Serene tries casts guidance defensively on Ukuo
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Aznive draws one of the fans from her belt, picking the one painted with the forest at dusk. These shambling dead are probably too stupid to be tricked, but you never know.
Disguising her movements with a flurry of the fan, she pulls back and aims a kick at the undead's midriff.
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Zoge takes one of his blunted arrows out and fires at the dead
But his fingers slip as he is trying to fix a target so he dose not hit his fellows
"ah, move and give me a target, and you stay back you are not ready to fight the living dead as yet.." zoge commands heavenly roc to stay back from the fray
Aznive and Zoge have some trouble in landing their attacks, but fortunately the rest of the party is prepared to take up the slack.
Phineas strikes with his longsword, flaying meat from bone and leaving his target on unsteady legs. Caladin chooses his target wisely, putting an arrow in the eye of Phineas' victim and sending him to the floor.
Ukou directs a massive slash of his battleaxe at the uneaded Aznive faces, nearly removing the creatures head and splashing gore onto her fine garments.
With only one target remaining, Turan's flurry of blows reduces it to another pile of rendered flesh and splintered bone.
As you turn from your ruined opponents, you find the theater now deserted. It would seem these were not the only group of undead set upon the patrons. Bodies of several dozen dead lie scattered about the room and signs of carnage stretch out of every door in every direction. Screaming, moaning, and the sounds of combat can be heard from every corner of the opera house.
From somewhere nearby a voice cries out, “For Father Grim, for Fel Bustrani, consume them and multiply!”
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Ukou directs a massive slash of his battleaxe at the uneaded Aznive faces, nearly removing the creatures head and splashing gore onto her fine garments.
From somewhere nearby a voice cries out, “For Father Grim, for Fel Bustrani, consume them and multiply!”
"Uhhh...." Embarrassed Ukou quickly grabs a passing Taldan fop's ascot and attempts to dab Aznive clean . He's seen fancy ladies in similar finery complain bitterly at having a dribble of wine spilled on them at the arena let alone a whole combatant!
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The battle seems to be over almost as soon as it started. Aznive looks around the theatre, stunned by the carnage and oblivious of her own state of being. She is startled when Ukou moves in close and starts dabbing at her clothes. She tries to reassure him, as much as herself. "It's OK, Ukou, it's OK." She gently puts a hand on his log-sized forearm to stop him. "It's just blood... From what I'm seeing around me, I have no right to complain. And it seems the time for pretense is over anyway, " she says, as practical matters take over from the shock.
Aznive removes her coat and drapes it over a nearby bench, then rolls up her sleeves. "I'm not sure where that sound came from. But if I'm not mistaken, these poor fellows were on stage not too long ago. Something must have happened to them when they left the stage. Maybe we should check behind the curtains?"
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"It's OK, Ukou, it's OK." She gently puts a hand on his log-sized forearm to stop him. "It's just blood..."
"Uh... Right! The curtains!" And with that the mostly-orc pounds off toward the stage.
It is difficult to pinpoint, but Zoge believes the voice has come from a pair of double doors on the north side of the seating area.
Based on what you observe of the corpses of the undead, these could not be the same actors you watched bungling through their performances just minutes ago. There simply wasn't enough time for them to have turned and made the circuit.
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Aznive looks puzzled as Ukou storms off. What's got into him all of a sudden? One moment he's cute as a kit, and then he's charging off again?
When she looks at their attacker's bodies again, she notices that she was wrong at first. These aren't the actors we saw, they're just dressed like them. Are these imposters? Or were these the actual actors, and were their roles taken in by others? That might explain why the performance was so bad. It also means that backstage might be a dead end for the investigation, if the 'actors' weren't turned into undead after they fled the stage...
Coming out of her thoughts, Aznive notices that several others have pinpointed the location of the voice they heard. She follows them, while shouting to the half-orc making his way to the stage. "Ukou, over there!" she shouts, while making a big motion with her arm to indicate the door she means.
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Retriving his bow and wielding a glaive in hand Caladin surveys the room. Serene lands on his shoulder her tiny head darting back and forth watching everything going on around them.
"I think we should head toward the voice. This travesty of the arts will be answered for!" Caladin full of passion rushes off towards the doorway.
The Pathfinders advance upon the source of the speaker’s voice. A pair of double doors on the north side of the seating area block your view, but as they are opera house doors, they swing upon well-oiled hinges with hardly a sound.
Beyond the doors, a rather plain, marbled hallway is filled with simple granite pillars. The floor is split by a bright green carpet, indicating that this entrance is reserved for commoners when they are allowed to attend. A number of theatergoers fled this direction and now stand together in a pack, pressed against the exit doors on the other side. Some are frantically pulling at the door handles, desperately trying to get them open while others jostle and shove, seeking the safety of the center of the crowd. A woman in relatively simple dress shrieks in terror as a frightened looking man in golden silk robes pushes her toward the zombies lumbering toward them, apparently led by a well-dressed woman in a fur-lined cloak.
The woman holds a wicked looking pick made from a human skull and bone. As she notices your entrance, she brandishes it at you and screams.
”Kill the meddling scum, my minions! For the triumph of Fel Bustrani and the glory of the Grim Harvestman!”
Known as the Grim Harvestman and the harbinger of unexpected tragedy, cultists of Zyphus hold that he was formed from the enraged soul of the first mortal to die a hollow, meaningless death. Each additional accidental death is said to add to Zyphus’s strength, so that some day he will be powerful enough to engineer the death of his most hated rival — Pharasma. The true believers of Zyphus preach that those who are slain by accidents they engineer do not travel on to Pharasma’s Boneyard, but are instead captured by the Grim Harvestman, their souls consumed and absorbed by his malignancy. His cultists are widespread, but relatively small in number — they hold court in graveyards that have fallen from favor or otherwise no longer sit upon hallowed ground. Even in well-used and relatively safe graveyards, it is not uncommon to see carvings depicting Zyphus or his symbol on gate arches or vault roofs, wardings against the Grim Reaper. Zyphus’s symbol is a heavy pick made of a femur, skull, and a sharpened rib.
Surprise Round
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Turan
Aznive
Zoge
Caladin
Phineas
Ukou
---------------------------------Round 1
Turan
Aznive
Zoge
Caladin
Enemy
Phineas
Ukou
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Aznive slips past the gigantic Turan and enters the hallway. She seems to step upon the green carpet only with disdain. Protecting the common folk seems to be first. We have better beaters for that woman, probably. Don't get cocky, yet...
She then moves further into the room, keeping to the left and making her way over to the zombie, closest to the helpless people. Once she's in position (still wielding her fan) she gives the zombie a swift knee to the ribs.
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Ukou rushes into the room drawing his short sword with his free hand while simultaneously trying to avoid the tangle of bodies in the center. He's seen what a wizard can do to a bunched up group of opponents. His battle royale loss to Bruiser the Magic-User still stung his pride--the man could only have weighed 90 lbs.
Zoge fires on an undead foe, but finds his blunted arrow bounces off harmlessly. Phineas and Caladin charge in, making short work of the first zombie. Aznive moves in, followed by Turan and once they get into position, she kicks and he squashes, ending the second.
Now standing alone, the woman in the fur-lined cloak casts at the half-orc fighter drawing near to her, but it fizzles uselessly as his will resists.
Surprise Round
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Turan – moves in
Aznive – moves in
Zoge – fires on zombie, to no effect
Caladin and Serene – charges green for 11 damage / casts guidance
Phineas – charges green for 8 damage, bringing it down
Ukou – moves in
---------------------------------Round 1
Turan – squashes yellow
Aznive – strikes yellow for 4 damage
Zoge - ?
Caladin and Serene - ?
Enemy - casts cause fear on Ukou
_
Phineas
Ukou
---------------------------------Round 2
Turan
Aznive
Zoge
Caladin
Enemy
Phineas
Ukou
A tall, frighteningly thin man of advanced age begins frantically waving to the Pathfinders. He wears the finery of his office, a blue silk shoulder sash over long white robes, and his fingers are encrusted with bejeweled rings. His short, gray hair sticks to his head as if it were bathed in cooking oil and his thick, white beard, meticulously trimmed and shaped, positively glistens with wax.
“Finally, my rescuers have come! I am the one you are looking for. I outrank everyone in the room, your Emperor requires you to save me!”
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Aznive looks at the elderly man with one eyebrow arched. What kind of shouting fool is he? Thinks he can command us like... On the other hand, he does dress the part. Maybe he really is someone high-up. Better play along for now. Hold on, sir. Let these fine folks do their job please."
Aznive moves towards the woman with the wicked-looking weapon, looking for a way to get in behind her. She debates pushing past one of the screaming noblewomen, but doesn't want to cause more commotion than necessary. She tries to gain some momentum on the carpet and then ducks low, using the smooth marble to glide next to the woman, bracing herself against the wall to stop her movement.
Still crouched low, Aznive clenches a fist and unleashes an uppercut, taking advantage of the distraction that Ukou is providing.
Phineas strikes, but misses his target. Ukou charges in, but just misses his slash.
Finally, Aznive slips in behind the woman and punches hard. She goes down, slumping to the floor unconscious.
The man in the blue sash smiles widely as the Pathfinders lay the enemy low. "I am Magistros Sebastus Hustavan, Emperor Stavian III’s consul for the fourth district of Oppara Prefecture. You have done Taldor a great service in saving my life, I assure you. Now quickly, get these doors open so that I can alert the authorities about this attempt upon my life." He speaks with a note of command as one who has enjoyed the privilege of respect and immediately the other patrons turn to do his bidding, struggling against the closed doors.
Try as you might, no one can open the doors to the outside.
"Happily, good sir. If only we could. Do you know how we can open the doors? These seem sealed shut." The patrons continue to struggle to open the doors leading out of the Opera House, but they have grown weary and the door has not budged at all.
Zoge moves to the interior door and peers through into the next room. This vast, empty room is primarily used to entertain the king and his court. It was set to entertain the few royal court followers in attendance for Among the Living, but the advance of the undead has left the banquet in ruins. The red carpet indicates that this room is also an entrance for wealthy non-nobles, it is the entrance your party passed through before the opera began.
A thorough search of the now unconscious woman in the fur-lined cloak reveals a potion of cure moderate wounds, a heavy steel shield, a masterwork heavy pick made from human bone, splint mail armor, and a wooden holy symbol. You also find a crumpled note secured in her belt pouch.
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Aznive gets up from her crouching position, happy with the result of her actions. Still, a bit too close for comfort. Just be careful, ok?
She straightens her clothes as best as possible, quite aware of the gore that's still staining her shirt. While the others search the woman for clues, she strikes up conversation with the consul. "My honor and pleasure to meet you, Magistros Hustavan. My name is Aznive, of the house of Demiral. I am sorry that we won't be able to get you out of here at this moment, but it seems like the danger has passed for now. It seems we got here just in time, to rescue you. Lucky too, that a group of Pathfinders such as ourselves were present for this performance, or things might have ended much worse. As you might understand, we have to move on. There are probably more people in danger. However, I would like to make your acquaintance further on, when all this is over. Maybe we have some business of mutual interest that we could discuss. Could I perhaps be to bold as to ask for an appointment at your office, when things have returned to normal?"
--
When she has concluded her business with the consul, Aznive returns her attention to her companions. "Have you found anything that tells us what we're dealing with? She was rambling something about Fel Bustrani and a grim harvestman... Any suggestions, anyone?" She looks around the group, assessing what she knows of each of them. "Caladin, isn't this your area of expertise? Is she some kind of unholy priest maybe, or necromancer?"
The Magistros reacts favorably to Aznive, eyeing her appreciatively in that familiar way that men tend to around a beautiful woman. Much as she might have expected given her current appearance, save the blood-stains. "Pathfinders! Oh, well that explains much. I feel lucky indeed to have made your acquaintance this night, my dear. If saving my life won't buy you an appointment at my offices, I don't know whatever could. Ha ha ha!" His laugh is a bit forced, understandable, given the surroundings.
The crowd follows with the Pathfinders as they move into the next room. The grand entry hall is a terrible mess, but nothing leaps out at you as you make your way to the doors in the hopes of facilitating the opera patrons' escape. But once again, the doors refuse to budge.