Grey Dog Manor - Round 1 - continued
Jiro recites the haiku silently, striking like a cat, but his sword clangs off the armor of the remaining Ulfen fighter, creating a sound that is jarring when compared to the simple poetry.
The elf rogue tries circling the Ulfen man, but he steps too close, and the greataxe lashes out. The blade catches Elael in mid-chest cutting a serious wound in him. The dagger attack hits the Ulfen man, wounding him seriously as well.
Ashia smirks watching one guard run off in fear, then turns her arcane attention to the second. She steps back and tosses a glob of acid at the warrior, but it misses contact with him, sizzling into the grass nearby.
Finally, Kaddok hefts his mighty earthbreaker but his balance isn't set right after the surprise attack, and he misses.
The Ulfen warrior glowering after damaging one foe, steps to the south out of the flank attack, and makes a large swing at the Shoanti, which he sees as the most dangerous foe on the field. His blade also hits the lightly armored barbarian with a light wound.
19 Jiro
17 Elael
16 Ashia
15 Kaddok
15 Ulfen Red
6 Milo
5 Archibald
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Milo, caught completely unawares as the sudden chaotic violence breaks out around him, finally shakes his lethargy free as the guard steps up beside him.
He curses angrily in orcish as he quickly backs out of immediate reach, then his words change, replaced by arcane words in draconic, as a small ray of fire shoots forth from his outstretched hand.
Grey Dog Manor - Round 1 - concluded
Milo blasts a ray of flame from his tiny hands, but the heat ray misses the target, scorching a bush instead.
Archibald is so flustered by the surprise attack, he trips over the ends of his long robe, and his hat falls over his eyes. He spends the round trying to re-combobulate himself.
End of Round 1
Grey Dog Manor - Round 2
19 Jiro
17 Elael
16 Ashia
15 Kaddok
15 Ulfen Red
6 Milo
5 Archibald
The sleek samurai glides to a flanking position and in the same movement arcs his blade through the air. The Ulfen man, who has his hands full with Kaddok, cannot react in time to parry this killing blow, and the enemy falls vanquished.
End of Combat
You find yourselves alone now in the courtyard of the manor house. The front door beckons about 30' away. As you arrive at the entry, no one else seems to be around, and the door is, in fact, hanging ajar.
Carefully, you creep into the manor. All is dark in the entry. The front room is filled with trophies from a lifetime spent in the Pathfinder Society. Strange stuffed beasts, various weapons, pottery, and valuable items from across the Inner Sea Region fill the place.
From the back of the house, a single light burns, and you hear a faint coughing sound from that direction. There doesn't seem to be anyone else at home.
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"Well, that was foolish of them." Ashia says as she returns the flask of acid to her bag. "Anyway, shall we?"
She approaches the door of the manor and, finding it ajar, enters warily. Proceeding into a dark foyer, Ashia evokes four bobbing spheres of light. As the lights slowly circle, illuminating the way like torches, she proceeds down the hall toward the source of the coughing only mildly interested in the many keepsakes. Remembering the mention of powerful artifacts at her briefing, Ashia casts a spell of divination to reveal magical auras.
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Rubbing the skin on either side of the long wound on his torso, Elael grumbles. Following his companions into the manor house, he retrieves a long redwood wand from his pocket and begins waving it around in the general direction of his wound.
It takes him a couple of tries, but eventually a line of white, positive energy passes from the wand to his wound.
Detect magic does not reveal anything unusual in the house full of artifacts. As you make your way down the hall, and Elael gives himself a healing jolt, you soon find you are at the door to the master bedroom of Skelg the Ripper, Scourge of the North.
You open the door to the master bedroom and are greeted by a blast of heat. A roaring fire blazes in the fireplace even though the day is swelteringly hot. A huge bearded man shivers under his blankets, his bed pushed dangerously close to the fire. A thin servant sits in the far corner by a window, fanning himself with a handkerchief. The bearded man looks at you and blinks a few times, then speaks through chattering teeth. "Are y-you P-path-f-finders?"
The man you see lying there is a far-cry from the Scourge of the North. Huddled under enormous blankets, shivering with cold, his lips blue his face sunken and drawn, he looks like a sick old man more than a fierce warrior.
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Archibald's whiskers twitch as he stares at the collection of trophies, treasures and curiosities from all corners of the Inner Sea. Trying to hide his wonder, he scowls and folds his arms, letting out a particularly loud "Har-umph!" to communicate how very, very unimpressed he is before hastening his way down the hall.
Doffing his hat, Archibald paces toward the warriors bedside, shoving past Kaddock and immediately beginning his diagnosis, stroking his beard. "Of course we are, you presumptuous old popsicle! Sit tight and I'll have this curse dispelled quick as you can say prestidigitation, but I'll have no fuss from you..." he says, pressing the man flat onto the bed with his walking stick before rolling up his sleeves with a flourish, stretching out his gnarled hands, and beginning to chant. Mostly for effect. He leans in and lowers his voice. "Honestly I don't even know why they sent this lot..." he adds snidely, the ambush at the door forgotten. "This here is wizard's work!"
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Milo, a bit antsy since the welcome at the gate, eyes everything with great suspicion, still unsure what the goal of the two Ulfen warriors outside was.
When they enter Skelg's room, his attention is immediately drawn to the large roaring fire, and somewhat unintentionaly, he finds himself standing almost on top of it, staring at it with disturbing intensity while the others start to talk to the sick man on the bed.
After a while, he seems to physically tear his attention away, a slight look of guilt on his face, and turns to observe the man on the bed.
He shows some momentary interest in Archibald's ministrations, having no skills at divinations himself, before pondering Skelg himself.
He'll offer Archibald any arcane insights he might have as well.
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Ashia smiles knowingly as the curmudgeonly, old wizard pushes his way to Skelg's bedside. Not desiring to insult anyone, she moves to inspect the chamber rather than assist the wizard with his diagnosis.
At the sound of the elf's inquiry, Ashia turns to Skelg. "Yes, for instance, would you mind explaining the warm reception we recieved?"
As you ask your questions, the thin servant pipes up:"I am his valet, Tyros, but Master Skelg is quite ill and unable to speak coherently for long. He is afflicted with a curse, but it is not a normal curse, or we could have had it removed already. It is probably best if you just leave him be."
Lucid for a moment, Skelg utters weakly:"It's as if the the frozen fingers of winter's blackest midnight clutch at my heart. I am freezing from the inside out."
As if to confirm, your magical detection reveals one extraordinarily strong aura emanating from the body of Skelg. The aura is so powerful, your meager skills cannot determine the school of magic, but it is nearly overwhelming in its intensity.
Archibald can tell that the cold is emanating from inside the man's body, as he touches him. The cold is enough to chill the wizard's fingers and cools the room significantly.
"It's that bastard Bengeirr's fault, the Gods damn his eyes..."Skelg cries before being overcome with shivers once more.
Tyros, the valet, answers: Bengeirr Haldrysson is, as the name suggests, son of the Ulfen jarl of Varisia, Haldyr Bjornsson. Master Skelg recently brought home some treasures...ah...salvaged...yes, salvaged from the funeral ship of Jarl Haldyr. Bengeirr apparently took exception and sent his men here to recover the funeary artifacts. That was a week ago."
The shivering Pathfinder pipes in again. "Caught 'em skulking aroun' me vault like common thieves I did. But they shown that lantern at me, and my heart a'turnt t'ice. Now I'm a'freezin' from t'inside."
Tyros picks up the story again:"Two days ago, Benegeirr and his men came back here. They spat on Master Skelg, who was already bed-ridden saying he'd die in bed 'like an old woman' a terrible way for an Ulfen warrior to pass on, don't you know."
"They then killed our men and replaced them at the gate. That, I'm afraid, explains your welcome. Master Skelg was able to smuggle a letter to the Society out, with my help, and now here you are."
In a weak voice, the mighty warrior croaks, "Tell 'em about the tapestry. The tapesty man, it's import..." and he falls into another coughing fit.
Helping his master sip some herbal tea, Tyros looks at you dubiously. "Master Skelg insists that the same lantern that caused his freezing condition shone on a tapestry here in the house. The wall hanging once showed a pastoral meadow scene with sheep and a shepherd, but now it shows an Ulfen longship, mostly encased in an iceberg, on the rolling sea. I can't explain the change, unless the brigands swapped out the hangings for some reason."
Groaning, Skelg interjects again :Watch'd tha' snake Tirfyr walk right inta t'picture, so I done. He ne'er came back out, neither. Oh, so cold, so cold...." he trails off into unconsciousness, not looking like he'll be here for much longer.
Again, Tyros rolls his eyes. "He is one of Bengeirr's top lieutentants. The Master swears he opened a portal in the tapestry and walked right onto that boat. Never came back though. Sounds like...." he looks down to make sure Skelg is sleeping. "Nonsense, to me. Typical Ulfen hocus-pocus. You know how they are..."
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Ashia appears unimpressed with the valet's assessment. "Of course, and I assume from your obviously unparalleled magical expertise that you can tell us exactly what ails your master and how we might go about curing him? Go on. We'll wait." When it becomes clear that no such response is forthcoming, she continues. "I thought not. Now, please, if it's all the same to you, I would very much like to see this tapestry."
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Milo snorts at Tyros' comments silently agreeing with Ashia.
"Big guy's bleedin' cold from his gizzard like an Irrisen welcome mat.... hardly seems the time ta be ignorin' the hocus." He mutters.
"Where's the lantern?" He finally asks, "Perhaps best not be leavin' such powerful gewgaws here." He pauses for a moment, then adds. "Hocus, donchaknow."
The chastised servant leads you to the tapestry, which is on a wall leading down to the underground vault. On the way he tells you, "Bengeirr and his men left with the lantern. It is no longer here or in the vault I am afraid. Ah, here we are!"
The tapestry indeed shows a traditional Ulfen longship with dragon prow afloat upon a roiling sea. This ship however is partially encased in ice like an iceberg, which covers about half the ship.
When you detect magic (it's inevitable)only a faint aura remains of what once must have been a powerful magical force.
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Milo eyes the painting sceptically and shivers slightly. "Looks cold 'nough. The boat he nicked the light from maybe?" He offers, pointing out the empty lantern ring to those that had not noticed.
"Stupid git robs some high toffer's coffin..." He shrugs, slightly, "Albeit a floatin' one... 'ain't no wonder his kid's pissed... nor why he's got the whammy on him now." He shakes his head, obviously not at all sympathetic to Skelg's current plight.
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"An illusion! Of course. Quite right, Archibald... an illusion. Hrmmyes." the wizard says ponderously, trailing off into silence. Unwilling to admit that illusion magic is not his field, Archibald is determined to solve this particular puzzle with the power of his superior intellect. "Did Master Skelg not say that those undesirable characters disappeared into the tapestry?"
"Stand back, everybody!" the wizard says, puffing himself up and rolling up the sleeves of his robes. He presses his hat into Kaddok's hands, shooing him away. "... a little room, confound you!"
"Now." the wizard says, gritting his teeth as he hobbles toward the tapestry. Picking up speed, he runs full-pelt into the painting.
"It is as you say, madam. Master Skelg said this very image is the funerary boat of Haldyr from which he....ah...recovered certain items. The lantern in question was one of them, as were the other items in the vault stolen from us by Bengeirr and his men. My master believes the cure to his curse lies on this boat..."
Tyros is interrupted as Archibald dashes past, crashing into the wall, full force, and knocking himself backward onto his rump with a soft plop.
...too bad there is no way to access the boat from here, now." He eyes the wizard testily, marveling at the obvious superiority of arcanists.
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Ashia stifles a laugh as the wizard crashes into the tapestry and, more poignantly, the wall behind. "I believe I understand your thought process there, Archibald, but there was almost certainly a more... efficient way of investigating that which the illusion is meant to obscure—if not a more entertaining one," she says with a wry smile. She moves closer to examine the tapestry and the wall behind physically.
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...too bad there is no way to access the boat from here, now." He eyes the wizard testily, marveling at the obvious superiority of arcanists.
"Access the boat? From here?" Milo replies, with disdain. "Wasn't you campin' the anti-Hocus line a tick back?" He adds sarcastically, as he snags Archibald's hat from Kaddok and hands it back to the old man.
"So Skelg the Grave Ripper, got hisself ripped off in turn. Figured." He mutters snidely. "All these Ulfens seem like prigs ta me."
He ignores the servant and looks at the others. "Lets go find this duffer, nick back the swag, and see if we can't turn this curtain back on." He hitches one small thumb towards the tapestry. "The old man has the right of it most like, probably the locks been jiggered and the lantern's the screw."
He pauses for a moment, scowling, before musing. "Where does one drum up Ulfens in this town anyway?"
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Archibald lands in a blustering heap, spitting out a mouthful of beard and folding his arms. "Bah!" he says, bruised pride clear in his voice. He snatches his hat off of Milo and pulling himself to his feet. "Hrmmyes. I'd say you have the right of it..."
"Well? What are you simpletons waiting for? Let's get moving! You heard the gnome!"
Ashia finds nothing of interest behind the tapestry. It looks normal to all inspections.
The crew leaves Greydog Manor, one a little sore in the forehead. They talk about where to find Bengeirr's Ulfen crew in the city. They also begin using their contacts in the Society and throughtout Absalom to ask about Ulfen hangouts.
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"All it takes is a little charm and a smile, boys," Ashia said returning from her own ventures with a grin. "It would seem a local slumlord, one Tullo Baltias, has recently rented a warehouse to some Northlanders. That is most probably what we are looking for, but, should it prove unfruitful, any foreign ships that dock ought to be on record with the harbormaster."
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Archibald sits, arms folded, perusing his spellbook. He grimaces as Ashia grins at him, answering the gesture with a mistrustful glare at the exotically dressed female. "S-... so long as you keep your charms to yourself, thankyouverymuch." he says, clearing his throat and shrinking away under his hat and robes.
He stands abruptly, staring fixedly away from Ashia. "Right! Well! Jolly good. A-hurrummyes. What say we pay this Baltias a visit, then?"