Dramin just looks at the monk with a puzzled expression on his face. Its not as if he thought the man was a stick, but every time he did something new Dramin was more and more intrigued.
"Yes the gazette. You know the gazette? Its the type of news story that may even pay for its information."
He appreciated the lie, but if there is one thing he knew, is that the glitter of gold would blind most eyes to fabrications.
"We've heard of the destruction as of late and the expose is trying to uncover it and all the happenings. Any information at all would be great."
Sebastian considers the surroundings. Yes indeed. While not as organized, the collection of tomes and other materials reminded him of Marcum Aldridge's place back home. At least speaking with Marcum would have been in more pleasant surroundings.
The girls fall under his gaze again and he studies them for a few moments as they respond to Vinne's question about maps. So in what materials do you traffic, little Pigeons? What agitates you so? A smile returns to his face and he dips his chin once in understanding. "Rest easy, my cautious little birds, my mate n' I can make a stop later when Master Arlend returns" He makes to turn away but pauses. "I think mah 2 shillings may gimme another service, a small one if ya will. Would either of ya know where we can find a bloke named ol' Rupman? We're told he knows a bit about the city beneath out feet, if ya take mah meanin'?"
reaction to mentioning ol' Rupman
In the midst of the Tangle...
One of the working girls, a half-orc whose tusks appear to have been removed, snickers as the pair approach. "Oh, writers, are you? I'd buy that for ten gold, maybe. But I'll play. I heard whispers about some kind of rumblin' and tumblin' goin' on out by the Slipper Market, and I don't mean the pleasant sort. But I don't know much more'n that." She gives both men an appraising look. "As far as other strange happenings, well... this is Carrion Hill. There's no such thing as normal happenings here. But I suppose the bugs are a bit of an oddity; one of our girls got stung by a bloody stirge yesterday. We don't get too many of those around here, at least not until the last month or so. Now they're all over the place, sticking their pointy little noses into people and gettin' a taste of blood. We've always had bug problems here- Midden bugs, naturally- but lately it's a lot worse. It's like somethin's drawin' the damn things here... pullin' 'em out of the Wrythe or somethin'." She and a few of the other girls share a giggle between them. "Maybe we can tell you more over tea. Care to come in for a sip?"
- - - -
Out at the Elm Way Church...
"Rupman? Uh, you mean the Middenstone tycoon?" The older girl turns to her sister and exaggeratedly sticks out her tongue. "Gross. Yeah, he owns the vats down in the Filth. Yeah, he's probably the only businessman proud to throw his anchor down outside the wall. Don't know why you'd want to bother with that creeper, though. I hear he puts his workers under some kinda spell or somethin'."
The younger girl pips in with, "I heard he has spiders in his hair." Upon seeing eyes move in her direction, she sheepishly scoots back behind her sister.
Bugs...just like Ravenmoor... the monk thinks to himself. At the girl's flirtations, he smiles, concealing his inner doubt and trepidation.
"A lovely offer. We accept." He folds his hands together in his robe's sleeves once again as he turns to Dramin. "Come, Damien. It's rude to turn down an offer of tea, where I come from." without giving Dramin a chance to react to his newly-appointed psuedonym, he sweeps open the door to the brothel and steps inside. When he lowers his hood to shake off the rain, a few of the working girls oooh at his dramatic and foreign facial tattoos.
Dramin gives a curt nod and takes a step inside. He knew that this was dangerous, and with all thats been happening, fairly reckless. When the women mentioned the stirges, he could swear he heard the buzzing close in, the wings and insects speaking conspiracy about.
"Dalt---" He almost pauses awkwardly barely catching himself, "-ynee... Yes, yes, we know all about it. You make a rush job take at least twice as long with all the tea you drink!"
He tries to act jovial, though he has no idea what he sounds like. The words coming out are alien to him, and the prospect of having to sit through a whole conversation of this is already taxing. Before he takes off his mantle, he crushes his hand together, snapping the magic of the prestidigitation before any attention was to be drawn
Dramin grabs a small notebook seemingly from nowhere, and awaits the situation. His eyes catch Dalton and he whispers under his breath when he turns to close the door.
Perception (Message) DC 25
"I don't have to mention we should keep an eye out. Who knows how this evil shifts amongst the people."
In the Tangle...
Indeed, several of the ladies seem quite impressed by Dalton's markings as they enter the building. Despite its ugly and unassuming exterior, upon entering the place, it transforms into what one might expect an Ustalavish brothel to be- covered in silks and finery, and smelling of expensive oils and perfumes, as plumes of scented smoke waft through the air. This is only the common room, but several of the ladies, as well as a single prospective customer, who seems to be enjoying his hookah too much to commit to any other acts at present. A pair of tough-looking, muscular Tian women stand near the door- obviously bouncers. Their mien actually might remind one of Dalton himself, from the way they carry themselves.
"You can have a seat over there," the half-orc says, gesturing to a nearby table that sits next to a posh couch at the far wall. A dark-haired elven woman dressed in naught but a loosely-tied red robe lounges there, her long, tattooed legs draped across the table as she idly shuffles a deck of harrow cards. Her gray eyes focus on the pair of you before you can even approach.
The half-orc leans in near to the two of you and whispers. "That's Lesalia. Nothing happens in Carrion Hill without her knowing about it. Be polite, and she might just give you some juicy info for your, uh, story." She chuckles to herself and leads you both near to the table. "I'll get that tea. Lesalia, these two gentlemen have requested your company. Can you spare the time?"
The elf, still shuffling her harrow deck, nods, though she makes no move to make room for the two visitors. Her stare seems to pierce straight through both men.
Before departing, the half-orc shrugs and says, "Don't let her spooky fortune-teller act scare you off. Have a seat and introduce yourselves. Be back in a few minutes. And behave yourselves- for now, I mean."
Dalton scans the room as he enters it, taking in the posture of the inhabitants and immediately noticing the guard-like stances of the bouncers. To Dramin's whisper, the monk gives a small nod of acknowledgement. He gives no outward sign of his buzzing nerves. The smell of the hookah smoke is fragrant and brings back strong memories of the hookah stalls that could be found in marketplaces throughout Rahadoum. Not many places used hookahs this far in these northern lands, he has found.
Approaching the small table, the monk bows deeply from the waist once again; maintaining eye contact with the elf the whole time. "Hello and good day, Lesalia," he says, greeting her politely. He keeps his hands inside his sleeves. "I am Orson, and my colleague's name is Damien. We're hoping you can help us."
Dramin turns back to the establishment, and quickly examines his surroundings. He knows that there must be a hint somewhere in the place, the pulling and buzzing was a telltale sign.
Sign? Sign of what? The voice purred. Madness no doubt, but what else?
He wondered what triggered the thought, but it was in an instant he received his answer. He did what he could to avoid the gaze of the one they called Lesalia, but whether by fate or by a worse force he was met with the sight of the elven woman. If he was looking upon himself from the outside, he would see someone who was looking too far into the future, his gaze staring into something beyond the plane.
When Dalton speaks, it takes half a second for him to realize he was addressing him under the pseudonym. That was all it took to remind him of Ustalav and the lurking dangers of the nation. He recalled a conversation he had with The Rook a while back.
"These people, people like me, let me give you a word of advice about them. Keep them entertained, and if you can't, at least keep them intrigued to have you around. Sometime the two aren't the same."
He didn't understand the statement until now and he decided to take the words to heart. With a small bow, he speaks in elven.
"Lesalia, elen sila solis omentilmo retr'ai"
"Lesalia, may the sun still shine on while we meet."
He was banking on her understanding the old language, and if not, hoping she would find it intriguing at least.
"May we take a seat? We have a few questions and our sources whisper that you are the one to talk to." His tone is restrained, but before he can finish he takes a seat anyway. Perhaps some of Marsh rubbed off on him, but the man did know how to deal with folk like this. When his eyes drop down to the deck she shuffles, he catches a glimpse of The Courtesan.
This is all about niceties and lies it seems.
"Heh, friggin spiders, every time gotta have spiders in the mix."
Marsh says in a bit of gallows humor before waving a hand at the girls in an attempt to diffuse and dismiss the younger ones fear.
"So it sounds like this Alrend is an alright type, takes in orphans in outta the good in his heart and all that, but tell me . . . What kind of a man is he?
Marsh watches their faces carefully to attempt to gauge their emotions and reactions.
Out on Elm Way...
The two girls look warily at one another before the elder says, perhaps a bit defensively, "Look, Arlend's a good man. I don't see anybody else in this city trying to look out for us. If it weren't for him, me and my sister wouldn't have a roof over our heads or decent clothes on our backs most nights, and same for our friends. He's a little odd, sometimes, and some people might say he's a little weird or creepy, but I won't stand for anybody suggestin' he's not a good and decent human being!"
The younger girl shrinks behind her sister a bit more, eager to avoid further conversation. Both of them seem to be growing more nervous.
- - - -
In the brothel out in the Tangle...
Lesalia peers up at Dalton and Dramin- or is that Orson and Damien?- and nods. When Dramin speaks to her in Elven, she replies:
She seems unperturbed by Dramin sliding into his seat, though she makes no move to remove her legs from the table, and quickly returns to idly shuffling her deck. For all her alluring qualities, it would seem that courtesy is not among them. "You have questions," she says quietly in lightly-accented Common. "I may have the answers you seek, or at least some hint to aid you along your way. You have come far, have you not? Many who seek my aid do. Priests of foreign gods have sought me out, queens and princes, elves and men, orcs and halflings... I turn away no one, assuming, of course, that something is given in return. Nothing is free, my good men." She pauses, taking stock of both men's reactions.
"There is familiarity in your eyes, Damien, but I do not know you. Do I, perhaps, resemble someone you once loved? Still love?" This would seem to amuse her, though she does not offer more than the vaguest hint of a smile.
"I understand tea is on its way. Very well, then. This is how we will do this. Tell me two things, each of you: first, what you intend to offer me in exchange for my aid, and second, the questions to which you require answers. I shall weigh your offer against your need, and then we shall see how well we can help one another."
"Only the safest things are free." He hoped that he was able to maneuver her around, but it was doubtful. While he never had the training for it, he knew full well that his brazen attitude barred the way. All of this, no wonder I never studied enchantment.
"Unless I'm looking at the ether itself in you, I don't think love would be the word I'd use." He tries to play it cool regarding her statement, but when she lets it drop, so does he. His facade is cracked when he instinctively pulls up his scarf despite the heat in this place.
"Offers? The typical answer would be gold, but I think thats a little too safe for you." He feigns deep thought by tapping his fingers on the table. "How about something better than gold, or at least to someone in your trade." He lets the word sink for a bit, the same way he hears the voice talk, hoping the double meaning wasn't lost on her. Before he can see her reaction, he continues; "Information then?" He leaves it purposefully vague, knowing full well that Dalton's observational skills were far better than his.
"Though I suppose, it would depend on how good this tea is for my friend."
Dalton studies the elf carefully, not bothering to mask his keen interest in the tattooed woman. He watches not just her face, which largely remains impassive, but also the body language she is displaying with the rest of her. The way her fingers tug at each individual Tarot card...the way her feet roll slightly on their ankles for comfort. Everything the woman is doing is a minor tell about her true feelings, and he studies her carefully to gauge her response to "Damien's" words. When his comrade finishes speaking, he nods in agreement. "I have gold to offer, but you may find information more valuable."
"Information..." Lesalia offers yet another hint of a smile, satisfaction tugging at the edges of her mask of disinterest. "Depending on its quality, it could be worth far more than any purse of gold coin. This you both seem to understand. You are, then, more clever than most who call upon me."
Lesalia does not seem threatened by the two of you in the least, nor does she seem threatening. She is more interested than she appears; both in your charms, it seems, as well as your promises of information. Her eyes pause to linger for a longer time than normal on one card, and some recognition shows upon her face there, as if perhaps she associates your coming with whatever card she now gazes upon. Perhaps it was foretold in some reading?
She seems quite taken with your exotic appearance.
Lesalia shifts slightly in her seat, appearing to relax slightly. "It would appear an exchange of information is in order. Perhaps we might exchange more later upon the eve, but for now... Ask away. While you are at it, perhaps you might share what information you seem to feel is worth my trouble."
Sebastian resists the bubble of amusement trying to draw a grin across his face. He'd witnessed Marsh use the tactic on more than one occasion and it never disappointed. Judging by the girl's reaction, the understanding of Arlend is that much clearer.
Moving slowly he withdraws his journal and flips to the page on which he'd drawn the spiral found in the Slipper Market. He deftly tears the page away and places it on the nearby desk. "Tell Master Arlend, we're here to help." He pulls out his bit of charcoal and writes a message on the paper.
"If you know the likes of Nosatrub Shieldarm and his band of knights, then you know why we've come. We are here to help. We'll make contact again."
~ A Friend
He folds it and hands the paper to the girl. "See that he gets it, love. I pray he's safe."
He turns to Marsh as if to ask if he had more questions then says, "Off ta find this Rupman, mate?"
To Marsh and out of earshot, "The message should be vague enough that if Arlend is on the either side, he'll see us asban ally." He gestures to the surroundings. "It may be difficult in the extreme, but perhaps you can find signs of a struggle? Arlend's feet are perhaps the largest here, you might be able to see where he went...or was taken." He sighs and looks around. "If he was looking into the latest events then someone may have not liked it." He taps him on the shoulder
Marsh nods his head to the older girl. He likes the fire of a survivor he sees in her eyes.
Sausage fingers dig into the chamois coin purse concealed in the big mans pocket extracting two gold pieces. Aware of his fearsome outward size and appearance he sets them out in sight on one of the shelves next to him.
"You an your sister go get yourselves some new shoes and underclothes, you hear? If you got other little ones to think of you get them what they need too, got it?"
He places two more out.
"Get blankets, spare food, whatever you need. If you need more, you find me. I ain't no walkin bank, but I'll do what I can."
Marsh then unceremoniously turns to walk out.
"Yeah, Rupman is a good a lead as any."
----------------------
"Yeah, head games, cloak and dagger an all that. So much better than sittin around wallowin in reality or digging skeletons out of closets. I'll never forget the first time I met Nosa . . . He was a good one, like for reals. White an pure as the sugar the beardeds put in their tea up on High Street."
Marsh tries to cut the track.
"Heh, big feet alright."
"Indeed, Sir Shieldarm was the best of us." Thru the cloak of efficiencies and planning Bacarov realizes something in the countenance of his friend.
And he is your friend, right? He considers the big hunter for a moment. You speak of me as though Ravenmoor was not to dredge up my past here. I was not to be effected. What secret plans do you and Warshawski have for me?
Bacarov takes a breath and relaxes his mental blade sharpening. "The children...I hadn't considered your past when dealing with them..."
"There's poor kids livin in the gutters and shadows of every city I'd imagine . . . Maybe one day one of em will remember somethin nice about me. Maybe a bit of kindness might grow into somethin bigger. Maybe one act of selfless charity might be enough to stop one of them from losin hope in the world. . . or maybe it was just better to give them the money than it for me to waste it drinkin again."
Marsh keeps his eyes on the ground looking for spoor.
"Maybe, someday, one of em or that girl at the academy will say somethin nice about the big ugly bastard that crossed their path once. Gold ain't worth a damn thing sometimes."
Out on Elm Way...
"Thanks," the older girl says. "We'll make sure Arlend gets your message. Hope you find what you're lookin' for." They make no move for the coins until both Bacarov and Marsh are at the door again.
Outside, Marsh begins examining the tracks in the dirt surrounding the Church. The light rain, which has lingered much of the day, might have washed away any traces of comings and goings, but the sheets of dirt, grime, soot and ash from nearby chimneys, and the proliferation of random debris obscuring the flow of water outside of the gutters, he finds a decent bit of information. Many of the tracks coming and going from the old Church of Aroden look to belong to Pigeons like the girls inside; small, typically, with evidence of footwear little better than scrap-boots or leather wrappings. A few other sets of prints are closer to what Marsh is looking for, large bootprints belonging to adult males; these are present as well. There are no signs of any struggle suggested, but it seems as if more people than one might expect have been to the Old Church in recent days.
Another set of tracks takes his notice as he nears the end of his sweep. Taking notice of them all of a sudden, as if some veil has been pulled back, Marsh also identifies a set of footprints that seem eerily familiar...
"Son of a . . . She's been here already Sebastian, a couple of hours ago. See? These tracks that seem to simply appear out of nowhere- bare feet belongin to a human or elven female, stridin toward the Church. These footprints appear fresh, likely having come and gone only a few hours ago..."
"Same as the ones at the murder scene."
Tell me she isn't in yer head Sebastian.
"When you went down in Ravenmoor, what brought you back? Abadar? What is drivin your need seek her out?"
Because she's a suspect? Or are you drawn to her like the others were?
He knew he got her attention.
"I'm seeking information about the recent... attacks on the city. I won't bog you down with our details, but I've heard some information about some sort of creature attacking the city, with no districts being safe." He starts to tread carefully, holding back the excitement that fills his voice. He purposely refers to it as a creature, hoping he may obfuscate the information. "Between the infestations of stirges and the strange occurrences of the bugs..." He looks at Dalton, "... I think it may have to do with these sinkholes and whats causing them."
He cracks his fingers and pulls out a small charm, a trinket of his time at the school, twirling it between his fingers.
"Anything about this thing would be appreciated, even information on the places it may have attacked. Ustalav is an old place, older than many of the races living here." He hopes his knowledge of the place is enough to string her along. "Surely there must be a connection with these sinkholes and possibly some old Carrion Hill history."
He clasps the charm shut with a sound of finality. "I won't bother explaining why we need to know, I feel you would understand discretion better than most."
Dramin thinks. "Everyone wants to know something special, they want to be the one to know something special... Not realizing what special means for them and how people view them." He remembers the book and his foolhardiness that put him on this path. "I'm sure you would like to know whats ruining your city as well."
"Secrets and wonders exist in the most tenebrous places after all; and I plan on seeing what there is to know."
"Seek the demonwhore?" Bacarov considers the questions in silence as cold understanding settles on his mind. He smiles and responds, "Yes, I seek her. I'm the barbed arrow seeking her venomous heart." He reaches up and unfastens the high-collar of his coat and pulls down his shirt collar to reveal the red-swollen mark left behind by the she-elf. "She left her mark on me, just as she did Dramin. She flooded my mind with images of Phedron...blood pouring from his mouth where he'd carved out his own tongue..."
He gestures to an overhang across the street and leans heavily on his spear until they're out of the drizzle. ”The fool upstart made a mistake showing me Phedron. She thought my old memories would draw me to her. She thought them a weakness like Dramin’s curiosity.” He spits on the ground and laughs. ”She can float and flit about all she wants, but she's still a stupid cow. Over confident in her droves of dim-witted followers…”
”I died. Marcum's swing took me in the spine and I breathed my last on that filthy cabin floor.” Bacarov reaches into his coat and retrieves his medallion emblazoned with the scales of Abadar. ”The great judge wasn't thru with me. He brought me back and set me on the right path. The only path. For so long justice had eluded me in the streets of Magnimar. I'd let my heart become soft and jaded. The waters were too murky for me to see.”
He raises his eyes to Marsh and taps a gloved finger on his temple. ”So Abadar gave me new eyes to see. He gave me pain in my leg and spine so I would remember the true path. He reminded me that justice should ever be my goal. The Scales will be balanced.” The Abadar medallion is slipped back into his satchel. ”The whore didn't account for my experiences in Ustalav. She didn't know what those memories would awaken in me.”
”If Abadar will use me, then I shall be the cold instrument that balances the Scales.” Sebastian takes a deep breath, calming his emotions. The cold fury in his chest had begun to stir, but subsides now. ”Ravenmoor, was the beginning. A prelude of backwater swamp rats playing worship. This thing here. This foolish godling...she watches as an ancient enemy stirs beneath our feet. In the end, she is empty, devoid of true power. While she may toy with flesh and spirit, there is something far more powerful in this city.”
He gestures to Marsh. ”Come. Let's be on with it. The sooner we follow this trail, the closer we get to destroying the floating she-elf.”
Dalton doesn't interrupt the wizard as he works his figurative (for once) magic.
In the brothel in the Tangle...
Lesalia raises an eyebrow at "Damien" as he finishes his speech. "You hope to buy my services with temptation of my own personal satisfaction? Amusing. There is truth to what you say- I am interested in knowing the reality of this latest threat to the people of Carrion Hill. That said, you assume too much of my benevolent nature."
So she says, and yet there is a twinkle in the elf's eye as she regards him.
"Carrion Hill is honeycombed with tunnels older than Ustalav itself. Most humans know little of the Darklands, the world beneath the world, but there is no doubt that these tunnels lead as far down as that. In those places that have never known the sun's light, the borders between this realm and the Plane of Shadows are thin. Things sometimes bleed through. That may be where our local Darkfolk come from. It would surprise me if they were responsible for our troubles, however; detestable though they may be, they are unambitious." She shifts again in her seat and sets her deck of harrow cards down on the table. "I have heard rumors of a secret place in the tunnels where strange trees and plants grow. In times ancient past, it was a holy place to the blasphemers and demon-worshipers that once inhabited this hill. Perhaps that is where you will find the root of this evil."
- - - -
"I don't assume benevolence because if you didn't want to see us we would have been waved off from the beginning or worse; and if you truly had something you wanted you wouldn't have played this game of asking us two questions."
He smirks, "Instead you wanted to see our responses, you were bored just as I was. I don't doubt your abilities to have us removed from here---", the word hangs, "--- but that would be much less interesting."
"If we do encounter any of these dark folk and learn more, I'll be sure to pass it along. I doubt a conspiracy is brewing but if it is, it would be good to know in advance would it not?" He pulls out a small piece of paper and writes something in secret, folding it up and sealing it quickly in a makeshift envelope.
"And this is for you I suppose. I have no qualms with this but I can't speak for my partner. I'll leave it outside on my way out."
"I would recommend your friends here stay off the streets. There are bad things stalking. Invisible creatures, murders, tremors..." He stops before he mentions the elven woman. "It may not help, but get some salt and silver for your doors."
He looks at Dalton to see if he has anything else to add.
"Lesalia, its a shame we had to meet under such circumstances. The cards and the stars aren't always right it seems."
Dalton rises to his feet when Dramin says his goodbyes. He nods at the elven woman, adding only, "If you have need of us, don't hesitate to ask. I'm sure someone with your connections could find us at need. We will be here in Carrion Hill until our task is done."
In the Tangle...
Lesalia regards "Damien" curiously for a moment, then smiles. "Your youth belies the sharpness of your wit. You are a formidable man- I like that. Stars guide you on your journey, good sirs."
After a moment, she adds: "Do not be so sure that the cards and the stars conspire against you. It would seem from my perspective that we were led to one another at exactly the right time."
As the two men prepare to leave, the half-orc madame who led them inside returns at last, carrying her tray of tea. "Ugh! Leaving already? Again, Lesalia?" She proceeds toward the elf maiden and begins scolding her as Dalton and Dramin take their leave.
Vinnie rubbed at his stubbly jawline.
"Huh?"
"I guess that accounts for the eyes an s$+*. Such f!**in crazy talk it might even be true if not just figurative."
Marsh considers his companion with a sidelong glance.
"We all die one way or another along the way . . . "
"Just don't let the changes kill that piece of you that's my brother."
He turns to recheck the track.
"One Last quick look an if we don't turn up nothin we'd better meet back up. Or we go ask the girls about yer little elf girlfriend. She might be the cause of their fear."
The door to the brothel-house closes behind them and the two men make their way toward the Slipper Market in silence for a few moments.
Finally, Dalton turns to Dramin and grins. "Nice work back there. I think that Lesalia might turn out to be a valuable ally in this city."
He just looks forward and laughs half-heartedly.
"Yeah, a good ally."
If the city or the people don't devour me first.
"We should rendezvous with the group. Lets keep our eyes out still, regardless of the veneer of the this place, it stinks underneath it all."
- - - -
The Slipper Market.
The rain has abated by the time the investigators converge once more upon the Slipper Market. The scene has changed somewhat since last time; a few dozen concerned onlookers have gathered outside the partitions, and the Crows seem to be having a hard time keeping them at bay. On a more positive note, it seems much of the debris has been cleared out of the ruined house; large piles of crushed wood, broken columns, and bits of smashed furnishings surround the ruin.
Warshawski is already there, standing with Captain Roslyn, whose expression is dour at best. The two of them approach and greet the returning pairs. Warshawski seems eager to hear what, if anything, her partners have learned.
Once the groups have had a few moments to talk, Roslyn inserts herself into the conversation. "We've managed to clear out most of the shack while you were gone. Didn't find much in the way of clues here, other than this: the place was occupied by a man named Marshan. Bit of an odd duck, from what the locals are saying; no one seems to know who he was or what he did with his time, but he had visitors every once in a while and kept his bills paid. We recovered some books from his rooms. The ones not ruined by that stinky slime were all local history or astrology." She huffs and glances over her shoulder at the ruin. "We seem to have figured out where the damn monster came up from. There was a hidden stairwell in the bedroom. Looks like our invisible beastie surged up that stairwell and busted into Marshan's house that way. Stairs look like they go down a ways. We haven't gone any farther than that- wanted to wait and see if you lot would make it back in time first. Looks like you just made it."
The Ossuary Church...
The priests and priestesses of Pharasma are clearly wary of one who speaks to spirits. They keep Warshawski waiting for some time as they convene with their superiors on whether or not allowing her to descend to the crypts and attempt to commune with the spirits of the dead is in violation of their faith. In the end, they reluctantly agree, though not unless Warshawski is accompanied at all times by a pair of priestesses in order to ensure nothing diabolical is going on.
It proves to be a long and mostly uneventful trek. The Ossuary Church is truly a grim and foreboding place, with walls decorated with the bones of the honored dead. Few spirits linger here; it seems that the Pharasmins do a fine job of ferrying the spirits on to their judgment. However, no one is perfect, and there are those who slip through...
Once the questioning is over, the priestesses- quite disturbed by what they have seen- are quick to usher the investigator back from the Crypts and off of Church grounds.
"Hello again, Captain," says the monk, greeting her and acknowledging Warshawski with a tight-lipped smile. He'd smile wider, but it would feel...almost wrong to do so in such a grim place.
He approaches Roslyn a little closer. Not to the point where he's shutting out his fellow investigators, but just so that the surrounding crowd is unlikely to hear anything.
"We have reason to believe this man's house sat upon an entrance to the Darklands," he warns her, his face cowled and serious. "We've learned of a "holy" site where ancient blasphemies were committed, beneath this very town. I suspect that the source of the corruption can be found there, along with many more monsters, no doubt." he pauses, heaving a sigh. "I fear we must confront this threat head-on. The time for exploration and investigation is over. Now, we descend into the darkness to battle."
"As much as I enjoy my friend's candor here," He looks at Dalton with a smirk, "I have to agree with him somewhat. The problem lies underneath this place and its only a matter of time before we head down there."
He looks at his companions. "Before we head down though we should prepare ourselves. If anyone has last minute purchases or prayers, now would be the time."
Dramin taps his quivers. "I wasn't able to deduce what exactly is down there from hearsay and history, but if you do not have any magical steel, silver or iron, I would advise caution."
He thinks back to the monstrosity in the cabin and the weaponry bouncing off its flesh.
"If you need some assistance, I can offer only simple solutions. Perhaps the Church of Pharasma may offer us help in the form of holy water." The young wizard sets his sights on Warshawski, "Would that be feasible?"
Dramin taps his quivers. "I wasn't able to deduce what exactly is down there from hearsay and history, but if you do not have any magical steel, silver or iron, I would advise caution."
At Dramin's words, the monk punches his palm and smiles.
"Blindfighting with dark peeps underground, what could happen right?!"
Marsh looks over to Sebastian.
"You wanna go down there now? Or you wanna go see the rat catcher first?"
"Let's get some light sources. Like a continual light coin or somethin. I don't want to be depending on just one wizard."
Dramin feigns mock anger.
"Just one wizard?"
The ruse doesn't last long and he looks at the ever mysterious Dalton.
Lets hope I'm wrong for your sake.
The thing that came from below was called from another place, another time- the child of something greater than a God. It was formless once, but has adopted something resembling a form so that it might exist in this world.
It fears not cold nor flame, and a blade not touched by magic will not part its flesh. Even spells might be turned away by the chaos that surrounds it.
It seeks to eliminate its only weaknesses, hunting them down, sniffing them out. Two were killed in error. It wishes to consume the rest. Doing so will grant it its full strength.
It cannot be seen under normal circumstance- unless it wishes to be.
Any further attempts to learn more are met with pained wailing and maddened cackles by the few spirits that respond to your summons.
- - - -
Roslyn looks on grimly as the party shares what they have learned. "I'm not overly worried about my choice in weaponry," she says, drawing her sword just so that the faint blue glow of its steel is visible. She sees Dalton punching his palm and smirks. "Seems I'm not the only one eager to put my weaponry to work. So... the Darklands, eh? Not surprising. Seems fitting, actually, that a place this riddled with secret tunnels and hidden passageways would end up connecting to it. I had my men requisition some items I thought might be useful to us while you were away." She waves over a Crow, who brings with him a case- which, upon being opened, reveals a half-dozen vials of holy water and a trio of everburning torches. "It's not much, but our armory's a bit empty at present. Hopefully, it'll help."
The priests didn't like me. That wasn't surprising. The clergy of Pharasma usually like to think of death as a nice, neat box that souls get stuffed into. My lady, the Great Spark who dances in the moonlight had taught me differently. The spirits that now rode in my body as if I were a carriage gliding through the night confirmed it.
I rejoined the others and listened to them discuss their findings. Underground. Away from the moon. Lovely.
When Marsh mentioned the need for light I slipped my hand inside one of my belt pouches and drew out an old, grey crystal. I tossed it to him to examine.
"Ioun torch. I prefer to keep my light hands free."
"The dead aren't resting well, with this thing out there. They called it a child of something greater than a god. A formless thing that has to take a form while in this place. Something ancient that doesn't fear fire, ice, magic, or even enchanted weapons. It has a weakness and that's what its hunting. It wants to kill its weakness and consume them. If it kills them and eats them, it gains more power. Two of the deaths were errors, though. We can't see it unless it wants to be seen or we have some special way to do so. I don't know if that's invisibility or something more powerful."
"Friggin chaos cults."
"I'll carry the gear," the monk offers. Picking up the half-dozen vials and the torches, he slips them into his backpack and pulls his robes back over it.
Squarely facing off against the ruined house, Dalton glances at the others. "I'm ready."
Dramin looks at them with steeled resolve.
"If you're ready, we should move ahead then. As much as I would like to be prepared for each contingency we can't tarry over a few pieces of superstitious silver and salt."
He opens up his spellbook.
"Though I would like us to tarry a minute while I prepare myself here."
Bacarov remains silent as he takes in the information. Warshawski makes mention of weaknesses and murderous errors...two of them.
"We descend into darkness, blind on all fronts." He shakes his head. "I'd been around you long enough to think I wasn't surrounded by fools. Was I wrong?"
"We have no maps of the underground, correct? We're lacking contact with this Arlend fellow. He has mysteriously disappeared amidst his own investigations. And we've yet to make contact with Rupman, the rat-catcher who might know more of the place to which we go." He looks to Warshawski. "And there is mention of a weakness, murders...do we know which souls were in error and which were the intended marks? To know this may uncover crucial pieces of the puzzle."
He sighs. "I'm far more eager than most to see this entity destroyed along with the filthy whore-spawn we've followed from Ravenmoor, but we should temper our verve with common sense."
"Eh?, I guess Sebastian is sayin let's hold up and go find the rat catcher. We could use a local guide, or if the map maker got whacked, we should go raid his stash an see if he has a map of the underground, right?!"
The sound of the underground hungers for you, as do I.
Keep yourself in check, Bacarov makes a good point. Besides I would do no good dead.
"You truly believe this ratcatcher can help us? If so, I do think its a good idea to follow up the lead."
His head goes back down to his book.
"Though if there was an error in the murders, it does show us something. These kinds of things are awfully specific and it may have opened up a vulnerability in whatever it is."
Dramin continues reading and memorizing the incantations.
"Haste has gotten the better of us once, lets make sure it doesn't happen again."
A man who can't even stick to his plan? I thought higher of you.
He breathes heavily and forces himself forward in his recitations.
"And perhaps further information regarding these Dark Folk. If there is passage to the Darklands...then they may be from there." He turns to the female soldier, trying not to think of Vandana back in Magnimar. "As for maps, I'd requested of the mayor to acquire such so we can have alternate paths for exit."
Finally. That sounded like Sebastian Bacarov, inspector, and ot Sebastian Bacarov, zealot.
"I agree. We have to remember we aren't a war party. We are investigators. We fight our enemies by being smarter than them, not by charging into them."
I stood up, hands on my lower back as I stretched.
"I don't know which two of the deaths were mistakes but, Sebastian, I think you're onto something. If we can find out everything possible about each of the victims and look for commonalities, maybe we can discover this thing's weakness. Yes, we risk it killing again while we investigate but... well, if we go unprepared all that happens is we die and then it kills more anyway."