Letting the others debate the creature's fate for a little while, Nathaniel instead busies himself with looking for his belongings, which soon enough he does find among the various items stored in the bags. He wastes no time getting dressed before retrieving a well-made backpack containing various knicks and knacks, as well as a pair of belt pouches and a scroll case, from inside a bag. 'Even my coins are here. Surprising,' he ponders briefly to himself before continuing. His thieves' tools come next, and then a nondescript leather pouch, which he fastens to his belt after checking the sling and bullets contained within. A wrist sheath with little gears on it he secures on his left wrist and forearm before placing a dagger in it and pulling his sleeve down over it. And then he pauses as he looks at the last of his belongings.
One is an entirely black hooded cloak with what appears to be an almost heart-shaped silver clasp. He examines it for a moment before putting it on and pulling the hood over his head. He smiles a crooked little smile followed by a sigh of relief as he picks up the second item, that being what appears to be a cane of steel and black wood. There is an almost imperceptible click as he examines it for but a moment before finally its tip touches the ground.
"Whatever this creature is, whatever unpleasantness it had in store for us," he finally joins the conversation, "it is now a prisoner. It is, more or less, helpless and at our mercy. And executing it in cold blood does not sit well with me. It is not responsible for our being in these cells and I am certain it is not responsible for our memories being gone. It is a scavenger and an opportunist and a killer and if we had killed it during the fight? Now that would have been one thing. But this? This, in my eyes at least, is another." He sighs pinching his nose. The void where his memories used to be is an annoying thing indeed. "Bind it in a cell and leave it there. Or let Campre decide its fate. He is, after all, the one most wronged by it and in more ways than one."
"And maybe, just maybe, pass one of those healing potions to Mr. Eventide?"
Hearda watches the debate over the creature's fate, the warring factions in his mind mirrored in his eyes. Maintaining a cold look in his eyes, he takes the blunt end of the saw and raps it smartly against the back of the creature's skull until it no longer moves.
"While this creature deserves what fate we mete out against it, I refuse to wash my hands of its blood!" He exclaims loudly.
Grabbing the unconscious form, he drags it into one of the prison cells and throws it on the floor. Locking the cell behind him he turns to the others. "Now the creature can make its own fate."
Turning his attention to the gear lying in the corner, a flash of recognition as his eyes fall upon a well worn slingpack, laden with various gear. As he runs his hands lovingly over the stained leather. Pooring over the contents he looks for clues as to what he was before. The gear and weapons he sees are all serviceable and well-cared for. As he slips out of the filthy patient gown and into his familiar clothing and armor he experiments with the weapons briefly, awaiting any additional insights but nothing flashes in his mind.
As soon as the lock clicks, the old man sighs, and seems to deflate. His back slumps, his hands start shaking and his walk turns into an unsteady limp.
Quietly he makes his way over to the sacks, rooting through them until a flash of blue catches his eye.
He quickly dons thin, almost decorative armour, a dagger and a bandoleer, covered with a blue cloak. He opens and unclasps a large case, which hinges out into a portable alchemist's lab, then proceeds to take vial after vial from a storage area before clasping it back up.
Finally he takes a walking stick, obviously more at ease when walking.
Feliks suppressed the urge to sigh openly. He should have killed the damned thing at once. Now if he did it, they would think he was a doppelganger. Or that he killed for pleasure. He finished dressing and equipping himself, then produced one of the vials.
"They're healing?" he said, walking over the Campre. "Here," he said gently. "This can help."
Or it woulnd't, but all Feliks could do was try.
Kalas looks at Nathaniel and Hearda with disgruntled eyes, they justify that letting it die in this cell by inaction is different from ending its suggering now. I will accept the majority decision, but I can't help but disagree.
"We do ourselves no favours by suspecting each other of being doppelgangers, but we should be weary of any strangers we meet. Doppelganger or cannibal, neither would be an ally." He speaks his words while following the example of the others, searching out his own belongings. He is instantly drawn to his blade, it is just a tool to combat evil, to kill, but it is mine. He dresses himself in dark cloth, cloak and armour and then belts his blade across his broad back, no one expects you to be able to quickly draw a blade this long from your back. These unnaturally long arms come in handy for something.
Kalas takes a vial of healing potion with a "Thank you," when offered and downs it without a thought, if I don't trust them now I will die in here anyway.
He looks about and questions the readiness of the others, "Does everyone have their gear? I think it's about time we start exploring this place we have found ourselves in."
He looks about and questions the readiness of the others, "Does everyone have their gear? I think it's about time we start exploring this place we have found ourselves in."
"I have the gift of slipping from the gaze of others," Feliks said. "It's how the...thing didn't mark me once I had the keys. Allow me."
Feliks made sure he had all his belongings and then padded off to the west, to be sure nothing lurked there despite all the noise they'd made. Reaching the southwest corner, he peeked around.
Campre takes the potion and takes a hesitant first sip. Then, as his wounds begin to knit back together, he quickly downs the rest of the potion with a satisfied sigh. Thank you... Feliks, right? Thank you. I feel so much better, now.
Garbed in the more respectable tools and apparel of their respective trades, the dreamers stand and breathe a sigh of relief, comforted by the relative weight of their accouterments. Feliks, silent as a shadow, slips south, first, investigating the cell the dreamers find themselves trapped in.
Slowly, he peers around the corner, and sees what appears to be a set of unused cells. Other than a few rats, the cells are completely unoccupied.
As Hearda grips the haft of his mace tightly he feels reassured by its comfortable heft.
Turning his gaze to the halfling opposite him, he moves towards the pile of rubble where the stairs formerly led down here.
His gaze is caught by the small cell north and he slowly approaches it, weapon at the ready...
The old one's face twists up at the word 'magic', but he keeps his mouth shut. He moves over to Kalas, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small glass vial filled with a granulated powder that looks much like ground red glass.
"I have some Styptic here. The vial contains enough to return a man all but dead on the battlefield to life, but it is all or nothing - once opened the vial becomes inert within seconds while exposed to air. There is... some pain. If you need it, you can have it. Or you could use more of those potions, knowing we still have a last resort."
"I can't see how an injury here isn't going to get infected." He looks around their little group and asks with little hope "Does anyone happen to have chirurgeon training?"
Campre takes the potion and takes a hesitant first sip. Then, as his wounds begin to knit back together, he quickly downs the rest of the potion with a satisfied sigh. Thank you... Feliks, right? Thank you. I feel so much better, now.
"My pleasure," Feliks said with a kind smile. After checking to the west, he slipped back to the east and tried to ease open the door a crack to peer through.
Moving quietly Nathaniel opts to follow the halfling. After all, given their circumstances and the creatures and things that are supposed to roam this place's hallways sticking together seems like the smart move.
"Mind if I join you?" His question to Feliks is spoken softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Dvarin ignores any stares that might be directed his way as he gathers his things, flipping through his spellbook to make sure that everything is in order. When he confirms that everything is as it was, he rejoins the others. He picks a piece of rock up from the ground and brings it close to his mouth, whispering something as if he was talking to the pebble, and it begins to cast off light as if it were a torch.
"Are we ready to move on?" he asks to the rest of the party.
The old man shies away as Dvarin illuminates a rock. "Should have guessed" he mutters to himself.
@Amber: your gear is.. oddly... already tuned and invested. You don't need to do anything at the moment.
Hearda examines the rubble to the west. But, the mouldering and shattered stones hold no answers for the mystic. Indeed, short of the sacks containing the dreamers' equipment, there is nothing of interest. He sees the ruins of a door behind the rubble. Once, this was a door leading further down beneath these cells. No longer. The earthquake shook the foundations of the asylum and clogged the opening with rubble. Even if the way could be cleared, the tunnel beyond would mostly like be collapsed.
To the other side, Nathaniel and Feliks cautiously examine the eastern door. The portal is unlocked. Clearly, the good Doctor Scaen had little to fear of its charges running way. They ease the door open a slice, and reveal the empty room beyond. The room is a cellar, or, it was. Chains have been driven into the nearest wall by rough hands. The manacles are slick with clotted blood, but are unoccupied. Wooden stairs rise in a spiral opposite the door, but stones cover the top landing, and the door is blocked. There is no escape that way. To the north, a tunnel, also choked with rubble.
These things, while disheartening, are not what fills the dreamers' hearts with dread. In the center of the room are piled bodies. Many, many bodies, nearly a hundred of them, all wearing the gowns of nurses and doctors. Some have been eaten. Others are in extended states of decay. All have been horribly mutilated. They are stacked near to the ceiling in a tremendous heap. Above them, a metal shaft wide enough for a human to scramble through is suspended from the ceiling. Its edges glisten wetly with blood and strips of caught flesh.
Hearda sniffs the room cautiously, his nose wrinkling in disgust as the smell of the corpses assaults his nostrils. Gliding towards the east door he feels the bile rising in his gorge as his stomach threatens to heave.
One thought crosses his mind, filling him with a growing terror...
Shaking his head silently at the carnage he quickly returns to his previous explorations, giving the north alcove a once over before turning his attention to the south. "Here." He motions for the others standing around the operating table to join him.
"Gods above...I think we've found the way out," Feliks said, sick with the thought of it. "If anyone has a rope I think I can get up there and tie it to something. No reason we should all have to do...that."
Kalas steps through the door as well and finds himself staring at the pile of decaying bodies, it is overwhelming the depth of evil we have witnessed in these short moments. He growls silently against his own unease and reaches a hand back to grasp the hilt of his long blade.
Kalas claps the halfing on his shoulder in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, "I suggest we finish surveying this place before anyone climbs that pile of corpses. After that well..." He shrugs.
Dvarin follows the others into the room with the corpses. He blanches slightly at the sight of all the bodies, but steels his nerves and walks over to examine them. He could not remember for sure--but something told him that he had walked among the dead before.
"Patients cannibalizing each other. And these bodies appear to have been partially consumed, which confirms what Campre was saying. My guess would be undead. Perhaps a cult of Urgathoa has infiltrated the asylum. I don't believe that she usually counts dopplegangers among her faithful--but who knows," he says, as he leans down to examine the bodies. "This would admittedly not solve the question of our collective amnesia. Or why we were imprisoned here in the first place."
Dvarin finds his familiar hiding in the sacks with his things. It seems relatively unharmed, as the minds of animals, dull-witted and without reasoning, are so often immune to such insanity. He regards the bodies, but, while some clearly were mutilated according to some sort of... methodology, they don't appear to be from any religion he's familiar with. Given where he finds himself, it's possible the corpses were simply the unfortunate victims of a serial killer's madness, which often takes the semblance of ritual.
As all regard the shaft, it appears easily climbable. Any with even the most basic sense of balance should be able to scale it.
"I'm not seeing any cultic markings on these bodies. I still would not rule out the possibility of undead, even if it is not Urgathoa's influence," says Dvarin, rising up from the ground. "I can't imagine this being the work of a singular person."
"If we do not wish to risk one of our number journeying up the shaft yet, then my--familiar," he says, gesturing to the serpent crawling out of his shirt's sleeve and winding its way back up his arm, "Can do so. He can make his way up with ease, and will alert me if there is danger above. And he could carry a small item with him, if there is anything you all think that we should place above there before ascending on our own."
Joining the others Nathaniel takes in the sight of the giant pile of dead bodies in various states of dismemberment and decay. His eyes widen and there is an almost audible gulp as well. "What...?" The single word is the only one he can manage until he regains his composure and control, finding focusing on their escape rather than what is in front of them a welcome distraction.
"I do have a rope myself, a silk one. It should be strong and sturdy enough," he offers.
Hearda returns to the others after scouting out the rest of the floor. "It looks like there is a well over in the south room. Perfect in case we get thirsty!" He comments. "Little else is down here. We should..." here he hesitates as he contemplates the gruesome prospect of climbing up the shaft. "...take our time here."
The keen eyes of Hearda's heritage call to his attention the wooden scroll of a viol poking out from underneath the bodies. It is well-crafted of the finest wood, its strings are of the finest catgut. It is truly a masterwork of the art. The viol is relatively unharmed from its position beneath the bodies, although it is heavily stained in blood and other fluids. Curiously, the bow of the instrument is missing.
Hearda runs his hands over the viol enjoying the feel of the wood under his fingertips. Slowly he raises the instrument to his chin and pantomimes holding the bow as if to begin playing. He holds the pose for a moment before slowly lowering it and stowing it away in his slingpack.
"I do not seem to have any musical talents in my blood, but someone surely did! Perhaps if we can find the missing bow it will provide us an answer."
Kalas watches Hearda's actions in something akin to confusion, what use is a bloodied instrument to us? "What kind of answer do you hope to find from an instrument?" He turns away and sighs with resignation That's enough distraction from what must be done..., "Dvarin, send your familiar up to scout for us. If it gives us the all clear it seems we will be climbing a mound of the dead."
"Go," says Dvarin, kneeling down towards ground, his serpent unwinding itself down from his arm and slithering towards the shaft.
The old man is struck mute at the horror in front of him. 'I've never seen such carnage' he thought, then added 'or have I?'.
"Quietly." offers the old man as Dvarin's serpent starts off. "I see two possibilities. Either these bodies were dropped through the hole, or whatever did it is still down here with us. Have it go up quietly."
Slowly, Dvarin's snake works its way up the laundry shoot. It peeks its head out of a metal shaft, testing the air with hits tongue. Dvarin feels fear running through his connection with the serpent. There are predators in the space above!
"Snakes are not usually known for being noisy," says Dvarin, closing his eyes to better concentrate on his connection with his familiar. He sense danger, a churning in his gut, and he opens his eyes again.
"You are correct; there is something up there. I cannot tell what, just that it is a threat to us. We should proceed with caution."
"You are correct; there is something up there. I cannot tell what, just that it is a threat to us. We should proceed with caution."
Feliks steeled himself.
"I'll go," he said, looking at the corpses. He started up the mound, trying to control his stomach and moving as quietly as he could.
Kalas places a hand on the halfling's shoulder before he dashes off, "Feliks! A moment, if there are more doppelgangers up there we should think of some kind of 'passcode' to know you are really you. We hardly know each other after all." After they agreed upon a passcode Kalas will let Feliks make his climb.
As the halfling begins his climb up the mass of bloated corpses, an image passes through his mind...that of him stalking his prey in the blackest of night...using his vision granted by his inhuman heritage to gain the needed surprise to catch his prey off guard.
"I will go next...the darkness will be no obstacle to me" Hearda whispers as you all see his eyes briefly glow red. "Plus I will also give you a passcode so you will know it is me."
Once the halfling has approached the top, he waits for the pile of bodies to stop vibrating before he slowly and gingerly begins his own climb.
Climb, take 10 if possible. If not then
Kalas places a hand on the halfling's shoulder before he dashes off, "Feliks! A moment, if there are more doppelgangers up there we should think of some kind of 'passcode' to know you are really you. We hardly know each other after all." After they agreed upon a passcode Kalas will let Feliks make his climb.
Feliks paused just short of the corpses. Anything to put it off a moment or two.
"Good idea. Let's say... 'In the Light of Black Stars'. No one would ever say that by accident and it's short enough to get through in a hurry."
Deeming the matter settled Feliks steeled himself, again, and started up the corpses.
"An odd phrase to use," Nathaniel remarks with a crooked smile of his own. "But a fitting one I think," he adds, his mind traveling back to a... dream, or rather a nightmare. He then puts both hands on his cane, leaning against it as he waits for news on what awaits them next or for his turn to climb up, whichever comes first. On purpose he does not turn his gaze on the pile of corpses again, not until it is necessary.
The old man leans in to Kalas. "His eyes... did you see them flash red, or am I still half-asleep?" he asks, quietly.
Kalas shrugs half-heartedly, but nods, "Could be a trick of the light, could be some kind of celestial blessing, could be demonic possession. Whatever the case he seems to want to escape this place too so we can use his help, red eyes or not."
climbing over a pile of dead rotting bodies does things to a man... sanity check time
DC 10
Threshold 5 safe
Threshold 3 he takes damage
The two dreamers approach the pile of bodies. Revulsion pulls at Feliks' stomach as he puts one hand on the corpse. It's soft, spongy, as though it has sat for too long in the sun. But, he bites back his gorge and scrambles up on the pile, desperate to keep his touch as brief as possible. Hearda follows, and as his takes one hesitant step forward, his hand punctures through a chest cavity. He pulls it back, gaping in horror at the rotted slime coating his arm. The world spins for a moment, threatening to darken around him, to preserve him from the horror. But, he rallies and hauls himself through the chute after the halfling.
The two dreamers come through a side panel in a wall in what appears to be an old privy. Large wooden tubs with grates underneath for coals stand to one wall. The other side is lined with chamber pots, and heaps of old clothes. Feliks' keen eyes spot movement in the piles as four massive rats, their fur covered in wounds and growths launch from under the rotten clothes. Behind them, Hearda sees a twisted amalgam of animals: batlike ears jut from over glowing pale eyes and a mole-like face dominated by writhing tentacles where its nose should be. Simian hands grip the top of the wooden bath and it hisses at the two dreamers.
At the sound of distress, Dvarin follows the others up the chute, trying to ignore the pile of bodies that he is crawling over in the process. Upon reaching the top of the tunnel, he stops behind the other two, trying to keep his distance, while he begins to chant in a strange, guttural tongue.
Hearda feels the darkness overwhelming him as he tries to wipe the gore off his arms. As he finishes his climb and turns to gaze in horror at the unnatural creatures, he stutters out to those below,
"Ahhh....Uhhhh....Yes, predators...RATS!" The last word rings out in a near panic.
Even as his human side is paralyzed with terror, his orcish half glares back at the monsters and grunts in the eldtritch tongue words that pass easily from his lips...A piece of rubble lying to one side of the room quivers briefly before suddenly flies out at the tentacled monstrocity...
The old man stared at Dvarin as he spoke in the raspy, guttural language.
Perceptions vs Stealth 23
They don't notice Feliks, but they DO notice Hearda
Amber: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8
Dvarin: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21
Feliks: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (14) + 12 = 26
Hearda: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
Kalas: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
Nathaniel: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Oldest One: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Tentacle Thing: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (18) + 0 = 18
Dire Rat: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14
Feliks fixed his gaze on the tentacled ...rat...thing... as he loaded his crossbow, trained it at the nearest rat, and fired.
Gaze on tentacles.
for all the good it did
His mind going through his possible options for what appears to be an unavoidable fight in his very near future, he finds that he does have some magic in hand that could prove useful. The thinking also helps to keep the sight of the pile of bodies from distracting him too much, though it does nothing when his hands finally touch it in his attempt to climb it and join the others that have already gone ahead.