History check for the scrolls. (1d20+14=27)
After discussing the texts briefly with Reason, Kia hears a commotion down the stairs and runs to see what is going on. When she gets there, she realises that she needs to help. Not quite sure of what the situation is, she concentrates on what appear to be the central figures in the event.
Concentrating on the book, which seems to be the instigating item, Kia assess what would be best to do.
"Don't touch it! In any way!" Arianwyn bellows.
Kia/Reason
Visited by a sudden inspiration, Kia puts the ancient texts side by side and together she and Reason look at them. The runes still say exactly what they always said, but Kia remembers a piece of ancient lore.
With gathering excitement she sees that certain shapes are made slightly differently. If these were not tracings of the originals, she would never have spotted the discrepancy. The full meaning is still unclear, but she is certain that the Rune Stones have not yet told their full tale.
Irriatingly, she has no idea if the tracings are lying in the correct order either.
With fresh questions filling her mind, she grabs Reason and follows the noise of the commotion downstairs. Like Arianwyn before her, she attempts to seek the source of the arcane power and like him is pushed aside to the faint sound of gloating laughter.
Gobi shouts "Folks don't panic, we are trained adventurers and we're handling the situation as well as we can."
Gobi shouts "Folks don't panic, we are trained adventurers and we're handling the situation as well as we can."
Despite his best efforts, Gobi is far from as confident as he sounds and wonders for a second if he's been any help at all.
Roswitha a least is reassured and calls out "It's under control, please keep calm," and her certainty helps him.
Diplomacy to calm the guests (1d20 8=14)
From his place at Kia's side, Reason calls out precise and calm instructions to Seraphiel on how best to help the stricken poet. "Don't touch his clothes and move him away. He should lie flat. Legs raised. Keep his mouth clear and check his breathing."
Trained adventurers?! Arianwyn thinks to himself.
Vel hurries down the stairs into the atrium, dripping wet, clutching her robe with one hand and her orb with the other, and looking testy. Realizing she does not know the entire situation, she uses her orb to delay any arcane energies flowing to and from the book.
The mist twining lasciviously around Narissa's transparent form seem to flinch back as Vel aims her orb at them, her powers possibly increased by her vexation at being dragged from her bath and having to appear in a wet towel.
Despite the efforts of the group, some of the tendrils continue to thicken, and are taking on a more solid form.
Seraphiel pours balm on the troubled guests, understanding that they need information as much as reassurance.
"The Lady Narissa Sul-Malla is in great danger. You may aid her best by staying still and calm." His authoritative tones are soothing and the guests start to look less panicky.
Kia gets that strange feeling at the back of her mind that this may have happened somewhere before and searches her memories to see if anything from her knowledge of history can help to fix this.
History check about books doing this sort of thing. (1d20+14=33)
Something, vague perhaps, pops into her mind and she tries to grasp its significance.
Kia's knowledge does not betray her. There are ways of enchanting books for use as power siphons, but their use is unsafe and often unstable. Typically such books will siphon one type of power only and when triggered, produce an aberrant form of the thing they have taken.
None of the stories she can remember end well, but she's very sure that destroying the book would be the worst thing they can do. Narissa's form is now shifting back and forth into solidity and out again, still held in Whiteclaw's strong arms.
As one of the guests beside calls out "Burn the book!" and makes to leap towards it, she grabs his shoulder, hauling him to a halt before he can draw another breath.
"Don't be so incredibly silly."
"Why is it that all the crazy knowledge seekers cross our path? How come we can't find a quiet scholar who likes tea?" Whiteclaw muses as she tries to pull Narissa away from the book.
Some of Whiteclaw's strength seems to pour into Narissa as the gnoll holds her and she starts to solidify. This time the process is stronger and the mist roils frantically, trying to hold its victim. As her body returns to her, Narissa herself fights back, pulling herself clear of the tendrils and holding on to the gnoll.
"Move away. Now." Staggering to her feet, Narissa pushes Whiteclaw away from the book. A smile briefly crosses her face as she looks at Arianwyn.
"Didn't I say your companions must be extraordinary?" - she glances briefly around the room and notes the addition of Reason and Vel. "As extraordinary as you are yourself, love."
Narissa looks back at the book on the floor, mist still oozing from it, "Something followed me. Our paths crossed as it took me."
Gobi hides a sigh of relief as best he can
"See everyone? I told you we knew what we're doing."
the dwarf then simply slumps as he exhales
Gobi hides a sigh of relief as best he can
"See everyone? I told you we knew what we're doing."
the dwarf then simply slumps as he exhales
Roswitha beams proudly up at him. "Of course you did. You just have to have a little faith in yourself."
"The worst I've ever had to deal with before was calling the Watch then things got a bit out of hand. Is your life always like this?"
Roswitha beams proudly up at him. "Of course you did. You just have to have a little faith in yourself."
"The worst I've ever had to deal with before was calling the Watch then things got a bit out of hand. Is your life always like this?"
"This isn't normal?"Gobi says, "Maybe I should stop traveling with these guys. It's almost never NOT like this. Go figure, I suggested we come here as a vacation." Gobi looks around to see if anyone is in need of his healing aid.
Roswitha looks seriously at him.
"We all have our talents Gobi. If yours is walking into lots of trouble and sorting it out, then you should do that. Mine is making sure people have the right size beds and checking they don't cheat on their bills."
She wrinkles her nose at him and whispers, "... but I wish I really was a weaponsmith, then I'd be able to help you."
Seeing that he wants to be helping, she points him towards some of the guests. "Your tiefling friend is over there with Riordan, but I think some of the ladies might be feeling a bit faint."
Reason is indeed at Riordan's side, working hard to reverse the damage done by the mist.
The whole incident has taken only half a minute to resolve and the guests are recovering. Narissa's hopeful admirer has been watching with bulging eyes. Turning to the intense girl beside him, he announces,
"You see, they're all philistines at heart. When they see great art, they do not even know they've seen it." He stands and applauds, looking straight at Narissa. "Bravo! A majestic performance! May we beg for an encore?"
Not wanting to feel they've misunderstood something, the other guests glance at each other and join in, settling back into their seats. One or two who had been on the way to the door pause and add their raptures.
Narissa looks hopelessly at Arianwyn. "Get them out!" she mouths, her expression uncharacteristically frightened. She glances quickly at the book.
"And how can we continue after such a bravura showing?"Arianwyn says with the air of a showman, "Thank you all for coming tonight, and we shall see you for the next performance, but for now, good evening, gentlefolk, and good bye."
He begins to usher the audience out.
Whiteclaw glances at the book, then back to our multitalented Warlock. "Can we burn it now?" she asks, her tone showing she is entriely serious.
"No, not yet." Arianwyn replies, "It may provide us with a clue to the perpetrator."
Arianwyn
Seraphiel Arcane power pours from the book, as profusely as the thickening mist. Although the trap itself has been triggered, some malign intelligence wants to make sure there are no witnesses. The book itself is not arcane - it is no more and no less than a volume of poetry. It is merely the vessel of delivery of this particular conjuration and this particular summoning.
Somewhat intimidated by Arianwyn's benevolent smile, the guests gather their belongings and make their way chattering through the doors. Narissa moves to bid them farewell, to all intents and purposes herself again. Only Arianwyn knows her well enough to realise the effort she is making.
Her concern is well justified. Even as the guests head for the door, the mist roils convulsively and solidifies into a vile parody of Narissa herself. All her grace and charm is exaggerated, the lovely face distorted, the voice similar enough to be familiar, but with a vile undertone.
"Come to my arms darlings," it rasps.
Initiative 1d20+6=21, Perception 1d20+3=20.
"Embrace death, abomination." Arianwyn snarls.
Arianwyn
The laughter reminds you of Kyleth. As though the ghost of your former enemy was enjoying some joke only she understands.
The departing guests look from the apparation to Narissa and some of them seem to finally realise that this is no performance art.
"Whiteclaw, I suggest you move in and hit that thing before it can do us any harm!"
"Everybody, get out of here. We will handle this!"
Vel performs one of her favorite spells and is engulfed in golden flames, which lick out and (with luck) ignite the muse.
Fire Shroud v Fort (1d20+8=20, 1d8+6=9)
A burst of steam erupts from herself as she does this, leaving her and her robe dry.
The gnoll strides across the carpet and brings a whole new dimension of terror to the Atrium as she swings her battleaxe. The blow is solid, but meets less resistance than Whiteclaw anticipated, passing on through the misty form.
At the other end of the same heartbeat, Vel's trademark flames burst from her orb and wrap the creature in fire. Now dry, but no less vexed, the mage lines herself up for another shot.
Roswitha nods savagely in approval before her proprietorial instincts take over and she gasps involuntarily as the carpet starts to singe. "Could you ... be careful?" she quavers.
Whiteclaw snarls out a word and her axe seems to shimmer with frost and ice, some of the ice likely turning to steam thanks to the flames on the ghost like creature, and then she brings it down once more with a snarl.
Marking the grotesque figure as her own, Whiteclaw's axe swings down, gleaming with frost and emanating cold. The insubtantial being pulls easily aside.
Ranging alongside Kia, Seraphiel draws on a previous incarnation to drive radiant blades deep into the Muse, strengthening Arianwyn and Whiteclaw at the same time.