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"Oh great, ghost demons..." Syksy mumbles.
"Do you think you two can handle carrying him without his gear, to the Sheriff's?" Vibenia asks after considering their options.
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"If you need a hand, I can conjure a horse to take him back to the sheriff's," Zaijka adds, already rummaging in her bag. "It's not intelligent enough to take him back itself, unfortunately, but it means all we have to do is get him up on it."
Bernard steps back, breathing hard. "This related to the dragon, perhaps?"
But then he screws up his face in thought. "But why would something so powerful - whatever it is that summoned the dragon illusion - come after us through Marcus? Don't make no sense. Unless it's been in him all this time?"
He shakes his head. "What a mess. But. Glad it's out of him, whatever that was."
"Do you think you two can handle carrying him without his gear, to the Sheriff's?" Vibenia asks after considering their options.
"Yeah, uh..." says the more cognisant of the two. "I think we can handle it."
The other apprentice nods along, still a bit stunned. Both of them move to carry Chance's unconscious body, lifting him up between them.
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Bernard's lived in Belhaim all his life. And while it's been decades since he navigated the Dragonfen, it hasn't changed since the last time he stepped foot in it, over twenty-five years ago. A season spent with a wiry old ranger called Paddlefoot, who hired the young teenaged Bernard on to help him do the rounds of his traps, leading him into the depths of the fen for the largest specimens around.
Right up till Paddlefoot got sucked into the mire by something that looked far too much like an enormous snake, and Bernard quietly resolved to give up hunting and take a shot at entering the guards.
"This way," he says to the others, once everyone's ready. "We're close to an old deer trail that'll take us to a good way in. Mind your step. Easy to sink in to the hip if you wander."
”I wonder if they’ll be any more drakes in here. Oh! Or hydras. They love swamps.” Sysky excitedly thinks aloud as she follows along as Bernard navigates the fen.
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"Take him directly to the sheriff's office, tell him what happened tonight, including the fact that you stood down." Vibenia says looking each of the apprentices in turn. "Sleep of the night and find Bacchus in the morning like Syksy said."
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Khardir stomps his way through the muck, but not without his share of complaining.
"I hate swamps. What a waste. The water ruins everything. Old buildings get flooded, relics buried in mud. History erased. Not to mention that it's ruinous to clothes and armor just to explore. And the creatures! Tentacles and multiple heads and poison on everything. Give me good solid rock any day. Ugh! The water's high enough that it's going to get mud in my beard!"
”Well, maybe people shouldn’t build things in a swamp that aren’t made to stand up to being in a swamp,” Syksy ponders aloud.
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Staring up at Syksy She is kind of crazy.. Silently following along the others and dreading the muck. Possibly swimming in a swamp seems like a bad idea.
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"Take him directly to the sheriff's office, tell him what happened tonight, including the fact that you stood down." Vibenia says looking each of the apprentices in turn. "Sleep of the night and find Bacchus in the morning like Syksy said."
The apprentices nod in understanding, dragging their master through the mud-soaked ground towards town.
Bernard takes point, leading the trudging march through the surrounding woods, deeper and deeper into where forest meets swamp. Nature turns increasingly marshy as you follow Paddlefoot's old deer trail along the south bank of Eskander Creek: trees become gnarled and covered with conks and hanging lichens, and the ground turns into a mossy, sucking wet sop. Every once in a while you can hear the screeching of multiple drakes, and catch glimpses of them in the sky, sometimes farther away, and at other dangerously near. Keeping to hidden hollows and taking advantage of the prodigious undergrowth, you manage to avoid these patrols, but one thing is abundantly clear—whoever the mysterious illusionist is, he was not lying about Belhaim being under siege.
Even with the unfavourable terrain, the whole hike takes you only an hour and a half. Though not a long trip, it is made rather miserable by the moisture and the ever-present swarms of mosquitoes: just about every form of animal life in the Dragonfen knows to hide from the rampaging drakes, with the exception of thousands of blood-hungry insects, whose other prey has thus been driven away. Save for their incessant buzzing, the swamp is unnaturally quiet.
Almost without a warning, the Dragonfen disgorges into view a muddy clearing—the final resting place of dragon and dragon-slayer both. Hundreds of years after the black wyrm's fall, its yellowed bones remain an awe-inspiring sight: the moss-ridden skeleton has partially sunken into the bog, but enough remains that it still appears to be draped over a low, earthen mound. Structured much like the Kellid burial mounds of olden times, on the side of the mound near the dragon's skull is a stone door with a single, rough keyhole. Near this entrance lie scattered the arms and armour of two Hellknights, pitted as if partially eaten away by acid.
Syksy contains her giddiness as they creep through the slow marching court, finally releasing it as the group finds itself in the clearing. "This place is AWESOME! You got Drakes everywhere and HOLY S$~@!" she stops when she spies the tomb itself, awestruck.
Finally her eyes are freed and she scans the rest of the area. "... wait, no. What? No..." she murmurs as she immediately hustles over to the equipment scattered around the entrance.
"Were...were those members of your order?" Vibenia asks, moving to follow Syksy as she rushes towards the pitted armor.
"I... don't know, check for boar or dragon helmets. Spears or polearms. Uh, little... symbol of a dragon pierced by three spears. Um, bone knives. Um, s!~@ I dunno…" Syksy runs through her brain as her other lover catches up to her.
Much to her dismay, Syksy finds plenty of evidence these are the remains of her fellow armigers—at least two of the five in her squad, judging by the amount of scrap metal half-sunken into the marshy ground. Indeed, all that remains is inorganic: breastplates with the straps missing, spearheads sans their shafts, and buckles without belts or boots. Any signs of a struggle have been washed away by the rain. However, the bits of armour are shudderingly reminiscent of empty slug shells, hollowed of all soft tissue by some larger predator. For the lack of a better term, they look as if they have been digested by something.
Suddenly, there is movement and a murmur incoherent noise coming from within the dragons skull. Out of its eyeholes bursts a horrid mass of eyes, mouths, and formless flesh, countless maws yammering ceaselessly. The cacophony of voices is maddening, sending one's brain into a whirlpool of disorientation as they try to make sense of its inane gibbering. Acting much as a liquid would, it pours down the skull and into the muck, flowing in a meaty torrent all the way next to Syksy.
"... th' heck is that?" Khardir says as the babbling creature somehow sneaks up on the team.
Lacking anything to directly counter it, he focuses on the usual general bless spell in hopes that someone will be able to hit it really hard and end it quickly.
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A very rude exclamation of surprise erupts from Zaijka as the...thing emerges from the dragon's bones. But the study of magic was the study of powers behind comprehension that could be turned to unimaginable horrors - this thing was no worse than what she'd seen detailed in Secrets. Raising a hand into the air, she lets Zev manifest above it, hoping to draw upon his knowledge. But Zev proves to lack Zaijka's mental fortitude - at the sight of the horrible creature he lets out a bewildered croak and then suddenly pecks at Zaijka's arm. "I see - it comes - you should not have woken me-eh!"
Despite the wild disorientation caused by the horrid creature's babbling grating on every single nerve, Vibenia manages t raise her crossbow and fire, albeit with abysmal aim.
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Her senses completely and utterly overwhelmed, Dusk can only bark frantically at the oncoming thing that should not be.
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Moving to follow Vibenia but the muck and her short legs makes that much harder. Staring in horror at the strange thing pours out. Running forward and casting that red link towards her Hellknight. Panic and worry overshadowing the madding noise
"No...," she whimpers. "Sanctus, Dierdre, Naoise, Laoch… there's enough here for at least two of you... so which of you are here..."
"Oh, a Gibbering Mouther, is that what did you all in." she coolly says as she grips the blade of her nodachi with her free hand to steady herself. "All of it's eyes work, and don't let it wash over you less you want to join the others. There's no organs to aim for, just smash it flat. Smash it." she continues, her voice shaking and rising and falling as she talked, blood dripping from her clenched hand.
Khardir's blessing rings out, echoing into the swamp. As her and Zaijka's respective animal friends react to the sudden unnaturalness before them, Vibenia's shot goes wide. Nisany's link to Syksy instantly fills with pain as the Hellknight inadvertently cuts herself. Bernard, addled by the gibbering, nevertheless manages to charge up against the roiling mass, sinking his flaming sword into it. The sickening smell of burnt flesh—and worse—fills the air.
The mouther recoils as it is struck, and then, like a tidal wave, it surges back. Multiple fanged maws snap at both Bernard and Syksy, mostly scraping again the former's armour, but latching on at multiple places on the latter. All the while, a dozen other mouths continue their gurgling rant against nature itself.
Taking a step to the side, Vibenia loads a special bolt that bursts into flame on its way to sink into the mass of mouths and eyes.
Shaking off the confusion of the horrible creature, Dusk races in alongside Syksy to bite the monster.
”F#%$youf&!$youf@~@youf!~@you,” Syksy growls while waling on the flood of burning flesh.
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[ooc]Syksy heals five this round and i think 4 from last round[/i]
Flinching at the pain she knows isn't hers, and that makes it hurt more. Coming to a stop near her Hellknight. Staring at the gooey monstrosity and holding out one hand while the other tucks into a pocket to grasp her charred notebook.
Syksy manages to keep the gibbering aberration at bay, breaking the teeth off a mouth gnawing on her arm. Help is not far away: Dusk tears into the creature as Vibenia sinks a bolt into its central mass. Bernard cleaves into the mouther a second time, cutting off a sizable chunk. Sir Pelle's flaming blade cauterises the wound, slowing down the rate at which it reforms its temporary eyes and mouths—there is simply not enough mass left to mould into serviceable organs.
Just as what is left of the mouther rears to engulf Syksy in its body, Nisany releases a gout of magical flames—greasy and reeking of chemicals—which burns the rest of the mass to a cinder, finally ceasing the incessant nattering of its remaining mouths. What is left of the protoplasmic creature starts dissolving into the muck.
As the group manages to gather their bearings, Syksy has a moment to get a better look at her colleagues' remains: she notices various pieces of armour that suggest it was Dierdre and Laoch who met their fates here—nothing suggests that the others were slain. The rain has washed away any signs of their retreat, however.
There are signs of someone attempting to enter the crypt recently: amidst the scattered pieces of armour left behind by the Hellknights there lie a bent crowbar, pitons and the head of a large maul. The door stands firm, despite their attempts: a few cosmetic scuffs mar its surface, but nothing more. Only when Nisany turns her great-great grandmother's key in the lock does it slowly rumble to the side, revealing a small alcove, in which a five-foot wide shaft drops sharply underground—thirty feet straight down, by Khardir's estimate, terminating in a chamber of some kind. The walls of the shaft are rough stone, but there are no deliberate handholds.
Syksy rolls about, shaking her head before managing to come to. ”’Bout joined my friends there.” she simply says before going back to picking through the gear. ”This wearing on the gauntlet from how she held her spear after cleaning means.... and this constant heavy coating and lacquer... Dierdre. Loche. I’m sorry.”
Staring at what was left of her fellow Hellknights her hands tremble before she finally starts to pick up small bits and pieces of armor, putting them in a bag as she does so. ”Were you two trying to break into the crypt? Or did you come across someone else doing so?” she asks the bag as she drops another piece in.
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Walking up beside Syksy, Vibenia leans up to give her a kiss on the cheek, softly offering her support. "I'm so sorry."
Rubbing Nisany's back for a moment as ahs moves into the alcove, as she crouches down, nodding at Khardir's estimate, and striking a sunrod, before dropping it down the shaft. The ranger waits to see any signs of activity before lower in her silk rope, beginning to set up pitons and establish a safe climb down.
”Thanks,” Syksy responds, her voice heartfelt and exhausted at the same time. Following Vibenia back, lest she spend who knows how long picking up every piece of what remained of her fellow Hellknights, she mimic’s the Ranger’s affection on the Gnome with the key.
”Nice.” she says looking over the revealed entranceway. ”Nice!” she repeats to psych herself up as Vibenia goes about making the revealed passage traversable.
”It all clear down there?” she calls down.
Bernard claps a hand on Syksy's shoulder in commiseration, but doesn't press it - they're in the field of battle, and he imagines she'll grieve properly later.
Stomping into the alcove, he peers down the shaft, then shakes his head in frustration.
"Great. So if things get hairy down there, our retreat will bottleneck at this climb. Just lovely."
He then slings Sir Pelle's blade over his shoulder and glances at Vibenia.
"Want me to go first? I've got enough iron around me that I can ward off a handful of blows while the rest of you come down. Or... perhaps you'd rather take the sneaky approach?"
"Ah.. I figured sneaky's already out since I dropped the light source down the shaft, but is something comes charging up a tongue I can at least get a couple of shots off while you guys climb down." Vibenia replies after a moment of thought. "Though having a wall of steel and muscle to hide behind as soon as I'm down there would definitely be a good thing. "she says with a grin as she takes the lead down, planting pitons at regular intervals to make it easier for the others.
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Syksy nods then turns to Nisany, ”After we get a few on the ground we can loop your waist and shoulders and lower you down then the rest can come down if you want? That way you don’t have to use your arms?”
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Sighing at Vibenia' touch and shaking her fingers. Quickly reaching up to touch the gauntlet that follows. Biting back a growl at the barrier, this is not the place for that. Glancing back at the pile of armor and seeing Lukas on the ground again.
Blinking and staying close to Syksy and smiling up at her, "So long as it doesn't take longer."
”No time at all.” Syksy happily replies to the gnome.
Vibenia's sunrod lands with a clatter, rolling a bit to the side, but nonetheless illuminating a stretch of worked stone floor. Little else can be seen from the top of the shaft, which travels through the ground for some fifteen to twenty feet before breaching the ceiling of the chamber below.
Bernard rappels down the shaft, landing with a grunt and the rattle of metal. He finds himself in an oval chamber: the main room has two large alcoves to the north and south, each containing two child-sized stone sarcophagi. The floor and walls—which arch gently towards the vaulted ceiling—are mortared stone, covered by a crumbling layer of plaster. In the east stands a marble statue of a rearing warhorse, equipped with all the accoutrements necessary of combat.
Even though the structure has withstood the ravages of time remarkably well—especially so considering its location—it is immediately obvious something is terribly wrong in the crypt. The air is freezingly cold at places for no discernable reason, and the shadows appear to form menacing shapes when viewed from the corner of one's eye. Strange noises fill the air: scratching on the walls, distant whispers, and half-heard footsteps. All of these fade as soon as one attempts to locate their source, making you question their realness—save for the sobs. From the southern alcove, Bernard can hear a distinct—if muffled—childlike whimpering.
Bernard immediately draws Sir Pelle's blade, speaking the power word quietly so that it whoomphs into burning life. The intensity of its crimson and orange light helps banish his own growing fears - and he spins it once or twice about himself to help muster his courage as he turns, lips pursed, to consider the southern alcove.
"All clear," he calls up, not taking his eyes off the archway.
Bernard points his blade at the hidden door across from the charging statue of a steed as the rest of the group comes down.
"Secret door. Still. That whimpering is starting to really upset me. Let's take a look, shall we?"
I'm calling it right now, an attic whisperer. If so, this would be the fourth one I've encountered in adventures on the boards. Apparently Paizo loves using them.
Breathing slowly while being lowered down. Terrifying as having no control of her dissent there is a wonderful feeling at knowing she is safe in someone else's hands.
Looking around and then the sounds set in, chasing the wonder away with the threat of eventual danger. Looking up at Bernard, "Yeah lets do that."
Beyond the secret door, you see a smaller circular chamber. The room is empty save for a spiral stairway in the middle of the floor, leading down.
The alcoves hold little of note in addition to the small sarcophagi. Their occupants' names read, in order from oldest to youngest: Isaiah, Charlotte, Dawn, and Myfanwy. Each bears the surname 'Belhaim-Canteclure' and a date from nearly a thousand years ago. To a one they appear to have died young, none reaching their second year—Myfanwy appears to have passed away the day she was born. Remnants of old playthings—buttons from long-rotten dolls, tarnished pewter soldiers, and rusted wheels from toy carriages lie at the edge of each of the epitaphs. A thick layer of dust covers every surface.
Dawn's sarcophagus is unmistakably the source of the muffled sobbing. A tangible feeling of loneliness and neglection fills those who enter the southern alcove, along with the natural protective instinct that is kindled by hearing the sound of a child in obvious distress.
As Bernard points his blade at the hidden door, Vibenia stares at the spot he indicates. "Nice catch!" she says quietly, frowning at the odd muffled sobbing.
Shuddering slightly at the sensation of loneliness and sorrow, and resting her hand on Dusk as the wofldog lets out a rumbling growl, hackles raised she trains her crossbow on the sarcophagus. "Anyone have the faintest idea what we're likely to find, opening that?"
"A trap, I'm guessing," grumbles Khardir, with his hands gripping his broad belt.
"How about this: I tilt the lid off the coffin and spring aside, and you all fill the interior with fire and bolts?"
He sheathes his blade as he steps up to the sarcophagus, face twisted in distaste. "Blasted undead. Blasted horrors of the world always having to imitate unhappy children. Why can't they settle for tentacles and good cheer? But nooo. Have to creep us out in abandoned tombs by pretending to be something innocent and good."
He turns to the others, waits for a nod, then tilts the lid back and off.
"This place is creepy. Even by crypts with secret entrances creepy. Wait, what was that about tentacles?" Syksy delivers her train of thought aloud as the group prepares to meet something with sharp pointy objects.
Bernard pushes against the heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus, which begins to slide aside with an ear-piercing scraping noise. Before the lid is even halfway off the box, however, out springs a child-sized skeleton, clad in dusty cobwebs and the tattered remnants of a white burial gown. Its head has been replaced by the skull of some reptilian creature with sharp fangs, which it promptly tries to sink into Bernard's outstretched hands. Protected by his armour, the former guardsman flinches away from the creature, but not before it touches his wrist with its bony little hand. As he draws in breath to spit out an expletive, he rather alarmingly feels the words catch in his throat.
As the skeleton lunges for Bernard, the sobbing and whimpering filling the room intensifies, both in desperation and volume, apparently echoing out of the creature's empty skull. Though its speech is childlike babble in archaic Taldane—mostly unintelligible—it is rather impossible to ignore the universally familiar syllables of "Mama" and "Papa," repeated over and over again in between sobs.