"Agreed, Master Bookman," the Doctor growls, voice low and slurred. "They may very well have been involved. Let's not let up until we know there's no more villains lurking in this factory."
Like Esta, Karras longed to spend more time in the study. And would hopefully soon. The Doctor lopes to the door in the north wall, and after a cursory examination, turns the knob.
The door is locked, but a quick search of Vorkstag's personal effects turns up a key.
Behind the door is a tiny room containing only a large oaken cabinet. It stinks like an abattoir, reeking of old blood and dead things.
"Aha! The 'cabinet' in question, I assume. Now the question is whether there is a trap, or a creature to spring upon us. I suggest we investigate closely, before anyone touches it."
"Indeed," the Doctor mumbled (rumbled?) leaning in close, taking in the smell of death. "Ms. Vyrelian, can you see if there are magical auras here too?" Karras would take on the physical inspection. Hovering close, he looks over every inch, paying close attention to any locking mechanisms (if any), and now not worried that there are any living beings waiting to ambush them, takes his time.
The cabinet does not appear to be trapped and there are no magical auras present.
Placing a tentative hand on the cabinet, the Doctor opens the cabinet. "Steel yourselves. Certainly horror lies within."
Aduard takes another discrete step backwards, wand in hand. "Consider me steeled, Doctor."
The smell becomes nearly overwhelming when the cabinet is opened, its source obvious. What at first could be mistaken for pale, leather gowns are actually skins, nearly a score of flayed skins hanging neatly on wire hangers. The skins vary between man and woman, young and old, but the most divergent is the skin of a mongrelman: grotesquely deformed and consisting of scales, fur, pus-filled lesions, and fungal boils.
Oh Hells, the woodsman cusses as the scent explodes through the room. He raises a hand to his nose, screwing up his eyes against the revulsion and the stink. He hisses a breath through his nose, girding himself, then steps forward to examine the cabinet and its contents, his clear eyes focused.
Guess we know why he didn't want us finding this, he snarls, moving the macabre wardrobe aside to assure himself that that's all that was in the cabinet. This'll be the end of them. Lucky if they're not tossed in a Punishing Man of their own.
He steps away from the cabinet, barely controlled rage flaring behind his eyes. This doesn't get your Adam anywhere, though; we can prove these folk are monsters, but we need to provide proof that he didn't destroy the Sanctuary. He pauses briefly, glancing back at the cabinet, his eyes settling for an overlong moment on a gown; That one looks far-too-small... before storming out of the room, and glaring down at the factory floor below, and to the scaffold to which Vorkstag and Grine remain tied.
I need y'all to keep a CLOSE damn eye on your former...masters, the paladin half-snarls, half-shouts down to the mongrelfolk below. One of your own gone missing? Others? Were you ever told not to worry about what happened? If so...we know now... The woodsman exhales slowly, relief not coming in the fumes of the chemical works.
He stands for a time, gazing over the floor, mongrelmen, and prisoners until the rest of the party is ready to move on.
Tacitus looks up at Edison through the swirling clouds of vapor and fumes and grimaces. "What did you find, my lord?" he asks.
The forms of his former 'employers' are where Edison left them: Grine, awake now and glowering at the mongrelmen that surround him, and Vorkstag—still prone and unconscious, with bits of red muscle showing though where Karras tore through his paper-like skin.
The woodsman exhales harshly through his nose, regaining his composure.
Shouldn't've said a damn thing. Gettin' away from myself like a damn kid.
We're still puttin' it together, he says carefully, his tone girding. We found that cabinet we were lookin' for, and we'll have some questions to go along with what we found to get a better idea. Just keep an eye on those two his paladin's eyes flash through the grime as he glares at the alchemists. Let's just say we found further proof of the kind of folk they are.
Aduard's lip curls up in disgust. "But why?" he mutters, as Edison leaves the room. "Monsters they may be... and any number of serial killers show this level of organisation about their obsession... but the room outside was spotless. Is this truly madness, or some sort of alchemical..."
Aduard's eyes open wide, and he turns to the doctor.
"I hate to ask doctor, but as man of science... can you think of any benighted, blasphemous project where an alchemist might need this many..." he hesitates before plunging on "skins?"
"Perhaps," the Doctor says, his voice soft, almost contemplative, if low and slurred in his goblinoid guise, "there is a Beast? Not Adam, of course, but another, or more than one another, all created by the madmen here? We know they have a facility for golemcraft, with the demon-dog out front. And the descriptions of the Beast don't match, exactly at least, Adam's own appearance..."
"As to motive, I am at a loss. Vorkstag and Grine are obviously contemptable, and probably corrupted individuals."
Esta takes slow steps away without any further examination, her entire attention focused on the grotesque contents on display in the cabinet in front of them. Something tickled at her mind, pulling and pressing as though to get her attention.
Why's this so familiar? she thinks to herself in slow-growing realization. Where've I heard...
She gasps, everything coming back to her in a rush, and she turns to Aduard and Karras.
"Remember that man named Karl? He was at Sanctuary as a doctor or somethin'. He was tellin' us 'bout his run in with th' Beast. 'It was huge, prob'ly seven or eight feet tall,'" she quotes, her hands moving animatedly as she speaks. "'Half-man an' half-beast, I remember fur an' scales an' pale flesh.' Right?"
She motions towards the cabinet. "Look. Skin. Fur. Scales. All together on a... on a skin suit." She swallows hard, turning away from the sight to address Karras. "When you were hurtin' him, Doctor Karras, his skin was just rippin' off of him like paper. Like it barely hurt 'im. So what if Vorkstag was wearin' th' skin an'... an' doin' all th' stuff that Adam's bein' blamed for?"
She wrings her hands, looking to Aduard. "I don't think I know anythin' about somethin' that could do that, wear skins an' run around, but maybe you do?"
She looks back and forth between the two men. "So what if that's what happened?"
Aduard sucked in a breath. "Both ideas make a kind of dreadful sense. While we should be on the alert for 'another Adam', we can investigate Ms Vyrelian's immediately. We pull out the... skins, look for post-mortem wear and tear. Try to identify who... where they were, uh, acquired."
"A terrible job, to be sure. But between the doctor's knowledge of anatomy, Ms Vyrelian's knowledge of healing, and her Fox's inherent sense of smell, I have faith in you."
"As for skin-wearers... there are myths. Legends. Stories. Are they based on actual cryptids? Lost alchemy? Hard to say..."
Edison sips at his waterskin, still glowering down at Vorkstag and Grine.
Damned monsters. They'd be best served tossed into the Punishing Man, not Adam.
His eyes rest upon Vorkstag, his muscles still pulsing with their alchemical bolstering. The woodsman's eyes follow the arc of the villain's frame, from shoulder, to long leg, to calve...
The paladin swishes a mouthful of water around in his mouth, spitting it out onto the floor below. He turns towards the door behind which his allies confer, though his eyes remain locked on the alchemists below.
Doctor Karras. How tall would you say Mr. Vorkstag stood, muscles bulgin' as they were?
He continues to glare down at Vorkstag below, the weight of his gaze palpable behind the smog.
Seven feet? Close enough? Our witness 'cross the river said seven feet tall, with hair'n scales if I recall...Somethin' in that cabinet fit?
His crystal blue eyes search the captives below, looking for some kind of tell as they hear him voice his theory...
Aduard, who had trailed off to stare in apparent vacant horror at the wardrobe, suddenly blinked and started moving again as he overheard Edison.
"Apologies everyone. There is one cryptid that seems to fit the bill. I had hoped the stories apocryphal, but perhaps not... There is a particular breed of fey that is rumoured to steal and then wear the skins of their victims."
"With alchemical assistance I suspect one of the owners here might reach the necessary proportions, Mr Wyatt. I also suspect that they might be Fey. Did anyone happen to bring along some cold iron?"
"If that supposition is correct, any of these skins that can be traced to one of the missing people may well prove to be a rather literal Corpus delicti."
Karras blinks, a grim smile barely registering on his lips. "A fey... Well done, Ms. Vyrelian, Masters Bookman and Wyatt. It makes sense."
There was nothing else to do but look. Slowly, methodically, the Doctor begins to pull the skinsuits from the wardrobe, looking them over for relevance to the tales they'd heard these last few days.
The Doctor's face reveals little discomfort with this task; this was evidence-gathering after all, and important if unpleasant work. Slowly, methodically, Karras works his way through the wardrobe, taking copious notes as he does so.
Without more intimate knowledge of Lepidstadt's community, it would be difficult to place the identities of the skins.
Eh? Cold Iron?Edison calls to his friends, his eyes still locked on the villains below.
'fraid not, Master Bookman. he hisses, more quietly. If you'd said silver, I could've provided an arrowhead. If we need some, I can take a quick walk once we've cleared that tower, and found the other beastie they were talkin' about..
"Well, we shall need to purchase some cold iron then," Karras muses, staring into the dresser of horrors. "Surely there is a cart here, or something similar that the Chymikal works uses for deliveries. Perhaps, if we can find one, we can load up the dresser and Vorkstag and take them to court, stopping for some tincture of cold iron on the way? If nothing else, it will make a dramatic scene at the trial, and perhaps throw enough confusion into the mix that the magistrates will not be able to assume guilt."
"I dare say we have enough to have them arrested - possibly even do it ourselves. Cold iron at the trial is indeed an excellent reveal, but if it proves... inconclusive could undermine the speech Adivion makes."
"So. Do we call Adivion and ask him to send for the Bailiffs, or take the evidence in ourselves and risk being accused of tampering?"
I'd defer to your expertise on the matters, folks, the woodsman says simply. In my town I'd truss'em up and walk 'em to jail myself. If that's not likely to go down well, we can get Adivion to bring 'em in.
That being said, there's supposed to be a beastie in the tower, right? I'd rather get that settled before any city guards have to go poking around through here.
"Very well," Karras says, pulling absently at his beared, his voice cracking with weariness. "Let's go to the tower before all of my magic wears off."
Aduard nods "Mine has all but gone. Hopefully the wand will help. Remember, there may be another 'Adam' in this tower, for all we know."
Entry to the tower lies through Grine's room, as much an abattoir as a bedchamber. Dominated by a four-poster bed and numerous workbenches and alchemical gear, the walls are lined with shelves and strange-looking objects in jars of liquid. Bits of rag litter the floor, and the air is heavy with the stench of spoiled food mixed with acrid chemicals. A ladder leads to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
Aduard looks up "I confess I would not want to be the one who had to put my head through that trapdoor. We still have that rope, so someone could - in theory - travel via the outside."
The Woodsman nods to his compatriots.
Pardon my imposition, good folk, he murmuers, taking to the ladder, buckler held high. But, given the state of ourselves and what we've endured, let me go first. Shame'd take me if one of you was dealt a harsh hand at this moment.
The paladin ascends the ladder, casting his gaze around at those below; he rests his head against the trap door, inhaling and exhaling deeply -but only once. With that, he shoves at the trap door with his free hand, buckler held high.
Up the ladder and through the trap door reveals a room filled with strange art and artifacts from distant lands. An ebony mask carved to resemble a leering demon peers out from beneath a glass display. The tusk of some massive beast, intricately carved with scrimshaw and Hallit runes is arranged next to a silver torc twisted and shaped into the depiction of a linnorm. A hideous taxidermy of a dog-headed creature standing on two legs, the label beneath reads "Pugwampi."
Before Edison can take more in, he catches movement in the dark corners of the room. With the flicker of leathery wings, the creatures burst forth: horrid amalgamations of flesh and other, less natural materials appearing as tiny demons or devils, red-skinned with mouths full of sharpened fangs.
Oh HELLS the Woodsman curses, his legs hammering the ladder so hard it shakes as he surges up to the loft. We got some beasties! Damn varmints!
Its tight up here, but I'll buy y'all some space! Edison steps into the middle of the room, keeping an eye on both of the little creatures. He fakes a blow with his gauntleted hand against one, but turns in into a feint as he whips back to face the other, his long sword flashing into his hand, lancing towards the beast's brow.
The Doctor snarls and follows after Edison, his soft, beastial hands easily clambering up the ladder. "Careful there, Master Wyatt," Karras snarls, eyes narrowing in on one of the creatures. "Such beasts often have poison and other painful tricks."
Arruk Karras was never much for following his own advice, however. There was no easy way to clamber from the ladder towards one of the enemies without opening himself up for attack. So it was, so it would be. The Doctor shifted to the south, swiping with a claw at the nearest creature.
Upon hearing Edison's warning, Esta promptly ignores it and scrambles up the ladder to assist. The small size of the room gives her pause as she emerges from the trap door's opening, and not wanting to set the place ablaze, she opts for something that may help her companions instead.
Her eyes focused on the beast nearest Karras, she traces careful patterns in the air before releasing the hex.
At the bottom of the ladder Aduard peers up, striving to see what exactly they face.
One of the homunculi slides past Edison's blade, its maw distended like some massive snake. With an audible crack, the creature's jaws snap shut on Edison's shoulder, its metallic fangs biting through and sinks its fangs into the paladin's shoulder.
Karras's bestial claws rake the other homunculus, slicing through the creature's clay and leather frame. Despite the fearsome damage, the construct rushes towards Karras, only to dodge out of the way of a falling cuckoo clock, an accident possibly caused by Esta's hex.
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The woodsman's cursing devolves to rapid and rabid muttering, ...damned, CURSED, blighted, hauntborne sons, daughters, and otherwise of Asmoedus' crusty CO- as he pivots towards the homunculus left battered by the Good Doctor.
He scythes the magical blade towards the creature, hissing in satisfaction as it seem to bite deep - SEE! By the HUNTSman's stalwart and DETERMINED efforts shall we be FuuuuuORTUNATELY DELIVERED. Despite his CLEAR consternation at the assault through his formidable defense, the resolute swordsman remains an available target in the middle of the room.
Aduard considers stating 'don't let them bite you' then reconsiders. "Damned constructs!" he curses.
Still at the foot of the ladder he sweeps quickly out into the rooms, looking for anything to use as an improvised net.
"Snapjaw homunculi," the Doctor rumbles. "Aggressive, poisonous."
Even while he talks, the Doctor lashes out with his clawed hands, and snaps his teeth at the construct, grunting in satisfaction as his attacks find purchase.
Esta shuffles back and forth as the brawl goes on, staying on the sidelines of the action as the fighters continue to attack, and watching with rapt attention as things progress.
When Edison swings his weapon, she notices that his wounds appear to be a bit worse than she previously realized, and with practiced movements, she traces another hex.
Edison's blade whirls through the air, catching the wounded homunculus in the face. A ringing sound fills the small room as its metallic jaw flies free and bounces off the wall. Its squat head split in half, the construct flops uselessly to the floor, where it slowly squirms until eventually settling.
Stepping to the paladin's exposed flank, Karras rips the second homunculus into two halves of clay, wood, and leather, with a swipe of his bladelike claws.
Breathing heavily -more from surprise than from exhaustion- the woodsman lowers his sword to his side, glaring at the ruins of the tiny, chomping constructs.
Those two're hazards, he curses, spitting on the floor in the vague direction of the captives. You have my eternal thanks again, Miss Esta; you have one helluva gift, and none of us would've made it out of here without you. The paladin gives the young woman a nod and a salute with his blade.
Suppose it might be worth lookin' around, he mutters, clearly awkward with the moment of bare authenticity, who knows what's tucked in the weird corners of this place. This's the only place we haven't been, right? He begins moving various items out of the mess of the room, trying to at least spread out the hoard for better examination.
Dropping the last of the homonculi at his feet, Doctor shakes his head. "There's other places we need to check. A door by the ramp, and another outside, by the dog golem.
Edison blinks dazedly a couple times before all-but dropping a mystery-laden bucket and hustling back to the ladder.
Shit. Shit, shit, you're right, the woodsman curses, making his way back down. Damn right, Doc, we do! Ramp entrance, then? Make the most out of your tinctures, right?
The trapdoor in the ceiling reveals the topmost room of the chymic works' tower, empty save for a copper lightning rod shaped to display a raven eating a wolf and four windows shuttered with slatted timber.
Returning to the catwalk, the party opens the southernmost door into a loading bay overlooking the courtyard. Fitted with a wood and iron crane to lower crates through a sliding door, this room is filled with mostly empty boxes. Among the packing straw, however, they find a single crate filled with alchemical supplies: twelve vials of acid, twelve vials of nushadir, five tanglefoot bags, and three thunderstones.
Similarly furnished as the loading bay above it, the storage room on the first floor connects directly to the courtyard, past the cooling corpse of the golem dog. Packed among the boxes, crates, and bales of straw are twelve vials of alchemist's fire, twelve vials of liquid ice, ten smoke pellets, ten smokesticks, and six bottles of bleach. Notably, the bottles of bleach match the empty containers found at the Sanctuary from the day before. Beyond the storage room is a simple stable with two stalls: one containing an ancient horse one step from a knacker's yard, the other empty except for the obvious signs that it was used as a sleeping area for some of the mongrelmen.
The final area to explore is a door on the eastern wall of the basement level. The door is locked, but a key taken from Vorkstag reveals another space dedicated to storage, containing several dozen crates, a few coffins, lots of straw, and a few huge bell jars. The crates hold five pots of bladeguard, ten doses of bloodblock, five applications of silver weapon blanch, five applications of cold iron weapon blanch, and one application of adamantine weapon blanch.
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The woodsman blows a low whistle, cracking the last crate.
I thought I was well-prepared, remind me to have a less murderous friend in the alchemy business in the future. The man's clear blue eyes focus on the dark metallic-blue of the the adamantine weapon blanche before replacing it in its crate.
Looking at all these goods, we can put Vorkstag and Grine -as an entrepreneuria...as a entry...as Money-Making entity- at the Sanctuary. The victim's testimony places someone lookin' like them -should they assume the twisted form from the...skin cabinet?- at the Sanctuary on the night of the fire. The priests at the door of the Court have been checking for lies, right? Clever questioning from y'all's barrister friend might be worth somethin'. How are y'all feeling about all this?
He leans against a broken-open crate in the basement.
"I feel very well about this, Goodman Wyatt," the doctor says, his voice still rumbling and unnatural. "But don't get to leaning just quite yet. There's a well-used hidden door on the southern wall. After you?"
Hm? No, I already che- he narrows his eyes at the door Karras has pointed out before straightening with a low chuckle. Well, hell! You've got the vision of the Deadeye, Doc!
He springs up lightly, angling in front of the door. He throws a steeling glance back at Aduard and Esta, before nodding assuringly.
Aduard nods "I believe you have it, Mr Wyatt. Scandalous that something like this could be going on without someone twigging, but I suppose the rumours of the Beast are sufficient to act as a convenient smokescreen."
He fingers some of the alchemical supplies "I hope you gentlefolk don't mind, but I am going to confiscate some of these vials in case we come across something else. I'm all but out of spells, but between fire and ice there should be something for most potential problems."