As Dusk bolts to safety, Vibenia turns, firing past the charging Bernard to clip the wraith.
This command, at least was simple - Zaijka waves at the lightning elemental and points toward the wraith, and electricity crackles and pops as the elemental surges forward.
Bernard cleaves into the wraith once more, followed by nicks from Vibenia and Zaijka's elemental. This time, Sir Pelle's sword leaves a visible absence of shadowy vileness in its wake. Much like a torn banner, the creature flares and wavers as if blown by some phantasmal wind. The ranger has a hard time adjusting to a foe with no obvious weak spots, no vital areas to exploit, and the damage continues to be minor. While the elemental fails to connect with anything solid—a fact which seems to confuse the poor creature greatly—the flashes of lighting it emits do lick away at the apparition, even if only slightly.
As it begins to fade away, one blow at a time, the wraith lets out a wordless howl, more frustration than pain. It claws at Bernard, drawing at his life force, fiercely clinging to what remains of its wretched existence. Though undeniably a fearsome opponent, there is an aspect of piteousness to its desperation: what was once a man—a hero, a dragonslayer!—has been reduced to an envious, bitter shade of itself, unwilling to let go of its suffering.
Having managed a successful swipe at Bernard, the wraith flows through and below the murky water and disappears once more.
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A fearsome chill passes through Bernard's soul, and he feels his blood grow thick and turgid in his veins as the wraith's claws pass through his flesh. For a moment he can't breathe, but then his chest unlocks and he sucks in a chestful of air, gasping and covered in a thick, cold sweat.
"Bastard near got me that time," he mutters, to nobody in particular, and like wildfire consuming a dry forest the desire for a drink - any kind at all - rages through him, and for a perilous moment it's all he can do to stand there swaying and fighting the urge to beg his companions for some strong spirit.
Khardir fumes and just waits for the wraith to reappear, hoping it will show up somewhere that he can swipe at it.
A half-bestial snarl erupts from Zaijka as she stands ready to direct her summoned elemental to attack once the wraith is in view again. There's magic to lock this thing in place, magic to make our weapons ethereal along with it, magic to make us ethereal along with it - but I'm not f%%!ing good enough!
Syksy furtively looks around at the floor, waiting for the spirit to reappear so that should could direct it into the path of Bernard’s swing.
A few tense seconds fly by, with every flickering shadow taking on a preternatural quality. Finally, the wraith reappears behind Vibenia, reaching at her with its misshapen fingers. The ranger dodges the swipe, and tries a point-blank shot at the wraith, but her crossbow passes entirely through its murky form and the bolt strikes the far wall. For some reason, the echoing *crack* appears to startle the apparition, who claws at its face and wails.
Khardir is just barely able to hustle enough to get close to the apparition.
Taking a step back out of the wraith's range Vibenia fires another bolt, quickly reloading.
Syksy will futily swipe at the wraith again, hoping to distract it while also kicking water at it, since it didn't seem to like rain apparently.
Zaijka again sends her elemental toward the creature with a quick gesture, and it surges forward, sending tiny electrical currents dancing a short distance along the water's surface. Unfortunately, though, the creature's confusion at the strangeness of its foe has it bewildered, and the wraith easily ducks away from its half-hearted swing.
Watching Khardir reach out and pulse positive energy into the lingering dead. Mimicking his decision and darting forward to run her fingers through the wraith. Ethereal fire dancing between her fingers.
Bernard grits his teeth as he elbows through the party, making his way toward the wraith, flaming blade held aloft.
No cries, no shouts, no challenges.
Just a silent snarl as he wrestles with his terror and forces himself to face their foe anew.
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Vibenia dives back, dodging the wraith's grasping claws, and shoots a bolt cleanly through its midsection. Syksy's aqueous distraction, combined with the ineffectual but rather conspicuous electric crackling of Zaijka's elemental, allows Bernard to land another strike on the discombobulated wraith, driving it further back towards the alcove. Reduced to a mere fraction of its former might, the apparition can do little but wail helplessly as Khardir and Nisany close in and burn it into nothingness with the pure, hallowed brilliance of life and vitality, far more than it could ever hope to drain and deprave.
Before it fades entirely, the wraith stretches its arms towards the exit, and then up towards the east.
HELP! MUST GET... help..."
Finally, the last shreds of Arturic Canteclure's shade are blown away by the unfelt wind, and the dragonslayer is carried on to his final fate.
As soon as the spirit is gone, so is the chorus of whispering voices, and the oppressing dread that had filled the chamber. There is only the cool stillness of a tomb, and naught can be heard but the sound of droplets. The corpses floating in the water are a grisly sight, but they are just that—long-dead corpses, finally at rest.
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Zaijka releases the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, one long exhalation that sends her elemental wafting back to the Plane of Air in its embrace. "...and we still have to find the Lady's resting place? If these were her allies, what on Golarion could she have become?"
”Fuuuuuuuuck. All of that,” Syksy says with a heavy sigh. ”Ah f&&~,” she quickly adds with Zaijka brings up a salient point.
Bernard falls into a squat, hands resting on the quillions of his blade, the flames guttering out as he heaves for breath.
"By... by Abadar's... Abadar's..." But he's unable to finish the thought and simply hangs his head, working on getting himself under control.
With a grunt he rises again, complexion ashen, to remove his helm and run fingers through sweaty hair. "He's been here all these centuries like that? The gods spare me such wretched immortality. And the things it was saying... all his fault? Did he betray Tula, or was he betrayed?"
Expression grim, he replaces his helm. "Dark deeds. Guess Belhaim's history is neither as glorious or stain free as I was raised to believe. So. What now? Check out those alcoves?"
And Bernard proceeds to do so, gauntlets still trembling as he fights off the last of the wraith's chill.
The coffins in the alcoves, now opened, hold little of interest: whatever grave goods had been buried with the dead nobles have corroded into rust, or rotted through and dotted with mould. Faded inscriptions mark the cadavers as having belonged to the same family as the main occupant.
Arturic's sarcophagus is far more interesting. Sturdier in construction, its contents have been spared the ravages of time, as well as the recent seepage of moisture into the crypt: the corpse has effectively been mummified, leaving its skin papery but intact, as well as retaining the cadaver's long, pale hair, which tumbles past its shoulders. Moreover, some of the treasures buried with the deceased are obviously magical. The body is clad in blue silken robes adorned with tiny embossed runes—though dusty and cobwebbed, the fabric is as vibrant as when it was spun. The body also wears a pair of Qadiran sandals, woven from golden thread, which are similarly well-preserved. The corpse's bony hands clutch a brass rod with a decorative copper inlay, which seems to hum with energy, and feels warm to the touch. On a finger on its right hand, there is a gold ring with a miniature shield bearing the crowing rooster and crossed spears of House Canteclure.
On the corpse's left hand is a platinum wedding band set with a ruby, which—while nonmagical—is obviously quite valuable.
Bernard lets out a low whistle as the magical goods are pulled forth.
"There's a king's ransom right there. How'd it all stay so beautiful? That'll be the magic, yes?" He looks to Zaijka for confirmation.
When everything has been parceled out, he sheathes his blade and stares balefully at the exit. "Seems like there's only one place we've missed unless we're looking to fight those fire dwarves. How about we check out that last alcove above us?"
Having begun to examine the magical auras surrounding the sarcophagus immediately (who knows what other enchantments could be in place to prevent robbers?), Zaijka can't help but gasp softly. "Yes, it's magic that's preserving these," she answers Bernard, reaching out to gently touch the silk of the robe. "I don't think it's just preservative magic, though - they're enchanted for other purposes. Things he used while he adventured, probably. The shoes would help the feet cling to surfaces, even walk on a ceiling...but I can't figure out what the rest of these would do. They aren't likely harmful, but I'm perfectly content to let them rest with their owner."
With one last long look, Zaijka's eyes lose their magical luster as she turns back to Bernard. "Lead the way," she answers simply.
"I don't think that's a good idea." Vibenia says solemnly. "I'm not thrilled with the idea of anything that feels like graverobbing, but we came here for a reason. Anything we can use to face that dragon will be helpful, we need to take advantage of every opportunity. The lives of the entire town and everyone in the area depend on it. We should take anything that can help, when this is all over we can return it if needed."
"Agreed," Syksy happily says, feeling a bit of the weight concerning their current objective lift off her shoulders as her love rationalized the plan and ways to amend it as soon as possible. There was enough unquiet spirits here.
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Peaking around Zaijka and listening to her. There is a urge to grab the rod. Holding her hand over it and there is a bit of warmth. I want it. Moving to pull her hand back and noticing the ring. Tugging it free and rotating it in her hands, "This will create a magical shield. Any one should be able to use it."
Glancing at Bernard but not sure if this will help him. I wasn't able to and that wraith didn't seem to care about armor. But he looks bad off.
The azer have not moved an inch in your absence, standing at stiff attention exactly where you left them. However, as you re-enter the Gold Knight's tomb, they all lift their hammers in salutation. One by one, they kneel and disappear in a burst of fire and smoke.
Sir Echtyr's corpse is also in a state of mummification, and though his blue cape has rotted through and his sword has rusted in its sheath, most of his equipment is completely intact. He wears around his brow a princely circlet, gold inset with small sapphires. The dead knight appears to be clad in a full plate of solid gold, its breastplate etched with the key of Abadar. However, as soon as the first piece of armour is removed, it seems to lose its lustre and turns dull grey. In one of his gauntleted hands the knight holds an elegant crossbow, fashioned out of dark, reddish-brown mahogany composited with dragon horn, and held together with gilded fittings. In the other hand is clutched a bundle of bolts, twenty matching the construction of the bow, and one with a longer shaft and a wickedly barbed head.
As you retrace your steps looking for secret passageways, you note that a previously hidden entrance has opened in the blue dragon room. Beyond is a bare alcove, with spiral stairs in the middle. Descent brings you to the eastern side of a similar chamber , with a large white slab of stone on the wall opposite the stairs. It has been fitted into an archway, blocking passage entirely. There is a prominent keyhole in the middle of the slab, like the one at the entrance of the tomb complex.
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"Jackpot, Vibe!" Syksy says with glee on spotting the crossbow.
Bernard eyes the suit of gold plate with something akin to awe. He glances around at the others, then down at his own piecemail plate.
"That, ah... that's the kind of armor a king should wear. I, ah... I mean, it's dedicated to Abadar, but..."
He trails off and blushes.
Bernard leads the way into the new alcove, burning blade held aloft as a make-shift torch, and descends to the bare chamber with the slab of stone in the wall.
"Looks like the same keyhole," he says, standing aside so they can try it.
"I need to get one of those full helms with a built-in burnished beard," grumbles Khardir. "At least then it won't get burned off."
”Oooo, you’d look really cool with that.”
"Don't worry, Bernard - you can make it look like your patchwork armor if you prefer," Zaijka answers with a smile. "It's enchanted to look however you want - it could appear as a bathrobe if you wanted it to." She manages to mostly suppress a giggle as she turns to examine the rest. "Sysky is right, Vibenia - this crossbow would allow you to get past obstacles that foes might hide behind. I do not know what the bolts do, but they are definitely magical as well."
Looking around and keeping quiet, matching the natural silence of a tomb. And hopefully it will stay that way. Glancing at Zaijka and the relics she is looking over. The sorceress standing a much better chance of deducing the abilities than her.
Letting her gaze move around the space again. Syksy's natural enthusiasm tugging a grin to her green lips that quickly dies before being fully realized when her eyes land on the Patchwork Knight. Memories of death swim to the surface of her mind again. He really doesn't look good.
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As with the main entrance, Bassy's key opens the way. The slab rumbles to the side until it is flush with the wall, revealing an elegant domed chamber , which houses a single marble sarcophagus at its western end. A mosaic of a rearing black dragon decorates the floor, while the ceiling is covered by a vibrant fresco: armoured soldiers battle a host of dragons, with a blonde woman of noble mien at the centre, rallying the troops with her sword. In circular alcoves to the north and south stand life-sized statues of this woman, standing in a pose of triumph over the head of a defeated dragon.
Compared to the crypt below, the atmosphere is decidedly wholesome: instead of intense dread, Lady Tula's resting place seems to radiate a feeling of distant longing and devotion. A warm glow illuminates the chamber, even though there is no obvious source of light to be seen. Similarly, the feminine voice which echoes across the chamber has no visible speaker: though it sounds far away, you have no issue making out the words, spoken in the same dialect of Taldane used by the azer.
"Long have I waited for a new generation of dragonslayers," it says. "You quest for my treasures, do you not? I sense this among your thoughts."
Nisany feels a warm flush as the presence turns its attention to her, and the brass key she carries. "My companion stayed true to her oath, as I knew she would. Your great-great-grandmother would be proud."
"All of you have done me a great favour, even without knowing it—this deed speaks to the strength and nobility of your spirit. My husband was unquiet in his tomb, lingering out of guilt for my death, but you have vanquished his shade. For this, you have my eternal gratitude. Aroden bless you!"
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Syksy smiles down at Nisany before turning her attention towards the statue. "Yes, even if we have done you a favor in the process I must apologize for our trespass against your tomb, for a dragon is now threating Belhaim." the Hellknight in training pleads.
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Bernard can't control himself - he simply goes down on one knee, planting the point of his flaming blade on the ground before him, both hands on the crossguard.
As Skysky speaks, he simply inhales of that warm, nostalgic aura, his embattled soul drinking deep of the calm and confidence the voice exudes. The panic that he'd begun to feel during his battle with the wraith abates, and it is with renewed confidence that he listens to the great dragonslayer's response.
Zaijka follows Bernard in dropping to a knee. She was not a particularly formal or religious person, but it seemed the respectful thing to do in the presence of a spirit so powerful as to speak like this from beyond the grave. "We seek not your treasures for our own benefit, but for Belhaim's. A dragon threatens the town...and I am afraid I may have played some small part in aiding it, without my knowledge. I wish to make this right."
Syksy smiles down at Nisany before turning her attention towards the statue. "Yes, even if we have done you a favor in the process I must apologize for our trespass against your tomb, for a dragon is now threating Belhaim." the Hellknight in training pleads.
"My little barony still persists," the voice rings out in delight. "That is... good to hear. We—Arturic and I—were afraid that we would leave behind no enduring legacy. I am glad to be proven wrong."
Though she has no bodily presence, you can hear the smile in Lady Tula's voice. "There is nothing to apologise for, young squire. What good are tools if they are left to rust? This crypt was always meant to serve as a safe repository, to keep away the unworthy. You have proven yourselves righteous..."
Suddenly, her tone is grave, that of a soldier wearied by many a campaign. "...and righteous you must be, to face a dragon."
Zaijka follows Bernard in dropping to a knee. She was not a particularly formal or religious person, but it seemed the respectful thing to do in the presence of a spirit so powerful as to speak like this from beyond the grave. "We seek not your treasures for our own benefit, but for Belhaim's. A dragon threatens the town...and I am afraid I may have played some small part in aiding it, without my knowledge. I wish to make this right."
"Learn from your mistakes, but dwell not in hindsight—all that matters is what you do now, whether you act when others falter. No mortal accomplishment will bring you peace as long as you only look to the past. This is a truth I know all too well, here at the threshold of infinity."
Even though they are ostensibly directed at Zaijka, Bernard has a powerful impression that he, too, is the recipient of these words of guidance.
There is a surge in the ambient energy of the room, an upswell of determination. "As you request, I shall grant you my blessing to take up arms from this crypt. They are yours now—do with them as you wish. I trust your judgment. What guardians remain have been dismissed. You need not fear the traps, either."
A slight pause breaks through the accumulated feeling of confidence, leaving behind a sensation of enduring sadness. "All I ask is that you leave me Arturic's wedding band, so I may find him in the hereafter. I long to reconcile with him, after all these years apart."
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"The ring... of course," says Khardir solemnly. "An unbroken circle, representing eternity."
"Of course," Syksy echoes before turning and quickly hustling back into the previous tomb to retrieve the wedding band and bring it back for Lady Tula.
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Smiling widely, its so easy for her to forget the family that raised her is not the only ones that flow though her veins. She descends from far greater, from heroes. And if she plays her cards right she might be one of those one day. Making square her selfishness of the past.
Large green eyes drift to the stones at her feet. The past is a heavy thing. Full of selfish wants. Stealing and pranks gone wrong. A mangled leg, a dead man, and a nearly burned down tavern. Tightening her fists and feeling the still strange pull of her blackened skin under the gloves.
Listening to the thud of metal in a quest for the ring. Mumbling,"Thank you." I really hope we don't screw it up.
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Bernard bows his head as she speaks, his feelings of awe mingling with self-doubt and guilt. Weirdly enough, it's guilt for feeling guilty, self-doubt for having continued to doubt himself.
A tangled web of regrets and justifications, of insecurities and bitterness.
All too clearly his desire for a drink after facing the wraith comes back to him, and he restrains the urge to grimace.
Instead, he finds his soul drinking deep of Lady Tula's beneficence and generosity, her wisdom and kindness. Like parched earth soaking up water, his soul drinks deep of her determination and positivity.
When he raises his face, something subtle has shifted in his expression; a certain wild raggedness is gone from the look in his eyes, the lines around his mouth - always prone to a self-deprecating grimace - having eased. He takes a deep breath, then rises to his feet and bows low.
"Thank you, Lady Tula. For... still being a force for good and looking out for Belhaim and its people, even this many centuries later. You are an inspiration. I hope we - I - live up to your example." He pauses, feeling terribly awkward and self-conscious, but then forces himself to stand up straight.
"No. We will live up to your example, or die trying. There's a dragon out there who menaces our homes. It needs killing. We're the ones who will step up and make sure the land is made safe again for our people."
Once Lady Tula's aura fades away, he moves forward to inspect her crypt, moving cautiously, and exploring its treasures with reverence.
Zaijka remains kneeling in silent contemplation as the ring is retrieved. The spirit's words are reassuring, and invigorating - I only hope I live up to them. As Sysky returns, Zaijka rises to her feet and begins to examine the magical auras suffusing the crypt.
After Bernard's declaration, and the placing of Arturic's wedding band into Lady Tula's sarcophagus, the dragonslayer's presence swiftly fades—though never entirely. Even as the sun falls, some of her fighting spirit and perseverance stays with you, like a gently flickering candle in the darkness.
Lady Tula's sarcophagus holds, along with her remains, multiple treasures of obviously magical nature. The corpse is clad in a gleaming breastplate, which is decorated with ten yellow sapphires arrayed in a circle—or rather, four such gemstones, and six indentations where similar treasures must have previously resided. The remaining gemstones are firmly set in their sockets, and there are no toolmarks or anything to indicate the missing ones were forcibly removed. Hanging from the corpse’s neck on a golden chain is an enormous dragon fang, carved with elaborate scrimshaw depicting a small town at the edge of a vast forest.
Laid upon the body is an enormous greatsword—more or less identical with the ones portrayed on the statues—with the winged eye of Aroden on its gilt crossguard. Engraved along its fuller is the name Wyrmsmite, both in Old Taldane and the liturgical form of Ancient Azlanti formerly used by the faithful of the Last of the First Humans. One of the hands clutching the handle bears a silver ring set with three trapiche emeralds, carved and polished to resemble stylised droplets.
”It’s beautiful,” Syksy days reverently upon seeing the entombed sword.
"Powerful gifts indeed," Zaijka says with an air of reverence. "The amulet will give you the hide of a beast to protect you from attacks, the ring will protect you from strong acids, and the breastplate will allow you to manipulate fate itself! As for the sword, I could not even begin to work out the nature of its enchantments. It is mighty, though; of that, I have no doubt."
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As Zaijka goes over the powerful Magics gifted to them, but failing to identify the sword Syksy promptly points at it and says ”Dibs.” before laughing.
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Vibenia remains quiet for much of the revelation, listening closely to Lady Tula's words and taking it all in. As Syksy declares her desire for the sword, she can't help laughing. "I'm sure whatever it does, it'll do well in your hands." she says with a smile.
"I guess we should see if there's anything else we need to gather up, then decide whether we're better off spending the night here and weighting until morning to head back, or set out tonight."
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Syksy turns and smiles at her lover before turning her attention back to the sword. With delicate fingers treating it more akin to delicate ice than forged still she carefully lifts the sword up. "Bigger weapon acquired."