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"AAAAAAAAHHHH!"
Sweating profusely, Susan swings the large bladed shaft once again,
...sweaty palms...
During Susan's move action: All companions are considered Hunting Companions for the next 2 rounds - This bond allows Susan to spend a move action to grant half of her favored enemy bonus (+2 or +1) against a single target of the appropriate type to all allies within 30 feet who can see or hear.
Perhaps shaken by the truth of the villager's fate, the party's attacks all miss.
Titus obliterates one of the demon-infested villagers, splitting him in half and scatter demon-parts everywhere. The suddenly falls to the ground and goes limp. Turning the body over (which turns out to be unnaturally hollow), the party finds a hole that the demon appears to have used to burrow away.
Sir Ilivan approaches. ”Well I hope you’re satisfied. Cultists, just as I said.”
The villagers that were being beaten moan in pain from the ground.
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Wiping the Nodachi upon clean cloth Susan blankly states to no on in general,
"I don't like demons. I don't like humans much either but lets see what these two have to say"
Kneeling close to one of the farmers Susan attempts to see if there is anything else wrong with these two
"Bah, they're fine...wimps."
"Look here!" Loudly states the androgynous dwarf,
"What happened to you?"
A pulse of healing from Seelah is enough to get the battered villagers conscious. They climbs to their feet, grateful for being rescued.
”Thank you Pathfinders!” one says between pained breaths. ”Those monsters razed our village days ago. We’re the only survivors. We’d be dead too if you hadn’t intervened.”
"Nerosyan" the other explains weakly. "I think we can make it, assuming more demons don't pick us up along the way."
As far as the noble orc can tell, these men are shaken but honest.
The pair appear anxious but nod in agreement. ”Safer, yes. Do you have food? Water?”
Illiven snorts in disdain and seems to ignore the orc’s implied slackusations.
The party resumes their patrol with their new charges riding double. After a couple uneventful hours, the patrol exits the low hills they'd been traveling through and the fort comes into sight.
Fort Portolmaeus sits on a tall rock outcropping in the West Sellen River, surrounded by rushing waters on three sides. A stout, stone bridge connects the fort to the river’s eastern bank, with a closed wooden drawbridge protecting the final approach. The keep itself is built of dark stone with tall curtain walls surrounding a squat central keep that peeks out above the outer fortifications.
Portolmaeus has been the scene of a recent battle. Soldiers dressed in the colors of Mendev move around it making repairs, while others use carts to remove the bodies of humans and demons slain in the recent attack.
Almost immediately a patrol of four horsemen intercepts the party, arrows knocked in their bows. They stop 60 feet away and call out. “Halt in the name of the Queen!”
Upon hearing the passphrase, the soldiers lower their weapons and grimly beckon the party forward. One of them, the head of the patrol, introduces himself.
"Well met. I am Sir Morgan. What's your business in Portolmaeus?"
Sir Morgan answers the aasimar with a tired sigh. "The demons struck in force last night but you should speak to the commander. She can give you the details. Follow us."
The patrol turns their horses around and heads toward the fort, gesturing for the party to follow.
Sir Iliven offers Titus a nod. "Well handled."
Sir Morgan leads the party across a heavily guarded drawbridge, past a damaged portcullis, and through a narrow zigzag tunnel to the central courtyard of the fortress. The fort’s central building sits squat in its center, an impressive, monolithic edifice with few openings. A number of young stable boys come out from a side building, offering to care for the party's mounts until they return.
With the mounts taken care of, Sir Morgan leads the Pathfinders and company inside the central building into a large hall where Commander Manaria Wardroxan is waiting for them. The Commander, a charismatic young nobleman with pale skin and black hair who is dressed in a mud-spattered uniform that looks like it hasn’t been changed since the last battle, greets the party with suspicion.
"Pathfinders", Morgan offers in introduction. "Here to assess the fortress."
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Seelah speaks up, "We rescued these farmers from the clutches of some demons and we thought they would be safer here." Seelah pauses and then continues. 'We realize this may strain your supplies and room, but we'll escort them back to Nerosyan when we return that way. We are truly here to report back our findings, if our findings show a few less demons because we killed them, so be it. We are not afraid to get our hands dirty." Her eyes cut to Sir Iliven as she says the last part.
The Commander studies Seelah for a long moment and then nods. "This fortress is in the middle of a war zone and we can barely care for our own but it's still better than being out there. Your refugees can stay here until we can get them to Nerosyan."
At Mrachni's prodding, Commander Wardroxan relates the previous night’s events with obvious regret.
“The demons attacked in the dead of night, a mixed group of dretches and schirs led by a terrifying brimorak, a creature of horn, claw, and fire. The wardstone had been buzzing like it is now, and it didn’t seem to stop them. They captured a scout patrol alive and staked them out on the ground in front of the fort. There they tortured them close enough for us to hear. I am ashamed to say that we deliberated on whether we had the strength to retaliate, but as the screaming and begging continued, I sent our cavalry to put at end to the suffering.”
She sighs heavily before continuing, “Of course it was a trap. A group of schirs wielding halberds met our cavalry and wasted no time in dragging them from their horses. The dretches then overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, clubbing them into submission. They slaughtered the horses and dragged off the soldiers while we looked on helplessly from behind the fort’s wall. I sent out another party after that, but most of the demons had already withdrawn with our captured men.”
”Yes, of course”, the Commander explains. ”I can’t leave those men to suffer and die but we’ve barely got enough to keep this fortress manned. If you’ll do this for us, you won’t go unprepared. You’ll have access to whatever you need from our armory.”
Iliven is visibly unhappy with this scenario.
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Seelah turns to face Iliven. She says, "This is exactly the mission given to us by you, do you not see? We can better assess the situation by going out and seeing the strength of the enemy. We are not straying from our mission and even if we were, this is still right and expected, at least of the Pathfinders."
Seelah stares at Iliven until he answers.
Seelah and Mrachni’s words seem to have a profound effect on Ilivan. Confusion, pain, and then shame play across his features but finally he nods.
”Our mission was to assess the fortress and report back to Nerosyan – not join in on a hopeless rescue mission. I’m sorry Commander but your men are likely dead. But if there’s a chance, however slim, that those men are still alive, we owe it to them to try.”
”They were last seen a mile north of here. I couldn’t risk my scouts ranging further. I can provide you with a rough map of the area but you’ll be on your own to follow the tracks.”
Even only an hour away from the fortress, the influence of the Worldwound becomes more and more apparent as the party moves towards its border. Where the lines between Golarion and the Abyss grow thin, the chaos, evil, and madness of that realm begin to become visible in everything, from the sky, to the earth, to the flora and fauna. Soon it’s clear – this is demon territory.
A foul wind picks up and blows across the party bringing with it the stink of sulfur and carrion.
Everyone hears what sounds like the whispers of their companions speaking ill of them.
Ilivan’s eyes grow wide and he slides from his saddle, crashing to the ground. He curls into a ball and shivers.
The feelings of paranoia and anger rapidly grow. Seelah and eventually Susan manages to shake it off but Titus and Mrachni are overwhelmed. They turn on the dwarf with madness in their eyes and attack.
After a few seconds the effect fades and two Pathfinders return to their senses with nothing worse but a bad headache.
Iliven however looks to be doing poorly. The esteemed crusader remains curled up on the ground adjacent his horse in a near catatonic state. His noble steed whinnies anxiously.