Hmmm. Don't think I've rolled a crit before. I think it goes like this...
Zazaria notes the activity in front of her, and looks past her companions to see the animated brands. Uttering the words to a prayer, she calls upon the power of her goddess, and channels energy out and about her form.
Surprisingly, the power of her goddess seems to be enough to put the objects to rest, and they clatter down to the floor with a startlingly loud sound.
Zazaria smirks a little as she surveys the now quiescent brands. Now what? she looks at the others.
thanks. feeling a little embarrassed to have tempted the fates.
Do we know how to find the prisoner above us?
Let us go back and check out those stairs. The longer we meander here dealing with summary annoyances, the weaker we become for the fights that count.
The prison is dark and silent as you once again move through the corridors back towards the main entry. Combating dust, cobwebs, and palpable fear, you find the stairwell headed up...it seems to be sound, and there isn't enough debris to block the way up.
Reaching the top of the stairs, the group reaches a door that hangs askew and just barely intact enough to block the portal. It's easy enough to push it aside and step over its useless remains. The top floor stair exits out into a corridor that runs north and south; directly across from the stair door is a wall. To the north, sunlight...though shaded...streams through an opening that crumbled away from the wall. There are a few half-rotten, wooden benches scattered about the base of the opening.
To the south, the light from the open portal to the north and the light spells shows what appears to be a guard area blocked off by an arc of iron bars. Within sits an old wooden table and a few chairs. A door hangs askew on the east side of the guard area, and two windows beyond to the south also stream in some sunlight.
There are a few sconces and hooks along the walls on this level, which could be used to hang a torch or lantern.
Upon arrival, Kendra answered the door with as much grace and warmth as you could remember. She must have known of your coming, for she didn’t show surprise, only a happiness tempered with something…perhaps regret? More tea than your belly can stomach and several hours later, you were left reeling. Kendra told you of the circumstances of her father’s demise. To think that anyone would have killed the man was impossible to believe! From what Kendra said, he had been killed by a fallen stone gargoyle statue…but his journal tells of some nefarious enemies and hidden dangers….and the Whispering Way! A sinister organization of necromancers bent on bringing back the rule of the great Whispering Tyrant, the Whispering Way was capable of terrible deeds in the name of their “beliefs.”
Kendra also brings you up to speed on the happenings around town – the hauntings, the fire and flying skulls at the council meeting, and the odd bloody writings on the statue of Warden Hawkran. And now the friends of the Lorrimor family were at the prison, where they think this has all begun…facing who knows what dangers.
Harrowstone prison is as much a story of lore as an actual part of history in these parts of Ustalav. The prison was known as a place to hold the worst of the worst, and methods for keeping those vile former members of society in check were often questionable at best. In the end, the prison fell victim to a great fire, but there are dozens of tales about what actually happened in those last few hours.
With Kendra’s well wishes and advise, and a one hundred gold deposit from Councilman Hearthmount for what he refers to as “the aid of Lepistadt”, you take the desolate hill outside of town towards the silent sentinel of Harrowstone prison.
As you near the prison, you can see the stark,, sagging roof of its central structure visible through a large gap in the surrounding wall. A sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone guard towers once barred entrance into Harrowstone, but the gates now hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars. The stone wall that surrounds the prison grounds is covered with creeping ivy. As you walk through the gate, a sudden rush of claustrophobia and the split second feeling that your skin is crawling with flames hits you.
As you enter the grounds, you see observation towards to the west and north, a small dilapidated brick manor house to the north, and beyond – the nightmarish structure of the prison itself.
The dark wooden door of the Lorrimor home, with its gothic-style iron accents and hinges, had stopped Rufus in his tracks. The door was a portal into another time, another place, promising to transport him to a time before so much had gone so very wrong. With a deep breath, he had stepped onto the stoop and lifted the heavy door knocker.
And there she was. Kendra Lorrimor. Dressed in a black, high-collared gown, her grief had only amplified her beauty. He could only stare, mouth hanging open as the gears in his brain ground to a halt. But she suffered no such reluctance and had rushed forward to hold him in a gentle embrace.
He had missed her perfume.
Now, as he approaches Harrowstone, his mind works over and again the disturbing details she had shared with him. He knew that the Professor had amassed his share of adversaries and enemies over time--it was an inevitability of acadaemic endeavors to develop rivalries. But he would never have imagined that the professor would be murdered. And under such morbid circumstances.
And who were these others, that the professor deemed so deserving of his legacy? Leeoli was among them, Kendra had told him. Had Rufus himself not also been a trusted confidant, had he not also proven his ambition and worth?
Kendra, of course, was the probable answer to that question. Surely her father would have known of their history. And that, that was a product purely of Rufus's own doing. Still, the truth of it was a bitter medicine to taste, like so much else in his life.
And then it is upon him. Harrowstone. Another portal, but this one leading to something entirely unknown. Petros, what the hells have you discovred? As he walks through the gate, a sudden rush of claustrophobia and the split second feeling that his skin is crawling with flames hits him.
Shivering, he steels himself against the unusual sensation and looks about, then turns and advances upon the nightmarish penitentiary.
Once inside, he steps tentatively into what remains of the entry hall. "Hello?" He calls, trying to keep his voice calm and even. "Is anyone here?"
Window in the building's façade are narrow and bloced by grills of rusty iron bars. Stone columns support a slumping wooden balcony over the building's wooden front doors, both of which hang askew and reveal dark glimpses of chambers within.
You enter into what was once a wide hall flanked by a pair of waiting rooms, but the foyer now lies in ruins. With little left to hold up the ceiling, the wooden beans above sag dramatically. The wall to the north contains a large pair of oaken doors, which now are open to reveal a foyer beyond. Oddly, the foyer beyond has doors in every wall, each of which are tied open with rope.
Leeoli perks up at a sound, and the voice he hears, though from the past, is one he recognizes as a friend. The voice pierces through the eerie quiet of Harrowstone.
Zazaria stiffens at the sound of the voice echoing through this dark and vile place. She looks over at Leeoli, trying to read his face. Is it a true human voice? Or some spirit, playing some jest on us?
Rufus eyes the ceiling warily, knowing full well that even ceilings in much more reputable locations have been known to collapse. Deciding it would be better not to linger, he moves quickly to the side and to the north, glancing in toward the foyer with the bound doors before stepping quickly inside.
Why would anyone have tied these doors open? What would have been the need?
He knocks lightly on the remains of the wall nearest him. "Hello?" he calls again. "Leeoli, are you here? It's me, Rufus."
Spock-like, Vrilli raises an eyebrow at Leeoli
What an odd turn of events.
Leeoli arches his eyebrow mirroring Vrilli's, but quickly acted to allay any concerns they might have.
If not a ghost from the past, one of flesh and blood. If it is he, then we are fortunate indeed. As a friend and colleague, Rufus is known to me, as well as to Petros... and his daughter
Let us go meet him.
Leeoli leans close to Zazaria Whatever you do, don't play dice with Rufus. Leeoli cackles, mostly to himself, at a joke that Zazaria could not yet appreciate, but may one day...had she the misfortune.
Zazaria, with evident relief, gives Leeoli a slight grin. Why, Mr. Maleye, I'm sure I can trust any associate of yours. But who is this Rufus? And how comes he here? Another stray of Petros'?
Rufus steps carefully over the stones and debris littering the foyer, glancing out through each doorway. He places his hand on the hilt of his dagger, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Then, hearing the sound of human voices carrying from above, one of them exceptionally familiar, he takes a deep breath and tries to relax, lowering his hand.
Rufus places one of his dark, leathern boots on the first step, grimacing at the ominous creaking of the structure and noting the substantial weight of his armor and weaponry. "Oh, dear..." he mutters, but hefts himself up first one step, then another, rounding the stairs as they spiral around and up toward the second floor from whence the whispers of living souls have come. He rounds the corner to find, with great relief, his old friend Leeoli, accompanied by some others unknown to him.
Rufus is tall and lean, dressed in aged, slightly worn gentleman's clothes that reveal the slightest fraying at the seams. He favors lengthy sleeves in the old styling, with a faded, white undercoat that rides high up his neck and extends to the very ends of his wrists. None of his flesh, other than that of his face and hands, is exposed. His leggings are slim and elegant, a pair of dark woolen pants tucked into sturdy, low-heeled walking boots, themselves wrapped in leathern spats secured by a series of buckles running up his shins.
Although he might be considered young by Inner Sea standards, in Ustalav reaching the age of thirty-three and a quarter year is truly an accomplishment. Still, the weight of his hard, gray-washed existence shows, as his skin is tired-looking, his face gaunt and bearing a ghastly pallor of the skin. He sports short-cropped dark hair and a gentryman's moustache, all revealing premature signs of gray. With its gossamer texture, his hair seems to float rather than fall above his crown. Dark circles coalesce beneath his eyes like gathering clouds, and crow lines etch their way around their periphery.
He smiles at you then, though it is the mirthless expression of one who is merely resigned to their existence. He carries the stillness of the grave, for all about him there is an air of melancholy, as though the sun were ever so reluctant to shine in his direction.
"Hello, old friend," he says to Leeoli and, with a little bow... "And, greetings, to those of you who are as yet new. My name is Rufus van Hildegoath, of House van Hildegoath of Lepidstadt, son of Cornelius van Hildegoath, though he rest in peace, and his ladywife, my mother, Winifred van Hildegoath."
To Zazaria's question, Leeoli smiles with a nod. Indeed, a very close friend and colleague to Petros...perhaps the closest.
In truth, I've worried for his safety ever since I failed to find Rufus arrived for the funeral or his name listed in the will. Realizing it was true the moment he had said it, Leeoli felt a deep tension ease from his back and shoulders. Kendra had been evasive about Rufus..perhaps their falling out was worse than I had realized.
Let us go now and greet him---ah but he's found us first.
With a quickness that Rufus had never quite matched, before Rufus finished saying, 'Hello, old friend' Leeoli embraced his friend's sinewy shoulders resting their foreheads together.
My Friend! My Friend! My Friend!!!
Stepping back, Leeoli eyed him critically. You need to eat more. A Maleye might mistake you for the curse come visit——but I am amiss.
Turning to each of his companions These are the friends of Petros. Zazaria Rooke, Cleric of Pharasma, and impressive downer of mugs of good beer. Vrilli, Kensai Magus, taciturn, but true. And Anyi Iba, an Aasimar Ranger. Do not let her gentle demeanor fool you. Leeoli smiled at his new friends before turning back to Rufus. and we have a big problem.
"Leeoli!" Rufus sighs with audible relief as his nimble friend all but flies through the air. Luckily Rufus keeps his balance and doesn't go tumbling back down the decrepit staircase.
"Ah but it is a great relief to see you. I have thought often of attending a visit upon you but, well you know how mother is, and the lab! The lab! Oh Leeoli, such advancements I have made, such possibilities. But... well, we can speak of that in time..."
He turns to the others, scrutinizing each with look of curiosity and some other emotion that isn't at once apparent.
"Zazaria. Vrilli. Anya. I am sure you have found a reliable friend in Leeoli here. He has certainly shown himself to be loyal to me."
"But this problem. I have seen Kendra. Just now, in fact, have I come from the home. What a calamity! What in all the heavens and hells have you unearthed in this godsforsaken ruin of a prison?"
Indeed, and we have much to discuss⸻over a good beer, not here.
Leeoli lets out a long breath, and readies his mind for the tasks at hand.
Since you are here, you must know that this prison is one of the sources of the evil that is plaguing Ravengro. We were just now heading upstairs to face one of those evils; the spirit of the prison warden's wife warned us tha⸻the Maleye Stink! Rufus, something has chan.... Leeoli's voice drops, and he looks sideways at Zazaria.
I know Zazaria suspects something strange about me, but I have been reluctant to share with her the history of my family. The Maleyes feel the god's abandonment with more than a little bitterness.
⸻but er.. we were just now heading upstairs. I am glad to have you along. Shall we?
"The spirit of the warden's wife? You mean a, a ghost?" Rufus asks, wide-eyed. "...Fascinating, to say the least. Well, if confronting the evil upstairs might shed some illumination on these matters, I should be quite keen to assist."
Rufus drops his pack to the ground, then reaches around and frees his blade, a gleaming long blade of dreadful proportions. "As I have suggested, father's lab, his notes... " Gripping the sword hilt in one hand, he rummages through his pack until he withdraws a torch. "It was written in a code, a sort of language. One of his own invention. It took a great deal of effort. You know I was never very good with letters..." Leaning the sword against the staircase railing, he secures a flint and strikes a spark which falls upon the torch. "But I deciphered his formulae. At last, at long last, I was able to reproduce his final creation." He grips the greatsword in one hand and the flaming torch in the other, its devilish light flickering across the ravages of his complexion. "There have been some... changes, Leeoli. Frightful, wonderful changes. I should like to show you."
He glances to the south, toward the arc of iron bars and the meager sunlight filtering in through the windows, then walks slowly in that direction. "Come, let us seek out the evil, lest it find us first."
Indeed a ghost.
Without moving his eyes, Leeoli reaches into the folds of his cloak to reveal an oily leather pouch with loosened drawstrings. With two fingers, Leeoli reaches in and withdraws what appears to be a mixture of crushed daffodil and blue gravel. A crystalline vial appears contain an acrid looking solvent, which he holds up for Rufus to observe. Astatine. very unstable..unless contained within this crestaton vial. Leeoli spits into the granule mixture of Dafodil and blue gravel, and pushed the admixture into the vial. With an imperceptible gesture a small spark of heat blooms from the palm of Leeoli's gloved hand and Abstatine began to boil and then abruptly, condense. I've practiced, and usually perform alchemical formulation in half the time. This particular extract, tied to my own chemical makeup, will heighten my awareness of our surroundings. And with that, Leeoli drains the contents of the vial. Let's proceed.
I am Vrilli. I was a student of the Professor... Vrilli offers the newcomer a curt bow.
Rufus smiles at Vrilli, yet somehow conveys the mood of thunderclouds over a wedding party. "I'm sure he was quite proud of you," he adds stiffly.
I've practiced, and usually perform alchemical formulation in half the time. This particular extract, tied to my own chemical makeup, will heighten my awareness of our surroundings.
Rufus turns to observe Leeoli as they advance down the hallway. When Leeoli unveils his own creation, Rufus gasps, then gives an uncharacteristic, wheezing laugh. The sound is unsettling, as though he might lose a lung at any moment. "That, that's quite the trick, my friend! You always had a way with such things. While I struggled to make sense of scientific scribblings, you could just sense how a reaction would unfold. You could transform the science into artistry!"
Let us proceed southerly, but let us watch our backs.
Leeoli gathers that this level of the prison was filled with those criminals who were not the worst of the worst. Up here, one would find first time offenders, theives, extortionists, and so on...the softer crimes. While still no picnic, life for an inmate up here would have been moderately better than down below.
You head towards the south, and discover that the area is indeed a guard post, wherein the iron bars would have kept guards safe from the inmate population. The door to the area is unlockded, and merely is a side access for the guards. Windows here show the grounds outside, and to the east and west are open areas that look to lead to cells.
East or west? Matters not as far as I can tell. Shall we go.wes
Rufus peeks through the bars into the guard's area, searching for clues.
He nods at Leeoli's suggestion, turning right toward the west and stalking down the hallway.
Vrilli turns west a couple of paces behind Rufus.
This upper floor is completely devoid of sound or motion as you travel through it; cold and damp, it smells of mold and decay. Though this upper floor was once evidently for less violent prisoners, the conditions here are not so much better.
To the north and west, row upon row of ten-foot-square prison cells line the walls, each separated from the passing hallway by a series of iron bars fitted with a narrow iron door. Skeletons slump in many of the cells, bones scattered where they lie and coated with a mixed layer of ancient ashes and fresh mold. Several look to have died with arms reaching through the bars, perhaps pleading for release from their silent killer, which was probably the same smoke that had sealed Vesorianna's fate. Some of the iron doors sag open, their weight having pulled at the hinges enough to leave them hanging open, no longer able to be closed.
To the south is a rather more spacious cell, though it doesn't appear to contain any concessions to comfort. A skeletal body dressed in the rotting remains of a prisoner's robe lies slumped against the eastern wall, wrapped in numerous chains on which are affixed different weights.
The false priest.
Tricksy father tells a lie.
Listen close or you will die.
Is there a warning for use here in that rhyme?
If Father Charlaton died afterall, I can drop my dark suspicions of Ravengro's cleric of Pharasma.
This is obviously dangerous. Prepare yourselves! Leeoli reaches into a clip on his belt and retrieves a prepared extract of shielding, and moves it to his mouth to qualf it.
Reflexively, Rufus drops his sword, allowing the blade to rest against his thigh. An odd, metallic thud is heard, as though his dark overcoat conceals some sort of armor underneath. His freed hand reaches for the cuff of the hand which holds his torch, fidgeting for a moment before withdrawing a tiny, sable stone. He shoots a glance toward Leeoli...
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Rufus lifts the tiny dark stone between his forefinger and thumb, appraising it like a fine diamond in the torchlight. "The competence with which you practice your alchemical arts has always surpassed me Leeoli, that I could never deny. But I mentioned father's journal. I have discovered his cypher, at least a component of it, and have managed to decrypt certain chapters." He frowns, unearthing unpleasant memories. "The nature of his work was darker than I imagined. I am not certain it contributed to his self-inflicted demise, and yet, paradoxically, I am somehow sure of it. What shadows lurked in his heart at the end, well..."
He shakes his head. "Nonetheless, his advancements are now mine own. And buried within those pages was the secret to auto-actualization of the corporeal spirit."
His gray eyes nearly sparkle.
"Fire."
"I had always feared to apply fire, for fear it would denature corporeal essence. But fire does not destroy the life of the oyle or spirit in distilling it from the red hot vitriol. No. Once done, the spirit coalesces into something quite...well, white. And 'White Spirit', as father dubbed it in his notebooks, is in appearance like rain water, and it must be rectified seven times from its natural form without separating any flegm from it. In rectifying, it will endure any heat without losing its life. The remaining matter for extracting the soul must not be calcined to a red heat, but only well dryed, least the soul fly away."
"And here, Leeoli, the rectified product of white spirit, my own essence, distilled to solid form. That which brings me closer to my true nature, my better self."
Rufus places the stone between his lips and reclaims his sword.
He bits down then, his jaw clenching visibly as he cracks the stone with his teeth.
He convulses, the sinew of his neck tensing and flexing as he jerks his head back. His body trembles, quakes, and jerks, and he doubles over in pain, but only for a moment, and when he throws himself upright, the whites of his eyes have become riddled with blood vessels, themselves surrounding darkened, onyx irides the color of the stone.
"Just as the gods intended."
He treads carefully, slowly toward the edge of the cell, stopping at the entrance to cast his fire's glow across the decorated skeleton.
Impressive. I still have much to learn. Leeoli muses. ,but perhaps useless if our enemy lacks a corpus.
We shall make a great fighting team, you and I, Rufus
Leeoli holds back on his shielding extract, as its duration is short.
Leeoli eyes again the skeletal remains. Those affixed weights bear the markings of the whole pantheon of gods, both those revered and loved, and those obeyed and feared. That man has been deemed repugnant to all the gods for his offenses. This can be no other than Father Charlton, for the one thing on which all gods agree is that none should in quackery, assume the guise of their appointed earthly representatives.
These. All these. They all abandoned the Maleye family generation after generation. The holy withheld the blessings of their priests and the unholy assailed with the curse of undying emissary. and for the hundredth time, Leeoli Maleye wondered at the change of this fate upon arriving in Ravengro, upon meeting Zazaria.
Changing his mind, Leeoli brings the extract of shielding to his dry lips, and sips its gel-like globules into his mouth. Keep under the tongue for maximum effect Leeoli reminds himself, and as he does so he feels the tingle from his bones, as a shimmer lifts from his body, through his clothes, to lay faintly before him.
We are here. Leeoli declares loudly, betraying himself with the force of its emotion. His hand reaches within his pack, and pulls out a haunt siphon.
Steeling himself for the worst, Rufus attempts to open the cell door and, if it gives, steps inside to examine the skeleton.
a spell to detect undead would be nice
Leeoli looks back and smiles at new and old friends alike. These are the times... and then affixes Zazaria with a serious look. I have not yet told you this Zaz, but none of the Maleyes have been granted a gods' blessing for a long time. The gods shun and curse us....until you Zaz, until you healed me last week. I do not know if I would receive the blessing of you god a second time, but I am keen to find out.
Zazaria smiles gently at Leeoli's worries. Perhaps my faith is sufficient, Mr. Maleye. In any case, it's the blade I'm blessing, not the wielder. She whispers: Lady of Graves, Mother of Rest, by you shall this blade be blessed!
A blue-white spiral coruscates briefly around the blade, swirling and infusing it with divine power.
There! Zazaria smiles again, and straightens her robes rather in the manner of a goodwife having turned away from baking a cake to greet a visitor.
With rapier in one hand, and siphon haunt in the other, Leeoli says grimly Let's go rattle some bones.
A word before we do so: I have the power to make weapons affect those who abandoned the flesh altogether. Should we require such aid, I will need to be close to the one whose weapon I enchant.
The cell door, surprisingly, swings directly in at Rufus's touch. It seems that whomever died in this cell could have gotten out easily enough; or perhaps the door was opened sometime after the fire that destroyed the prison.
Rufus walks into the cell and leans down to examine the body. The cell itself, though larger than the others in this area seem to be, has no more accommodations made for comfort than do any others.
One can tell, upon examination, that the chains around the corpse's neck would indeed have been incredibly heavy; they were more than likely a punishment and not an adornment of one's faith.
A memory from his childhood, decades old, swirls up from the ruins of his mind. His father had found him just beyond the edge of the yard, in the shade-shrouded trees that marked the beginning of the estate's woodland. He was standing over its body, the stick still clutched in his hand. He wasn't sure why he had felt so guilty. It was only a bird, afterall. ...Why had it made him cry?
He rubs the back of his neck, confused why his mind should wander so. Was this an unforeseen side-effect of white spirit? "Something isn't...right," he mumbles absently, turning this way and that. "Do you feel it, too?" He glances toward the chained corpse, reaching with his sword to test the integrity of the amulets.
The amulets are sound, solid, and heavy. When one is moved, the only thing that happens is the distribution of dust.