Bacarov's eyes alter in hue, a dark-blue glow around the irises.
Bacarov grinds his teeth as he nods along with Rupman's story. The glow of his eyes fades while the anger in his chest grows. I'll bet you've been dancing naked with your filthy abominations down there, heretic. Yes, yes I'll help you get out of here...out of your den. Perhaps along the way justice may cross our path and set the Scales aright...
"Most assuredly, Master Rupman. Your information of the depths beneath the city will prove even more uselful than the...fine stones you place at the foundations of this city." Bacarov gestures back towards Dramin and Dalton to get the door. "If you'll follow my associates here, they can take the lead while Mr Marsh and I can guard from behind."
Dalton will nod and move to heave the heavy door open and hold it there.
Dramin feigns disinterest at the man and looks at Dalton heading toward the door. He doesn't like where this is going but is glad that more of the story would be coming out.
His hand feels the weapon at his side and he hears a hum.
Whatever this man knows, its going to prove useful so lets make sure he doesn't get away. He's unsure to whom the 'lets' is referring to, and whether or not its himself arguing or the lusty voice that chimes in, but it didn't matter; the point was valid.
Marsh chuckles, a deep mirthful sound.
"Maybe you were expectin the Priests of Phrasma or somethin. That's who's comin next if you decide to holdback the rest of the information dancin around behind yer eyes."
"I we didn't travel all the way here and pay you a visit for the same basic b$+!%%*& any bar dweller could slur at us from his stool for a warm cup of swill. You did notice we didn't blast our way in here right!? Let's do this the easy way."
"So cut the crap and let's get to that little bit yer still holdin close, huh?"
Dalton locks eyes with Dramin and they share a quick grin as they hear Vinnie taking Rupman to task.
The young wizard looks at the monk, knowing what he was thinking.
It was art watching Marsh do his thing; like seeing a trained wolf on a hunt.
"This is ridiculous," Rupman Myre growls, still not coming down from his perch. "You break into my factory unlawfully under pretenses of needing my help, then insult me again and again?! I will not be called a liar by you, outsider! I am under no obligation to you. You still seem to misunderstand the situation. I have no fear of the Pharasmins! They, too, rely on me for the stability of this city! So- unless you intend to add assault or attempted murder to your already-impressive resume of offenses, you will apologize immediately!"
He huffs and puffs for a moment, but regardless of whether or not Marsh feels any need to apologize...
"...You wish to know my secrets, simpleton? I will give you this, and only because I, too, understand that Carrion Hill faces a threat. There is a strange woman who has been seen in these parts in recent days. With her came strange creatures not native to these lands. Bugs- and not the kind that I am fond of. She has followers... not many, but a few. A small group. I know not their names or occupations, only that they are men who trade in secrets and keep their heads held low to avoid the gazes of honest men like myself. I know that they have already succeeded in some sort of horrid rite- otherwise, we would not face such a horrid threat at this time. Now, then... if that satisfies your curiosity, you will all lower your arms and escort me to Crown Manor!"
He still does not come down from the platform, however.
Dalton cocks an eyebrow and glances sidelong at Dramin.
In a quiet voice, he mutters, "Y'know, he's got us there. We did enter this place illegally."
"Did we? I did hear screaming after all..."
He's unsure if the lie has become a truth or the truth a lie.
Either way he stands fast with Dalton at the door.
Once he hears her being mentioned however, he walks up a bit.
"So you know her? You've seen her?" He takes another step toward the walkway he perches on. "The stirges will be getting worse you know, she is only the herald of something far bigger."
He looks off into the distance, an untrained man walking in the room could possibly mistake him for one of the juju automatons. "Whatever this rite is, if you know anything about it at all; it will help us stop it. A rising tide carries all ships, and a wave crushes them all just as easily."
"Enough of your fancy talk. I don't know what screaming you could be referring to- my employees are... famously quiet. And what would I know of this occult rite? I am a businessman."
It sounds as if he 's in no mood to share any further info.
"Well? Will you deliver me to Crown Manor, or not? I tire of this useless banter!"
"Let's just get this show on the road. I tire of waiting," the monk whispers to Dramin.
"Lets go then. I don't see the need to carry this on further when lives are on the line."
He moves back toward the door. "Come at your leisure." He shrugs and walks out.
"Then we are in agreement," Rupman Myre huffs, and disappears again behind the curtain again. A few moments later, he comes down the stairs, carrying a large carrying case. The zombified workers turn and continue on with their work as if nothing had happened. "Well, then- shall we?" Myre grins a hideous grin at the party, revealing his rotten teeth.
Marsh claps a condescending golf clap.
"Good . . . Very good Mr. Myre and thanks for steppin down here so we can look one another in the eye."
Chuckling he gestures to the man's case.
"Heh, heh, heh. Yeah, we ain't leavin just yet---so nobody get excited."
He addressed that last bit towards Dalton.
"No need for us to rush this friendly conversation now that Mr. Myre's decided to join it."
The big man produces a pipe and lights a match stick off his thumbnail.
"I thank you in advance for entertainin my simple mind a bit further. . ."
He draws in a long draw while fixing his eyes on the rotten toothed necromancer. The smoke curls from his nose like a dragon as he speaks again.
"We know this woman and her bugs for that manner. Crossed nations to catch up with her."
He takes another draw on the pipe.
"Catch her name by chance?"
Vinney's eyes lock onto the brick maker's.
Does she speak to you Mr. Myre?"
Rupman Myre glares angrily at Marsh. "You have no authority to question me like this, as I have said before, but out of the kindness in my heart, I can tell you this: no, I have not spoken with this woman of whom you speak, nor do I know her name, you rude man. Now keep your mouth shut before I decide to share with the Mayor how crude and annoying you have been."
Dalton holds the door open for the man as sarcastically as he knows how.
Bacarov watches the heretic for long moments. The images of various methods of execution are little comfort to the Inspector, but he knows Rupman's death must occur.
Summoning the dead, consort of the dark arts that threatens others... His sky-blue eyes bore into the back of the necromancer's head as he matches wits with Marsh. ...you'll die soon enough, heretic.
"You may have forgotten the beginning of our conversation, Master Rupman. Our mayoral writs provide us certain leniencies in order to address the threat beneath the city." Gone is the pleasant tone with which he'd opened the conversation. Bacarov points towards Dalton and the door. "The mayor now deals with a threat to the entire city. Don't overestimate your importance by comparison, death-speaker. Or your usefulness. We've heard the whispers from the mysterious woman. Whether we have your information or not, we know the way."
"Please follow my associates as Mr Marsh and I cover the rear." Bacarov pauses. "Move now, Master Rupman. Or you can remain here with your mindless friends in the hopes they'll keep you safe from Carrion Hill's destruction."
Dramin hears Bacarov and Marsh speak about the whispers and the way and in that instant he decides to leave the building without another word; hoping the air outside would be less stifling.
Its not too long until he instinctively swats in the direction of a perceived buzzing. Upon realizing there is nothing there he pulls up his coat tight and takes a deep breath.
Stay focused. Its only a matter of time until we can examine these shrines, the mushrooms and what lies below.
If one could hear his head and knew what was down below Carrion Hill it would seem a death wish.
Tired of the stalling Marsh speaks up.
"Well let's not all sit around jerkin off. Let's go see the freakin mayor."
After much bickering, the party finally leaves Rupman's Vats behind, escorting the belligerent Rupman Myre back toward Crown Manor. Upon their arrival, several Crows guarding the place seem to recoil back, their expressions mixing disgust at Myre's appearance as well as shock that the party has brought him along. Mayor Heggry, seemingly notified ahead of time by one of the Crows, seems to be in a bit of a panic when he greets the party and their "guest" in the common room of his manor. "Mr.- Mr. Myre. What are you doing here?" he asks.
"These ruffians broke into my vats and accused me of terrible crimes!" Myre pounds the butt of his staff against the floor angrily. "No doubt my locks will need replacing, and I don't mind saying that the words spoken by these outsiders is offensive to my ears! Keep your hounds on a shorter leash, Heggry, or I might have to whip them myself!"
Heggry looks at the party apologetically. "Er... thank you for escorting Mr. Myre here to safety. I'll... talk to him." His tone implies that he does not believe Myre's word over your own, necessarily, but he does not sound as if he is looking forward to dealing with the man.
"Heh heh heh, good one. You'll find yer lock in pristine condition. The mayor only hires the best. Anyways, we better make the meetin with the rest of our crew gang. We spent enough time escortin the zombie master around."
Bacarov drives down the desire to kill Myre, using a few belts from his flask of vodka. He chuckles dryly and agrees with Marsh.
"Indeed, Mister Marsh." He bows to the mayor, a shallow dip of repect. "I and my compatriots were unaware of the leniencies afforded in Carrion Hill. Notably the use of undead as a labor force. Had we known we would most definitely not pressed Master Rupman so thoroughly with questions."
Looking passed the mayor to the heretic, Bacarov smiles. "Never fear, Master Rupman, on our way to defeating this enemy under the city, I shall notify the Pharasmans of your plight. With you safely ensconced here, someone should be dispatched to supervise your...workers." He turns away to join the group as they depart to meet Warshawski. "We will see each other again, Master Rupman."
Rupman
On the way to meet Warshawski he considers the situation with the others. "He didn't rise to the bait when I whispered the cult's notable phrase about 'knowing the way'. But he knows something . I hope we've not left an enemy at our backs."
Bacarov's eyes glow subtly with that dark blue hue. "We should have put him down like a dog."
Dalton is only able to withstand his desire to roll his eyes via years of monastic training in the suppression of physical tics.
He's more than ready to rendezvous with the Captain and Warshawski. His fingers long for the grip of the hilt of his sword.
Dramin listens to the man behind Bacarov's voice, and wonders if he had misjudged him the whole time.
Regardless of who he is, he does have a point. Rupman is hiding things and we shall eventually see what side he's on when either him or the mayor has a blade in their back.
"No I don't think he did; then again I'm not sharp when it comes to the ways people move and act." He shrugs at the man dismissively, trying to play it normal, despite the leanings the inspector has shown recently.
"Even if we have an enemy at our back, it has never stopped us before. If anything he will flee and show us the way." He stops moving for a moment and lets out a small laugh. "She knows we're here anyway." He looks at the portents in the sky, "And I feel the cosmos knows it as well."
Both the Mayor and, later, the Pharasmins hardly seem surprised at the news that Rupman Myre employs necromancy to bolster his workforce; the latter promise to do something about it as soon as the current crisis has abated.
With their business with Rupman Myre seemingly finished for now, the party heads back to the Slipper Market, where they are reunited with Warshawski and the Captain.
Dalton is relieved that the Captain didn't decide to go in ahead of them. As the time went on, he was becoming more and more concerned of that.
"Have there been any new developments while we were away?" he asks, in greeting.
"Thank you for giving us that time captain. Though I confess my motives were purely selfish; having us all together would be a lesser burden on my mind."
He sets up and pulls out his book and arrows.
"If you need me I'l be preparing for whats below."
As Bacarov looks towards the ruined building and the entrance beyond shadows spill down his shoulders like raven's wings, cloaking him in darkness.
"Marsh, if you'd prefer, we can scout ahead? My sight is...clear in the dark."
"Sure, you'll probably be safer in the front since we are leavin so many enemies at our backs. Heh heh heh. We're right back in the s*%~ again aren't we Sebastian? Not so uh . . . bound by regulation and procedure this time round though, huh?"
I was as ready to go down into the depths of this infested city as I ever would be. Our last adventure had taken lives from us and maybe a piece of our soul. What would this one cost us?
"Welcome back," Captain Roslyn says as the party returns and reunites. Her expression is cold; after all, her operation has been delayed by hours upon hours, and her desire for answers and vengeance burns hotter than ever before. "Let's get moving before I lose my mind." Content to allow the volunteer investigators to lead the way, and perhaps realizing they would not allow her to do otherwise, Roslyn allows the rest of the party to go first.
Grimly, the party moves back into the ruined shack where it all began. The awful-smelling slime, having been exposed to the elements for much of the day, has begun to dry- causing its stench to grow even more vile. Heading into what was once Old Man Marshan's bedroom, they see the shattered frame of a ruined doorway. It appears almost as if something too large to fit squeezed its way through with some titanic strength, splintering the wooden frame. Beyond there, stairs lead ever downward, as the party saw earlier that day. The walls of the stairwell are coated in the same slime as the rest of the ruin.
Descending the slime-coated stairs cautiously, and with Inspector Bacarov's eyes adjusting with incredible acuity to the darkness below, the party descends into the depths of Carrion Hill. Here and there is evidence that this tunnel may have once been filled up or blocked off, but was cleared recently- perhaps within the last few months.
The stairwell curves as it descends downward into the earth, and after the second bend, the party notices a change in the walls- it seems as if the architectural style of the place transforms into something older. Stone archways crown each new bend of the stairwell, and the walls are now made up of intricate brickwork.
- - - -
MAP: Beneath the Slipper Market...
At last, the party comes to the bottom of the old stairwell. The musty, stinking air of this ancient place passes through the investigators' lungs with some difficulty. This chamber’s brick-lined walls are supported by fifteen foot-high stone arches. Between each arch, circular alcoves have been cut into the wall, each containing a stone sarcophagus. One sarcophagus on the southern wall has toppled over, spilling its long-dead occupant partially out on the brick floor. A dry swath of black sludge nearly ten feet wide runs down the center of the room, connecting the west and northeast stairs. The far end of the hall seems to have collapsed long ago.
There appears to be a door on the south end of the chamber.
Arcane Bond - <Open>
2nd - <Mirror Image>, <Resist Energy>
2nd School - <See Invisibility>
1st - <Mage Armour>, <Shield>, <Gravity Bow>
1st School - <Heightened Awareness/SPENT>
Pearl - <Open>, <Open>
Cantrips - Read Magic (Wizard), Detect Magic, Prestidigitation, Message, Douse
Dramin pulls out his ioun torch and lets it just drift about. Sensing the aura about the place, he focuses for a moment and centers his hand on his chest.
"Entagari." and a small bubble of magical force surrounds him.
He pushes forward past Marsh, drawn by the intricate brickwork.
His eyes fall upon the sarcophagus. "How old is this place? The walls seem so out of time..." Before he has a chance to look upon them he notices the slime and puts out a hand.
"Hold on."
"Places like this can contain ichors that can perform horrible things to the body and mind. We must be careful around any oozes and slimes, so please try not to approach one if you can avoid it." He doesn't puff out his chest to brag, "I can try to identify them, so get me if you must."
He retreats back a bit, letting Marsh take the lead again.
You've been quiet lately. Perhaps your arrogance wanes as we close on you Dancer.
"Looks like slimy passed through here huh? Rhetorical."
Marsh fishes out his coin with the light spell on it, cupping his hand to restrict and direct the lighting to his needs.
"So this whole place is like a necropolis, one heap built on the other . . . From nice solid stone work to mud bricks made outta friggin bugs. Oh how the mighty have fallen."
Marsh checks out the dead guy and the sarcophagi.
"Sorry guy, looks like someone messed up yer dirt nap. Hope the Lady of Graves made sure you an all your buddies round here crossed over. Cults and slutty sorceresses is enough to worry about. Don't need a friggin undead army to fight too."
"Heh heh heh!"
"Would one of ya save me from this guy? Not a great conversationalist and his jokes are a bit stale."
"Don't speak of such things, lest you tempt the Mistress of Fate," the monk warns Vinnie. He approaches the dry black sludge patch and kneels, wanting to get a closer look at it. He cocks his eyebrow as he stares at it, making sure to stay alert in case of something unexpected striking him from the shadows. With only a few light sources to go around, it's fairly dark in here.
Bacarov smirks at Marsh's jest and moves into the chamber alongside him. As he goes he removes the leather scabbard from his spear and looks towards the other side of the room.
"When I pass, I'd prefer a mausoleum above ground..." His steps bring him closer to the available doorway. "...that way I can watch passerby."
He inspects the far end of the room and then door to see if it's unlock.
Captain Roslyn glances at the skeletal remains as Marsh cracks wise about them. "These were Taldan settlers- Arodenites. The Shining Crusade. They settled this land after driving out the hordes of the Whispering Tyrant, so... don't jinx us by talking about them coming back to life and attacking the city. A bit too close for comfort, there, mate."
Meanwhile, as Bacarov examines the door on the far side of the chamber, he finds that, curiously enough, it is not locked, but still refuses to open. It has a good deal of give, but seems to be barricaded from the other side.
"Vinnie, Dalton, a bit of strength if you please..." He steps back from the door. "Dramin, you and should be prepared for what might be on the other side..." Bacarov sets his spear then looks to the others. "Captain, if you'd watch our retreat in case of trouble. Warshawski, perhaps bending a ear to any residents we might have missed might grant us some insight?"
Yes a necropolis. Fitting that we would end up in such a pla---
He waves off the ill-omen and walks about a moment.
"Lets not be too quick to judge the dead as dead here. We've already seen the jujus and I would rather not have to experience more necromancy firsthand." He recalls stories of skulls that can scream and kill a man instantly, spirits that could invade the flesh and steal the body and he shudders. Sometimes I curse myself for not studying this more. The best defense is knowledge and I have failed those magical studies.
"I'll ready a shot then for the door, but I fear that the more dangerous things may be gas and sickness from all the rot and age. I don't have that many balms and antitoxins on me so be careful."
"I regret not studying with that hermit longer; we would have been able to see through all of this rock safely."
Another treat to teach you when you reach me.
His open open wide and they fix on the door.
"So Marsh, whenever you're ready for the next punchline."
I used to take comfort from walking through tombs and graveyards. Listening to the spirits of the dead whispering in words only I could hear. This place, though, wiggled fingers of cold dread up along my spine and into my brain. I didn't want to listen. Didn't want to hear.
Spirits could be mad, too.
Still, my job. My job is to listen to the dead. Even the dead that babble and moan and gurgle dark secrets that no mortal should ever hear.
So I closed my eyes. And I listened.
Dalton rolls his arms around in their shoulder sockets once to limber them up as he crosses the room. When he reaches the door, he sets his shoulder against it and tests the resistance. Stepping back with a confident smile, the monk lashes out with one foot, slamming it hard into the tough door's surface and knocking it clear off its ancient and rusting hinges.
The sound of the monk. The sound of smashing... Or more closely A smash. More sound than he had heard from him in awhile.
It was shocking hearing it. Some strange kinetic force screaming out of him, trying to escape into something larger. And the door was its gateway.
He puts his bow down slightly.
"Wow."
Dalton's perfectly-placed kick leaves the door- and the ramshackle barricade beyond it- splintered and flat on the ground. As the rest of the party looks on with slacked jaws, light spills into the room beyond. "That was... impressive," Captain Roslyn says, looking Dalton up and down with newfound admiration.
The walls of this long chamber are of brick, the ceiling supported by stone arches. Remnants of bedrolls and other camping equipment lie along the southern wall. It appears that some of this camping equipment, along with various bits of broken wood, stone, and furniture, made up the barricade before Dalton smashed it to bits.
Dalton bows his head respectfully in acknowledgement of the compliment. Internally, he was pumping his fist and going "hooh hooh hooh hooh," but his outwardly impassive expression was unshaken.
He steps forward into the room, inspecting the former campsite critically. "I wonder why they barricaded this door?" he wonders aloud.
I could feel my eyes rolling up into the back of my head as the murmurs of the spirits flowed into my ears. Ever since the standing circle, I'd been able to hear them more clearly but at the price of being physically affected by those cold, unearthly words.
"... a horror came from below... called by the sick men... flesh eating abominations in a one-tree grove somewhere below..."
"Maybe they were just lockin the door. There are a lot of creepy dead guys around, yer in the dark and you aren't meant to be down here. All good reason to lock your ass behind a door. Heh heh heh. Hey Dalton good thing you got it open or we'd really be stuck in a jam---get it? Like a door jam."
"Ey, wait a minute that sounds an awful lot like the tree grove way under the city we were told about. Wonder what they mean about sick men. Hopefully this horror doesn't look like a pig."
Marsh begins rummaging through the things in the room.
Poking around the room, Marsh finds nothing but a few stray roaches and smelly bedrolls. It would seem that whoever stayed here took their personal effects with them. He sees another door and checks it, only to find that it, too, is unlocked but barricaded from the other side.
"Sick men..." Indeed the phrase conjures up the image of the horror-twisted pig back in Ravenmoor. "...it could be the cultists Markham had been intent on joining before we put an end to his plans. He'd said the fools worshipping the elf-whore were like children compared to what the larger group is plotting." He eyes the new door and runs a hand along it, tracing a crude mockery of the spiral they'd seen earlier. "Perhaps Ghlaunder seeks to be one more sycophantic suckup to whatever these cultists are summoning forth. She's a cowardly, opportunist. Her behavior thus far in Carrion Hill matches her pattern."
Bacarov uses the butt of his spear to discern anything specific like footprints or other elements to tell if those camping here had been part of the guard or someone else.
...but his mind wanders as he searches. "Sick men...sick men...Phedron...Beckett..." He blinks away the words and the names and sets his jaw. How do you intend to dispense justice for your mind drifts in memory? "The flesh eating abominations code be reference to our heretic magician. Perhaps he's raised more than just workers..."
The Inspector stands aside and looks to Marsh and Dalton then the next door.
"Sick pig." He thinks back to the qlippoth in Ravenmoor, "I'm shocked you remembered such a thing." He shoots a smile toward Marsh, "I figured you would have repressed it." He stays in the flank and continues speaking to fill the air with something other than the sound of heavy undeath. "Though really, it wasn't sick, it was more infected if anything; another reason we need to avoid spores and such."
That reminds me, I had such a thing prepared.
He thoughtfully takes some vials out of his pack and drenches his scarf with them, shooting whatever remains and triggering the reaction. The stench is almost unbearable for a second as he takes a deep breath of it in blocks his mouth with the scarf.
"These sick men Warshawski, do you have anything else about them?" He's unsure if the sick men are the abominations now, or they simply were the food, but he doesn't dwell on it. "I've heard of flesh eating abominations, but they could be as simple as a ghoul or as complicated as well..." He trails off, debating whether to continue and possibly incite paranoia amongst them. "Either way, there is something down there."
He gets back into position and swears he hears Bacarov mutter something under his breath. When he pulls his bow up to check the quality of the string, only for a second the sights align on the inspector.
"I don't know about Rupman and what he may have called, but lets stay communicated for now."
"And what of those other stairs? I would hate to be flanked, and it looks like this door hasn't seen much use of late" He points to the remains Dalton left behind. "Should we take a peek first?"
Dalton nods in agreement with Dramin. "I concur," he says. "I feel eyes on the back of my neck and I would hesitate to break down more barriers until we've explored all there is to see here. Let's check those stairs before we proceed. This cleared-out room I just opened can be a point to retreat to if we need to fall back."
The world came back into focus as I forced the roar of voices to dim to a mere whisper in the background.
"That's all they're saying." I said as I moved up to join the others. "I agree on the stairs. Whoever's taking up rear guard needs to keep a sharp eye out, though, to make sure someone doesn't come through that door and sneak up on us from behind. We aren't being quiet here."