GM Rennai's The Midnight Mirror (Inactive)

Game Master Rennaivx

Dividing the fallen Henric's equipment up among you, you prepare to move along.

To the far door next, then, I take it?

"Fine by me," Milo nods, economically addressing both Tess's proposal and that of the mysterious voice in the sky. ;)

Lets do it.

Take 10 on stealth, perception (traps), perception (listen), and disable device (if need be)

Onward!

You once again approach the door at the end of the short corridor, and the same soft noises of movement and snatches of conversation can be heard inside. Cautiously, you open the door.

This room appears to be another set of chambers, though rather better-appointed than the ones downstairs. Unevenly upholstered furniture fills the room, surrounding unusual asymmetrical tables. There are several doors along the walls; one hangs slightly ajar, and you can make out a small bed and desk inside. Six fetchlings lounge about this room, draped over chairs and sofas or napping inside bedchambers. But as the door opens, those surrounding the center table bolt upright.

New residents? you hear one mutter.

Nicasor mentioned nothing...

One of the kayal begins to move toward a corridor jutting off to the left at the back of the room. I'll get Nicasor. He'll know what to do.

Milo looks at the others briefly, with a querying glance, before darting after the kayal trying to go get Nicasor.

"Oh now friend, I don't think you want to do that," he says pleasantly. "I think you should definitely sit back down, right now, and have a nice quiet talk with us instead. All of us should have a nice, quiet talk, before we go bringing Nicasor into it. Of course, if you're bound and determined, I'll have to stop you with, say, three feet of enchanted and very pointy steel."

Intimidate to force 'to act friendly': 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (4) + 11 = 15

(DC is 10 + the target’s Hit Dice + the target’s Wisdom modifier.)

Of course, the woman replies, glancing down at the sword hanging at Milo's belt nervously. There's no need for things to get unpleasant...

She returns to the table, re-taking her place in her slightly lumpy armchair. What is it you want, then? It's just - it's rare we get visitors. I assumed you would be most interested in meeting our leader.

"There's a darling," Milo beams, gesturing her back to her chair. "I'm Milo. These are my friends."

He comes closer, but remains standing himself. "Yes, that's the thing: we're not entirely sure we like all we've heard of Nicasor so far. Seems to be an unpleasant chap from all counts. He made a bargain with someone back in the real world that's been killing quite a few people who never did anything to deserve it. Now, what we're here to do is send everyone back home: to sun, wind... food, drink... living and dying as normal. You'd all like that, wouldn't you? See colors again? Taste cold water, feel the warmth of a wool cloak or another's hand?

"But Nicasor himself might cause us problems. Try to stop us... or try to turn on us once we got everyone home again. So you see why I can't just let you go warn him we're here," Milo says, half-apologetically.

"But if you want to see the light again, you'll tell me where he is and what he's likely to be doing right now. And what sort of skills he used when he led your revolt-- was he a magician? A warrior?"

Attempted Diplomacy, if needed after the intimidate, to try and coax some useful information from the kayal: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

*grumpy dice tossing*

Kinvara stays quiet, her father's gift with people hampered by Pharasma's gift for healing. No need to cause trouble, Milovic seems to have everything under control.

Xander couldn't help but smile watching Milo work the room. He was definitely better with the blade than the feather, so to speak.

"We are not here to hurt you. We are actually here to set you free. We just have to stop Nisacor first. He's killing people."

Diplomacy to Aid Another: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12 Damn. Tough crowd.

Killing people? But how can that be? We're locked away in here - there's no chance he's hurting anyone on the outside, nor in here. If you want the source of your problems, look to the deceitful Stepan...I'd bet my last coin he's the source of your problems...Nicasor simply sought to make things better for us! He said some of the humans may have to fall, but that it was regrettable, to be avoided if it could...

He - his strength was in combat leadership. His skill with his matched blades was legendary, and his grasp of strategy masterful. And with his blessing of power over shadows as well...no one could have stood against him in a fair match. It was mere luck that gave your kind the victory.

Milo shrugs. "I've no reason to love Stepan," he drawls, "but tell me, what do you know of him? Haven't you all been here a very long time, since your rebellion... cut off from the real world? So... Perhaps Nicasor's been telling you of him?"

He nods a bit at the information that they face a blade-wielder. That's something, he supposes. And powers of darkness-magic, it seems.

"Well, my kind, as in, my friends and I, saved a kayal man and his two children from being lynched by an angry mob back in town, before we came here," he adds cheerfully, "but I'll keep your advice in mind, and accordingly, I shan't fight fair."

Nicasor keeps nothing from us, and after all, we had new guests arrive some time ago - Stepan's brothers. They told us all about him: of his deceit and his scheming, how he forced them in here to clear his way for his bloody rise to rule, of his malice and cruelty to all around him. And them for the baron to refuse even to repay Nicasor for his help! To renege on their fair and mutual bargain! Why, it seems to me it's Stepan who's the butcher; Nicasor would do the world a favor, cleansing Karpad of scum like him.

The woman glances nervously at the doors surrounding the common area. If you don't wish Nicasor to know of your presence, perhaps you will speak with Atamin, or Manar? They're just this way - they'll be more than happy to answer any other questions you may have... She glances nervously at Milo's rapier once again.

Sense motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6 Ew

Milo listens, and shrugs, looking to the others. "Well? What do you think? Nicasor or not, remember what we have to deal with after him."

Sense Motive: 1d20 ⇒ 5

"What fair and mutual bargain?" Xander asked, curious what these people knew.

Taking 10 on Sense Motive for 16.

Kinvara finally step forward.

"I think that you may have a somewhat single sided view of the baron. Only his enemies have shared their lives with you. He has grown since he sent his brothers to join you. He has a wife and heir now. They have changed him for the better. He has seen fit to send us here to release all the prisoners, but wishes to ensure a peaceful return to sunlit lands."

"So it is that we must entreat with Nicasor. If he is willing to return peacefully to Karpad, that would be best. If he is unwilling, then other options must be considered."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

So you'll speak with Nicasor, then? I'll go and get him. She starts to back away, looking slightly relieved at the chance to go, then stops with a furtive glance at Milo. If you wish, of course. I'll gather the others as well, if you like - Atamin and Corys will want to have their say.

"Just Nicasor, please." Xander said quietly. "No need to complicate things right away."

Of course. The woman nods respectfully and retreats to the east hallway, and you hear a knock on the door. Nicasor? she calls out. Sir? There's...well, I don't know how or why, but there's new people in here. Humans. And they wish to speak to you.

After a few moments, the door opens, and a creature emerges. Over six feet tall, he towers over the fetchling woman next to him. Beneath a white mask polished to a mirror sheen, a set of beautifully lacquered black armor, and a sweeping grey cloak, his form is blurry and indefinite, as if a tall, thin man was transmuted to shadows made flesh. He walks with a calm, confident gait, seeming unperturbed at the arrival of newcomers (though, without a visible face, it's hard to be certain).

Why is it you've disturbed me, Emma? he intones coolly - and then the mask turns to Xander, Milo, Kinvara, and Tess. Ah, wonderful, new guests. Welcome to our humble home, he says in a tone of mockery, adding a deep bow. So, what is it you've done to displease the high and mighty Stepan Boroi so? If he's sent you to fulfill his promise in my place, then he's a fool - he's forgotten that I require someone outside the mirror.

But then, we knew him for a fool already, didn't we? he adds in an aside to Emma, whose eyes are turned downward in deference. A fool - or an ungrateful traitor, taking advantage of me after all I have done for him, the power and prestige he has earned only with my help. And it was such a little thing I asked...merely a chance to escape the drudgery of this place for a time, no more...

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5 And again... sort of perfect for Milo...

Milo coolly regards the shadow-man, keeping one hand on the hilt of his rapier though he doesn't draw it for now. His mind is racing, however, with thoughts that point out that Stepan is pretty scummy-- maybe he just threw them in here to rid himself of both Nicasor and nosy Pathfinders in one fell swoop... maybe there's no way to actually kill The Heart at all...

"No, he didn't send us for that," he says crisply. "To kill you, instead. Do you have a compelling reason we shouldn't? I don't care for Stepan-- he's high-handed, obviously willing to murder his siblings, and there is the matter of him being married to a woman I'd rather was free of him. Still. I'm not convinced you're better: probably the two of you deserve each other."

"We took the job because of the blight afflicting the citizens of Karpaad. Not because of loyalty to Stephan. If you can tell us what the source of Tallowthroat is, and how to stop it, we might be able to avoid bloodshed right now." Xander said with a coolness that contrasted Milo's sharp words.

sense: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

"Are you sure you didn't want more then some time out of here?...."

Ah, so he seeks a way out of his bargain, is it? And too cowardly to come in here and face me himself; I suppose I should have known, when he turned to me to rid himself of his brothers rather than having the decency to kill them himself, like any other nobleman vying for power. Although perhaps he's the wise one. With no way out of here in body, how would he enjoy the pretty young fruit he's plucked? She's well-endowed, I'd imagine - in gold and lands, of course. He gives Milo a wink. Wealthy and of high birth, as befits a man of his standing. A scion of one of Pangolais' highest, perhaps, or high among Nisroch's elite?

At the mention of plague, a touch of smugness enters his voice. But it seems he's gotten the rot of rulership along with the fruit - a plague, is it? Alas, if his common-folk have gotten a sickness running around among them, it's no doing of mine, although I'll admit there are times I've wished such misery upon him and his in my reverie, since he turned on me. He wished so for the sceptre; let him fully experience what it means to rule the fates of others.

At Tess's shrewd observation, Nicasor laughs haughtily. An observant one, this. He reaches a hand forward to playfully pat her cheek, and the cold emanating from his armored hand is startling. Perhaps I did give some thought as to how I could gain a taste of freedom for some of those in my care; can a magnanimous leader be faulted for such concern? These my loyal followers, how could I not seek to let them enjoy the light again, if only for a moment? After all, all they wished was freedom - freedom from the prejudice and the cruelty that were their only lot among the humans. To be thrown in here to rot for eternity, just for wishing a better life for themselves and their progeny? I won't stand for it.

We'll just go with one Sense Motive check that gates access to all three spoilers.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20

"If you are not capable of causing the plague currently afflicting Karpad, perhaps the Heart is to blame? As for the light, we would see all those imprisoned here returned to the light. Provided they do not seek to harm others or their way of life." Kinvara attempts to speak plainly and without provocation.

"The humans and the kayal of Karpad have been living in a peace that has been jeprodized by this disease. You are not one of them, yet you speak of the kayal as your people, do you intend to put yourself above them as you fee the humans do?"

sense: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22

"You have an interest in Anya and her family don't you...."

A peace, you say - and yet I'm willing to bet that it's a peace that ensures the humans came out far the better in the deal. The Boroi family have been arrogant and treacherous to the shadowborn for a thousand years, and I see Stepan being no better, considering he's stooped so low as to turn on his own family. If this younger generation of kayal wish a kind leader, a gentle hand to guide them and speak for them, how could I say no? I'll bet the barony has not been that for them.

And why should I not be interested in our Stepan's little turtledove? He'd not spoken of her to me - not even of any plan of marriage. I should very much like to meet the woman that has brought such joy to Stepan's days as of late, as you say, and find out all about her. Yes, I'm sure she and hers would be thrilled to meet myself and my charges in here, to find out all about who the Borois have trampled to keep their power secure.

Milo's eyes narrow at Tess's words and Nicasor's response.

"You'll stay far from her," he says shortly. "If he did do anything right, it was in not telling you about her. I have no love for Stepan, but I trust you as I trust a pesh-seller on a Moonday night."

Trust me or not, as you wish. Kill me or not, as you wish - or at least try. Your efforts will prove an amusing diversion. Nicasor chuckles derisively. It makes precious little difference now, doesn't it? You see, you're prisoners in here now, the same as me. No matter whether you kill me or kiss me, you will spend the rest of your days in here - and that's many, many days, if the Heart has its say, and less-than-pleasant ones.

Unless your magnanimous lord has granted you a way out, and that certainly wasn't the case upon our interment. You see, the last word I heard was that the trip in here was quite firmly one-way; even if the Boroi lord wished, there was no way to call someone back once they were sent.

"There's a way out." Xander said quietly. "For everyone. We're here to make that happen."

"However, once back on the outside you'll still have to answer for the things you've done. Some people here clearly aren't threats to anyone. You, on the other hand, don't seem like your time here has changed you much."

Kinvara eyes the shadow creature carefully. "You are not human, nor are you kayal. Where do you come from that you feel welcome to meddle in the affairs of a barony you haven't seen in centuries? What kind of creature are you?"

If Kinvara ever gains a level, she's definitely putting a rank in Knowledge (planes).

A way out? A faint tone of optimism creeps into Nicasor's voice, though he hides it behind sarcasm. And I suppose you dangle this before me in order to draw out humility, fealty. You want me to promise to be Stepan's humble servant, to swear my best behavior all my days. Well...I solemnly swear it. I shall not raise my hand to Stepan or his wife, so long as I live. I wish only to escape this place - for a better life for my family.

He walks to one of the other doors opening onto the common room and waves its inhabitants forward; you catch a brief glimpse of shelves lined with books inside. Two figures emerge, creatures like Nicasor whose shadowy humanoid forms are mostly defined by the clothing draped around them. The man is nearly of a height with Nicasor and powerfully built; the woman, though still tall, is more delicately built.

He approaches another door and knocks, but it stays firmly shut. Gruff shouts can be heard, though they sound muffled for some reason, and at the harsh response Nicasor bows toward the still-closed door and moves away.

The last door he approaches reveals a glimpse of a small bedchamber beyond; compared to the other rooms in the house, the amount of decoration inside it is surprising, as most of the rest of the place has been austere. From inside, a fetchling child emerges, approximately eight years old. His eyes widen upon seeing the group standing there, and he shuffles shyly over to the shae woman, hiding his face in her skirt.

Other Borois? Have they come to wake Father up? he says softly to the woman, and she strokes his hair gently. I'm not sure, Sorin, she replies, looking to the party. Who are you? And why are you here? Are you prisoners, too?

And why do you bear weapons in our home? the other man adds curtly. Surrender them immediately - I will not parley under threat of force. Set them aside, or I shall be forced to expel you from the upper chambers more emphatically.

Now, now, Atamin, peace - they have exhibited no ill will. Yet. Nicasor returns to stand with the newcomers. My brother, Atamin, and his daughter, Manar. The other is Corys, my uncle - he was disinclined to greet visitors at the moment. My family, all I have left in this world and the other...I wish only to improve their lot. The kayal are a link between my world and yours, humans with the touch of our ancestry among them; I wished only to improve their lot as well.

And Sorin...well, Sorin's only crime was his uncle's ambition. Should he be doomed to this darkness simply because his father Iozif was in Stepan's way?

Now the fetchling doll on the floor of Iozif's room makes sense.

Knowledge Nobility: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

Guess Xander isn't paying attention to that sort of thing at the moment.

Milo, Nobility: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 Sigh
Sense motive?: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

While specific knowledge about nobility escapes him right now (look, he was a bastard son, he didn't get full fancy training), Milo looks at Nicasor with undisguised skepticism.

"Well, that was a quick turn-about, wasn't it. You must really have a low opinion of humans after all, to think us swayed by sudden sweet words and the trotting out of the family. There are family dying aplenty right now back in town... slow strangulation thanks to this disease. Whether it's you or not doing it, I care little, in truth. But I want it to stop."

He looks to the others. "What's the plan? He'd probably join us in fighting the H-- the thing I'm not supposed to name aloud-- since it would mean getting out of here, you realize--" Milo says this uncaring of Nicasor being within hearing range, "--but just as likely, he'd turn on us once that part was done."

Knowledge Nobility: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

"I'm guessing the child is an illegitimate one, but also heir to Karpad?"

"You right Milo, that was a bit to quick of a turn-about."

A perceptive one, Nicasor replies with a nod to Tess. Yes, as the firstborn of the firstborn, he would be a natural choice of an heir for Stepan, especially should his Lordship fail to conceive a child of his own to inherit.

So what will it be? Shall we join our fates together? It's quite noble of you to step in and involve yourselves, but surely you've had trouble enough for Stepan's sake. Help me to secure our freedom, and you need concern yourselves no more. Just think...peace for this sleepy little hamlet, and an end to your troubles...

Kinvara thinks about this for a few moments. "So, if we can convince Stepan to accept Sorin as heir, you will cease all hostilities against the humans? And you will help us to release all the prisoners here by assisting in the defeat of the Heart? What assurances do we have that you will not turn on us?"

Milo scowls. "Right-- a boy that's been influenced by you for his entire life, as the next ruler of the region? I can't see anything that could go wrong with that. Besides, he's not legitimate-- whatever Stepan agrees or doesn't agree, do you really think the Umbral Court will accept a kayal in the position of a baron of Nidal?"

Also, he seriously doubts Stepan would agree to supplant his own, legitimate born son for this child, but he doesn't want to bring up the existence of Anya's son at all.

"We can bicker til the sky turns, but you want what we want: you want out. You're right that help in fighting the Heart would be a boon, but we've no need to make bargains with you for that, because you want the Heart gone as well. So do what you will: but cross us, and you'll regret it, one way or another."

Xander didn't get angry often. This was a pet peeve of his. "No. This isn't about the boy. Either of them. This is politics. It is an argument of who's in charge framed as the birthrights of children, but it is actually just men vying for power."

"Hereditary rulership does not create just communities. It only creates strife and a disgusting obsession with who a person's parents are. I don't particularly care who the child's father is. Nothing about his paternity makes him better suited to hold a position of leadership."

"Whether or not the child is the rightful heir has nothing to do with any of this."

"This is a power struggle between people who have forgotten what the word 'Noble' is supposed to mean."

"Stephan clearly does not deserve his seat of power. That doesn't mean his wife of either of his children deserve to pay for his crimes. It also does not mean that you deserve to be in power in his place."

"We're going to destroy the Heart and get out of this place. Then we're going to dismantle the whole ruling structure of Karpaad. A small ruling council of Humans and Kayal will be given control of the decisions the Barony has made until now. If the title of Baron persists at all, it will be more along the lines of Mayor, or as a figurehead than anything else."

"These power struggles have been killing the people they claim to be in the name of. For centuries. It's going to end."

"If you want to be a part of it, fine. Just don't think for a moment that any of it will end with you being in charge."

Milo turns and looks at Xander in blatant disbelief.

Yes, I am sure the Umbral Court will simply endorse your nice idea to reorder the political structure of a village in their nation...

He doesn't say any of this, though. It's irrelevant to the current situation: which is the defeat of the Heart, one way or another. Milo tends to operate on a paradigm of 'deal with problems as they come.'

As Milo finishes, Nicasor nods solemnly, and reaches forward a gauntleted hand to shake Milo's and seal the deal - and then he freezes listening to Xander's diatribe.

All in good time, young idealist, he replies. As your friend has rightfully noted, the decision does not rest with us alone. Our concern now is the Heart, and I believe my insight will aid on that count. There is an area, in the center of the lower floor, to which no door leads. You came up through the basement and lower floor, I presume; did you see the walls bleeding darkness around the center? The Heart needs no doors to make its way around - it is the very living soul of this place. But leaving its demesne closed off ensures that prisoners cannot get in, except at its leisure. Or with violence; the chamber may be doorless, but its walls are not infinite, to the best of our knowledge.

Atamin. Manar. Sorin. He turns to his family behind. Take the others and go to the basement, to the door across from the crypt. The mirror's echo is in that vault. I know not what will happen when we are victorious, but it seems prudent to be near the link between this place and the Material when it happens. I shall rejoin you shortly - hopefully in freedom.

Anything anyone needs before we go? If not, we face the Heart tomorrow!

Xander nods, "I am glad you are more reasonable than we were led to believe. One thing at a time then."

He paused. "That reminds me. The basement. The room with tomb. With the fingers. What is that?"

Ah, you have been thorough in your curiosity, then. And I take it you met the guardians there, as well? Nicasor smirks in amusement. That place is maintained by the mirror as a crypt, a tomb for those who have passed in here: not of age, mind you, as no one ages. But some fall to violence, others to their own hands, others simply from losing the will to continue.

The mirror conceded us a place to inter the fallen, but not without its petty malice - perhaps the guardians spoke to you of payment as well? Whether to lay the newly fallen to rest or to pay a visit to the longer departed, no living soul may enter without a sacrifice of flesh, a finger or a toe, and the guardians were put in place to ensure proper payment was made. The bones were merely the tolls they collected over our time in here.

"I thought as much. I wonder if those interred will be expelled as well when the Heart is destroyed."

Milo cracks his knuckles. "Is there any point to see if the rest of your people would join in the fight? Eleunta, was that her name? It sounds as if she's suffered particular torments at the hands of this Heart."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18 Just missed it. :(

Kinvara nods. "We should gather all who are suitable and willing to fight our way home. I sense that it is unlikely to be easy."

Well, we could start the people gathering with old friends, right? - Shogunto says, responding Kinvara as he enters the room rejoining the group - I'm glad to be back with you, as much as the place is... Surprising.

The eyes of the gloomkin half-orc witch are even more sinister than before. He's obviously not blind, but they shine a pale light - grim, morbid, almost necessarily accompanied by a cold wind through the spine.

The humanoid seems uncomfortable, as if suffering some sort of pain for containing something inside of himself. It's clearly taking a toll at him, but he still manages to genuinely smile back at the party.

It's hard to say, but a grim part of me suspects anything not of this place will be expelled, including the interred. And you're correct - as many allies as possible could be beneficial, although I would prefer Atamin and Manar remain with Sorin. My uncle Corys could perhaps be persuaded, and Elenuta certainly would enjoy a chance to strike back.

The others, though, I fear lack the skills to face such a foe; as you have said, it is unlikely to be a simple matter. We shall send the rest with Atamin, Manar, and Sorin to the mirror's echo downstairs. It is the link between this place and the Material Plane, so it is only reasonable that our expulsion will happen through it in one form or another. Or at least, that is as good a place as any, if it does not.

At the emergence of the new face at the room's rear, Nicasor's face mask twitches upward, as if he would look surprised, if he had a visible face to form expressions. And it seems we have another ally - this one unfamiliar to me, though. A friend of yours, I take it. Well, then...with you five now, plus myself, Elenuta, and Corys, perhaps we have a chance after all. Speak if there are any other preparations you need to make; otherwise, we strike.

"Shogunto!" Milo exclaims. Back in the daylight world, he'd thought that Shogunto was, well... sort of creepy. Down here, the half-orc is downright a welcome sight. "Stepan sent you in as well? All hands welcome." He claps the half-orc gingerly on the back.

He turns back to Nicasor, and offers a slight nod. Milo fingers his flask of darkvision-potion, and another potion as well.

"I'm more or less ready. Let me just apply these--"

(It seems like we're going into combat immediately once we give the signal; if so, Milo will drink his potion of darkvision, and apply the oil of bless weapon to his magic rapier, in that order, before we go fwooosh.)

We'll have to do some wall-bashing-in, so everyone will have plenty of notice for pre-fight preparations. Everyone else, make note of any immediately-pre-fight preparations you've done. Milo, I believe you got a magic rapier, so wouldn't the oil of magic weapon be redundant?

"More or less ready" is probably the only possible approach, Nicasor replies grimly. Atamin, Manar. You know what to do. With a nod, the two shaes retreat, Atamin's hand resting protectively on his daughter's shoulder and Manar's arm thrown around Sorin. The other fetchlings in the upper apartments quietly form into a line behind the shaes and follow them out of the common room and into the hall.

Nicasor retreats to his uncle's door, and the two begin to converse. Though there are several grunts and what sounds like more than a few curses, eventually Nicasor re-emerges, followed by the shorter, broader Corys. M'nephew says we're t'take the fight to this place. Ain't none of us got a chance, I figure, but I'm in; it beats sitting 'round doing nothing for another millenium. Or sitting 'round listening to those simpering idiots while you folks do all the work, he finishes with a grumble, nodding toward the retreating fetchlings and hefting a finely made falchion to his shoulder.

The leader, for his part, retreats to his personal quarters momentarily; when he returns, he carries a leather bag bulging in a couple of places from the items inside. Without a word, he gestures to the door, leading you out.

----------

Downstairs, Nicasor stops at Elenuta's door, knocking out a complicated rhythm. At the first knock, there is a small screech and a shuffling, but as he finishes the pattern, the door cracks open timidly. Nicasor? It's truly you? But then, the monsters don't knock...but wait? Who are they? How do you know they aren't one of this foul place's creations, sent to deceive, to destroy!

Because they join me to destroy the Heart, Nicasor answers simply. Will you?

But we - there's no chance - no hope! We'll be destroyed for the attempt!

And is this better? He gestures to the tattered books and maps strewn across the surface of the table dominating her chamber, the parchments covered in scribbled notes and plans. Then he gestures to the stuffed mannequins on the wall, sporting scorch marks and slashes, as if they've been used for target practice. This is the best chance you'll have for your revenge - take it.

Elenuta looks at Nicasor for a moment, then falls against him and begins to cry, clutching at the cloak hanging from his shoulders. You're right. Let's do this. She grabs up a quarterstaff and rushes from the room, joining Nicasor in the lead as they continue to the north hall.

----------

At the dripping wall, Nicasor motions to everyone to stop. I will take care of breaking through, unless someone wishes to aid me. Yanmak! Shadowtongue: Burn! At his harsh cry, strange dark flames bloom to life in his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, they shoot forward, creating a long tongue of flame that begins to lick at the wall. Yanmak! Yanmak! Again and again, he sends gouts of fire at the wall, and it begins to take hold, the wall weakening as the flames lick at the drops of ichor.

Soon... he mutters, sending another flame forward. If you need to prepare, do it now...

And then, with a triumphant shout, the flame bursts through, and you can see the space beyond, what looks to be a courtyard paved with dark flagstones, in a twisted reflection of the central courtyard in the Boroi manor. Dark walls of writhing flesh-like material fill the arches that lead to other rooms in this place's material counterpart, and where there should be sky above, only a black void is visible.

Sitting in the central fountain is what can only be described as an enormous, quivering black plant, though one like nothing you've ever seen before. Tendrils snake everywhere from its twisted, horrifying center, climbing the walls like ivy strands and pushing between the planks and stones. At the sight, Elenuta blanches as all her nightmares take on flesh before her, but Nicasor urges the freedom fighters forward. Strike!

Everyone is up! Remember who has the mirror shard, and remember to make note of any preparations you've made. Good luck! Tokens will be on the map in a bit.

EDIT: Tokens are on the map. Remember to list both preparations and your first round of actions.

Shogunto closes his eyes and mutters some words - they don't seem to come from any known language. Maybe it's not even him that is saying the words. His eyes start smoking a thin, white cloud.

Fear not. I'm in control. - he says, both in Common and in Shadowtongue.

Finally, his familiar unmerges with him. The creature is a giant floating head, clearly undead, but also clearly under his orders. Shogunto's eyes turn back to a more orcish color - a dark green.

Come, accursed companion. Fight again for his master.

He proceeds to cast arcane spells in both himself and the head (Mage Armor), and looks to the rest of the party - as ready as he'll ever be.

Shogunto closes his eyes and mutters some words - they don't seem to come from any known language. Maybe it's not even him that is saying the words. His eyes start smoking a thin, white cloud.

Fear not. I'm in control. - he says, both in Common and in Shadowtongue.

Finally, his familiar unmerges with him. The creature is a giant floating head, clearly undead, but also clearly under his orders. Shogunto's eyes turn back to a more orcish color - a dark green.

Come, accursed companion. Fight again for his master.

He proceeds to cast arcane spells in both himself and the head (Mage Armor), and looks to the rest of the party - as ready as he'll ever be.

Added a token for your familiar. You can take an action for the first round as well, in addition to your preparations.