Orland, the plan seems a solid one, but the smooth stones lining the well prove to be much more difficult to grasp then you imagined. You’ve only begun to shimmy your way down the pit, braced with your elbows and forearms on either side, when both your leg and arm slip.
First, we are watching you from above, seeing the slip and watching you scramble for a hold that won’t come. In your frantic grasping you manage to pull a couple of containers loose from their cubbies in the walls—the unseen elements tucked in some of those ‘ladder’ crevices. They look like wooden box frames with walls of chicken-wire. We watch you, as well as the containers, scrape and skid down the pit and into the darkness.
Our next view is from your perspective as you rapidly descend. You may have lost your grip, but you’ll be damned if the royal scots fusiliers didn’t train you to fall well. You use the walls to control your dive as much as possible, landing hard enough to knock you on your arse, but free from any damage beyond the pride.
The two containers you pulled free must be down here as well, though it’s less likely that they fared as well. It’s as dark as sin down here though, and the faint hole of light from above does little beyond keep your directions straight. That’s when you feel something slither over your ankle, gone before you can react. You also hear that rattling noise you’ve likely heard a time or two since arriving in the states.
What do you do?
Amaziah, as we flash back to you and Nora, it's clear that a bit of time has passed. You've been studying these markings for a while, probably 15-20 minutes. They remind you of some Native markings you've seen before, enough so that you're fairly confident these must be indian markings as well. But you can't tell at all what they say.
That would usually be enough to move on, but there's something about them that seems familiar, like an itch at the back of your mind that you can't find. Eventually it clicks--not the symbols themselves, but the pattern in which they're etched--is the precise pattern you've seen before in a warding circle. These would typically be inscribed to keep supernatural things out of a designated space... or possibly within.
Orland will take a moment to catch his breath and listen. Then he calls out Made it down, lass! I recommend an easier method, perhaps He pulls out his matches and lights one, then pulls a candle and lights it.
He stands and checks the Webley to be in its holster.
At least let me get out from under if you are using my method
He stands to the side and looks around.
"Hopefully we can find a pillow here, or something to make the journey down more pleasant for the next time," Huey says, sifting through the room's contents along with Orland. "If someone makes the journey down regularly, he must have a way to do it safely."
Serra would have visibly winced if they could see any more of her than a silhouette. She avoids mentioning that they were supposed to be being quiet - not calling out to one another, but... there was nothing to do there, now. Oh well. People were going to find out, anyway. They always did.
So... she sets off to descending. "Probably a rope." she says in a hushed whisper that only just barely masks the sound coming from near Orland's leg, and even then for only a moment. She figured she could probably figure out the handholds... but didn't want to risk it. And they'd probably be easier to see on the way up, anyhow! Plus... there was light below, now. She was considerably less confident than the other two men as she made her descent, her body straining slightly under the pressure of muscles she hadn't used for quite so long.
As Orland pauses and listens, the loudest noise is the loud rattling from the darkness nearby. Whatever he just felt against his leg is down here with him in whatever this space is. The moment he lights a match, he discovers what.
Immediately upon seeing the flash of light, the coiled serpent strikes out at the hand holding the match. Huey notices another serpent, much darker than the diamond-patterned one striking the scotsman. This second serpent coils in the man's elongated shadow, pausing for a second in preparation of its own attack.
-----------------------------
Huey, as soon as the flickering match-light appears, you notice both serpents (including the second that's prepared to strike as well). The brief glance you have of your surroundings is a tight earthen room, like a tunnel that continues off in opposite directions. To one side, North most likely, there are stacks of small, wood and wire boxes as well as a few barrels. You hear loud rattling from the serpent and smell the strange smoke from earlier much stronger here.
"It would appear, Miss O'Leary, that this place may be some sort of mystical cage or cask. Are you acquainted, Miss O'Leary, with the darker ways of the world? These markings are support protections. They may keep something out, but I rather think that they keep something in. Please touch nothing. We wouldn't want to disrupt them."
Amaziah will continue on, tracing an S pattern in front of him with the cane so as to ward off cobwebs.
Huey was surprised by the snakes, but he didn't lose his composure. He had shot beasts of prey many times before with his gun, but he had never shot a snake, and he wasn't foolish enough to shoot a gun in a cellar, especially one that had a tendency to start fires.
Rather than shooting at the snakes, Huey decided to hold his gun menacingly. If it came too close, he could swing his gun at it, but he preferred not to, considering how poorly he had played cricket as a child. He hoped that his action would instead scare the snakes away.
Once Nora got the lantern lit she'd follow Amaziah into the pit and do some poking around of her own, the markings weren't anything special but this place definitely gave her a bad feeling.
"So what exactly is your connect to this place? Seems like an owner would know what's under their doorstep."
After a short search, and not trusting the suit enough to let him leave her sight down here, Nora would wait impatiently as the man examined the wall markings. She'd find a place that could rest against without any worry of taking down a support while the man finished.
Just as Amaziah finishes his explanation, ending with the admonishment to "touch nothing [as] we wouldn't want to disrupt them," the two push off to explore deeper down the tunnel. The camera zooms in on a portion of the strange markings where it has wrapped around the tunnel to precisely where Nora was leaning. The markings there are now scuffed and worn from the soft earth, no longer recognizable. The bobbing lantern lights shrink out of view, leaving only the ambient light from the open cellar door.
Nora, Amaziah, the two of you continue for several more yards down this narrow path. Eventually your tunnel opens up into a corridor nearly twice as wide, where the ground is worn and packed from frequent and recent travel.
The scent of smoke is much stronger here, in fact the light from your lanterns struggles to cut through the hazy air. There are several tracks at your feet, though its hard to tell whether they come from different sources or simply several trips. There are also at least half a dozen furrows dug into the path as if several heavy objects had been dragged through here is well.
It's difficult to tell direction at all down here, underground, but down this corridor to the right is where the smoke appears thickest. To the left it is more clear. Who knows where either of them lead.
What do you guys do from here?
Serra might as well appease her curiosity by fidgeting around with a hole or two while she's there, I think. Better to know what's in store for them... she'll be careful but she does want to see what's going on with the extra holes... taking her sweet time getting down in the process.
Several of these recesses in the stone walls that line this well, while serving practically as a sort of ladder, also house wire cages--each with some manner of serpent within. There are several rattlesnakes, a handful of vipers, and even the odd exotic cobra. More importantly, you notice that every third recess is empty, serving as a safe spot to find your grip should you need to travel this way again. Reaching into any of the other ones, however, is sure to get one struck by the caged reptiles.
You also recall that 3 is one of the more significant religious numbers as well, giving context perhaps to the strange pattern.
Remembering his years on the trails in the Hindu Kush and the Indian Subcontinent, Orland knew very well the risk that snakes can present in the wild.
He also listened well to Serra - a keen eyed and quick witted lass who had already helped him out of one pickle in this town - regarding her comment to use caution, that something might be down in those crevices.
Rolling to avoid the poisoned condition, adding 1 for survival and +2 for using Serra's warning?
but fails the roll, gaining the Poisoned condition.
Huey was surprised by the snakes, but he didn't lose his composure. He had shot beasts of prey many times before with his gun, but he had never shot a snake, and he wasn't foolish enough to shoot a gun in a cellar, especially one that had a tendency to start fires.
Rather than shooting at the snakes, Huey decided to hold his gun menacingly. If it came too close, he could swing his gun at it, but he preferred not to, considering how poorly he had played cricket as a child. He hoped that his action would instead scare the snakes away.
[dice=Menace (Overcome)]4d3-8+1
Huey's large presence, enhanced by the stretching shadows, sends both serpents winding further up the tunnel; but not before the rattler was able to pierce the sergeant major's arm.
A bit of blood soaks into the man's shirt, marking the spot where he was struck. The pain is mild at most, and for the moment Orland doesn't even feel it as long as he allows himself to think of anything else. There's no doubt that he's poisoned, however, so it won't be long before he starts feeling the effects.
Serra eventually touches down within the tunnel as well, lit with a flickering halo of light from the prayer candle. The smoke is thicker down here, and appears to grow even thicker in the opposite direction the snakes retreated--where the gradual slope of this tunnel appears to go down.
Above, the strange well--filled with penned serpents--also sheds the slightest bit of moonlight that manages to break through the cathedral and the hole beneath the altar.
"Until this very moment, I was unaware of these tunnels, Miss O'Leary. My ownership of The Morningstar is a recent development, brought upon by a run of bad luck on the part of the previous owner. But as they say, Miss O'Leary, where there is smoke, there is fire. What say we find the source of this smoke. I believe it may be incense."
Amaziah motions his lantern towards the smokier side of the tunnel, but he awaits Nora's response. Better to lead by offering rather than appear a tyrant.
Huey looks at Orland's bleeding shirt. "The snake bit you? I hear that it's possible to take poison out by sucking it. I've never tried it before, but unless we have something else to do, that might be the best option."
Well, lucky the bite isn't further down then, eh?
While he waits for Serra to descend, Orland wrecks his brains to determine if there is anything he can do here, such as make a cut over the wound to let more blood flow, or similar.
for a failure
Huey chuckles slightly at Orland's joke and sucks the venom, spitting it out immediately. "It tastes pretty bad. It's a good thing it's out of you."
And where there's fire there's Nora. She thought to herself as the pit in her stomach steadily grew.
"Me and bad luck are well known associates, Let's do a quick search and see if there is anything worth our time down here and maybe let this place air out before coming back."
As the air got thicker Nora became more and more uncomfortable this was the perfect situation for something to go wrong and she'd prefer to be out of the way of this fire. "Let's make this quick, it's likely just some spare storage and you're still paying me."
Orland, you try to draw some of the blood out, but the injury seems to quicken it instead. You know enough about poisons to recognize that this isn't normal.
With Huey's aid, you're able to quickly get a good portion of the venom out of your system. At least the man claims he got quite a bit out, which should at the very least lower it to a non-lethal dose. However, you can't help but shake the feeling that something's still swimmin' around in your blood. Call it premonition, call it instinct, but whatever it is you don't quite feel out of the woods yet.
Serra, you smelled it up above, but the pungent stench is rampant down here. While the others may smell smoke, you can sense the supernatural in it. This is clearly part of some ritual, and the thicker the smoke the nearer you come. Furthermore, it was hard to notice on the snakes as you descended, but you can smell something else unnatural about Orland now, something that wasn't present before.
Serra sniffs at the air, now that they're down below - it's exaggerated, though she doesn't seem to notice. Is the smell a good smell or a bad one?
The five of you delve deeper into these tunnels, pushing through the thickening smoke like curtains that twist and flurry at your touch.
Nora and Amaziah are the first to emerge into the natural cavern, trailing wisps of the fog in a wake behind them as they do. From another tunnel, the trio of Huey, Orland, and Serra also emerge cautiously.
It's likely that even through the scented fog you all are able to at least passively recognize each other. Perhaps a few inquisitive looks and explanatory gestures put to rest the prodding questions of what each is doing here. But this hardly seems the moment to ask directly.
Deeper into the center of this spacious grotto is the source of the smoke--a large fire piled with branches that billow the oddly scented fumes like a locomotive's stack. It crackles and surges on the far side of a large reservoir that covers a majority of the floor. Even through the smog you can see that this reservoir is rimmed with piles of bones, stripped of flesh but unbleached by the sun, loosely piled upon each other as if gathered haphazardly. There are also two silhouettes, largely masked by the cloud, just beside the fire. One is a large figure, waving his arms and cane as if trying to lift the smoke into the surrounding atmosphere himself.
Serra, you recognize the rotund figure without needing any detail that the fog conceals. You can picture the bald head, with the bearlike beard spilling over the man's impressive girth. Your mind's eye fills in everything, down to the man's clerical collar, simply through the recognition of Father Lazarus' outline.
The second silhouette is of a figure beside him, lying flat and rigid upon the ground. It rests just low enough beneath the cloud of smoke to recognize it as a body, but without the details it's hard to say whom.
Further from the flames, it's likely that none of you have been seen yet. Your own sources of light must be masked by the flames so near the other figures; but any careless noise or significant gesture is likely to reveal your presence.
What do you do?
The scent certainly isn't attractive to your senses, Serra. It's reminiscent perhaps of something you've smelled without trepidation before, though you don't recognize where. This time, however, there is a deep corruption in it.
Serra had to know more of what was going on. Staying in the tunnel was good and safe and all, but... something wrong was going on here. And it was completely none of her business. So she had to know more. She slunk out of the darkness as quietly as she could, eyes on the pair lit by the fire and hunkered down.
Serra wasn't really built for being sneaky though, only nosy. Most people had always been at least somewhat forgiving of her nature; small towns always had gossips and know-it-alls, but this was probably a bit... different.
Orland sighs. The lass is moving forward, with the reconnaissance skill of a British Regiment on the move.
Which is to say, without much skill.
He sighs again, unsnapping the holster of the Webley .50 caliber and drawing it.
Something is very wrong here, but Orland isn't going to let Miss Willmore face it herself.
Orland moves up behind Serra, trying to stay low and slow and in the shadows, but he isn't altogether known for sneaking either.
He studies the scene, trying to learn what he can from the clues lying before him.
(investigate +2) - looking for an idea of what is going on here beyond a ritual.
, doing reasonably well.
Amaziah attempts to make eye contact with each of the others, giving them a smirk and a look that says, I'm willing to bet that you folk have my back.
Amaziah steps briskly into the light, forgoing any effort at stealth.
"Gentlemen, it seems most unusual that you are setting fires and butchering folks in my basement. This seems like most uncivilized behavior. Perhaps you could explain yourselves?"
As Serra creeps forward, weaving through the thick smoke as if parting curtains, she notices that hundreds of effigies hang from the roof of this cavern (wherever that may be, up in the smoke). Dangling all around are beaded poppets and wicker or bone trinkets that rattle as you brush against them. Serra becomes so focused on avoiding these hanging baubles that she fails to notice the way the piles of bones gathered around the edge of the reservoir are beginning to swirl and gather.
Orland, however, notices as he quickly follows the undertaker's daughter in an act of chivalry. He too is unable to react in time, but thankful that he's there to lend a hand as several of the remains gather together with mud and silt--forming misshapen humanoid forms, pulling themselves up from the ground.
Amaziah steps briskly into the light, forgoing any effort at stealth.
"Gentlemen, it seems most unusual that you are setting fires and butchering folks in my basement. This seems like most uncivilized behavior. Perhaps you could explain yourselves?"
You can hear the southern drawl of Father Lazarus' voice. It has that silken, sonorous tone that resonates so powerfully from the pulpit. The reverberation of this cavern is no less impressive. "We're a long way from your basement... Mr. Bienville, right?" There's something both discomforting about the fact that he recalls your name from your voice, but also insulting that he acts as if your impression hasn't been strong enough for him to be certain. "In fact, I'd say you're a mighty distance from anywhere you could claim as your own."
As he speaks, the massing figures of silt and bone coalesce, lurching in on Serra before she has a chance to get very close to the father. Rising up around her, three of them grasp at her with muddy claws in an attempt to drag her to the ground.
One, which forms directly between Orland and Serra, quickly flings mud in the Sergeant Major's face, attempting to blind him even further than the smoke already has. This one has a skull of sorts, submerged at a tilt upon the muddy shoulders, as if caught in an inquisitive shrug. A second, unseen effigy grasps at Orland's back as well, hindering is ability to dodge.
All around the lake, like dust devils lining the reservoir's shore, swirl more bones and soil, silently rising from the ground. The five or six directly beside Orland and Serra only seem to be about half of them.
---------------------------------------------
Father Lazarus will not be deterred from his work, no matter how persuasive Mr. Bienville may be. Whatever he's up to, the man appears quite singular in his intention to complete it.
At the same moment, Serra is lost beneath a trio of muddy apparitions. One, with it's long, boney arms dragging along the damp earth, grasps her around the shoulders pinning her arms to her side. The other two likewise grasp at her face and her legs, working to drag her to the ground.
--------------------------
Mud flung by this .... this ... mud spirit?.
But flinging dirt is an old trick in hand to hand, and Orland has seen a lot of fighting in his life!
(which I think is successful at resisting since it rolled a -1 on the attempt to put an advantage)
Orland moves under the spray of mud, then straightens and puts a .50 caliber Trantor bullet from his Webley into the head of the thing.
, but the shot (likely) misses.
Orland's bullet splatters out the back of the spirit with the tilted skull, spraying mud and bone shards into the smoke; but it does nothing to the creature beyond mangling its already unsettling grin. You don't doubt that bullets can take them down, but that apparently wasn't a very vital spot.
Huey hears the sound of a gun shooting, and he runs to bring himself through the Supernatural Smoke to where he can aim better at the priest.
Once Huey is able to see the priest through the smoke, he shoots his gun, and studies the fire next to Lazarus. He knew his gun was apt to make fires; maybe this time he could put the sinister fire under control.
Immediately following Orland's shot, Huey's iron calls out as well, but his is aimed at the ritual fire at Father Lazarus' feet. It seems a rather peculiar place to send a bullet, until the area suddenly ignites in a pillar of fire that reaches to the ceiling of the cavern. The blast of heat fills the room and sends the flaming logs tumbling down into the reservoir where they're doused in a squeal of steam.
Father Lazarus is knocked backwards by the sudden conflagration, but gains his composure quickly. Cursing the now extinguished flame, instead of dealing with the interlopers he squats down to hastily lift this body resting in the dirt beside him. It's an incredible strain to lift him, but the father is a rather hefty man himself, eventually raising the body and turning to face the five of you using the corpse as a shield between.
Even summoning his reserve of personal strength and composure, the body slumps in his arms--too much for the man to hold upright and shield much of himself for more than a second or two.
Well... if she couldn't get close enough to see what was going on, and he already knew she was there, she might as well just ask. Villains liked to talk. And innocent people liked to tell you why they were innocent. So either way, it was win-win. She only had to get him to start talking. Well... there were these... things... holding her. But she wasn't sure of her ability to fight them off on her own by any means. And they weren't hurting her just yet.
Then came the flash of the fireball that was the pyre, sending the gush of wind flying overhead. "Father, would you mind explaining just what in the nine hells you're doing down here?"
Serra, you hear the laughter first, echoing in the cavern as if coming from all around you. You can see the dangling fetishes, almost disappearing into the smoke above you as the muddy creatures drag you down. "Why, I'm releasin' a soul, mah child."
There's a chill that runs down your spine as the word 'child' echoes in that silken southern drawl. "Lester he-ur deserves better than an open coffin and a sign 'round his neck. I'm he-ur to release that soul, in a manner of speakin'. He's part of mah brood, and I do mah best to watch over those given to mah care."
It's interesting that he refers, presumably to his congregation, as his 'brood'. Isn't the term typically a 'flock', as sheep tend to be the traditional metaphor?
Amaziah ambles toward the priest. He brushes his raised cane against one of the carvings, causing it to strike others, setting of a sound like bamboo wind chimes.
"Of course he does. Lester didn't need to be struck down so carelessly. And of course you have your brood's best interests in mind. It seems the problem is that we don't understand."
As Amaziah casually strolls forward, trailing his cane through the rattling, resounding fetishes above, Nora rushes around the right side of the reservoir away from the others. Four of these soil and bone spirits have pulled themselves from the mud on this side as well, but the bounty hunter charges into them, sliding one of the massive knives free from her belt as slashing into the gangly, earthen spirits.
One of the spirits collapses as Nora's blade slices through root and bone. The broken ribcage slumps with the animated mud, and the oddly positioned skull tumbles back to the edge of the reservoir. She also manages to remove one of the appendages of a second spirit beside the first, severing the long bone holding the mass of soil and stone resembling its arm.
..........................
The other three remaining, including the one just injured, lunge over the slumping form of the first spirit Nora removed, attempting to pin the bounty hunter in the same manner as Serra.
On the other side of this stale water, six of the spirits drag themselves toward the rest of the interlopers. Two pairs each try to drag Huey and Orland to the ground. Orland's attacker latches onto his arm with the slumping skull while the spirit at his back slings awkward earthen arms over his shoulders. Likewise, Huey is barely able to unleash his shot the blasts the ritual flame steaming and bubbling into the reservoir before two of his own attackers grasp at his clothes, scraping mud and boney hands against his cheeks and face.
Those that are dragging Serra to her knees, even as she calls out her accusations against Father Lazarus, start to pile on top of her -- digging at her with muddy hands and monstrously misshapen forms.