The companions kept silence as they made their way back through the sepulchral tunnels, each noting to themselves that only hours ago, such sights were easily among the worst things they had seen. No longer. Not once they had glimpsed through the portal that lay below. Not once they had seen Vadim King in his other form. Not once they had seen the devilish denizens of hell come to life before their eyes. True, Jozelle had dispatched two of them with ease, but those were minor creatures lost in a world not their own. Hardly an invasion force.
Once sunlight was seen again (blessed sunlight!) the rest of the day was given over to contacting the Captain's men, apprising them of the situation, and rousing the town militia. Lady Ittia pledged her men's swords to the cause. The militia was...less sure. Despite the protestations of Alban, Dalin, Jozelle, and Ren, the mayor clearly only barely credited their tale. Still, there was the massacre at the jail to recall and that, if anything, nerved the mayor's soul. He called for the militia to mount a defense, and so they did, but it was a lackluster one, weakened by incredulity.
Evening fell. The Captain's men stood at the ready high on the hill outside the Bathea mansion. There were about fifty of them there, led by Donato. They were armored in steel breastplates, greaves, and helms. They carried lances, swords, and shields. Some were armed with maces and warhammers. One gripped a mighty, long-hafted axe. Some were gauntleted, and still others had dressed their mounts in chainmail barding. It was a haphazard effect but such is the way of the professional mercenary. Gathered in the town square were Hethton's militia, milling about in lazy lines. Leather armor protected their bodies and short swords and bows draped their persons. Monsters were laughed off as fairy tales, but on some hung the nervous weight of doubt.
Something cracked. The soldiers, wherever they were, looked around at the noise that sounded like the breaking of earth and stone. It was a disconcerting sound, a sound even that should not be. The companions noticed that the direction towards which heads were turned was the direction from whence they had reemerged from below the earth. The great cracking had come from the graveyard. Just as men began to mutter about what it could be, the smell hit them. Warm air and the vile smell of sulfur and ash.