Marth ate a ration which could only be described as a sandwhich, kept preserved by frost salts. He ate with his left hand while practising his chartography with his right, preferring to note the terrain rather than traffic - he left that to the more sharp-sensed drow. For some time, nothing happened, until the elf stirred and brought the hellhound to marth's attention.

Marth squinted in the direction of the hellhound - it was a little far off for him to see with his human eyes, but he didn't doubt the drow elf's eyesight nor knowledge. Marth looked at her and nodded, affirming he was on board with the theory. He made a bold assumption that the woman was familiar with nonverbal military communication - the type often adopted by wandering hunters. He pointed at his eyes and then at the hellhound, asking that Moliira kept an eye on it. He pocketed his map, and began making his way down, stopping only to catch Moliira's attention when he'd advanced far enough. He signalled her to follow once he stopped, having advanced to a position of clean sight lines from which he could cover Moliira. Clearly, the battle-mage was familiar with guerilla tactics.

A single hellhound may prove to be no threat, but there may be more. Either way, it's a good opportunity to establish rapport and develop a mutual understanding of teamwork. This and other strategic thoughts went through Marth's mind as he moved. He wanted to get closer before making the kill - proximity meant accuracy, and he didn't want the hound to get away nor lie in the open for too long. If what Moliira had said was true, someone was systematically spreading daemonic corruption, possibly building an army. The island was nearly impossible to tame, but with demons, it would be possible to carve out a small kingdom - a kingdom which could, in the worst case scenario, act as a springboard for a daemonic assault on the entire continent. This terrible realisation left Marth terrified, and he resolved then and there to purge the corruption from the land, even if it meant burning down the entire forest.

She only nodded, understanding the gestures.  Even in the Umbral Depths, hand gestures were a very useful means of communicating.  Not to mention that some gestures were universal.  Casting a glance behind them to ensure that nothing was following, Moliira carefully made her own way down.  She kept her eyes close to the hellhound's location, wondering why it had emerged from the cave.  It didn't seem to be moving very much, only to turn its head this way or that when the noise of a large creature disturbed the jungle. 

It was only when the hound moved like lightning to pounce on a passing snake did Moliira understand.  It had come out here to hunt.  That only made sense, it would know it needed to sustain its own body in order to nourish the eggs that it carried.  That showed the creatures were either intelligent enough to understand what they were being used for… or they had been trained.  Either prospect was rather terrifying.  And Moliira knew that they would have to both kill the hound, as well as the eggs.  Being bitten by a daemon-blooded spider was not on her agenda for the day.

The beast was close enough to the cave entrance that Moliira knew that would have to eliminate the creature quickly.  Otherwise it was likely that it would alert whatever was still hiding within that cave.  Carefully drawing one of her blades, it glinted a soft blue from the shadows.  She tapped Marth on the shoulder, and gestured for her to make an attack from the right.  She then indicated that she would circle around behind the hellhound, and cut off its route back into the cave.  The sword should be indication enough that she intended to get up close and personal with the beast.

Marth kept observing as Moliira advanced, not taking his eyes off the beast before the elf was right next to him. As she tapped him, he saw the blade, and her gestures. He nodded at each gesture, before gesturing back to double-check. I attack from the beast's right. You circle around to intercept escape. Got it. He wasn't as good at stealth as the elf by any means - he was human, and a mage at that - but by keeping his distance and moving slowly, he managed to avoid detection until he was in position. The hound seemed busy eating - it would seem it would be hunting for more after it was done, as it hadn't re-entered the cave yet - so Marth took some time to check after the elf.

Small problem. Marth couldn't see her. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised - she was drow, and a skilled hunter - but without sight lines to his ally, Marth hesitated to launch his attack. What if she isn't there yet? Marth got a little nervous, and suddenly the sounds of the forest amplified around him. The chirping of birds seemed sharper, more hostile, closer. The wind rustling the leaves sounded like stalking predators. Marth soon found himself anxious, almost overcome by stress, holding still only thanks to his training. A sound to his left startled him, and he made a sound. The hellhound suddenly looked up, intrigued by the noise. For a horrifying second, Marth froze in panic.

Then, a movement. A dark form in the foilage behind the beast and a flash of metal. Seeing his companion, Marth's mind snapped back into focus. Ambient noises faded to their natural states, and Marth's intellect once again won out over his troubled subconcious. He made a growling noise to keep the hellhound looking in his general direction, so Moliira could move to an even more advantageous position. When he saw that the beast had no chance at getting back into its cave alive, Marth rose up from the greenery, and aimed the butt of his spear at the hellhound. Startled, the beast couldn't cry out before the bolt of electricity struck, and it siezed up from the shock. Marth bounded out of the trees with the Guardian Dragon Lance shining brilliantly with holy light, but could not reach the hellhound in time. While its movements were sluggish, Marth couldn't hope to reach it before it managed to stumble back into the cave, where its cries could be amplified and heard by the other inhabitants.

Then again, thanks to Moliira, he didn't really have to.

He was a quick study, which was quite useful to Moliira.  Though she had somewhat forgotten that humans had a harder time tracking movement, she could see Marth perfectly well.  And she waited.  Shifting a branch so that he could see her location, she waited for him to attack first.  Moliira wanted the hound to be distracted, knowing that her speed would be greater.  And Marth did just as she hoped.  Sprinting from the shadows, the drow had her sword drawn before she reached it, slitting the beast's throat before it could stumble back into the cave.  With a quick reverse stroke, she beheaded the beast, and it crumbled to ash.  Even the eggs it carried popped, released a foul stench of sulfur.  "Well done.  One down, who knows how many to go.  So long as we are careful though, we should be able to handle it," she said in a low voice. 

Studying the cave for a moment, she closed her eyes.  A creature born of the winds curled around her wrist, a serpent with opaque eyes.  It looked to her and nodded.  "I go ahead.  I see for you.  I show you the way!" it whispered to them both, and headed into the mouth of the cave.  Moliira followed, trusting that Marth would come as well.  She moved carefully, noticing the webs that seemed to be all around the ceiling.  They were not particularly thick here… but they seemed to grow the further down they went.  But there was still something that bothered her.  "I would have thought that we would have encountered something by now.  But I cannot even sense a sentry," she whispered to Marth, sounding puzzled.  It was a strange state of mind for the drow.

But the faint stench of taint was growing too.  It was something she remembered well from her days in the Depths.  "We should be careful, I can sense the demons' strength growing.  Perhaps they are all gathered below?" she suggested.  Perhaps they thought themselves secure in their isolated cave, away from civilization.  And for the most part, they were right.  It was only a fluke that Moliira had found the island's taint in the first place.

Marth followed Moliira into the cave, finding himself impressed with her arsenal of handy tools. The serpent looked to him like some kind of familiar, but Marth had never encountered a speaking familiar before - at least no familiars speaking any human or humanoid tongue. He nodded as Moliira expressed her surprise at the lack of resistance. “Seems plausible. If they’re breeding something, it makes sense to have all the young and all the adults in one place, like a hive.”

Marth tried to hide it, but as the pair went deeper, and the taint became more pronounced, Marth grew ever more nervous and fidgety. He didn’t like the feel of this place - it made the cackling voice of Reaver sing in his mind. Demon hunter, down you go! Demon slayer, down below! To my foes and to my kin, you’ve no clue how deep SHIT you’re in! Marth tried to ignore the voice, but it became increasingly difficult as unholy magic grew denser. He tried to keep it in, tried to restrain himself, but the pressure of the darkness was smothering. Finally, he grabbed Moliira by the shoulder, his face deathly pale.

“Halzyne, I should tell you… Unholy magic… Doesn’t bring out the best in me,” he said, his face twitching with the effort of fighting his nausea and the voice echoing in his head. “I’ve honestly never experienced corruption this bad. If it gets much worse…” Marth let the implication hang in the air. It was plain that he was not feeling well - what was more, Marth was also afraid of what the corruption might unleash. Reaver had never well and truly taken over, but Marth was far from certain it would remain that way.

The full extent of his terror was not shown on his face, but his breathing was becoming more rapid. “I’ll continue, but you should keep your distance,” he said, his gaze a mix of anger, resolve, and fear. “Just… Try not to kill me. If I get aggressive, it will subside with a little time.” Of that, Marth was certain. Reaver’s presence grew stronger with time, like a kettle boiling over, but Marth knew that he would eventually regain control should the demon be allowed to blow off some steam. Three months dead and the creature still dominates my life, Marth thought bitterly. He then looked back at Moliira, awaiting for confirmation, but dreading rejection.

The idea of a hive made sense, and it correlated with what she remembered of her own people.  Especially given the fixation on arachnids.  "And it is quite likely we will find… cocoons.  Things in them.  We may have to do unpleasant things," Moliira said.  But that part she wasn't worried about.  There was something about the whole set up that she found bothersome, though the drow had a feeling that her questions would be answered soon enough.  And likely in a very unpleasant manner.  Her face twisted into a slight frown, there was something that felt very wrong here.  Even beyond the normal cultist activity.

Her companion only confirmed that thought.  She could see the look on his face, and Moliira could only guess at the reason.  "It will get worse… but I think we are getting close.  Here.  Breathe through this," she said, passing him a scarf.  It was woven of spiders' silk, and it would keep the air-bourne corruption from entering his body.  For her, a small air cantrip kept her own breathing safe.  It wasn't a lot, but sometimes the smallest of things could help.  "I will not kill you, unless I am left with no other options.  You have my word, Marth," she said, her voice low and calm.  She was beginning to get an idea to what might be going on.

And it was around one more bend that she got her answers, at least to the first question.  There were cocoons of spider silk everywhere, all moving a strange pulse.  All the webs ran along the ceiling of the cavern, connecting to a monstrous lump of silk in dangling in the center.  To her right, she could just make out the barely visible black-purple of a portal to the deep regions of the Hells.  It made her skin crawl.  But where were the cultists?  A spider-demon plucked one of the cocoons from the ceiling, sliced it open and pulled a human out.  Male or female, Moliira couldn't tell from her.  But the demon slit its throat and hurled it into the portal.  Then she understood.

"The demons are using the cultists to power their gate…  They underestimated the powers they summoned.  So now the cultists feed their gate.  We have to shut it down," she whispered, low and urgently.