Lann initially stands and draws his weapon when he sees the troll coming his way, staring right at him... but when he hears his voice, he realizes quickly that it was just Xanderghul. He smiles with relief as Xanderghul dispels the curses that had latched upon his soul. Wispy shapes vaguely in the shape of ancient dragons fly out from Xanderghul's hand, floating off into the aether before vanishing from sight.
"Thank you so much, Xanderghul," Lann says, gratefully.
Variska gives him a thumbs up. "Ha! That's how it's done."
"I'll be hanging onto the elixir then," Val says as she tucks the swirling vial into her bags. "I can take the other too, if no one else wants it, but Isilme usually keeps me pretty well covered." She absently tosses the vial into the air and catches it again a few times. The tiefling pulls her magical cloak around her body to keep the rain off her while Xanderghul approaches Lann and begins to work his magic on the Underfolk. "I didn't know you could do that. That's a new trick."
Xanderghul grins, revealing unsightly and uncleaned horrible yellow fangs. "I can do anything," he says in what a troll would call a conspiratorial whisper but which actually comes out as an unsightly growl.
"Can you do that on yourself right now? Or did you only have that spell prepared once today?" Val tucks the second vial into her bag. "Because the tomb would be a great place to get out of this weather if we're still going to finish our mission."
"You could give the potion to Hinagiku," Isilme suggests, "Ary has the pennon, and I can generally keep you and I covered."
Isilme can't help but roll her eyes at Xanderghul's antics, though his ability to remove the curses out right is nevertheless impressive. "I suspect modesty is well beyond your capabilities, Xanderghul," she says teasingly.
The fight had been a serious problem for their group in this crowded fort/town. Given how many of them there were, Isilme worried that they would be packed in so tightly underground that they would be unable to do anything but move single file through the tomb. Külə's size especially posed a serious issue underground and indoors. "If we are going into the tomb, I am afraid we will be even more crowded than we have been out here, and I am worried that anyone staying out here will be in danger given the Drocha swarms and the fact many of these buildings may be haunted."
"That would depend on how big the tomb ends up being," Val says thoughtfully. "But we could leave a few people near the entrance to watch our backs if there's not enough room to move inside. I don't like the idea of splitting up too much, but we'd have to see what's ahead first. And I don't think we can just leave and come back later. That jack@ss is going to come back looking for treasure again with more minions if we give him the time to recover."
"Kule's very presence is also quite valuable, as he can help to thwart possessions just by being nearby... and that is one of the things that I'm concerned may well occur. So, even if the area down below is too cramped, I'd feel more comfortable with them staying nearby and close together." Ary says to the others.
Meanwhile Anevia picks up the letter, and holding it upside down, announces, "I have no idea what this says. Do any of you guys?" she says, as she makes her way into a door frame to keep it from getting damaged any further in the downpour. "Could be some useful information. Oooh, maybe it's a prophecy." Having already offered to try her tricksy magic on the curses, she'd wait to find out if Xanderghul had any tricks of his own before she reached into that particular bag of tricks. Though it'd be fun to tell Irabeth she'd stolen dragon curses...
Ehren sighs with relief when Xanderghul removes Lann's curses like they are nothing, sparing the man from an agonizing death... or at the very least, from a long, painful trip to Nerosyan. Still, if what the wizard said is true, then he is still cursed himself. "If you can, you should deal with your curses as well, Xanderghul," the druid says, looking up at the giant with a frown. "In the meantime, what should we do with your actual body? A soulless husk is not exactly the best thing to leave alone in a haunted town."
He then looks over at Isilme, taking her thoughts into consideration. If the tomb they were here for looked like what most of them expected it to, then it would definitely be very cramped.
"Hm. Perhaps we should find the tomb before deciding how many of us should enter," he replies, figuring that they do not have enough information to make an informed decision.
Wish you'd all get a move on. Figures the first chance in a week I get away from that blasted banner is ruined by wind and rain.... indoors sounds nice.' The Bound Horror drones. Lately he'd been no less cantankerous than ever, but at least he was easing off on directly insulting or mocking you all the time.
Anevia nods, peering at the upside-down note, as if squinting really hard at it would suddenly grant her the ability to read Giant. "Yeah, Lord-Captain-Commander's right, if everyone can't fit in the tomb, putting them near the entrance will make it so we can come running if they need help and visah versah,"
Xanderghul grins at Isilme's poke. "Maybe you are right," he says. "I am far too great for false modesty."
Xanderghul begins to disrobe, slowly but surely removing the chainmail. He would not be able to cast reliably in it, and while he wanted to keep the troll body, he also wanted to be able to utilize his magic. "No, I can't do that again. I can deal with it until tomorrow, or I can call on my innermost reserves to try again."
He sniffs, whatever is inside his nose giving a great gurgle. "What do you think?"
"I can throw myself over my shoulder," rumbles Xanderghul, lifting his own body up with ease.
Variska watches Xanderghul carry Xanderghul. "Can you dump your body inside one of our bags of holding, or would that be a bad idea?" she asks. Variska wasn't the fastest student, but her brazen nature meant that she never held back a question for fear of sounding stupid. After someone answers her, she walks over to Ehren and smacks him heavily on the back, a gesture meant to show camaraderie, though, the barrel-chested woman isn't great at holding back her own strength.
"Hey, Ehren! It's nice to have you back again, after that long trip! That Cyclops thing you summoned was f@~!ing awesome, did you learn how to do that while you were out on survey?" she asks.
His curiosity piqued, Ehren peers over Anevia's shoulder to read the note, helpfully turning it right-side up in doing so. He almost wishes he hadn't.
"It's a love letter, written in Giant," he reports with a grimace, too astonished to be properly embarrassed by its intimate content. "From Lambrecht to Yuzu, I presume. I, ah, did not realize that trolls were into this kind of thing..."
Distracted by this discovery, Ehren nearly crumples into a heap when Variska smacks him. Fortunately, he knows how to take a hit.
"I did," Ehren answers, smiling despite himself. "The scouting party was not as large as our small army here, so being able to call on some extra muscle proved useful. Even if giants are rather... temperamental."
"I think the biggest question is what our goal is." Ary says as she shifts into the nearest building, not seeing the point in just standing out in the rain. "We came here to bust up a group of armored trolls and succeeded at that, but missed their ringleader. We're wanting to go down into the vaults, but... why? Are we even properly equipped to try to bust up haunts and such? Did we prepare to take care of such things, or just to take care of the trolls?" Ary asks calmly, "We need to know what our goals are going into it so we know when it stops being worth it to risk ourselves."
Ary looks over to Ehren, twisting her ring idly, "Do either of you guys have a way to cast Hallow or similar?"
"At this very moment? No," Ehren answers, shaking his head. "I do not have the spell prepared, nor do I have the materials for it on me. Even if I did, the ritual to cast it would take an entire day to perform."
"We are here because the crypt has your family's name on it. And evidently, it contains something of great value. So valuable, that Lambrecht apparently seduced a troll so he could have her help getting his hands on it. Whatever it is, it would not behoove us to let it fall into the wrong hands."
"In any case, we are all here, no worse for wear. At the very least we should investigate."
"I agree. We should do what we're here to do rather than wait for Lambrecht to come back with some other patsy."
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Xanderghul hefts his own body. "I agree we should care for it," he says, gazing at his own noble countenance. "Is there room in a bag? If this body is killed and I wake up in a bag, then I may suffocate before someone can do something about it."
He hums, his trollish throat rumbling. "Maybe it's just best if I carry myself."
He turns to the others afterwards. "I agree with Ehren. I want to see what interesting stuff your ancestors stashed away! Plus, I think I promised Variska some treasure." He grins. "If all we find is some dusty sarcophagi, I'll be really disappointed."
Variska gives Ary a lopsided grin. "Well, if yer scared of risking yerself in some crypt, you can wait outside. As for me - I have one goal- find whatever treasure that bard guy was talking about before he does! Live good and live short, that's my motto."
But with most of the party interested in checking out the crypt, the heroes head towards the back of town. The small cemetery is the most recognizable part of what was once the small village of Sesker's Gully, and amidst the old gravestones, a mausoleum remains the largest intact structure. Seemingly carved into the hill itself, the twin stone and bronze doors that once sealed the mausoleum have been smashed apart, while the word 'BISHOP' chiseled above the entrance has been splattered with blood and filth.
As they move closer, the sound of kellid war-horns can be heard in the distance, somehow sounding both near and far simultaneously. In the distance, a lone spectral figure can be seen wandering in a slow circle amidst the graves, muttering to himself. He is tall, with a well-kept beard and shaggy hair visible even under his helmet. He carries a longsword in his right hand, and Faith sits proudly on his left arm, though it is still green in color, the spiked sunburst makes it difficult to mistake for any other shield. He wears splendid red-and-gold plated armor with the holy symbol of Iomedae embossed on his chest.
He doesn't seem to notice the incoming heroes at all, simply continuing to pace and mutter to himself.
"Lucas. Lucas, son. Listen to me.. Take the shield... take your mother and go east..." he mumbles.
"There's not much time, son. I'll hold them off..."
"Wait," says Xanderghul, lugging his own body along as they walk towards the crypt. "Your motto is to live short? That's not right at all..."
"Don't misunderstand. My intent is to find out what our intentions are before we do something stupid, rather than after. If we're all agreed on what the goal is, or at least aware that not all of us are here for treasure, we can prevent unnecessary decisions, such as several people diving into a pit, or charging hezrous to defend an empty temple.". Ary says, heading for the mausoleum. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't at least a little afraid of meeting her ancestors.
And... There was one much sooner than intended. Ary purses her lips, swiping uselessly at the pouring rain, "So... What's the plan if he reacts with hostility?
Variska shrugs. "Well, you're the boss-lady for a reason," she says.
Turning to Xanderghul she raises an eyebrow. "Yea, what of it? If you're not taking risks you're being boring, and I'd rather die having tried to do something interesting with my life than dying of old age after having lived an plain-ass life."
Meanwhile, the ghost continues to mumble to himself. "Elizabeth, sweetheart, don't cry. I love you... I love you so much."
When a righteous crusader is denied the path to the afterlife in death, its spirit can rise as one of the fallen—undead driven to enact a crusade against all life in a frustrated corruption of their beliefs. The undead creature’s fall in battle remains the greatest disappointment vexing its soul. Driven by hatred and shame, the fallen wander battlefields and wildlands in constant search of someone to end their misery.
The Fallen are incorporeal undead with blindsense and darkvision. They speak whatever languages they knew in life. They are generally formed when good-aligned warriors die on accursed soil and are common on the sites of great failed battles in the Worldwound. Because they indiscriminately attack anyone who approaches too near, they are a bane to crusader and cultist alike, they are often purged from cultist settlements. Therefore, they are generally only found in completely abandoned areas, though some demons delight in their eternal torment, and allow them to continue to existing for their own amusement.
The Fallen are resistant to channel energy, and possess all the standard undead and incorporeal immunities. In addition, they resist fire and acid, but are sensitive to bright light. They can fly.
Unique amongst the Fallen are their Phantom Armaments. The Fallen possess a semblance of the gear it carried in life. They are formed of force, but if disarmed or stolen from the Fallen, they simply disappear and reappear in the Fallen's hands. Their spectral weapons are imbued with negative energy.
The Fallen are Agents of Despair. Their attacks weaken a creature's resolve, causing creatures to become susceptible to fear, even if they are normally immune to it. This effect persists until a creature is healed of all damage inflicted by a fallen.
Also, the Fallen often seek out good-aligned creatures (or alternatively, non-good paladins, clerics, warpriests or inquisitors of gods devoted to killing undead), cursing them with a compulsion to find their bodies and free them from their eternal torment. If such a creature willingly accepts that curse, the Fallen become placated, allowing them to pass as long as it is with the goal of aiding them. This generally happens one of two ways: once a Fallen is slain in battle, it often attains a degree of lucidity, during which it will curse any applicable creatures in its vicinity. However, it is possible to catch a Fallen's attention without destroying them first, though they are so thoroughly immersed in their own past torments this can be difficult. Woe be those who accept a Fallen's curse with no intent of aiding them, as they will eventually wither away into nothing...
The fallen were once sworn champions of the previous Crusades. Unable to receive Pharasma's judgment and receive their eternal reward in the afterlife, the Fallen are grim and ghostly remains of the men and women they once were. Their original goal of valiantly marching into the Worldwound to save Golarion from the demonic host has been perverted as they eternally re-live their final moments in battle, often mistaking any nearby living creatures as their final enemies in that torment.
The Fallen are accursed because they perished on cursed soil. The Fallen cannot be destroyed by normal means, even if fought and destroyed, they will simply re-materialize within a few days. The only way to allow a Fallen the means to rest is to find the remains of their body and to bury it in consecrated soil (such as via a hallow spell), and performing a funeral rite in which the Fallen's name is spoken aloud. Alternatively, the Fallen are tied to their bodies, so simply moving their remains to a different location is an effective way of removing a haunting. Additionally, when their bodies are destroyed, their soul is also destroyed, much to the delight of knowledgeable demons and cultists.
The Fallen are also capable of shrouding themselves of deeper darkness and moving objects and creatures via telekinesis, which they often use to open and close doors, hurl objects around, and otherwise manifest their displeasure. Beyond that, they fight and possess the skills they had when they lived.
At first glance, the fallen are mistaken for well-armed ghosts and spectres, but with careful study an expert can discern that they are anything but mindless. In battle, the Fallen move in an efficient and deliberate manner that betrays their still intact minds. Scholars of the planes and of the undead speculate that the Abyssal energies pervasive throughout the Worldwound that in certain places, the planar structure of the region has been perverted so strongly that certain souls instinctively react as if they had already reached the Outer Planes, never departing for the Boneyard. This is the proposed reason for their semi-lucid nature even as ghosts, as their properties are closer to that of petitioners than they are of spirits or spectres.
The Fallen desire nothing but release from the Material Plane. Existence is agony and horror for the Fallen, as they are forced to relive their own deaths, and the deaths of their companions, again and again without any ability to end it themselves. The Fallen become resentful of the living and often act selfishly to end their plight. The Fallen have been known to lie to would-be rescuers, manipulating them with promises of treasure, or through blackmail or the holding of hostages.
Ehren is just about to reply to Ary when he is interrupted by the sound of war horns. He glances about in search of the source, only to spot something else further ahead, in the cemetery. So far back in the group, he cannot make out all the details, but the shield on the ghost's arm is unmistakable, even in its current form. The druid purses his lips; ever since Ary mentioned that her great grandfather died here, he had a feeling that something like this might happen.
"We might not have much choice but to respond in kind," Ehren replies somberly, not at all envying Ary's position. Reflecting on the spectral foes they have faced in the past, namely Ghalcor and Karsos, he asks, "What manner of spirit is he?"
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Xanderghul sighs. "Far better to do both," he says, "Measuring risks against interest. Live long enough and you can do everything, after all."
Xanderghul points out the tortured ghost-Bishop ahead. "He is a fallen," begins Xanderghul. "I've seen them before. They're common on accursed battlefields populated by the honorable - but poorly-buried - dead. Once, there was an angelic invasion of Cathedral Thelemic, and these things haunted the halls for months afterwards until we could find all the bodies and destroy them. People there were too lazy and evil to really bury and consecrate the bodies like you're supposed to, after all."
"Let's see... Hmm, they're basically like ghost versions of their former selves, but they've got a few extra tricks. They can invalidate fear inurement with their blades - made from negative energy. They can utilize telekinesis and deeper darkness, and they can curse people with a compulsion to find and correctly bury their remains. A few incubi back in the Cathedral took on the curse, since it seems to ameliorate the creatures for a time, but... well, they wasted away to nothing in a few days, since they didn't care to actually do it."
He looks up at the others. "So. We gotta find this guy's corpse and do a nice little burial for 'im, since I'm assuming you won't want to just destroy it."
"So the body wasn't buried properly, but it's a family crypt..." Val says, half to herself. "Perhaps he died defending this place rather than being buried here then. Do you think it would be possible to communicate with him? Or is he going to stay stuck in his own memories like this?"
Külə peers at the spectre from behind his visor. "No noble creature deserves to suffer so. I hope that we can grant him his final rest."
"It's possible, but unlikely, to communicate with members of the fallen. I'm not sure I saw any demons do it successfully, considering they were literally the enemies that the paladins died crusading against. It might be best to... try and masquerade as someone that he knew in life."
Xanderghul thinks a little more, scratching his chin reflexively. His trollish claws score a wound on his chin, which causes Xanderghul to flinch, but the wound heals over nearly instantly. "I think bringing Ary into the picture is a bad idea. I think he'd just be confused."
"That... and even if he was buried, the demons likely desecrated the grounds for the fun of it. So... the more correct response it to hallow the grounds if we can, rather than moving him to hallowed ground. Because I doubt he's the only spirit suffering as a result."
Ary nods to Val, "Yeah. He gave his son his shield, and told them to flee. He... did what all good Bishops do. Hold the line while others get to safety." Ary says with a mirthless laugh. "There was a battle here, and he died only two weeks after taking up Faith." After listening to Xanderghul respond to Valaria asking the same question, she looks to Isilme, Daisy, and Ehren. "Do you guys have any ideas on how to get his attention other than me walking up to him and introducing myself, so maybe we can avoid the fighting?"
"Hm. Maybe you should just walk up to him and introduce yourself," Ehren says, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "If what you say is true, then you are living proof that his sacrifice was not for nothing. If it were not for him, you would not even exist. Tell him who you are. Show him Faith, on the arm of a Bishop. If that won't get through to him, then I do not know what will."
Asides from beating him into submission, he silently adds with a grimace.
Isilme listens as the others chime in in regards to entering the tomb. With the consensus being to keep everyone here, and Xanderghul having removed the curses from Lann, there was little point in objecting. At the very least Külə would be able to help defeat any incorporeal undead which attempted to attack those who were standing guard outside.
As they approach the graveyard, Isilme is surprised to see the ghost of Ary's ancestor milling about outside. Clearly he was lost in repeating whatever his final moments were, and though she knew little of these ghosts in general, it was clear from Xanderghul's explanation that they would need to be cautious.
"We could try to directly engage him, I agree that it is not clear if he would react positively to one of his descendants. Regardless, perhaps we can inter him back in Drezen. I am certain we could find hallowed ground there to place his body within, allowing him to rest. Hallowing the ground out here would simply invite the demons to desecrate it again." Isilme suggests.
"If we wish, I can attempt to speak with him to see if I can get anything out of him."
Ehren's suggestion that he might recognize Faith, however, gives Isilme pause. "That does seem like it might work as well," she says, now unsure which course of action would be better. "Perhaps if we both go, I can aid her in trying to speak with him."
"Sounds like it's at least worth a try. If it doesn't work, we might have to resort to forcing our way through, but we have to at least try to get him to listen. Maybe he can tell us more about what happened here or what's left in the tomb if we can get him a bit more coherent."
Variska grins. "And if that doesn't work, I'll cut him in two!" She pauses, realizing she's probably talking about Ary's great-grandfather or something. "Er, respectfully, of course."
"Ary, would you care to go first?" she asks deferentially. It was, after all, her ancestor waiting there. 'If so, I will follow your lead."
Hinagiku shakes herself, ear and tail included, to get rid of some of the rain clinging to her fur before adding to Isilme's comment.
"We are behind you not matter what you want to do. If you feel up to talking to the ghost, we will be there. We'll even wait a bit if you want to prepare yourself. But, you should only do it if you are okay with it, don't force it as the spirit may take it wrongly." she says, the mirthless laugh of Ary having made it clear she harbored feelings that could impede the talks. Laying a hand on the young commander's shoulder she gives her a gentle smile.
"Mmm... hopefully he doesn't think I'm my great aunt." Ary says, rolling a shoulder uncomfortably, before beginning to stride towards the spirit, mostly alone. She was... nervous. Normally, these things would simply attack on sight, or rather, spirits would do what spirits were going to do, regardless of what mortals tried to do to prevent it - without luck, or exceptional effort, at least. Regardless, she does her best simply to stride towards him through the weather, attempting to put up a strong front - as strong as she could with a shield strapped to her arm, but her sword still in its sheathe. What would she want to hear?
"Ser Alrys, son of Ser Sebastian. My name is Ary Bishop... and I bring news of the Crusades. Elizabeth and Lucas are safe. They have done their duty to the Crusades and now only await your return to them." Ary says, trying to sound as bold as she could. "The battle you face is not real, this is only a memory that you are being forced to relive as you seek rest. What can I and my men do to aid you in finding that rest?"
"Hark, men! They come! Ready your shields..." Alrys draws his blade as Ary approaches. Five other spectral crusaders materialize in the graveyard behind them, glowing red eyes shining within their cultists.
But at the last second, he hesitates. "Ser? I am no Ser..." Alrys responds slowly. "Woe... the bliss of such an honor yet eludes these old bones.."
Alrys was knighted posthumously.
"Lucas... Lucas is safe? Good... good. He is such a good, brave young lad, thank you, Maggie, I knew in my heart that you weren't really..." He smiles for a moment, but it quickly vanishes, melting into an expression of confusion and disbelief. "Wait, Ary Bishop, you said? Where... where am I? What has..."
He frowns. "Oh... I remember now. Skulgrym. Skulgrym came... and he destroyed everything... everyone...." His eyes suddenly flare a bright, crimson red, and he stares into her eyes. "There is a darkness within our family crypt, Lord-Commander Bishop," he says, his eyes darting to the badges of office she wears. "It festers in a place barred to me. This land... this land has made me a monster, yet the creature that lives below is far worse! Please, slay the monster I failed to kill so long ago, cleanse our family tomb of its evil, and allow myself and my men our final rest..."
"Well... you're a Ser now, at least." Ary says, feeling a bit better, now that the creature wasn't outright attacking her. She winces visibly as her ancestor places the burdens of his soul directly upon her, but she accepts them, nevertheless. "We're here to set all this right, of course. Is there anything that you can tell us about Skulgrym? About the dangers ahead of us?"
There were many other things that Ary could say to him... that Lucas had a son, that she was Lucas's grandchild, that Drezen had been retaken... but it was better not to delay his rest for such things any longer than was necessary. So she focused on the here and now, and how they could better deal with what lay ahead. If the Drochma came back, that might well be a terrible problem, but likely there were other dangers, as well.
Warmth radiates out from Faith, moving out over her arm and body as she feels the curse wash over her... but her noble soul stands strong, bearing the burden of his anguish with dignity.
"Skulgrym... is a demon of gluttony, but his gluttony is of souls and bodies. He relishes in the torment of the many souls who reside here... after feasting on the people of this town... the town I was sworn to protect... he grew bloated and returned to the Abyss for a time. But then he returned to this place of his own accord... fully grown. But be wary... he has feasted on many of my kin, and their bodies stand at his side even in death. He has gathered a horde of many bodies below, with him.. the bodies of crusaders, the bodies of the kellids who lived here. What became of the kellids...twas a fate worse than death. They scream out their eternal torment in the halls below, numbering at least three score..."
"Lord-Commander, wielder of Faith, I implore you not to repeat the mistake of your ancestor. Great pain comes to those who attempt to strike him in close quarters... though only the most blessed of weapons can hope to harm him, his unholy presence will slay you where you stand before you can render the same unto him. Do not...do not become trapped with him. That is what he wants. Strike from afar whenever possible..."
"Also...while it is known that gluttony demons can sap one's life force at a touch, Skulgrym is far more powerful than any other I have encountered. He... formed a link with me, and then any strike I rendered to him, I rendered to myself in kind...If only I had the strength of will to resist his foul magics, then perhaps I could have stood a chance. But I was never given the holy blessings of my sister, neither my brother...I ward my allies from harm, but oft, I am left unable to ward myself in kind..."
Isilme watches as Ary's words soothe Alrys's torment and bring him to the here and now. The tale he tells makes it clear that significant danger awaits below, likely a nabasu who, unlike Maugla whom they had fought in Sleekrun, had eaten their fill and returned to the abyss to grow.
"We should prepare before we head down then," Isilme says, concerned at the number of undead they might be facing on the way to fight the demon and in defeating it. She moves up alongside Ary and examines the ghosts before them.
"Do we have the leave of you and your men to pass into the crypt below?" she asks Alrys, gesturing towards the entrance. It was unwise to assume the remainder of the spectral soldiers would allow their approach without challenge, after all.
"Accept the burden of our final wish...and you may pass in peace," Alrys responds.
"Sixty undead horrors created by a powerful demon..." Val mutters under her breath, not quite willing to interrupt the fallen Bishop's speech. "Well, it certainly seems like your family attracted interesting enemies. We're definitely going to need to bring our A-game for this one."
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"Though the flesh turned to dust long ago, your fates cling to your bones in tatters still, awaiting this day. Soon now rest will come, born here by those who strive to right the losses of yesteryear. I accept, as I suspect we do all, this final request, my friends."
Val sighs. "Well, leaving a body here as a demon's plaything any longer isn't exactly something I can do. I can manage a curse or two. Wouldn't be the first time."
"Do you ever give it less than your all, Val?" Ary asks, with a lofted brow at the tiefling.
Ehren frowns when he hears of Ser Alrys's plight, and of the monster that awaits them below. Over the past month alone he has encountered more nabasus than they have fought throughout the entire course of their time together, but from the sound of it, this one was a cut above the rest.
"Skulgrym will pay for what he has done," the druid swears, stepping forward from the back of the group to accept the spirit's burden.
Hinagiku watches silently as one by one her companions, and her friend accept the curse of the ghost willingly. She hesitates, taking the burden of such a poor soul she could and should do, but pledging herself to a cause that might steer her away from her quest, that felt wrong. In the end though, she had to come to the conclusion that together they were much stronger. Likely, the quest would not truly steer her from her path, but make them stronger.
"I will help seek your tombs and put your souls to rest." she says, after stepping forward and politely bowing to the revenant.
She watches the ghost any mark of his agreement to the promise she just made.
Xanderghul stands dumbfounded as everyone willingly accepts a horrible curse in order to complete someone else's quest. What were they thinking? That was Survival 101 on the "don't-do" list!
Bah. He couldn't be shown up. Not here, not now. He steps forward as well. "I guess I've already gotten three curses today," he grumbles, adjusting his own body on his shoulder. "What's one more?"