a wry smile. "I think I'm starting to like Grunt Harbor."

Lowry chuckled, oblivious to the gears turning in Luther's mind. "Stick with me, Brother Luther. You'll see this city has much more to offer than meets the eye."

'Oh, I'm counting on it,' Luther thought, his smile never faltering.

Luther raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly at Emma's sudden negotiation. He tapped the table lightly with his fingers, a rhythmic sound that matched the muffled din of the tavern around them. The corners of his lips curled upward, amused by her boldness.

"Thirty shillings, huh?" he said, his tone light but tinged with subtle calculation. "I've got to admit, you're a shrewd negotiator, Emma. But tell me this; how do you know I won't just take what I want from you and leave you with nothing?"

Emma flinched, her confidence wavering for a moment. But then she straightened her back, her trembling hands gripping the edge of the table tightly. "Because," she replied, her voice low but firm, "you don't seem like the type. If you were, you wouldn't have bothered asking in the first place."

Luther chuckled softly, a glint of admiration flickering in his eyes. 'Clever girl,' he thought. Her reasoning wasn't entirely off.

"Fair enough," he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing his purse once again. He carefully counted out three more coins, their metallic clink cutting through the air as he laid them atop the original ten shillings. "Thirty it is. Now, tell me everything. And don't hold back, I'll know if you do."

Emma hesitated, her eyes darting toward the motionless bodies slumped at the table. The sight of Lowry and his companions unconscious made her uneasy, but something about Luther's calm demeanor was even more unnerving. His voice carried no threat, but there was an unspoken promise in the way he looked at her; a promise that lying or fleeing would not end well.

She exhaled deeply, her hands trembling as she reached into the folds of her dress. From a hidden pocket, she produced a small vial filled with a thick, shimmering liquid that seemed to shift colors under the dim light. It had an almost hypnotic quality, its surface swirling like molten silver mixed with ink.

"This," she whispered, placing the vial carefully on the table. "This is what I use."

Luther leaned forward, studying the vial with keen interest. "Fascinating. What is it exactly?"

Emma swallowed hard, her voice faltering slightly. "It's… it's called 'Gloam's Veil.' A compound made by the Church of the Hidden Deep. It's not just makeup, it's a form of concealment. It warps perception, hiding imperfections, disguising appearances… or even masking one's true form."

Luther's gaze sharpened, his mind racing. 'The Church of the Hidden Deep?' That explained the octopus motif littered throughout the tavern. This place wasn't just a bar for dockworkers and smugglers; it was likely a front for the church's operations in Grunt Harbor.

"And where did you get it?" he asked, his tone softer now but no less intense.

"I…" Emma hesitated, glancing down at her lap. "I bought it from someone at the docks. They sell it in small quantities to people like me who need it. I don't know where it's made or how to get more."

Luther nodded slowly, filing away the information. "And why do 'you' need it?" he asked, his voice steady but probing. "You don't strike me as someone deeply involved in the church."

Emma's face darkened, her hands clenching into fists. "That's none of your business," she snapped, though there was no real force behind her words. "You've got your answer. Now give me my money."

Luther regarded her for a long moment, his piercing gaze making her shift uncomfortably in her seat. Finally, he slid the thirty shillings across the table with a practiced ease. "Fair enough," he said simply. "A deal's a deal."

Emma snatched the coins quickly, her eyes flicking nervously toward the exit as if contemplating a quick escape. But something in her gut told her that running from Luther wasn't an option, not tonight. She pocketed the money and stood, smoothing out her dress.

"I've told you what I know," she said, her voice quieter now. "If you're smart, you'll leave this place and forget you ever saw me. Forget you ever heard of Gloam's Veil."

Luther tilted his head, his smile returning. "Forget? Now, where's the fun in that?" he said lightly, though his tone carried a weight that made Emma's blood run cold.

Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, clutching her coins tightly.

Luther watched her go, his expression unreadable. Then, he leaned back in his chair, turning his attention back to the unconscious figures at his table. The subtle hum of 'Nawasir,' the living curse embedded in his body, still buzzed faintly in his mind. He could rouse them all with a thought; but for now, there was no need.

The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. The octopus motifs, the strange vial, the mention of the Church of the Hidden Deep; it was all connected. And while Luther didn't yet know the full scope of their plans, he was certain of one thing: tonight's events were only the beginning.

With a satisfied sigh, he stood, his movements slow and deliberate. The tavern's chaos continued around him, oblivious to the storm brewing in his mind. As he stepped toward the exit, his hand brushed against the stool where he'd found one of the octopus carvings.

"Interesting," he murmured to himself, his smile now tinged with a hint of menace. "Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."