Radag let's out an unsettled yell as he scrambles to snuff his own name from the prison walls his sword.
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The party strikes out; burning, smashing, and inking the bloody walls. The letters immediately fade away, but when they do, it is apparent that significant damage has been inflicted on the structural integrity of the room.
The walls creak and groan before giving way, stone and timber pouring in from all directions. Dashil, Esta, and Aduard avoid the worst of it, but Radag and Brogol are caught in the wreckage.
Before the dust settles, an apparition rises from the oubliette. Dressed in wizardly robes speckled with blood, the ghost appears to be of an elderly man, complete with a scraggly beard and cataract-clouded eyes. His jaw hangs at a strange angle, as though broken.
The voice chuckles darkly. I was right to suspect little from you. Corvin, Saetressle, Onyxcudgel, the Piper? They were weak, simple shadows of my power. I have your names. With you dead, I will finish the warden's whore and walk Ustalav again. And my first stop will be Lorrimor's harlot daughter.
With a word and a wave of his hand, three rats the size of small dogs appear from thin air and attack, one sinking its fangs into Brogol's leg.
Dashil's eyes blaze with fury and hatred as she glares at the foe threatening her friends. "You will do NOTHING to any of them. We will END you."
She snorts. "Besides, it's not like you're our real enemy - you didn't kill the professor, you're just taking advantage of his death. A grubby little parasite, that's all you amount to. A bump in the road, keeping us from our real target. Once you're defeated, we won't even remember your name. You'll be GONE. You'll be NOTHING."
She hopes to draw his attention to herself and away from her injured companions.
Brogol is hounded by pain, first from the walls, then, from a rat, sinking its fangs into the boy's leg. Turning, the apprentice monster hunter swings his greataxe down upon the rat, fury clouding the boy's mind. "Radag! Smash tha' bastard! IN THA FACE!"
Radag stumbles from beneath the rubble with a strong headache and a bloody wound on his brow. I need magic on the pointy end of this! Radag says coughing up the dusty rot of the forgotten dungeon now clouding the room. Once clear of the weight of the collapsed roof, Radag stops to remedy his wounds.
Aduard holds up his hand in fear "Please Fean... No... Have mercy..." but as soon as the rat is distracted by Dashil he is up, and darts around to Radag "...Not the lecture! Anything but the lecture!"
Aduard doesn't seem afraid as such - he's taking precautions, but still acting logically. His feigned fear of 'Fean' is a feint.
When she sees Radag heal himself, Esta's next course of action is clear. Scrambling over the rubble she begins making her way to the badly injured Brogol, pushing at the rat in her way and angrily hexing it in the process.
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The ghost twirls around, dead eyes fixed on the inquisitor. Dashil Masozi. It's a shame that Sefick Corvin didn't find you sooner. Without the aid of your friends, you would have died alone and strangled by your lack of convictions!
The Splatter Man utters a few words in a harsh, alien language, and bolts of force spring from his extended palm. The energy slams into all the party except Esta, bruising skin and breaking ribs with maximized force.
Brogol smashes the rat that bit him with a powerful blow, the remnants quickly transforming into greasy energy that slips beneath the rubble-strewn floor.
The vermin that Esta fled chases after her, grabbing her trailing foot in its disease-ridden jaws. Its teeth slice through the leather there, leaving a jagged wound.
Radag stares at Aduard expectantly holding out his weapon, but before he realizes the wizard has missed a beat, Splatterman's magic energy knocks strikes, forcing Radag to think on his feet. Cursing under his breath with a shake of his head, Radag moves to kill something more tangible and rat-like; the rat gnashing on Esta.
With a quick nod of thanks to Radag, Esta closes the gap between herself and Brogol and latches onto his arm with both hands, squeezing it gently as she coaxes her healing magic into him, all the while pleading silently with her patron that they help her keep him alive.
Dashil doesn't flinch as the spell hits her (she's had worse from Radag during sparring) but the Splatter Man's words do hit home.
She gives a bitter, self-mocking smile. "Yeah, it's true. I've always had better friends than I deserve." She draws her longbow and fits to it one of the special arrows they retrieved from the crypt of Pharasma. She pulls the bow back to its fullest extent.
"That's why when this ends, I'll be walking out of here - and you'll be facing Pharasma's judgement. "
She lets the arrow fly.
Aduard spat a curse as the missiles slammed into him "Yes yes, you know the basics of spellcraft. Well done." He waves the book wildly "Page 15, wasn't it?"
Inspiration strikes 'The book creates fear - fear of losing my magic. Perhaps, then, that is the emotion that powers 'the Splatterman'. Perhaps he wasn't seeking more power with his murders, perhaps he was seeking to protect the power he had.'
"Hold still, damnit, Irefist." he groused, moving forward and laying a single glowing finger on Betrayer. "Now stay close. If he tries to cast again it would be an excellent time to strike a blow."
Grunting as the force bolt slams into him, Brogol slips for a moment to one knee, only to be brought back to his feet by Esta's magic. Grunting again - "Thank yers" - the boy drops his greataxe and draws his handaxe. Stepping forward, even though it wasn't directed at him, Brogol heeds the Bookman's advice.
Radag slays a second summoned rat, sending the squealing creature back from wherever the Splatter Man pulled it from.
Dashil's arrow punches into the ghostly wizard, drawing ethereal blood as if the murderer's spirit were flesh and blood. He grimaces, and flows away from Radag's enchanted blade, leaving with a mocking laugh. You've brought my spell book back to me, Aduard. I appreciate that. When I pry it from your dead fingers, I will have more to cast than these paltry spells.
The remaining rat sinks its fangs into Dashil's calf, leaving a painful wound.
Seeing Brogol back on his feet, Esta pats him gently on the arm, sends a silent thank you to her patron, and turns her attention back to the battle. Scanning and assessing the well-being of her companions, she notices Bookman faltering. With every intention of rushing to him, she takes a step forward before realizing that she'll never make it to him in time before the Splatter Man executes another attack. Instead she looks down to the whining, anxious fox at her side. Crouching down, she holds Oolong gently by the face and pushes a healing spell into his small body, then shoos him forward. "Go t' Bookman! she instructs as the fox darts off, then quickly adds, "An' come back as soon as you're done. I mean it!"
Oolong rushes forward towards the wizard, dodging between legs and over rubble before jumping up to place his front paws on the tall man's leg. Chirping up at him, the fox nuzzles his head against Aduard's leg, Esta's healing spell transferring itself from the animal and into the man's body.
Aduard stumbled on the lip of the oubliette as Oolong wound around his legs. Angrily he started to curse at the creature - only to feel his pain vanish, and his wounds scab over as if made days ago. Gratefully he nodded to Esta.
Struck by an idea he cracks open the book, wipes the blood from his forehead that trickled freely down his face a moment ago, and scrawls in the book an 'H' in sticky blood, smearing it over the delicate typeset words. He holds up the book to show it to Hean Feramin, and tries to rip the page from the book.
"Leaving so soon? I'm just getting started." Dashil ignores the rat-thing trying to bite her, and thanks the Goddess again for her warding powers. She moves to get the Splatter Man in shot once more, before drawing another of the special arrows and firing.
Radag cracks a smile ad the murder ghost withdraws from Radag's engagement. You've lost murder man. Your fatal accident barely out a dent in me head, and now I've got a pointy magic blade with whatever your name is on it. Radag moves to search and close distance with the Splatterman though unable to do much more than hurriedly threaten him.
Brogol growls as the ghost slips away from his grasp before the boy can even move.
Reaching into his satchel, Brogol brings forth a stoppered vial, the contents of which - an amber liquid - seems to expand and contract within its prison. Popping the cork, Brogol tips the vial back and gags as the draught goes down, but it works - the boy immediately grows to be twice his size. Stumbling a bit, unused to his new bulk, the boy puts himself between Aduard and Hean. It was apparent now; the Bookman was the key, and Brogol would keep the Splatterman from him at all costs.
The page from the Splatter Man's book, impossible to damage earlier, tears as easily as its moldering condition suggests. The serial killer's ghost cries in agony, seemingly damaged by the destruction of his book. It whips around, facing Aduard. What are you doing, you fool? he demands. You destroy my life's work!
Grunting again in pain from Dashil's arrows and seeing the oncoming Radag, the Splatter Man glides through the cells on the western wall. Stopping at a barred door, he releases another flurry of magic missiles, sparing only Esta, hidden as she is by Brogol's increased size.
Do not think me bested yet, Irefist. I still have your name.
The remaining rat, frustrated with its lack of success against the inquisitor, turns to attack Brogol.
As Oolong quickly makes his way back to her side, Esta lets out a breath of relief, but sobers quickly as she sees everyone get hit once again by the powerful missiles. Quickly making her decision based on the spirit's reaction to the book the wizard was holding, she stumbles over the rocky ground and rushes to Aduard's side, lunging forward to wrap her hands around his arm. She mutters quietly, easing the healing magic into him through practiced movements.
Taking deep breaths to steady her breathing, she keeps an eye on the rest of the group as she addresses him. "I'm outta healin' options for you for awhile, so be careful." With a nod towards him, she turns her full attention back to the fight.
Dashil grimaces as the spell hits her again. Recognising the note of rage and agony in the ghost's voice that wasn't there before, she glances at Aduard. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it. It's working."
Returning her attention to the ghost, she fires again.
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At the ghost's pain a ghastly glee filled my heart. Literally I could not remember the last time I felt such joy - especially at the pain of an enemy. Endless years of drab existence, drowning myself in debauchery in an attempt to feel anything - and here he I was all but cackling like some maniac. The release as days of fear and helplessness finally showed a glint of hope was a balm for the soul.
Then his retaliation struck - a volley of those force bolts would end his hope before it is born. I cursed, internally as I realised I would have to spend my time and resources just staying upright. Then Esta's healing restored my vigor, and I realised I had allies far more reliable than those I'm used to.
All reason was gone from the boy's mind. Battered by painful magic, harried by a ghostly rat, and with a mind gripped by fear and blunted by exhaustion, Brogol swung his magic hatchet again and again at the rat. His unease with the weapon and the boy's new bulk caused no harm to the rat, however; Brogol's attack was rushed and off-balance, his hatchet merely clattering along the floor.
Shaking the panic off, Brogol stepped backwards and drew his falchion with his free hand, one particular thought circling Brogol's mind: Esta had not been harmed by the Splatterman's magic.
"Master Bookman! Behind me! Use me as your shield!"
Two more bloody letters - "E" and "A" - cover both pages of the Splatterman's spell of False Life. The first of them flutters to the ground as Aduard speaks.
"I'm feeling generous Hean Feramin. Go down, now, with no more harm and I'll save what I can of your work. I'll even have it published. They say a man lives on through his work - that is the only immortality that will be left to you. But even should you kill me, the others know now what to do."
Aduard realises he'll never make cover with the way Hean moves. If the others keep letting Hean cast spells, he'll win.
What kind of action is ripping up the book like this? I'm guess a standard for one spell? Is it having visible effect, or just pissing him off? Getting rid of the book would be enough... that curse is a killer.
As soon as the arcane energy collides with Radag's braced body, Radag growls, Be careful she says. Then just as quickly as he is moving one way he pivots, crushing the collapsed roof underfoot to reach the murder ghost and slipping the length of the blade through the bars of the cell. With a smirk Radag boasts, You and countless other nonliving abominations, and countless to come!
The Splatter Man swirls away from Radag's sword, bleeding from half a dozen ethereal wounds.
In his wake, he leaves a grotesquely large spider. The creature scrambles towards Radag, biting and snapping.
The ghost screams in pain again when Aduard tears out a second page. Ghostly eyes fixate on the wizard. I will not be left here. I will not!
Dashil walks as steadily as she can across the rubble of the ruined prison, keeping her eyes fixed on the ghost. She ignores the pitiful summoned creatures he has put in their path: the flickering energy of Sarenrae's light keeps them away from her, even in such a dark place as this.
"I'm not much for preaching, and I haven't exactly lived a holy life, but there's one text that's always stuck with me."
She carefully selects another of the ghost-killing arrows.
"The light shines in the darkness..."
She draws the string back to its fullest extent.
"...and the darkness has not overcome it!"
She releases the bow, aiming the arrow straight at him.
Withdrawn into a corner, beaten and bloodied, the Splatter Man cowers. Dashil's arrow is the final straw. With a scream of desperate rage, the ghost lunges through the cell wall at tremendous speed. With his passage, the stone ages and cracks, sections visibly flaking off as if the strong granite suddenly turned to shale, weakened by the ebb of water and time.
Feramin's apparition crosses the threshold in the space of a moment, its hand turned into feral claws whose very touch promises a quick death of withering corruption. Before it can reach through Aduard's chest and stop his beating heart with the weight of age, a second form manifests.
Blue light suffuses the room, cascading in shimmers off the standing water. Its source is the phantom of a lovely young woman: the ghost of Vesorianna Hawkren, the former warden's wife. Everything about her is blue, from her tattered dress to her hair, that floats about her head like an azure cloud. She grips the Splatter Man by the wrists, forcing his arms upward and holding him in place. The Splatter Man screams again, trying to break free.
"Quickly, I cannot hold him," pleads Vesorianna, her words escaping her mouth in puffs of blue fog. "The badge! Bring me my husband's badge!"
Watching in horror as the ghost moves towards Bookman with deadly claws, Esta gasps loudly as the bright, shimmering blue form of a woman appears in the room and wrestles The Splatter Man's hands away from the wizard.
The ghostly woman calls out for aid and Esta looks questioningly around the room to her companions before a thought occurs to her. Wait, a... badge? Dropping to her knees to rummage through her bag, she produces what she'd found the day before in the mouth of a skeleton— a golden disc bearing the symbol of Harrowstone an the name Hawkren.
Pushing herself up from the ground, she runs to the woman's spirit and shoves the badge towards her.
Logic screams at Aduard to run; he has not lived as long as he has by taking chances. Once more he stands, face to face with death, and this time he does not flee.
"I am the Bookman, Hean Ferramin." His hand, still holding the book, snaps outwards, over the pit. At a word a surge of bright-burning fire roars down from his hand, incinerating the book.
Burning Hands, down the pit.
Brogol apprentice monster hunter, frets, frozen with indecision; he had no badge, nor a spellbook or a means to physically harm Ferramin - or at least a means with a discernible chance of success. Vesorianna gripped the ghost, Esta sprinted towards them, the others stood defiant. The boy hops from foot to foot, mind empty but of one thought, over and over. Do something!
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Ashes and cinders fall like black rain down the ruined pit of Harrowstone. The Splatter Man jerks his head back and emits a wordless, animal scream, echoing through the dungeons.
Vesorianna's ghost releases her grip on the Splatter Man to reach for the badge, but in that moment of distraction, the murderer's specter breaks free and lurches towards Aduard. The hem of his ghostly robes burning like the remains of his spellbook, Hean Feramin plunges his claw towards Aduard, promising certain death.
If I must face oblivion, so will you!
The moment stretches.
Without thought, without care, without a plan, those two words echoing in his head, Brogol steps over the rat and elbows Dashil aside, and then with a firm hand, pushes by Radag. Slipping over the rubble as he goes, Brogol is barely able to get in front of Aduard in time. Ferramin would have to go around the boy. Or through him.
Dashil growls in annoyance, thrown off balance by the enlarged half-orc. "Dammit kid, I had the shot!" She can't fault his bravery though.
She daren't fire an arrow into melee. Instead, holding up her holy symbol (the hip flask - she gave the other one to Kendra) she looks straight at the ghost.
"Depart from this place and never return!"
A beam of positive energy bolts from the hip flask, lancing towards the Splatter Man.
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The Splatter Man's outstretched claw punches through Brogol's chest. There is no blood, but the wound is mortal; the flesh of the wound seemingly aging a century in a moment.
Fermain's face stretches in surprise, his vengeance momentarily halted before a beam of pure light sears into him from Dashil's flask. The ghost spirals away from the painful energy, continuing to burn from the destruction of his spellbook, and runs into Vesorianna's ghost, now clutching her husband's badge.
Her cerulean eyes bore into the serial killers, full of hatred. "With the authority this badge grants me, and in the name of my husband Lyvar Hawkren, I order thee banished, spirit!"
Vesorianna plunges the badge directly into the Splatter Man with a wail of rage. Light and sound rush away from the two, blinding and deafening all in the room.
When their senses return, all that remains from the battle is a golden badge lying in the rubble.
And the dying form of Brogol Stockl.
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Esta watches as the Splatter Man tears into Brogol and his figure falls to the floor, then shields her eyes from the explosion of energy from the dueling spirits, hunkering down to clutch her fox to her chest.
When the light and sound finally dies down, she pushes herself to her feet, sprinting across the room and falling onto her knees next to Brogol's form.
She looks him over and places a hand on his head in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.
"It's gonna be okay," she says with a shaky smile. Pressing her other hand to his chest, she closes her eyes and mutters the words to herself as her fingers trace that familiar pattern, easing the hex of healing into his body. Sighing, she opens her eyes to ask how he feels, but stops, thrown off guard. Nothing had changed. The spell hadn't worked.
"No," she says, confused. "No no no, tha's... tha's not right." She tries again, and again, and again, pushing more and more of her energy into him, but even so, she can still see the life draining from him. "No! Help me!" Hot tears trace down her cheeks as she keeps trying and trying and trying, yelling to her patron for assistance.
Assistance that never comes.
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The boy coughs, once, then again, and shudders a bit, his legs spasming. His pupils grow large, the grimace on Brogol's face turning to a smile. Staring up, unfocused, Brogol's breath comes ragged, and his voice is weak. One hand waves weakly, just brushing Esta's hair, gesturing you all closer.
"Friends..." the boy says, and coughs. Shaking hands pull the apprentice monster hunter's cloakhood down over his face, and then fall to his side, his fingers tightening just so slightly.
His chest rises once, then again, and then lays still, the last words of Brogol Stockl remaining forever unspoken.
"No, no, no, no, no... come on."
Esta continues pushing her healing into Brogol, face set in angry determination as she mutters incessantly to herself, ignoring the tears and the little fox at her side pawing at her arm and the knowledge she had, deep down, that there wasn't anything she could do.
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No please... Not the kid, not the kid, not on my watch! NOT! ON! MY! WATCH!
Dashil shelves such unhelpful thoughts, catching herself before she disintegrates completely, drawing on a lifetime's experience of surviving, of not dying.
She pulls Esta to her feet, as gently as she can. "I'm sorry, but he's gone. You don't know how sorry I am to say that. We have to get out of here."
It's cold, it's heartless and she hates herself for saying it. So, just another day in Ustalav.
With a grunt, she bends down, picking up the lifeless body of the late junior monster hunter. It's heavy, but not nearly as heavy as his weight on her conscience. He had no business being here... You shouldn't have encouraged him... He didn't have your viciousness, or Radag's orneriness, or Aduard's powers... You SAW this coming and you did NOTHING... YOU killed him...
She bites her lip till blood runs freely down her chin; she doesn't notice. "Come on, people, MOVE! If I know anything about haunts, this place is about to collapse on us!"
And I would deserve it.
"But..."
The word comes weakly as she allows Dashil to pull her to her feet, though she doesn't really know what she would have said. With most of her energy spent, eyes glassy and unfocused, she scoops up Oolong and squeezes him to her chest as she follows the group from the building.
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I saw the blow coming. Of course Ferramin was determined to destroy me. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go. I saw my death. Not from some betrayal. Not from simply running out of life. I faced death like a hero - and in that moment I accepted it.
It isn't just death that fills me with terror, but what comes after. In the heat of the moment, knowing my death was the price, I accepted it. I had no thought for the future, only for the now. I felt the fire of righteousness for the first time in... well, as long as I can remember.
Then the boy took the blow.
The thought that an ally - that a friend - might give their life for me had never even crossed my mind. The Bookman doesn't have friends - certainly not friends who cared enough to die in his place.
That I regretted. Stockl - Brogol - had been a better friend to me than even Petros. In my mind I had planned to take him as an apprentice. Teach him all I know. I was blown back by the blast, and all but fell down the oubilette, and when I recovered I saw Esta heal him. I felt a wave of relief so profound I couldn't speak - and then a cold, hard wave ran through my body when it didn't help.
My mind churned as I ran through option after option, and discarded them all. I didn't have the spells to petrify him. To store his soul for a construct. Even simple Undeath eluded me. I considered binding his soul to a new body - but even if in my weakened state I could do it, by the time I was finished he would be gone anyway.
My mind churned, and my chance to say goodbye was wasted.
I have been adrift. Without Purpose. Now I have two. And of those two the one that burns the brightest is this; Brogol Stockl was taken too soon. If I must fight Pharasma to get him another chance, then I will. I have conquered death before for less reason than this;
Brogol Stockl was my best friend, and I will not let him go.
Bookman stumbles, falls, catches himself.
He stands staring at Brogol, and then at Brogol's body.
He wipes cinder-blackened hands carelessly on his clothes and stoops to help Dashil with the boy's body.
"Go" he grunts to Dashil. 'Murdered by a ghost in a haunted prison. If this place turns him...'
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Wordless in the long moment in the wake of the death throes of the Splatterman, Radag stares at Brogol in his final gasping breaths, desperate disbelief filling his mind. As the half-orc's eyes slide closed for the last time, Radag's jaw clicks shut and his eyes flick up into a narrowed glare toward Aduard. A shadowing rage rolls over Radag's impressive stature, pulling him into a sick slouch as the others crowd around the departed Brogol. He says nothing as he follows the party out, picking up anything the others left behind to buy more time alone with his own thoughts, and to grind his teeth in his clenched jaw.
The apparition of Vesorianna appears once more, hovering near Brogol's fallen form. Tears fall from her pale blue eyes. "Do not worry, Mr. Bookman. With my husband's badge, I have cleansed this place of the evil that haunted it. The five killers have been sent to their final resting place. Mr. Stockl's spirit will embrace his god, if he kept one."
"I know this will not ease his passing, but I have imbued my husband's badge with a measure of Harrowstone's former power. I hope that it will aid you in your coming trials."
The ghost lingers for a moment, and then rapidly fades. "Thank you, heroes."
Radag stops over the badge, and just as he is about to ask if the ghost lady could still have any use, just in case, she disappeared. Then after it was clear she was gone, he stooped over and scooped the metal symbol of law up. Lady Graves, see Brogol's eternal soul to safety. Please don't ghost.