|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Stepping up close to him companions, the old man endeavors to add on to the eloquent points spoken by Finarin. Before adding in his own comments, the old man removes his hat and places the garment over his heart, showing his sincerity.
"You are wholly right, these men did not need to die today. There are plenty of alternatives and opportunities which could have been implemented to spare them," he speaks, nodding in agreement to Agosa. "But as Finarin has said, the die is cast. What has happened cannot be undone now."
"Any anger you see from us is because we are disappointed and frustrated on how these events transpired. This was intended to be a stealthy entrance and no one was supposed to get hurt. We didn't take on this mission with the intention of hurting anyone... but we also knew that our purpose was to protect this mission, and to protect you," the old man pauses for a moment, before replacing the old weatherworn hat atop his head.
"Fates decided we should meet these soldiers this day, and our actions took their lives," the old man sighs, then adds a final thought. "It is we..." he motions to his fellow pathfinders. "... who will have to live with our actions here today and the lives that were taken. But please remember, it is by our hands and our actions that you are able traverse these lands and remain a pacifist. Our questionable actions, those undertaken in the split-seconds when life and death decisions are made, allow you to keep your conscience clean."
"We will dirty our souls so that yours might remain unblemished," Ibid adds his final thought, letting the anger brewing within him to take hold more than he intended. "You know this to be true, lest you would not require an escort in these lands..."
Ibid then takes his place with the others, ready to continue behind their guide.
|
|
"These practical moral justifications remind me of why I am friends with you five!" Lort pats them on the back, seeming to cheer up significantly, "Let us be rid of this petulant priest as soon as we can. Masur seems like he at least thinks he's telling us the truth. If only the Pure Legion were as evil as most Hellknights tend to be, this whole thing would be a lot easier. Let us hope the next foe we face can be killed with clear conscience."
Lort manages a pungent fart as he passes by Agosa on the way to wherever Masur is leading them. He turns and grins so she knows exactly who caused the stench.
|
Gunari looks on as his friends rant. He sees no shame in what they did.... "Freedom is one our greatest gifts, one of the few things that the Drunken Hero agrees is worth fighting for. They would have locked us up, or worse, for deigning to pay heed to the gods that they know exist, but believe to be too much trouble,
"Never would a Caydenite argue over whether we should worship or not, or not even very often over who we should worship. It is a personal choice.. And these Legionairres were going to take our freedoms away, even though we had not shown them any direct indication of our faiths,
"They didn't care about the smuggling. Sweet Barleywine! They were looking for worshippers for their pogrom! Any nation knows that to stop all smuggling would be to stop commerce... and no one wants that.
"No, this was hypocrisy of the worst kind. They were looking for victims for their stakes. My people of Varisian know all about this. 'Oh, who stole my amulet? Who stole my children? It must be those dirty Szcarni that came peacefully into our village, performed for us, fixed our pots. Those poor artisans and entertainers... They must have done it. There is no way my daughter would steal my amulet and run away on her own!"
He gives the Sarenrite a dirty look. "Do what you will with the bodies, then. But you will not slow us down."
To Masur, "Have you ever considered a different career, my friend?..."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
-Posted with Wayfinder
|
”We try talk. But they want put us in chains and then kill. That is why fight. Much better they die than Amaranti.” Amaranti doesn’t feel particularly bad about the deaths. Maybe the fight could have been avoided, maybe not. But he has been doing Pathfinder missions long enough to get used to collateral damage.
The hound archon looks like it might disagree this line of reasoning. But just before it actually manages to voice out its objection, Amaranti already dismisses it back to its home plane.
”If bodies problem, I call Kaisharga, and it eat them. It very hungry. Now, we have mission to do. Should make friends with Agosa, more easy to get all done.”
Gunair asks Masur about his chosen career path and the man looks at him with a strangeness. "I have no career. Masur is a slave for the bey. Masur needs no career and is cared for deeply by Master El Makkra."
Agosa disregards any further speech by the Drongos as he moves to deal with the bodies, spending a few minutes to prepare the rites and to administer them to the dead. As he finishes each person, their body is consumed by flame and all that remains of the Pure Legionnaires is a pile of ash. The stench of burnt hair and cooked meat lingers in the room. "Now we may proceed." he says, looking mostly to Masur, the Ill-favored.
Masur shirks from the man's steely gaze as he bows and scrapes. "Of course, Master. This way!" He leads the Pathfinders away from the stairs leading up and back down towards the area where the boat is docked. "Ah, you have secured your boat. You are wise Masters." Masur states as he stops and appears to think for a second. He fidgets with the boat in the rising tide waters as the rest of you clomp through the water that has already overtaken the platform, though only a few inches. "Umm... that should do... maybe... it's fine." he says, still positioning it this way and that. As if beckoned by something, Masur immediately moves onward.
"There is ancient pathway that only the Bey and his servants know. I take you there." Masur says as he walks along an nearly invisible ledge that juts out about two inches from the wall. He scrabbles along the length, moving back and forth, slowly ascending. As you look closer, you see a well-hidden ledge at the top. Masur scrambles over the edge and tosses down a rope. "Join Masur, Masters!" yells the slave.
Once you ascend, you find a hallway that branches to the right. Masur bows and grovels. "Travel this way, Masters. I must attend to Pure Legion guests as I am still of the Master's staff." he says before clambering back down towards where you found him, provided you have no other questions for him.
|
|
"Once again, I will lead, and do my best to make sure we aren't at least walking into any mundane traps." Cyrus offers, then shuffles ahead again, keeping his eyes peeled to the ground.
He no longer questions his lack of pity for the dead foes that he and his companions slew. A few months ago perhaps it would have conjured enough confusion to make him wonder why he didn't care, but now, not even a thought. The task of killing is all to familiar.
A small part of Cyrus' mind laments the innocence lost, but nothing even approaching conscious thought. That part of him was lost a long time ago, and his journey down this new path far to deep.
|
|
Lort, while unable to spot magical traps like his ninja friend, is no less perceptive. He scans the floors and walls for tell-tale signs of a hidden foot trigger or odd holes in the wall from which a poison dart may be fired.
"Well, unless we decide to kill Agosa," Lort begins to Cyrus in a joking voice that echoes off the walls and easily reaches the ears of their clerical package, "Let us hope we don't find any more combats this day. I could not bear the thought of another lecture from that ingrate. Of course, we could perhaps find something less morally concerning to kill and let off a little steam. I, for one, would love the chance to smack some gigantic spider, or crypt fiend... maybe some hyperactive zombies or a demon! Yes, no moral grey ground there! Just some good, clean fun and exercise.
"What do you men say? Think we can scare up some sword fodder?" Lort smashes a wall with his nigh unbreakable greatsword, sending a steely echo bouncing along the corridor ahead of them.
|
|
The old man shakes his head, following along behind the others, near the rear of their column. A slight smirk spreads across his face, hearing Lort's words. He cannot condone any comment about slaying Agosa, that was going too far and stepping across a line that none should jest about. But he did agree with the half-orc that finding a common foe which Agosa and his companions could agree was a real threat that must be dealt with, would be a help to find a much needed common ground between them and the priest. Ibid did not expect that they could continue with such tension between them all for the remainder of the journey, they would need to find way to be more than civil, to be a true team, or the old man feared the success of their mission was at stake.
"Aye," Ibid agrees. "We need find the common ground... the things we agree on and have in common with Agosa... rather than where our opinions differ."
"We are on the same side and we must remember that, my friends."
The short slope descends to a dark hallway, its walls and ceiling gilded with smudged and incomprehensible mosaics and shallow alcoves opening to the sides. Wide cracks and fissures in the ancient rock allow the rising tide to infiltrate this corridor, and the floor is awash in swirling sea water. The air reeks of rot and brine.
The Drongos push forward, splashing about and making a ruckus, as they are wont to do.
This appears to have once been a simple access to the smuggler cave, but this alcoved hall has not seen use for many years from any living creature larger than a rat. Its floor is covered in silt, and at high tide floods to a depth of 3 feet. It winds for some distance beneath the fortress before reaching the old wine cellar tower. Two feet of tide water currently stands on the floor, creating conditions similar to a shallow bog (counts as difficult terrain and increases all Acrobatics DCs by 2).
Perception:
The group moves up, following the loud Lort as he clangs his sword around, looking to draw attention to himself despite the warnings, however this seems to distract everyone else as only the half-orc hears the sound of a faint splashing.
Initiative:
Lort is too slow as a battered and obviously tortured Keleshite man appears, soaking wet, dripping hair matted with salt, and coughing up gouts of sea water. He holds a large, ornate hourglass tightly with both hands. As he upends the glass, you all begin to feel drowsy.
Agosa falls victim to the apparition's magical sleep effect immediately but is fortunate enough to land in a seated position slumped against the wall so that his head remains above water.
You hear large amount of squeaking emanating from down the hall in the darkness as a large mass of rats surges down the hallway.
Initiative:
1st: Haunt, Rat Swarms!
2nd: Lort, Cyrus, Ibid, Amaranti, Gunari, Finarin
|
|
As Lort shrugs off the sleep from his eyes, he casts his gaze back to the cleric. "Priests are supposed to have a stronger will than that," he grumbles, "Do not worry, Agosa, you'll be just as useful asleep as awake - and a lot better company. Ha!"
When the rats start rushing down the corridor, the half-orc groans. "I f&!!ing hate swarms! Let's just hope these rats are big enough to hit... unlike that gods be damned swarm of centipedes I faces with that halfling marathon runner... Janira, was it?"
Lort strides pas the first swarm, stomping as he runs, coming to a stop just after them and sweeping across them with his sword, slicing rats in half as he goes. I just hope I'm killing enough of them to make a difference...
Lort grimaces as a small wound is opened up on his cheek. His companions are used to seeing him grin or smile or laugh... but with only mindless rats to face, he seems to be forgoing the show.
|
|
The old man rises, inclining his feet until he can just see over the clustered shoulder's of his friends gathered before him. From his vantage he can barely make out the faded, waterlogged form of a man that should not be standing. As the strange figure shambles closer, slowly dragging its stiff lifeless legs along, the hourglass in its hand raises into Ibid's view.
An unnatural feeling of drowsiness falls upon the old man...
The old man drops to one knee and unslings his backpack, immediately rifling through its contents. A few seconds later he pulls free an alchemist's fire and then rises, preparing to throw it.
|
|
"Urh, odd sleepy.. But no time sleep, danger ahead!" Amaranti staggers for a moment, as some mystical force tries to send him to slumber. But the summoner slaps himself, and shakes off the drowsiness.
Following the example set by Finarin, Amaranti starts rubbing the foul-smelling ointment on his skin. Hopefully the rats feel the smell as bad as he does.
|
|
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Cyrus panics a little when he sees the ghostly figure, and again when he hears the rats.
*Quickly he pulls a wand from his wrist sheath.
a wand of fireball? I didn't know I had this!
Without hesitation, Cyrus activates the wand. A pea sized glowing bead shoots down the hall, enveloping the entire area in a gigantic ball of flame, hot enough to melt iron. Miraculously, none of his companions are injured, and all of the rats are mere piles of ash at their feet.
The Ninja beams as he explains to Finarin that he has figured out how to evoke even more magical power from the wand with his incredible skill at weilding magical devices. Ibid eventually finds a secret passageway revealed by the fire which takes them directly to a hospital full of plague victims. Agosa makes short work of the plague and before they know it, the pure legion is hailing them all as heros! There is a parade! And women! Why there are even statues being erected in their honor!
Cyrus waves to the crowds of adoring fans that surround him and his friends.
Why is the country, and the parade flooding? Strange, suddenly roda...hume is an underwater city? What is going on here?
Cyrus slumps over in the water, asleep faster than Agosa. His body floats in the shallow water, bubbles slipping from his nose and lips.
-Posted with Wayfinder
All that Gunari knows is that the haunt has now passed and is unlikely to reaffect the party at least for a few minutes. This however doesn't stop the party from having two members plummet to the ground, their heads lolling underwater.
It seems that the magical nature of the haunt makes it so that their inhalation of water does not wake them as Cyrus and Ibid fall under the lapping run-off.
Gunari slaps Cyrus across the face, waking the small man as he erupts from the water, gasping for air.
Amaranti and Finarin move to a more defensive position as they apply vermin repellant, but Lort decides to take the pain to the rats and jumps in head first, slashing away some of the rodents.
Ibid, in the rear of the party, falls under the water and begins to inhale the murky substance as the rats all converge on Lort as he takes a vicious swing.
Initiative:
1st: Rat Swarms (1 @ 11; 2)
2nd: Lort, Cyrus, Ibid, Amaranti, Gunari, Finarin
Status
Ibid - Drowning (1/3) @ 0 HP
Pending
Two Fortitude Saves against Disease from Lort
Two Fortitude Saves against Untyped from Lort
|
|
. A swarm made up of Tiny creatures takes half damage from slashing and piercing weapons
So, unless these are diminutive or fine rats, which they might be, piercing or slashing weapons still do half damage. Bludgeoning would do full damage.
As for the vicious, as I see it, the damage just adds to the weapon damage, as it is otherwise untyped. So, I would think that damage is halved as well ( just like the damage from power attack or enhancement bonus)
That's my 2cp on the subject.
-----------———
Gunari moves up, and calls upon the power of the drunken hero to enhance his weapon to +3 vicious (swift action) and attacks
"Lort, buddy, I got you back!"
|
|
Amaranti isn't a particularly fast thinker, and deduction isn't one of his strengths. But instincts serve him well. And the splashing sound behind him just after having the fuzzy feeling doesn't bode well. He turns around, and witnesses Ibid lying in the ground, face in water.
"Finarin! You have strong magic! Make rats explode! I help old man!"
Normally, the Garundi isn't happy to be left out from the heat of battle, but he thinks Ibid will suffocate without immediate aid. And being the closest to the old man, he doesn't even hesitate to help. Amaranti wades over to the unconscious body of the old man, lifts him over to his shoulder, away from the water.
|
|
The old man feels a wave of sleepiness fall upon him and then watches a comforting shade of blackness blotch out all sight of the tunnel and his companions. There is a comfort in the consuming darkness which spirits him away from the fear and panic, and strangely he feels at peace. He does not react and even welcomes a brilliant chill as it seems to envelop him, wrapping and flooding over his skin with a sudden surge of wet, choking water. From deep within the blackness surrounding himself, the old man feels his breath stop up but does not panic, as if it were happening to someone else... some other poor soul that was drowning. A familiar fleeting image passes before his eyes of a glowing column of fire plunging through the thick cover of storm-clouds, throwing up a cataclysm of steam as it stabs into a dark sea, then he feels himself slip beneath the hungry waves.
A moment later he feels a distant pressure on his arms and the sensations of the wet, smothering blanket falling away.
The old man coughs a disgusting gout of dirty water from his lunges, and struggles for a moment, bracing one arm on his garundi friend that has just saved his life. " ... thank... you..." he struggles to thank his friend through the fits of coughing and a lingering feeling of choking.
Leaning against the nearby wall, Ibid unslings his pack and digs through its contents. A moment later his struggling fingers pull free a slender wand.
Ibid is pulled from the water by Amaranti as the man continues to snooze, filthy water draining from his mouth and throat as Finarin and Cyrus grab flasks of alchemist fire, though it is in vain.
Gunari and Lort swing their mighty weapons around, dispersing the rats as the bodies of their brethren are left bisected in the wake of the steel.
As soon as the swarms disperse the water stops roiling, though it seems to slowly rise, almost imperceptibly, but that is merely the tide.
A thorough search of the alcoves turns up a thin bracelet of fine copper links caught in a tiny crack in the floor. A small medallion on the bracelet bears the inscription “Bakiri al-Katheer”. The bracelet is of little material value but may hold sentimental value to the owner’s family.
Continuing onward, the Drongos shake Ibid awake, though his internal system is quite wrecked from the water inhalation, it will take a bit of healing to get him right.
Ready to move forward, the group pushes onward to find a door at the end of the hallway.
|
|
Gunari pops out his wand of CLW, and uses a charge on Ibid.
He then pulls out his four of his hallowed chalices and hands them to Ibid to drink.
"That feel better, old man?" the Varisian asks, smile on his face. "Might as well use 'em up. They'll be expiring soon... only last 24 hours, you know. Plus, they taste good! Like Cayden's Finest!"
He puts the chalices back in his pouch when done.
|
|
Lort swallows his own chalice, and taps himself with a wand.
"A door, eh?" Lort looks at the thing, "Cyrus, would you care to inspect it for us?"
Lort has a look himself, checking for traps and also listening for anything at the other end before allowing Cyrus to disable the lock (should be untrapped and locked). When the door is ready to be opened, Lort will be the first to swing it wide, sword drawn.
|
|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Cyrus crinkles up his nose, sliding the alchemist's fire back into its spot on his bandolier.
dammit. I really wanted to see how big that explosion was.
He turns to the wheezing Ibid and tosses him a kerchief. "You got a little drool on your chin old man" he chuckles, trying to keep the mood light.
Cyrus knows that he nearly drowned, and sees that Ibid was a step closer.
Don't leave me yet old man. We've got a devil to kill still...
Cyrus' laughter belies the concern in his eyes, and relief that Ibid is ok.
"Doors? I can do doors." he answers Lort, welcoming the distraction from darker thoughts.
Cyrus pulls out his exquisite tool set and gets to work on the lock, confident that it will only take a short time to open the door.
Cyrus first inspects the details of the devious little trap, pulling out his tools and going to work on what he thinks are the weak spots in the mechanism.
Once that is complete and the danger has passed, he makes a pass at trying to pick the lock.
Cyrus pulls out his exquisite tool set and fumbles with the handle to the door. He fiddles for a few seconds before suddenly diving out of the way, panic on his face. "Fireball Trap!" he screams, looking up to see the reactions from his friends at his silly little joke.
"Awww c'mon guys! Lighten up! This mission is already got us at each other's throats and we are hardly even past the shoreline!" he says to the inevitable collective groans and dirty looks.
Cyrus pulls out his exquisite tool set and fumbles with the handle to the door. He fiddles for a few seconds before suddenly diving out of the way, panic on his face. he screams, looking up to see the reactions from his friends at his silly little joke.
"Awww c'mon guys! Lighten up! This mission is already got us at each other's throats and we are hardly even past the shoreline!" he says to the inevitable collective groans and dirty looks.
As the group stands back up, dusting off the grime from what isn't soaked, Cyrus easily pops open the door.
The door opens onto a dark, dank chamber—a great hollow space that rises into the heights of the fortress above and descends into darkness below. A narrow limestone shelf, without rail or lip, hugs the wall near the doorway, and leads to a rickety wooden stair that clings precariously to the wall and winds its way around the circumference of the chamber to a similar ledge above. The walls of the chamber, starting at the level of the limestone walk and ascending to the top of the chamber 100 feet above, are a honeycomb of small alcoves. Many of these are dusty and cobweb filled but some still hold wooden racks containing an assortment of smoked-glass bottles and darkstained barrels—most shattered and ruined but a few still intact.
The rush of the surf can be heard from below where, 10 feet down, the bottom reaches of the chamber fill with the surging foam of high tide through what must be hidden inlets from the sea. A narrow metal ladder descends to this turbulent stew from the limestone walkway, and the rusted skeletons of several metal implements or furnishings break the surface of the roiling surf. The salty smell of the sea is strong here, mixed with an acrid taint.
|
|
When Lort finally gets Cyrus's joke, he lets out a loud "Ha!" and claps Cyrus on the shoulder. The Keleshite has to think back a while to figure out the source of Lort's amusement.
"Smells a bit weird," notes Lort, checking out the surf below, "Wonder what that metal gear is down there. Let's give it a look, eh?" Sheathing his sword, Lort cautiously descends the ladder towards the surf.
"What?" Lort calls back up as some of his companions roll their eyes, "I'm curious! I thought you were Pathfinders too!"
|
"Ah friend Lort, you may well descend, but methinks that I will .... ascend. But not before, of course, looking in .... here. One never knows what we will find."
Finarin moves towards the honeycomb shelf and looks at the bottles, looking for remnants of some Chelish red, or that bubbly wine from Galt.
Moving to the rickety stairs, "Come, let us be off once your search has been completed. These stairs seem to go on .... forever."
|
|
Cyrus looks up, then down, then back up, then back down again, taking stock of the walls and staircase.
"Ibid! This looks like just your kind of stair! Did you take your nitro pills this morning? You look a little pale..." Cyrus cracks a grin as he sticks a thumb out towards the rickety looking stair.
"For your sake my friend, I won't add my weight to the stair. I'll just stick to the walls here." He adds with a wink, knowing that having Cyrus dangling from the stonework will add just as much anxiety as if the young ninja was climbing the stair instead.
The ninja picks his way down the wall, keeping up with Lort as he descends the ladder.
"You are right, I am curious..." he remarks off hand. When he gets to the bottom, he inspects closely the debris that pokes through the churning waters below.
The flooded lower portion of the chamber once seemingly served as a poisonmakers’ lab. The metal items are the rusted remains of furnishings and torture devices, ruined but still visible above the surf. The inlets were once controlled by valves and could be used to fill large vats, but have since rusted and deteriorated until they simply fill the lower portion of this room every high tide and then drain again with each low tide. At high tide, the floor is only 5 feet deep in sea water.
A search through the detritus at the bottom of the shaft uncovers several things: the apparatus and equipment of both a torture chamber and alchemist’s lab (now completely corroded and useless), the iconography of a shrine to Norgorber, and the broken remains of a large, ornate hourglass (recognizable as the one carried by the haunt) lying next to a chair set with manacles and hinged to allow its occupant to be dunked beneath the water in one of the catch basins for the sea inlets.
A search of the wine casks and bottles turns up a bottle that holds 3 doses of a potion of neutralize poison and another that holds a rolled up scroll of interposing hand. A third bottle also contains a fine, scented powder identifiable as incense of meditation.
|
|
"Finarin-friend keep scroll. Amaranti know not such magic. No good for me. "
For a long time, Amaranti stands by the wine cellar door, feeling uncertain about going in. But once the fully armoured Gunari has climbed the stair, the Garundi trusts they will bear his weight as well, and starts following the elf and the Varisian.
|
|
The old man draws up his longsword and pokes around gently with the tip of the blade, moving the hourglass to observe it in detail. He prods as respectfully and gingerly as possible, not looking to damage the aged apparatus any more than time and tide have already done. He remembers the sight of the drowned man with hourglass in hand, then the comforting blackness which consumed him and took away all fear. The feelings that washed over him, and the sinister acceptance he had felt toward death unsettled him to the core as he looked upon the hourglass.
Thinking about he drowned man, the ghost which had nearly killed him, Ibid absentmindedly voices aloud, "What happened to you...?" After looking upon the hourglass for a few more seconds, he sheaths his weapon.
Turning to the seemingly sturdy set of stairs, he hopes the steps will hold his weight as he could not climb like he once could.
|
|
With the lower portion fully inspected, at least as far as he thinks, Cyrus steadily puts hand over hand, and foot over foot and climbs the shear, crumbling wall.
"You're missing out on a good shoulder workout here old man. You really gotta start doing more. That priestess of Sarenrea was pretty serious about your joints." Cyrus snickers as he passes the man as they continue to move up.
The group passes out the findings and prepares to climb the steep steps with Lort and Cyrus climbing out of the water-logged room below, dripping in cold, ocean water.
As Gunari takes his first step up the stairway, the tall room is bathed in darkness that is so overwhelming that even Lort is unable to see in this miasma.
Initiative:
Initiative:
1st: Finarin; Amaranti
2nd: ???
3rd: Cyrus; Lort; Cunari; Ibid