His suspicions reinforced by Rhia's guess, he steps back and draws, nocks, and looses in a single smooth motion. A second arrow quickly follows the first as he targets the same sack his companions had attacked.
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Sookie frowns at the horrid shrieking. When Rhia suggests what it could be, "Whatever it is love, I'll give it something to bloody whine about..."
She thrusts her spear into the sack.
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Aliseya's eyes open even wider and her jaw drops as the besacked creature shrieks. She almost shrieks herself in reaction, but her eyes glaze over instead...
'Submit!'
...yet with a sudden jerk, she appears to break out of her haze a split second later. She looks back at Rhia with a puzzled expression. But she closes in anyway on spotting her hand motioning for her to come in closer.
Her own gesturing hand begins to emanate a green-white effervescence. She speaks in the strange dialect her violet-eyed alter ego has spoken before. It's alien yet calming cadence soothes everyone's spirits,
"Verndaðu hana, miklu frú stjörnanna, gegn öllum skaða og illu. Leyfðu henni að láta sig dreyma."
As she touches Naught's shoulder from behind, the effervescent energy transfers to her body. It encircles her form, forming a shimmering translucent field. The storyteller is left feeling a barely describable sensation: as if her love's loving and protective presence has somehow touched her own soul, then manifested as a protective barrier.
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"Whoa..."
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Rhia's eyes narrow as Aliseya suddenly snaps out of her trance and passes her a puzzled look, the ghost whisperer's quick mind putting together the reaction with the additional effects of her protective circle.
Interesting
As the sack barely attains a few inches of levitation, the companions are swift to attack the shrieking horror...
Naught pounces upon the bag first, striking it twice. Her first claw makes purchase with flesh beneath the old burlap. Her second claw tears at the sack itself, swiftly shredding the dried out material.
And as the ancient shreds of burlap fall to the ground, you see it...
The head of a decapitated woman rises, with strangely glowing red-golden eyes. Her face, perhaps once human, perhaps once attractive even, is deeply marred by the signs of rot in her gray and very dead-looking flesh. A full head of hissing serpents serve as her hair.
Its shrieking is stopped as its flesh is ripped by the storyteller's claws. Instead, as its glowing eyes adjust to the light, it glares menacingly towards Naught, baring its sharp teeth.
Before it can try to bite her, a swift somersault places Zelda behind the head as her rapier simultaneously pierces through its jaw, exiting its cheek.
As Rhia's and Aliseya's enchantments are worked, two arrows and a spear finish off the head before it has a chance to even react. Its glowing eyes fade as its hovering form loses all unlife to true death, once again. It hovers above the chest now only from being skewered upon Sookie's spear.
Yet before the companions can take a breath, a second bone-chilling shriek fills the air! The second sack now rises, with its own pair of glowing reddish-gold lights.
Medusas are human-like creatures with snakes instead of hair. The product of terrible magic, they are avaricious, lustful, and driven by the need for vengeance. At distances of 30 feet or more, a medusa can easily pass for a beautiful woman if she wears something to cover her serpentine locks — when wearing clothing that conceals her head and face, she can be mistaken for a human at even closer distances...
But it appears that this medusa was slain by decapitation. And a very long time ago...
Her head was raised by foul necromancy, ascending from death to the false life of undeath. It is difficult to ascertain its abilities with knowledge of natural creatures alone...
Tales of the beheaded are rare, but haunting. The floating skulls or severed heads of those whose bodies have long since abandoned them, either in the moment of death or long after, appear in a number of legends. Reanimated via dark magic, these horrors silently hover at about eye-level, often making them the last thing a hapless victim sees. Beheaded may attack in a variety of manners, from slamming to violently biting their victims. Some even have poisonous bites...
A medusa head has a unique bite ability:
Petrifying Bite (Su): Creatures bitten by a medusa head must make a DC 14 Fortitude save or turn to stone for 1d4 rounds. Targets immune to poison are immune to this effect. The save DC is Charisma-based.
This particular beheaded additionally has a variant ability, the scream:
Scream (Su): Once every 1d4 rounds, a screaming beheaded can open its jaw and emit a bone-chilling scream. All creatures within 30 feet must make a Will save or be shaken for 1d4 rounds. The save DC is equal to 10 + 1/2 the screaming skull’s racial HD + the screaming skull’s Cha modifier. This is a sonic mind-affecting fear effect. Whether or not the save is successful, an affected creature is immune to the same beheaded’s scream for 24 hours.
Concerning the creation of beheaded:
The necromantic secrets to creating a beheaded abomination are rarely known or employed. A necromancer might create and employ beheaded in multiple ways. Any form of beheaded can be created from a severed head of the desired creature. The spellcaster must cast the spell animate dead using an onyx gem worth at least 100 gp, followed by the spell fly on the head to be animated. The creator can only create a number of Hit Dice of beheaded equal to the amount allowed by animate dead.
Beheaded more broadly may additionally possess variant abilities (i.e. screaming, burning, belching, grabbing), though for the purposes of how many can be created, they are treated as if they had one additional Hit Die for each additional ability. Beheaded count against the number of Hit Dice of skeletons or zombies that can be created using animate dead and vise versa.
Long attuned to the effects of fear generating monsters, Rhia strikes at the rising second head in it's sack, with barely a flinch at the shriek. "Whatever you do, don't let it bite you, you could turn to stone!" she yells over the horrendous cacophony.
Already unnerved on what they are fighting, actually finding out what they are fighting does little to bolster they Storyteller upon hearing the shriek, causing her ears to flatten against her head.
Shaking she lashes out frantically at the floating head.
Undaunted, Sookie takes a couple of stabs at the next flying head. Unfortunately, it proves more agile than one might expect from a floating head in a sack.
Annoyed by the grating shriek, Aliseya's brows furrow. Her head tilts to one side, as if listening to someone whispering in he ear... who does not appear to actually be there...
She then begins speaking in the soothing old language.
"Gráa kona, megum við hafa hugrekki og staðfestu til að mæta og sigrast á óumflýjanlegum erfiðleikum sem eru á undan okkur."
Raising her hands as she speaks, her eyes glow violet for a moment. A sparkling ethereal essence of translucent violet materializes and lingers around her friends, uplifting their mood and resolve.
The floating sack ceases its shrill shriek as it dodges back from the ghost whisperer's ancient spear. As it does so, its serpentine hair's writhing slides the old burlap off, revealing for certain another hideous, decapitated medusa head.
Yet its dodge backwards only added more momentum to land forcibly into the duelist's rapier from behind. Zelda's blade makes gruesome purchase into the back of its skull, with a sickening snapping as a few tiny skull fragments jet outwards. Serpentine hair around its entry point hiss viciously back at her. The head shrieks again, this time out of rage, pain, or both.
Neither her short sword, nor Naught's mad claws, nor even Sookie's trained spear thrust manage to hit the levitating creature as it more carefully evades them from the air. Rising higher and turning around to face the blonde duelist, the hideous medusa head tries to bite her in the face. Fortunately, the agile blonde dodges its fanged mouth with ease.
Surrounded and wounded, the floating head attempts to fly up and north towards the shelves for cover. But the companions are quick to swing and stab as it flies by. One of Naught's claws gashes a chunk of desiccated flesh from its cheek, revealing a dry cheek bone underneath. Before it has a chance to even react, Zelda's rapier tip pops out one of its glowing eyes from behind... after her blade pierces the back of its head a second time, now all the way through.
The head lets out a dry croak. Its mouth remaining agape as its remaining glowing eye fades to dark. The serpentine hair shivers a moment, and goes limp. The weighty head slowly slips off of the duelist's rapier with a disturbing swishing sound. It thuds to the ground lifeless and reanimated no longer.
One is left to wonder for how long these two ill-fated women's heads have endured unlife. Or for how long they rested in sacks in the ancient bronze chest.
How many years? Or... decades? ...centuries?!
"Well that was a new one....animated mummified medusa heads." Rhia says shaking her head. "That old man's work truly needs to be brought to an end." she says with an edge of steel to her voice.
Aliseya relaxes as the second medusa is put to eternal rest, again. Shaking her head as she stares at the two motionless heads, she can barely respond to Rhia.
"I... can't even."
Then, she suddenly tenses and looks nervously around at everyone for a moment. Realizing that nobody else heard the voice in her head, she relaxes once more...
"Shhh."
Stepping back, she whispers low to herself when noone is looking at her...
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”That... was unpleasant,” Naught says as she stares at the heads while her hair writhes in agitation.
The spine-chilling shriek froze Christoph in place. You left them... Those long dormant echoes always lurking in the back of his mind broke from their constraints and froze the trained hunter in his place. The quick dispatch of the creatures barely registered as the inquisitor finds himself lost in the dark crevasses of his mind.
The chatter from his companions finally breaks Christoph free of his self-inflicted paralysis and he draws a shuddering breath. "Ah... good. They're dispatched. The man's a necromancer to boot..." Christoph seems to find some resolve. "If there was any uncertainty before, there isn't now."
Surveying the rest of the party, he asks, "Right, no more threats behind, I hope. To that other room we left?"
"Yes, let's take care of that next."
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Distracted from her inner conversation, Aliseya overhears Naught. With sympathetic eyes, she comforts the storyteller knowingly, holding her writhing-haired head to her own bosom for a moment before moving on.
As the companions begin to move out, Zelda looks around one last time. She notices little more than what was noticed earlier. The room is packed with a lot of dusty crates and boxes, and dusty shelves holding more crates and boxes, with a few old chests lying about. It seems to be the count's attic or storage room, where thing he's not looked at for a long time have apparently been left to gather dust.
The companions head back out through the storeroom's door way. They stand once more in the square hall of aerial creatures' remains. They spot the ladder leading under ten feet up to a ceiling trapdoor once more.
Sookie takes the lead again, and begins to make the climb up. Yet as she does so, something rubs Zelda the wrong way...
She notices a tiny hole in the ceiling. So tiny, you had to be staring at the ceiling to even notice it. And then, she spots the second hole... and the third. The holes are spread out along the edge of the room's ceiling.
'Odd,' she thinks to herself. Looking down at the floor, her precision vision spots several minuscule specks of saw dust. Fresh. And right below the ceiling holes.
Her eyes light up as it dawns on her...
Meanwhile, the therapist-knight reaches the top of the ladder by now. Naught and Christoph are right behind her. Sookie reaches out to open the trapdoor above her...
And Sookie is about to open it!
Naught's hair writhes in confusion then contently at the affectionate gesture from the dancer. "Thank you, this is much appreciated," she says in a muffled tone.
‘Tis the last Moonday of the month of Calastril. A brisk chill is in the air on this fine late winter night. The clear blue skies of the day have now darkened as the cold night is upon you.
A young human-looking lad with pointed ears enters the west gate of Lepidstadt. He walks briskly with purpose down the busy capital city of Vieland’s main streets, taking in the sights and smells of the big city with wonder. He’s made good time, considering it took about four days to make it from the small town of Ravengro far south. Hitching a wagon ride here, a river boat there, and walking wherever he could do neither, he has, at last, arrived.
Parting ways with his final traveling companions, the young traveling man makes his way to the central hub of the city, as Miss Lorrimor had instructed. He finds the hussle and bustle of crowded pedestrians, wagons, and mounted riders quite invigorating, if a bit overwhelming on these lamp lit streets at night. It was a far cry indeed from his small childhood village and the simple farming life back in Andoran. And likewise for the many small towns he and his aunt had visited and entertained over the years. But it was not so alien an experience for one who has also spent time in Magnimar.
Making a right down another wide and busy street, at last the traveler thinks he spots the fine town house he’s looking for. Double checking the address, he approaches and knocks upon the front door.
The judge's manservant answers: a middle-aged gnome, dressed formally in a tux and bow tie. Looking up at you with elite airs, he formally bows and asks,
”Good evening, sir. Might I enquire as to your business here at the Honorable Judge Embreth Daramid's home at this rather tardy hour?”
Istivan gathered his cloak around him against the chill as he makes his way through the city streets. With a cautious eye he scans the alleyways for never-do-wells that may harbor ill-intent. At the same time his performer-trained ears listened to the sounds and mood of the late-night city.
Here's hoping for a warm fire soon
Istivan pauses within sight of the Judge's domicile, moving into the shadows of an alleyway.
No need to be turned away as a vagrant begger he thought with a wry grin
His hands trace a pattern as he murmurs a few words then holds still as mud drops from his boots and the travel stains fade from his clothing. He starts to leave the alley, frowns briefly, and with a shimmer his sturdy linen shirt transforms into a silk doublet of blue slashed with grey stripes.
Adopting a confident stride, Istivan crosses to the Judge's door and raps his fist against the door. Looking down at the well-dressed gnome, Istivan assumes a pleasant expression as he listens to the inquiry.
Istivan bows with a flourish of his cloak, when he rises he is holding Kendra's folded letter of introduction before him.
"Pardon the intrusion at this late hour, good sir, but I come upon business most urgent from Ravengro at the behest of Kendra Lorrimor and I fear I must impose upon the Judge despite the late hour"
The gnome sees a man with the tell-tale slightly pointed ears of a mixed breed human and elf peeking through his auburn hair. The gaze of his grey eyes are steady set in a tanned face wearing a patient expression. He has a good silken tunic that is of better quality than the rest of his clothing, which is servicable and clean. A scimitar hangs from his belt at a low angle and a short bow is unstrung next to a quiver of arrows and a traveling pack.
As Istivan moves down the streets, he overhears bits of different conversations in passing that seem related to a recent city controversy. Apparently, there was a trial that somehow went awry. He overhears repeated mention of an escaped "beast" by several passers-by. Colorful adjectives, such as "accursed," "foul," "murderous," "wicked," and even "demon-spawned," are paired with this term. He also catches mention of "the witch" or "the demon-witch" on a few occasions, and "her minions" who've either gone missing or skipped town since the trial's conclusion. Additionally, there are a few mentions of needing to "watch your back" and to keep watch over the children.
Perhaps Judge Daramid heard the case herself? Either way, she may know more about this trial.
At the front door of the fine townhouse, the formal manservant scrutinizes the urgent traveler before him as he states his business. He raises his monocle to one eye, looking Istivan up and down with a furrowed brow. He continues to do so for a long moment after the traveler finishes, leaving him holding his extended arm outstretched, letter still in hand.
Taking the letter at last, he unfolds it, and begins to read it for a long moment.
"I see," he replies at last, eyes still fixated on the letter. "Do pardon my examination," he adds, almost as an afterthought. It's apparent he's done this and spoken these words on many previous occasions. "It is my duty to look after the honorable magistrate."
"Please, do come in sir" he invites the half elf in, looking back up at him now. Opening the door fully, the manservant moves to one side. While still holding the door with one hand, he flourishes another bow, motioning for Istivan to come inside.
Inside the rather elegant foyer, the manservant offers to take Istivan's coat. He then proceeds to lead him up a winding marble staircase in the rather posh townhouse, passing by a warming fireplace up to the second floor living room. Before taking his leave with a formal bow, he motions for Istivan to, "Please take a seat, sir. Judge Daramid shall be with you shortly. Would you care for a brandy? Or a cup of tea, perhaps?"
Judge Daramid's living room is an elegant Victorian room. It features a chandelier above a marble central table, surrounded by a comfortable leather couch and matching chairs. Three windows face the eastern sky, with a scenic view of more fine town houses across the street, warmly lit by the street lamp lights on this chilly evening. A grandfather clock ticks away as the time passes.
The manservant then takes his leave, presumably to fetch both his guest's drink of choice as well as the judge. He brings the letter with him.
Odd, for a judge to have the wrong time set...
Istivan waits patiently under the scrutiny of the gnome and again as he reads the note. He had not missed the monocle and the intensity of his gaze, nor his lingering gaze on the blank section of parchment.
That monocle is enchanted to detect magical auras, I would bet on it. It also would make sense that Miss Kendra would leave some sort of Arcane Mark or signature upon the letter. Pretty handy all in all. Istivan thought.
"Of course, the honorable magistrate's personnage and time are most valuable, your vigilance is a testament to your employer." Istivan said as he stepped into the foyer, sweeping his cloak off and proffering it to the waiting gnome.
In silence he followed his guide, enjoying the heat of the passed fire as it seeped into the tip of his nose and stiff fingers.
Istivan admired the view through the windows, responding "A knuckle of brandy to shake the chill, thank you." he said with a smile before settling into one of the chairs as the gnome left, stilling his thoughts.
"STOP! IT'S A TRAP!" Zelda yells!
Everyone freezes in place for a long moment. Eventually, and carefully, Sookie slowly lets her extended hand return to her side. With a sigh, she descends back down the ladder.
The trapsmith ascends it now. She takes a careful look to better ascertain the situation, and confirms her initial suspicion: there are indeed the markings of a tripwire on the inside of the trapdoor.
"Probably a poison gas cannister in the room above," she thinks aloud.
Retrieving her fine set of precision tools, she takes a pair of very thin wire clippers and very thin pliers out. With extreme care, she begins to work at clipping the wire behind the doorknob by slipping her tools in the narrow crack between wall and trapdoor.
She's so focused, she barely realizes that Aliseya climbs up under her, speaks a prayer to Desna, and touches her boot. Ali's effervescent energy imbues Zelda with even more focus.
The faint sound of a snap is then heard. She successfully snips the wire, disconnecting it from the trapdoor, while still holding it through a crack in the trapdoor with her slender pliers. She then manages to finesse the cut wire to slacken it back, and pulling it through the trapdoor. She renders it harmless by pasting it to the wall beside the trapdoor.
Breathing a sigh of relief, "Whew! That was close..."
And then, just as everyone relaxes, the sound of another wire faintly twanging is heard as Zelda opens the trapdoor.
'Two tripwires!?!'
The faint sound of gas streaming in is now heard. The aerial curios begin to fizzle as a noxious cloud swiftly fills the chamber! Everyone begins to feel overcome by strong burning sensations over the exposed areas of their skin, burning their eyes, and causing coughing from burning in their lungs as well! To add insult to injury, the air becomes so dense so suddenly, your movement is slowed, almost as if walking through water.
Coughing and wincing slightly at the burning sensation, Rhia falls into her customary role, ushering others out first before exiting, herself.
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"Bloody nine hells," Sookie scoffs as the gas begins to hiss in.
As Rhia tries to usher the tweed-clad knight out, she's having none of it. She instead valiantly lifts Rhia up off her feet into her arms, and rushes her out of the room instead.
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Ali's eyes open wide with fear at the sound of the trap going off! A hand instinctively palms over her gaping mouth as she looks around at the others, wondering where to go or who to help first. Her indecision leaves her to do nothing but begin to cough and rub her eyes.
Fortunately, Naught scoops up the dancer in her arms and rushes her right on out.
"Very good, sir." The magistrate's manservant formally nods as he walks over to the elegant-looking bar at the far end of the room.
A moment later, he returns with a fine brandy in hand. After you take it, he says, "I shall check on the magistrate now," and formally takes his leave back down the stairs.
As you wait a good five minutes, you look around and notice that the grandfather clock is one hour ahead of its time. Though its hands read nearly half past eleven, you feel certain that it's only around half past ten.
Odd, for a judge to have the wrong time set...
As you observe the ornately engraved cedar wood longcase clock, you notice that the twelve hours are actually represented by strange pictoral sigils rather than common numeric notation. Though you can't read what these sigils might mean, you do sense they're ancient.
The clock must be very special. And, very expensive...
You then notice something else of peculiar interest. An interesting symbol is engraved into the bronze clock face or dial. Above a symbolic pyramidal shape hovers a beetle... more precisely, a scarab beetle of Osirion. Unlike it's real life counterparts, the symbolic scarab has outstretched feathered wings. And an open eye, ablaze with light, rests centrally on its back.
With that in mind, you surmise the sigils to probably be ancient Osiriani hieroglyphs...
You ponder for a moment the clock being an hour ahead... the ancient Osiriani hieroglyphs... the winged scarab beetle... and then, it all hits you.
'Could it be...?'
This grandfather clock is chock full of the symbology of the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye.
In paneled salons and dark catacombs, the secret elite of Ustalav assemble in exclusive social clubs known collectively as the Esoteric Order of the Palatine Eye. What began centuries ago as a cabal of mystics exploring forbidden knowledge has given rise to an organized network of gentleman philosophers who almost universally rise to the most influential stations of Ustalav society as judges, deans, landed aristocracy, and even high-ranking clergy of Pharasma’s church. The Order promotes divine enlightenment through participation in secret meetings involving mysterious philosophies and strange rituals.
Western Ustalav’s bloodless shirking of aristocratic rule is of course attributed to the benevolent machinations of the Order, and Palatine Eye arcanists are widely credited for their part in the legendary defeat of the dragon Kazavon in Scarwall. But power has its detractors, and such malevolent occurrences as the inexplicable disappearances in Canterwall and the attacks of Lozeri’s Devil in Gray have been attributed to the Order by conspiracy theory broadsides. The elusive Order’s refusal to dignify the stories with responses only exacerbates the rumormongering among Ustalav’s superstitious citizens.
Your mind floods with tales and legends you've read or heard about in your travels across the Palatinates of Ustalav about this very old and secretive society now...
At high alert, the sudden twanging of the wire is shockingly loud to the Speakers highly tuned senses. Lady's bones... The sudden onset of pain validates his pessimism as the room floods with an acidic cloud. Squinting his eyes against the pain, he sees Zelda and Sookie manhandling the squishier party members out. Satisfied that they need no more help, he finds his own way out without tripping over anything in the rush.
Istivan swirls the brandy thoughtfully in his glass as he studies the clock, before downing the liquid and sighing at the warmth burning in his stomach.
Somewhat bold, having this out in the open like that. Though I guess it could just be a family heirloom, somehow I doubt it.
As Zelda bolts down the ladder, Sookie and Naught lift up Rhia and Ali. Christoph descends the stair first. He kicks the door at the base of the stairs open, and stands ushering the others back into the first floor menagerie of sea creatures' remains.
Naught is next down the stairs, dancer in her arms. She's followed by Sookie with Rhia, and then Zelda. Putting their respective ladies down, Naught and Sookie particularly strain to catch their breath now: they've expended themselves more, requiring deeper or sharper breaths. Zelda as well struggles more, being the last out of the room: speedy as she is, she was furthest from the exit when the trap was sprung.
As you all cough it out, you see (between eye rubs) that the acidic mist is not descending the stairs, at least. It seems you are safe here. As you recover yourselves, you take note of minor but notable acidic burns on your attire and baggage, as well as on your exposed skin. You also wonder how long it will take for the mist to dissipate enough to be safe to enter again. Zelda guesses it'll probably be a couple of minutes or so.
Meanwhile, you hear the sounds of something dropping back up the stairs...
Istivan recalls to mind quite a bit about the Esoteric Order as he sips his brandy…
Aldus reappeared in Vieland three years later a changed man, claiming knowledge of lost esoteric rites and ancient mysticisms learned from an angelic mentor named Tabris. He attracted a devout following of young nobles hungry for his esoteric ramblings, and finally published his coded theories in a folio known as the Lost Gospels of Tabris, a curious amalgamation of Osirian mysticisms, Pharasmin catechisms, and Varisian occult traditions. The text outlined the first of nine stations, or paths, to nurture one’s inner divine spark in preparation for a holy communion upon death. Further revelations were carefully disseminated based on a member’s financial contributions to the cabal, and membership was restricted to landed gentry under Aldus’s sway. Many noble sons fled as public sentiment turned against the Order in 3999, when a mob of angry citizens interrupted an orgiastic new year rite at the mysterious ruins known as the Spiral Cromlech, thwarting what they claimed appeared to be Aldus’s impending sacrifice of a celestial being.
Membership in the Order soon withered, as did the mental stability of Aldus, who grew increasingly erratic and consumed with repeated retranslations of his original manuscripts, and was forced to abdicate his title as count of Vieland in favor of a distant cousin. But the Order’s philosophy was now cemented, as devotees tied allegorical lessons into every moment of the manuscript’s discovery and assimilated the tenets of Pharasma’s church into the celestial hierarchies outlined in newly penned “lost gospels,” forming the basis for the Order’s teachings of ascension from the motes of base human desire toward a perfect angelic state.
The shrunken and exclusive Order persisted until 4028, when Aldus disappeared under mysterious circumstances. His nine most devout apostles then gained control of both their founder’s manuscripts and the dwindling organization. This event, known as the Elect of Nine, marked a new era, and under this new leadership the Order opened its doors to invitees willing to follow the organization’s philosophies, and wealthy enough to afford the society’s annual dues. The Order began quietly funding the construction of temples, libraries, colleges, and asylums for war-scarred veterans. With this new benevolent facade, worthy nobles once more flocked to the philosophical teachings of the semi-secret society, and its wealth and influence spread across Ustalav.
Whispers and rumors persist of the Esoteric Order’s secretive machinations over the several centuries since. It is said to lurk in the shadows of high society to the present day, surviving and thriving in secret, guiding the fates of many from behind the scenes.
Members of the Esoteric Order have long enjoyed the benefits of an influential social club with powerful connections. While not all members have been landed gentry, all are expected to behave themselves as polite, respectful citizens and contribute meaningfully to society. Weekly meetings are held on Oathday and are known as cathedrals, the term referring to both the assembled group and their meeting hall, whether it be a former church, a hunting lodge, or a tavern cellar. Members are also expected to attend services of Pharasma and pay her homage, although a member’s worship of other gods is not precluded.
The strange rites, bizarre trappings, and unusual call-and-responses from the Esoteric Order’s assembly are reportedly bewildering. These rituals are elaborate affairs where even mundane business such as tithing, dues, reading of minutes, and regular correspondence with other cathedrals involves a great deal of ceremonial pomp, with each action following strict bylaws related to metaphorical lessons about personal salvation. The rituals enlivened rumors of occult associations, an observation bolstered by the rule that all members attend in full regalia—fanciful embroidered accoutrements such as elaborate robes, gloves, aprons, and headgear. Meetings are followed by lectures from respected members, such as professional surgeons performing an autopsy on a dead manticore or alchemists demonstrating the Order’s principles through metaphysical experimentation. Typically the cathedral then adjourns to a prepared feasthall or smoking salon where members congregate and trade favors with an understanding of guaranteed reciprocation, no matter what a member’s profession may be.
During the week, cathedrals host a variety of activities for members, such as philosophical workshops, study groups, or social dinners marking Pharasmin holy days. Most cathedrals are said to have attached private taverns for the exclusive use of members wishing to socialize. Seances are a popular pastime, as are mummy unwrapping parties, where Osirian mummies are slowly unveiled, their dried skin afterward ground into a delicate powder and brewed as an intoxicating tea served to attendees…
Istivan pauses a moment in his recollections, to be thankful for choosing the brandy, and not the tea…
Members in higher standing are said to hold secretive, private meetings based on an esoteric calendar cycle meaningful only to those well-steeped in the Order’s history in undisclosed locations.
"I hate this place," Naught says inbetween hacking, "Where to next?
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Rhia lets out a surprised yelp as she's effortlessly scooped up in Sookie's arms and rushed to safety., Throwing her arm around the warrior/therapist’s neck, and hanging on, amusingly enough experiencing the odd urge to giggle despite the dire circumstances.
”Well that was…I suppose to be expected given how things have been going so far.” Rhia says wryly. "Do we want to water for the fumes to clear out and try again?"
Having pulling out a canteen and rinsing his eyes and hands with splashes of water, he offers it to the others. "Yea, the place is charming like that. Undead abominations, acid baths, rickety bridges..." Huffing sourly, he thinks a moment and says, "I'd say we go back. Some new horror, given the track record. One worth guarding."
He looks at the rest of the party. "What do you think?"
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"Oh..."
* coughs *
"...my..."
* coughs *
"...gods!"
* coughs a few more times *
"Right?!" she replies to Naught, then hacks away again. Sipping some water and flushing her eyes, she begins to calm down.
"Ugh... I guess, we should," she hesitantly agrees with the plan to check upstairs again.
"Let's heal up a bit first, thou... OMIGODS! MY CLOTHES!" The dancer's eyes clear up enough to notice the acid burns on her beloved posh outfit.
"Oh! I could kill him..."
With a deep sigh, she closes her eyes. As with Rhia's outfit earlier, Aliseya begins to slowly raise her hands. She recites a pleasant rhyme in Varisian,
"Trageți și reparați, coaseți și coaseți. Nu a fost momentul, Desna vă rog să o rezolvați."
...as effervescent energies flow from her hands. Her outfit restores to pristine condition from bottom to top as she raises her hands up over it.
She then offers to mend anyone else's acid burnt attire, and retrieves her now familiar healing wand, looking around for who needs healing.
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Coughing a bit as she's carried out, Rhia breathes a sigh of relief once the group is all safely (relatively) together. As Ali both heals the acid burns and mends her partially dissolved clothing, the ghost whisperer blushes slightly at the realization that Sookie hadn't yet set her down in all the chaos.
Istivan recalls even more to mind about the Esoteric Order as he continues to sip his brandy. Of the many books he'd read at the Academy, a few about secret societies come back to him now. As do more than a few tomes from the late Professor Lorrimor's personal library. As do fond memories of the old man himself, as he guided Istivan back to a better life's path...
The Esoteric Order’s symbolism decorates every flat surface of the meeting halls, typically in gaudy, faux-Osirian splendor, with themes of scarabs, pyramids, blazing pharaonic eyes, and sarcophagi being most prevalent, peculiarly mixed with the symbols of Pharasma. Everywhere the blank stares of moldering taxidermied shapes loom, including the stuffed and mounted familiars of noted deceased members. Displayed above the presiding members’ bench is an imposing clock, set one hour ahead of the outside world’s time (which members call plebeian time), not only reminding members to make the most of time’s ticking minutes, but also reflecting the mentality of the Order that the powerful are always one step ahead of the uninitiated in thought and action.
The Order’s tremendous wealth has resulted in the establishment of cathedrals across the breadth of Ustalav and beyond, and the society’s philosophies have even subtly inspired the architecture of entire cities, such as the sweeping curved streets of Lepidstadt. Lacking a central meeting hall, members assemble in noble estates, catacombs, crypts, and even taverns.
One such cathedral is rumored to be in Lepidstadt. Ventriloquist’s Pulpit is the seat of the Palatinate of Vieland’s ruling council. This domed administration building once served as the offices of the region’s ruling counts, including Aldus Canter himself. Although the building was publicly scheduled for demolition after the land’s move from aristocratic rule, the Palatine Eye may have been behind the halting of its destruction. Thus saving, it is whispered, one of their oldest cathedrals, hidden beneath the foundations.
The Apostolic Tome: This symbol of a large book represents concealed knowledge, a direct representation of Canter’s original gospels. The book’s decayed state represents the inevitable decay of secrecy as time progresses and people’s souls weather. Shown open, this symbol represents shared fellowship, while a closed book represents ignorance or forbidden mysteries.
The Chained Door: Usually depicted as chained doors burst from within by the blinding flames of enlightenment, this symbol serves as an invitation for all seeking knowledge to enter for guidance. Chained or shut doors represent closemindedness, and mark locations unfriendly to the Order or hint of concealed knowledge within.
The Palatine Eye: The most pervasive of the society’s symbols, the blazing Palatine Eye gazes from the back of a golden scarab upon the breadth of Golarion, piercing all shadow to seek the light of truth. Only with wise scrutiny can hidden knowledge be unveiled, and the staring eye represents the search for fellowship in the desert of ignorance and the ascendancy toward truth. A closed eye represents death and ignorance.
The Sepulcher: Often marking secret archives or storehouses of knowledge sympathetic to the Order, the sepulcher represents the holy houses of information and buildings sympathetic to the gathering of divine insight. A symbol of a ruined sepulcher represents mysteries destroyed by treacherous revelation.
The Withered Hand: Typically shown with various numbers of extended digits, the withered hand reminds members that secrets should be taken to the grave, and symbolizes the trials of learning the Order’s path. Different numbers of outstretched digits denote various stages in the acquisition of forbidden knowledge, and can convey different meanings to members who correlate the number of digits with allegorical lessons, allowing the conveyance of secret messages.
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"Good evening, Mr. Langa."
The pragmatic elder voice of Judge Embreth Daramid snaps Istivan out of his private thoughts. Her voice precedes her appearance as the sound of her mid-heeled shoes tap the steps of her ascent up the stairwell, to the second floor where Istivan is seated. She speaks with the formal dialect of southern Ustalav.
The stern visage of the judge at last is seen as Judge Daramid makes her entrance. Dressed conservatively in a dark buttoned-up blouse and formal dress, her gaze scrutinizes the half-elf seated upon her couch. The musical academic feels a strong need to sit up straight in her presence.
"Miss Lorrimor speaks highly of you, sir. And for that, you have my full attention, even at this..." here, one brow raises, "rather late hour..."
Her severe gaze looks Istivan up and down for only a few seconds. But it feels like a few minutes to him.
"Mr. Giles informs me you have urgent business from Ravengro. Do tell."
Istivan can see that Kendra's note is in one hand, opened.
Istivan rises to his feet under the gaze of the judge, inclining is head to her as she finishes speaking.
"Good evening Magistrate, it is an honor to meet you. I will set aside other pleasantries as time does not allow for them, both in the sense of the late hour and the press of events, and I am quite sure you know the value of time.
"I knew Professor Lorrimor as a student and friend. I studied history and... let's say ethics with him. I was summoned to his funeral, but I was far away and the ship I took ran aground in a storm. As a result, I arrived long after the funeral." Istivan said.
"Once there, I paid my respects to Miss Lorrimor and the late professor's grave. I helped the local Church of Phrasma and authorities clean up some lingering problems around the prison and heard the tale of how the other mourners cleansed the prison and discovered Professor Lorrimor's death was not an accident, but rather that he was likely killed while investigating the goings-on at the prison.
"I wanted to lend my aid, slight though it may be, to those other associates of the professor in discovering what he was investigating and bringing justice to those who killed him. Miss Kendra asked me to check and confirm that you received the tome that was left to you in the will, and that you would be an excellent contact who may be able to point me in the direction of the rest of the mourners."
Istivan frowns, "I am a step behind and there is movement in the shadows. And the dark places of Ustalav are more dangerous than most."
As the adrenaline surge from the parties surprise tapers off, the pain of his wounds is finally noticed. Wincing, he nods, "Healing's wise, Aliseya. Thank you."
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"Agreed," Sookie replies to Christoph. "Another delightful surprise for us, I'd wager," she sarcastically adds.
Caught up in the excitement and considering the group's options, Sookie eventually does realize the lady in her arms is... still in her arms. And blushing.
"Oh. So sorry..."
She lets Rhia down on her own feet once more. In spite of her matter-of-fact manner, her own cheeks appear to turn a bit red now.
Foregoing Ali's healing, Sookie places her hands on her own wounds. As she meditates on them, a subtle healing energy takes hold.
After waiting for a long moment, the companions chance returning up the stairs once more. Passing the room of jarred aerial creatures' remains, they find the acidic cloud has settled. The fine woodwork of the paneled walls and steps is now blackened by the acid.
The ladder is now a bit rickety, but still serviceable. Sookie sees fit to remain below, on account of her rather heavy... tweed suit. The others one by one make the climb up.
Inside, this high attic room is... completely empty. Its wooden walls are blackened as well. Whatever might have been in this room, no trace remains now.
Christoph scowls as he looks around the room. "Bizarre that a room like this would be guarded." He takes a moment to study it more carefully for anything out of the usual, going so far as to chant briefly in prayer.