"You should give a damn, Dashil, given what it takes for me to classify something as a nightmare... But no, this wasn't a dream. I'm convinced this was a psychic attack - probably how he managed to co-opt my maid. I used a trick to get out, but he'll be wary of it now. Had I not done so." Aduard looks grim "I imagine he'd have had me lock the doors and windows and set fire to the place whilst you were distracted."
"Without restful sleep I cannot get to my dreamscape. That means I cannot access the Astral plane. That means I cannot refresh the spell constructs I used yesterday." He sighs "Frankly, though, my worry is that next time he might pick Irefist, and I'll wake with Betrayer in my chest. I suspect he picked me because I was the first to go to sleep. I don't imagine its a mistake he'll make twice."
"Given time I could prepare something to ward our sleep, but if we had the time to do that we'd be back at Harrowstone already. In the meantime we'll need to set a watch over all of us, including Kendra and the servants, whilst we sleep. At the first sign of disturbed dreams we'll need to be woken up. We'll need a second watch to ensure we're not attacked physically. Stockl has seen to the doors and windows - good work, lad - but 'an axe makes a good key'"
"Now - I saw there was a second attack. Tell me everything that happened. Spare no detail."
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A zombie knocked down the door and then knocked down Dashil. Then I nearly cut it in two, but magic chains with a bunch of holy symbols started constricting Dashil in nasty ways. Brogol's and Esta's quick thinking saved Dashil from being pressed or decapitated. They doused her in bodily fluids and splashed a little water on her, on account of the smell, before Dash woke up. Then you decided to join us in your pajamas. Radag says as he finishes with a grand flop into a chair, propping his feet up on a overstuffed pillow top stool. Radag's eyes clearly fight the urge to close, though a yawn still escapes him.
"Chains with holy symbols." Aduard rubs his chin "I remember something about one of the other prisoners..."
"...They doused her in bodily fluids and splashed a little water on her, on account of the smell, before Dash woke up."
Esta's eyes dart to meet Dashil's and she gives her a curt shake of her head before turning to Aduard. "I don' mean t' in'errupt, Mister Bookman, but I think th' best thing for us t' do right now is decide on a plan for t'morrow so we can all get some sleep." She sees Radag yawn and, despite her best efforts, a yawn of her own escapes her.
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"Very well, then. My original plan. Everyone sleeps together. We can camp out in here. Five shifts. Two people a shift. I'll take first Dream-watch. I'll need someone to volunteer to keep an eye out for intruders, and make sure I don't fall asleep - I'll nominate one of the servants. I'll wake Irefist up in two hours." Aduard starts to call in the servants, then pauses.
"Dashil, did you want me to have someone draw you a bath first?"
Dashil rolls her eyes at Esta: she's grateful for the confirmation, but she was pretty sure Radag was kidding. Reasonably sure.
She gives Aduard a weary look. "No, that was Radag's idea of a joke. Coarse humour seems to distract him from the fact that we're all going to die. Personally, I prefer hard liquor."
"Speaking of which, I promised Kendra some tea. And then we can just take it in turns to keep watch. It's not firework alchemy."
Radag lets out a heavy sigh at the idea of two hours of sleep.
Maybe this manor has been making me soft. Ugh...
Aduard throws up his hands "I realise he was joking, Dashil. His sense of humour is as dry as mine. I also can't imagine the man even crying over you, much less shedding any other fluid."
He pauses and continues "The fact remains, though, you've been touched by rotted flesh, and mentally violated by an undead. Most people would want a bath at that point." He nods at Irefist politely "Present company excepted."
"I'm amenable to whatever series of shifts you want. I ask that there be someone experienced on each shift. I think we should have two at any time - harder to be lulled to sleep that way. I'm determined that we do get sleep, though. We've a hard day ahead of us tomorrow, and I don't want to leave any lingering fatigue for a phantasm to latch on to tomorrow. By all means work out the shifts yourself."
"As to Miss Lorrimor, we've plenty of tea, and she's welcome to it. I caution that if she can't sleep tonight, or walk a straight line tomorrow, she should not accompany us in the morning." He nods to Kendra "You've had a horrid day and a frankly horrendous night, Kendra. I'm sorry of precautions that will make it worse. If you'd prefer to escape into a bottle I'll understand. If you need to talk it through, I'm sure any of us would be happy to help. I suggest the most healthy response may be to concentrate on the revenge we will take tomorrow."
Radag doesn't lift his head from the top of the cushioned chair as he mumbles, He's right about one thing, no offense, but I don't plan on being able to shed any tears when Dashil's time comes. She'll outlive us all. Lots of time for baths.
Dashil blinks, and scowls: "Don't even JOKE about that." Radag is one of the few stabilising influences she has in her life (terrifying thought), and the thought of losing that is... "If I have to bury you, it damn well better be because I killed you myself."
Esta shifts the snoozing fox in her lap as she reaches to refill her tea, hoping that consuming more of the drink will allow her to stay awake for awhile longer.
"So we 'ave a plan then?" she asks, blowing on the tea before taking a large sip. "If tha's the route we're takin', I think I can manage first watch."
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The night passes without incident.
When the time to leave comes, the sun has yet to rise. All is black and still, like the night itself is holding its breath.
Kendra is awake as well. She prepares coffee silently in the kitchen while the party makes ready for their confrontation with the Splatter Man.
Esta wakes the next morning, slightly groggy but relatively well rested despite the... excitement of the previous day. After washing up and getting dressed, she sits on the floor with Oolong in her lap, eyes closed and head bent forward as they spend the next hour communing with one another.
Once they're finished, they make their way to the kitchen. Esta enters slowly as she notices Kendra. "Mornin'," she says quietly as she feeds Oolong a scrap of meat from the night before. "How're you feelin'?" She begins making herself some tea. "Las' night was..." She searches for the right word. "...Intense. Are you okay?"
1st level: Burning Hands, Burning Hands, Mage Armor
2nd level: Cure Moderate Wounds, Cure Moderate Wounds
Aduard - now finished with last shift - spends an hour sitting at the kitchen table, a pot of tea by his side, poring through his notebook.
At Esta's words, he starts, and closes his book With a thump.
"Careful. Any double entendres and you'll have Irefist start with the jokes."
Aduard looks up at Kendra "Alright, Miss Lorrimor. I'm not sure what spells you've been taught, but on this one occasion I am prepared to offer you unfettered - or at least mostly unfettered - access to my journal."
"I don't intend to spend another night like this. I do wish we could stop to trade for more holy water, but if we intend to do this and be back by morning then we need to move." he adds, to the room at large.
Brogol wakes feeling ragged, spent. The horror of the last evening had taken too much from the boy. He sits silently and sips his tea as the others prepare, while looking through his forumla book for anything - an extract, a half-remembered and recorded conversation, a snipped of lore -
that could help.
Sighing, he closes the book and prepares his extracts for the day. A curative, a size enhancer, and another to enhance the senses. The boy leaves his last vial unmuddied with regeants. He'd prefer to keep his options open, if needed, on the fly.
"Perhaps wer can visit tha church on tha way," the boy mumbles. "Meybe a priest'll take pity on us an' let us take some holy water wit us."
I don't joke around. I'm all business. At least until we're done with the murder ghosts this morning. Radag says with lidded eyes and a headache from a restless night. Afraid the lady needs to stay behind. She'll do no good with that fire stick against ghosts, and the professor clearly took objection to her presence in the prison. While we're on our way past the Pharasmin church for holy water we can tell them they need to pick up what is rightfully theirs and return it to the graveyard.
Bookman slammed his mug down on the table hard enough it cracked. "Let me be very clear." he said, glowering at Irefirst, but glancing at Kendra "The Professor had to do with this. That body is meat - nothing to do with the Professor, even if it the meat he once wore. Our opponents animated that meat because they intended to shake us. Talk like that plays into their hands."
He looks over at Kendra "We cannot afford to leave sufficient forces to protect Kendra here. She will be warded as best we can. She will be given the opportunity to strike back at those who have hurt her. She will" Aduard glowers now at Kendra "Fight with her mind, and stay in the most guarded position."
Aduard calms down a little "Irefist - you knew the Professor. Yes, he'd want his little girl protected, because she was his weakness. But he spent a lifetime teaching people to stand up to those who would harm and terrify them. I will not have his last student deprived of that lesson, even if he himself might have done so!"
"How much money do we have? I'd rather Holy Water than silver right now, but if we go to the church we probably lose our chance to finish this before the meeting. I think these people have a right to know what we're doing, but I'll allow Dashil's point. This isn't a case for the Law, or the forces of Good. This is a case for us."
"These things killed Dmitri. We nearly lost Stockl. Good gods know what's happened to Wakati. They came here last night. Let us end them. Not because of Law, or Justice, or Good - but because we have power, and we want revenge."
"Last student? Feh. I doubt that." Radag mumbles derisively. Clearing his throat before being direct, Radag asks, So are we not going to the church then and rushing to the prison or do we take the day to see to the professor's vessel properly seen to, purchasing holy water, and the attending the meeting?
Esta sits with rapt attention, cup of tea halfway to her lips, as she watches Aduard carry on with his speech. In all of her travels she'd never met anyone who constantly talked as much as he did, but she also hadn't met anyone that was as intelligent and intriguing, and since their meeting the day before she always found herself listening with great interest whenever he started. As he finishes speaking now, she remembers her tea and takes a swig while she collects her thoughts.
"Maybe I'm wrong an' we don' 'ave an option, but it seems like dealin' with these spirits or wha'ever they are is more import'nt than th' meetin' they wan' us goin' to." She feeds Oolong another piece of meat before helping herself. If today ended up being anything like yesterday, well... she'd need all the energy she could muster.
A thought occurs to her as she remembers Aduard mentioning the church. "Wait. Will th' church not just... give us holy water?"
Brogol looks to his feet, pulling nervously on his cloak. "Wer good as dead, not being prepared for wha' ta come. Wer should go by the church, wake a priest, get some water, an be on our way. They'll help us, Aye'm sure. Tha priesthood's full of tha enemies of tha unliving."
Dashil listens, uncharacteristically silent as the others talk. Finally, she speaks. "This much I know. Holy water works great against corporeal undead; against a ghost, you have to pour it over them, which is closer than you want to get armed with just a jar."
She pats her longbow and then her scimitar, meaningfully. "I think we have the tools we need. Let's just do this."
"It takes around 5 pounds of silver to make a vial of holy water. Churches are loathe to simply hand over such wealth. If we had time, I'd manufacture some myself." he hesitates "I suppose they do tend to store it in the chapel. We could take some, and leave some money. Pharasma should understand - she loathes the undead, even if her clergy are reluctant to prosecute that fight. What we need is a Paladin."
He sighs "Something like this - resurrection of evil, cults of necromancers, possession of innocents, army of the dead - I'm surprised we haven't been sent one."
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"Please don't talk about as if I were not here," Kendra says, quietly. She looks up from her work, eyes red from spent tears.
"Radag is right. The incorporeal residents of Harrowstone are somewhat beyond my capabilities. I would serve little purpose in that dungeon except to place myself in harm's way. But neither am I some helpless girl. I will stay here, re-bury my father, and ensure the protection of your servants, Aduard, in case they decide to project themselves again."
Kendra turns to Aduard, arms crossed. "Paladins are hard to come by in Ustalav. This is a land that erodes faith, we get by with what we can. It's always been enough." She glances towards Dashil and then down to her feet.
Esta studies Kendra as she addresses the group. She thought back to the time she'd found her parents almost dead. Kendra's situation was far worse, but still, she couldn't imagine having to go through something like that twice.
She pats her longbow and then her scimitar, meaningfully. "I think we have the tools we need. Let's just do this."
"I dunno," Esta says as she stares thoughtfully into her tea. "Tha's all well an' good until you need it all of a sudden." She takes drink of tea. "Y'know, 'better safe than sorry' an' all tha'. I'll leave it up t' you all, though. I'm sure everythin'll be jus' fine." She pauses. "Well... as fine as fightin' angry ghosts can be, I guess."
Aduard looked over at Kendra and blinked, replaying the conversation in his head. "As you wish, Miss Lorrimor. I've never been a fan of taking someone's right to self-determinism. The decision is yours."
He looks over at Esta. "I'll stock up on spells to keep our more martial comrades in the fight against the incorporeal. Inefficient, but perhaps all we have. I too am ambivalent on trying for holy weaponry, so I'll leave it up to Irefist, Dashil and Stockl to decide."
Esta nods in acknowledgement to Aduard. "I'm not sure how useful most'a wha' I know will be against a ghost, but I made sure t' prepare for lotsa healin', should it come t' tha'."
Dashil gulps, caught thoroughly off-guard by Kendra's words. She wonders what the meaning was of that look - does Kendra know her past already? Gods, she hopes not.
Still, at least she's opting to stay out of harm's way, this time. Be thankful for small mercies and all that.
"Most paladins are at the Worldwound, these days. The Dawnflower sent me here - I'll have to do." She gives a bitter grimace.
"OK. That ghost won't lay itself to rest." A thought strikes her. "Aduard - bring that cursed spellbook. All the other items have been useful in combating their owners, maybe this one will too." Although she's no idea how.
"Ah yes, I'd forgotten about the Worldwound. Ah well, 'needs must'."
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How in the nine hells does one forget about the Worldwound? Radag says in the middle of a double take of Aduard.
Aduard looks carefully at Irefist for a second and then, unexpectedly, laughs until he runs our of breath "Irefist, you're a master of the deadpan delivery." He wipes a tear from his eye "I needed that."
"So tha's th' plan, then? We're jus' gonna go an' try t' finish this?"
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"No." Dashil has taken her scimitar out of its sheath, examining its blade minutely for nicks or any signs of dullness. She replaces it in the scabbard with a sharp . "We are going to finish this."
Or die in the attempt...
"Kendra - if we aren't back by, oh I don't know, sundown, assume the worst. Leave town and find the nearest temple of Sarenrae, tell them what's happened. It will be up to them, then."
Esta grins at Dashil. "Well then. Let's do it."
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"Let's do this then. I'm not thrilled at the prospect of walking there in the dark, but I don't see much other option. With luck we'll be out by dawn." Aduard saighs.
"Kendra; some time this morning the councillors are going to come and bother you. While what you do is up to you, I strongly suggest you tell them exactly what we're facing. Feel free to run away, as Dashil suggests, once that's done. Don't go without telling the people who live here what they're up against. They won't thank you for it, and they might even put you in danger, but there is a chance - however small - that that knowledge might save a life." Aduard trailed off. 'Dashil is right, but Petros would have wanted it this way, I am sure.'
So much worry. Radag scoffs, We will be back in time, before the meeting.
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Kendra looks to Aduard and Dashil. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
Despite the darkness, the party makes excellent time. At this hour, before even the most diligent farmer rises, Ravengro is still and silent. The quiet presses down further as they enter the forest, only broken by an icy wind heralding a hard winter.
Through the iron gates and into the basement of the asylum, the party meets no trouble. Past the empty cells and rusting torture devices, and into the rough granite tunnel that marks the entry to the Splatter Man's domain, a block called the Nevermore.
So-named because those imprisoned here were sentenced to a life without possibility of freedom or a merciful death. Here they were confined to the darkness, their only respite were visits to the neighboring torture chamber for grueling, perpetual punishment.
Now, several iron doors line the walls of this partially ruined cellblock — the doors themselves hang askew on their hinges, revealing empty cells beyond. Partially burnt wooden support timbers still function to the north, while to the south they’ve collapsed and caused cell walls to crumble as well. Rivulets of water drip down the southwestern wall to create a shallow pool in this ruined portion of the room, with overflow filling an oubliette hole in the middle of the room nearly to the rim.
Of the Splatter Man, there is no sign.
Dashil looks away, making a pretence of fiddling with the straps on her armour. "I'm not... good with promises. Broken too many. Tell you what. Here."
She undoes the wooden holy symbol of the Dawnflower from around her neck and holds it out. "This was given me by - by someone important. I'll always come back for it." And if I don't, then at least I've left something to be remembered by.
She gives a sardonic smile, reverting by reflex to the detachment that protects her from getting too involved: "Don't know why you're worrying, anyway. Only the good die before their time, so I'm safe..."
======================================
Dashil looks around the ruined oubliette carefully, her eyes easily piercing the darkness.
She offers up a prayer to Sarenrae, warding herself from malign forces.
"Aduard, why don't you get that spellbook out? The other items all had a use against their former owners. Let's see if it brings the Splatter Man out of hiding."
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Brogol is quiet as the group walks through the woods, the boy's cloak wrapped tightly around himself, to ward off the frigid early morning chill. It would be a cold winter, by Brogol's estimation, even for this blighted land they all called home. Once more, Brogol finds himself wishing for the Doctor, who would certainly know what to do with the Splatterman. But just as quickly, Brogol forces the thought from his head. The Doctor wasn't coming back from wherever he'd gone, that much was apparent. Brogol would have to face this threat alone. The boy listens to his boots walking across the frost-rimed grass, the grass breaking underfoot.
Well, not alone, Brogol thought, as they made their way into Nevermore. There was Dashil, always on-point and fearless. And, there was Aduard, with a preternatural intelligence, developed well beyond his years. Esta, with her perception, and good heart. And Radag, man's vengeance made manifest, and with a wickedly keen sense of humor to boot. They would be enough, the boy reassured himself.
But what do I have to offer? the boy mused, unstrapping his greataxe and stepping close to Dashil, as she offered up her prayer. Brogol had neither Dashil's tenacity, Aduard's education, Esta's perception, or Radag's strength. A shiver crawled up the boy's back.
My life. Brogol thought, gripping his axe tightly, and inching towards the oubilette. I can offer my life.
Esta is almost glad when they finally reach the prison. The quiet forest served as a reminder of things she'd rather forget, and the cold air seemed to made it worse.
The descent through the prison isn't much better, with its constant reminders of death, despair, and hopelessness, and that feeling only grows stronger when they enter the Nevermore. Esta shivers at the heavy feeling of foreboding and pulls her tattered cloak tight around her shoulders, flicking her hand upwards with a murmur as the familiar and comfortable weight of unseen magical armor settles over her. Her eyes, as usual, dart deliberately around them.
Not seeing anything out of the ordinary (which was a strange thing to conclude, considering what they were surrounded by), Esta nudges Oolong gently with her leg and silently gestures for him to scout the cells, the look on her face very clearly telling him that he'd better be careful. With a snuff in her direction, Oolong skulks off.
I get those goosebumps every time. Radag thinks aloud as he presses through the prison threshold, setting his pace equal to that of someone trying to overwhelm the unnatural fear permeating from the cold stones with bold bravado. We've made it as far as the secret tunnel below. Let's pick up there. Remember, we're on a schedule today.
Dashil makes a face at Radag's remarks about a schedule. "Yes, I for one would hate to inconvenience our ghostly nemesis by being late - how would we recover from such an unacceptable social faux pas?"
These little squabbles between the two of them are how they have both survived a lifetime of facing off against bowel-churning otherworldly horrors; a snippy distraction against almost certain death.
Her expression turns grim. If there's a more dangerous situation they've been in, she's struggling to recall it right now. She remembers Radag's flippant remarks about her burying them all, and her knuckles whiten on the grip of her weapon.
No. Today, we ALL go home alive.
...
Except for the ghost.
Seeing Esta raide her wards reminded Bookman to do the same thing.
"I still think we should have checked with the Warden's Wife." Bookman groused "Yes, we'd have lost time, but she could confirm he's still from us here."
Dashil is about to reply bitingly to Aduard's complaint, but is cut off before she even starts by the blood welling up through the wall. "He's here!"
Drawing a haunt siphon from her belt, she brandishes it menacingly. Her eyes blaze with an otherworldly light, the pale lines on her skin start to glow, and her hair crackles with energy, dancing in a breeze that only seems to affect her. Dashil has fallen far, but she is descended from beings of pure Law and Good - and in the face of pure evil, it can shine through even her jaded, cynical exterior.
Winding back her arm, she spits her defiance at the enemy: "I am Dashil Masozi, spell it how you like - I am the one the things that go bump in the night walk in fear of, and I have come for you."
She hurls the haunt siphon with all of her strength.
Haunt - 19/27
Also, return of the ambiance music.
Ethereal tendrils, like green smoke, is pulled from the walls and into the vial. Still the blood comes, trickling out of the walls and pooling on the floor.
A voice echoes though the room. Come in, little priests. Witness my return.
In the flowing blood, Aduard, Esta, and Radag can see the beginning of their names being written. Thoughts of imminent and violent deaths flood their minds, making focusing difficult.
One other thought seizes the adventurers: the writing on the walls is seizing their sanity and that only by destroying the words will the visions cease.
"A priest? Me?! OK, now you're just being insulting."
Striding forward, Dashil places one hand against the wall, channeling positive energy into the bloodstains to dispel them.
As she watches in horror at seeing her name spelled out in blood on the stone wall nearby, Esta cries out and grabs her head as disturbing, violent images suddenly invade her mind. She shakes her head, tying to dispel the thoughts, and raises both of her hands towards the blood, letting loose a blast of red and white fire.
Having used his only haunt siphon, his only holy water, and having concoctions only useful to himself, Brogol hops from foot to foot as the blood runs down the walls. The boy suspected his worst fears were true, that he would be little use against ghosts. Letting loose a moan of frustration, Brogol steps forward and swings his axe at the nearest bloody wall.
'Can't cut or burn a liquid. Might be able to diffuse it.'
Aduard runs forward, smashing his vial of ink against the wall where words are still to form.