Glimmer yanked another potion from Spectrum's bandoleer. This one too. she said with a small glare. You are too reckless.
Spectrum rolled to his feat almost underneath the demonic warrior and quickstepped to the side trying to avoid her blade.
Then he lashed out at her with a sparking blade.
Unable to see anything going on and trusting Wyam to take care of things, Isme dismisses the mist and cackles loudly, the sound of her taunt echoing through the corridor.
Spectrum rises to his feet, triggering a strike from Nualia.
He finds his feet and lashes ouat at Nualia, channelling lightning through his blade.
"Get down mage; this is between me and... AGGGGHHHH!" Nualia spasms as Spectrum's strke finds a gap in her defence, lightning blackening her veins from the inside out as his rapier lands a terrible thrust into her abdomen. Gritting her teeth in pain, her eyes rise to the roof, and a tortured whisper... "Lamashtu..." passes her lips. Then she falls.
Isme dismisses the cloud of choking smoke, revealing a silent and bloody scene. Nualia, her once-beautiful face bludgeoned with lightning and steel. Noro, skin covered with bite marks partially closed over by the raven's magic. The hound silently lunges forward for Wyam but dissipates mid-leap into smoke and nothingness.
From witin the room, the brown-haired mage stands with three doubles; all of them slowly raise their hands in fear, as they pop one by one, leaving her alone and scared before your victory.
Spectrum looked haggard and angry. He nodded to Wyam and scanned the room, still wary of hidden dangers.
"I hate this place." he growled.
He turned on the surrendered wizard and pointed his sword at her, remnants of electricity still crawling on its length.
"Talk. Now."
"I... erm..." She gulps. "Lyrie. I'm Lyrie. I surrender!" she adds. "I... She brought me in to study this place, its rooms, history. The creature within here." She points to the papers atop the table in the north of the room. "If you want to know about her, she was writing an autobiography; something about passing it around other Lamasthtans, get them to join her." She weakly smiles.
Spectrum looked to Wyam. "What does your Sight show you?"
"She has delved into corruption; whether she can be redeemed is not for my sight to decide."
"Nor mine."
Spectrum bound her hands tightly behind her back so that she would be unable to form the gestures necessary to cast spells and releived her of every peice of magical foci and paraphernalia.
He scanned her for existing magical auras to be sure there was no residual enchantments.
"I want to know what she wanted with Sandpoint. What was the point of all this?"
"I... I think those papers explain the why... as for the 'what for'... according to her and Erylium's visions, there's a monster trapped deep in this complex; but driven mad by the centuries... the attack was supposed to cleanse his mind somehow, let Nualia control him when she released him... she said his name was Malfeshnekor."
"Keep talking. i want to know the forces left on this floor."
Spectrum begins scanning through the papers, reading at such a pace as only wizards are able.
"There is a crypt, infested with Shadows; nothing further that we have found yet..."
Spectrum uncovers Nualia's story.
The primary villain is a bitter aasimar woman named Nualia. A foundling raised by Sandpoint’s previous religious leader, a man named Ezakien Tobyn, Nualia’s childhood was lonely and sad. Her unearthly beauty made the other children either jealous or shy, and many of them took to playing cruel jokes on her. The adults in town weren’t much better—many of the superstitious Varisians viewed Nualia as blessed by Desna, a sort of “reverse deformity.” Rumors that her touch or proximity could cure warts and rashes, that locks of her hair brewed into tea could increase fertility, and that her voice could drive out evil spirits led to endless awkward and humiliating requests over the years. Poor Nualia felt more like a freak than a young girl by the time she came of age, so when Delek Viskanta, a local Varisian youth, began to court her, she practically fell into his arms in gratitdue. Knowing that her father wouldn’t approve of a relationship with a Varisian (he wanted her to remain pure so that she could join one of the prestigious Windsong Abbey convents), they kept the aff air secret. They met many times in hidden places, a favorite being an abandoned smuggler’s tunnel under town that Delek had discovered as a child. Before long, Nualia realized she was pregnant. When she told Delek, he revealed his true colors and, after calling her a slut and a harlot, fled Sandpoint rather than face her father’s wrath. Nualia’s shock quickly turned to rage, yet she had nowhere to vent her anger. She bottled it up, and when her father discovered her delicate condition, his reaction to her indiscretions only furthered her shame and anger. He forbade her to leave the church, lectured her nightly, and made her pray to Desna for forigeness. In so doing, he unknowingly nurtured her growing hate.
Seven months pregnant, wrathful energies suffused her mind and she flew into a frenzy. She miscarried her child later that night, a child whose monstrously deformed shape she only glimpsed before blanching midwives stole it away to burn it in secret. As the child had been conceived in the smuggler’s tunnels below town, in close proximity to a hidden shrine to Lamashtu (the goddess of monstrous births), the child itself was deformed and horrific. The double shock of losing a child and the realization she had been carrying a fiend in her belly for seven months was too much. Nualia fell into a coma. As Nualia slept, she dreamed unhealthy dreams. Fuelled by the wrath from below and the taint of Lamashtu, Nualia became further obsessed with the cruel demon goddess and the conviction that her wretched life was inflicted on her by those around her. She came to see her angelic heritage as a curse, and the demon-sent dreams showed her how to expunge this taint from her body and soul, replacing it with chaos and cruelty. When she finally woke, Nualia was someone new, someone who didn’t flinch at what Lamashtu asked of her. She jammed her father’s door shut as he slept, lit the church on fire, and fled Sandpoint. The locals assumed Nualia had burned in the fire, a tragedy made all the worse by the death of Father Tobyn as well. Yet Nualia lived. She tracked down Delek and murdered him. Yet his death did not fill her need for revenge. Sandpoint and its hated citizens still lived. Nualia learned that she had a larger role to play, and that her dreams were a map to her destiny. Taking the advice to heart, Nualia returned to Sandpoint, and found herself drawn to the brick wall in the smuggler’s tunnels where she and Delek had conceived her deformed child. Nualia bashed down the wall, and in so doing, discovered the Catacombs of Wrath and the quasit Erylium, also a follower of Lamashtu. For many months, Nualia studied under Erylium’s tutelage. During this time, Nualia received another vision from Lamashtu—a vision of a monstrous goblin wolf imprisoned in a tiny room. In Nualia’s dreams, she learned that this creature, a barghest named Malfeshnekor, was also one of Lamashtu’s chosen. If she could find him and free him, he would not only help her achieve her vengeance against the town of Sandpoint, but he would be the key in cleansing her body of what she had come to see as her “celestial taint.” Nualia wanted to be one of Lamashtu’s children now. She wanted to become a monster herself
Spectrum read clinically, finally dropping the sheaf of papers with a roll of his eyes. "Delusional."
"These reveal nothing of how she intended to achieve her goals, beyond making contact with a Barghest. She seemed to have no real plan beyond the desire to hurt people."
He turned back to their captive. "Did you discover the location of this Barghest?"
"N-no, we didn't. There must be a key or a hidden door, but we haven't discovered it yet..."
"She hadn't finished writing. She... she was going to rule a new town with help from the goblins and sinspawn, with Malfeshnekor as a protector... other Lamashtans would flock to her, keep Magnimar at bay until it could exist as its own city..."
"So she was delusional, and an idiot. What could possibly have drawn you to her? You are a wizard. You must be intelligent enough to be able to predict how a civilization of goblins and sinspawn would have progressed. Magnimar would not have had to do a thing. Your fledgeling city would have devolved into fire and ruin before two years time."
Spectrum was severely injured but his anger and pride would not let him relax yet.
"...maybe. Maybe it could have lasted long enough to get out of here. Nualia, she has... had... this presence, this charisma. She was hard to refuse. And I just wanted to get my hands on this." She extends her hands out to encompass the complex. "This is my next thesis, maybe my life's work. And this was the only way I could get access."
"I hope it was worth it. People died because of Nualia's actions. You were a part of that. You will have to be very persuasive in front of the magistrate if you expect to keep your neck out of a noose."
Spectrum looked down at Noro. He blinked. He was not a healer. "Isme, is she..." he felt for a pulse. Isme had been quick, but Noro had a tendency to push herself beyond reasonable limits. It may have been too late before the bird got to her.
She remains silent.
Spectrum finds a steady pulse, and hears a snore. Noro seems almost peaceful; healed by Isme's magic, she is far from death, though not yet awake.
Spectrum rolled his eyes but was actually relieved. "Wyam, can you rouse her, please?"
Wyam bends over, concenrates then heals her. Noro stumbles her way back to consciousness and expresses satisfaction at Nualia being dead.
"The rest of this place is full of Shadows." Spectrum said to Noro. "It is your turn for prisoner watch. Wyam will be more capable of defeating the undead."
"Bring the mercenary down. We will rest here and clear the Shadow infestation tomorrow."
"Aye."
"Wait, what's that?" Wyam calls out, pointing at the wall in the corridor.
The southern wing of this L-shaped hallway ends at a pair of stone doors carved with the depictions of two skeletons reaching out to clutch a skull between them, while to the east the hallway narrows down to frame a circular carving of what seems to be an immense stack of gold coins that rises from floor to ceiling. The edges of these coins are carved with tiny, spiky runes.
Wyam is pointing at what upon closer inspection seem to be tiny, circle-shaped slots in the wall to the left and right.
Spectrum winced his way closer to Wyam to take a look.
The slots look like they could just about fit a coin.
Glimmer flaps over and lands hard on Wyam's shoulder, her neck stretched out to full extension.
Treasure!
She dove off Wyam's shoulder and into the pile of couns before anyone could say anything.
Spectrum tried to move to stop her but his injuries stole his speed, and the pain of trying stole his voice.
The pile of 'coins' is eight feet high, and each gold coin is about the same width and breadth as a man. Their position also appears to fasten them close to the wall, half-protruding out and compressed by the sides and top. It hurts, striking it, but not disastrously.
Undaunted, Glimmer rubs herself on the pile like a cat with catnip.
Spectrum looks slightly embarassed and looks more closely at the pile.
It is perfectly flush into the wall, as if built for it.
"Why would they do that? What purpose does a sculpture of gold coins made of gold coins serve?"
Lyrie calls out. "It's an illusion; look for auras, you'll see it. It's ordinary stone."
Spectrum detects magic and nods as he sees the aura.
"Thank you."
Then he looks for what the illusion is hiding or changing.
Glimmer looked horrified, disappointed and then angry.
Those... big... mean people.
Then she stalked away to pout wanting nothing further to do with the fake treasure.
Spectrum detects a Permanent Image spell, making the stone coins look like gold coins.
"Strange. The coins are made of stone. A permanent illusion glam ours them. What purpose does this serve?"
Spectrum discovers that keen eyes alone will not solve this mystery.
Spectrum took a good look at the slots. "What do you make of these?" Spectrum asked Wyam and Isme.
On impulse, Spectrum tries to put a couple gold coins in the slots.
The coins slip in, and disappear; with a quiet grinding sound, the coins in the wall shake and then rotate, revealing a passage into a new part of the complex.
"...What was that?" Lyrie calls out.
"Nothing that can't wait." Spectrum said, his curiosity satisfied.
The fight had been over long enough that the adrenalin had worn of and the stiffness was setting in. He moved painfully over to a chair, say down and started removing bloody clothing to take a good look at his wounds. He used a cantrip to clean away the blood and grime and sighed. All he had left was the potion of infernal healing that Glimmer hadn't quite had time to pour down his throat. He couldn't justify using it just to save himself some pain.
He let the others handle retrieving their other prisoner. He mentally asked Glimmer to have Array split the watch shifts with her so the rest of them could sleep. He layed down and was asleep in moments.
Wyam rests a hand on Spectrum's shoulder. "You've done good, elf." Holy light flickers and eases your wounds.
Shifts are set up; Lyrie asks if she can return to her quarters but Noro quite firmly rebuffs her.
Isme rests along, unwilling to explore by herself.
Isme leaves for a moment to gather a pint of Nualia's blood, saving it for after her rest.
When she wakes, she drinks the blood and communes for an hour. She seems frustrated when she wakes.
Glimmer watches with a mixture or intrigue and disgust.
What are you doing that for? That's a lot of blood!