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Slachagok, feel free to redo your orders.
"Aye, alright, I'll take the thing."
Slach plucks the wand from Iason's palm, ready to drop the device at any moment should it sprout thorns or turn into an insect. Or worse... He still recalls the tales often passed around the bucket-hearths of Westcrown's alleys: accounts of court sorcerers who could disguise vipers as gold coins, and slip them into a foe's purse.
But paranoia is a luxury at moment. A gang of clawed lunatics presents a greater threat than a pouch of glamered serpents. Grant that I have not judged poorly.
He takes a firmer grip on the wand, weighting his axe in the other hand, and focuses it's stored magic on the unconscious monk.
Okay. Lots of Gordian knots to undo.
I'm backing up to my post at 1:09 on Sunday. Guido does hit War Hounder D, dropping him. That means that War Hounder D doesn't hit Guido and doesn't drop him.
Also, Iason is just east of Guido.
So C & D are down.
That's the end of Round 2. Moving forward from there...
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Flinkae slashes at the thug in front of him, then makes a dash around to Etrigan, avoiding the opportunistic slashes of the War Hounds. Flinkae appears oddly at home throwing himself off the edge of the cliff.Round 3
Status: HP 7/7,- AC 14/T: 12/FF: 12 - Perception +2 - F: +1/ R: +2/ W: +2 - CMB: +0 - CMD: 12
Standard: kama attack E: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19, damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5
Move: (SW, 3x NW), ending immediately N of Etrigan, over the cliff, and trying to hold the chain.
..and yes, I realize this will provoke AoO from thugs D and E (assuming they're both still capable)
swim: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (11) + 0 = 11 - so maybe not such an elegant entry into the water.
Iason touches Guido with the demon's blood wand. It won't be quick, but it will be steady. Hell never gives you quite what you want.Fast healing 1 on Guido, 1 minute.
"You would be better with this other wand than I, I expect," he says to Slachagok. "If you don't care to take it, let me know so that I may free my hands for something more offensive."
He'll stay where he is, since it seems he may need to inflict hell's variety of healing on Slachagok next.
Meanwhile, down in the surf...
Swim check, if needed: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24
Etrigan snarls as he kicks to stay afloat in the pounding surf and starts hauling the chained prisoners upwards, or trying to, at least.
Sunder combat maneuver from Etrigan to burst the first lock: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
"Aye, alright, I'll take the thing."Slach plucks the wand from Iason's palm, ready to drop the device at any moment should it sprout thorns or turn into an insect. Or worse... He still recalls the tales often passed around the bucket-hearths of Westcrown's alleys: accounts of court sorcerers who could disguise vipers as gold coins, and slip them into a foe's purse.
But paranoia is a luxury at moment. A gang of clawed lunatics presents a greater threat than a pouch of glamered serpents. Grant that I have not judged poorly.
He takes a firmer grip on the wand, weighting his axe in the other hand, and focuses it's stored magic on the unconscious monk.
Remove one hand off his greataxe (free), take the wand of cure light wounds from Iason (move), and trigger the wand on Guido (standard).
Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
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Flinkae lunges with his blade and drops one of the War Hounders in his tracks. The tengu then hustles to the cliff edge, where he can look down and see Etrigan struggling to stay at the surface with the great weight beneath him.
The demon is staying at the surface, though just barely, and manages to tear apart one of the cheap locks holding the last man. That man, the same that held onto the cliff, appears to be unable to swim and slaps desperately at the water's surface.
Meanwhile, Slachagok takes Iason's wand and heals Guido.
Guido, go!
Guido has no chance to intimidate anyone but his allies, as he swiftly knocks out both assailants.
Anyone, go!
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Iason inclines his head towards Slachagok with a slight, ironical smile.
"There we are. --Ah, well struck," he says of Guido's punishing fists.
He lightly gestures with the wand that is carved into the likeness of a demon's tail, causing an answering flare of red light to wash over Slachagok.
Then he turns and walks calmly away from the melee and skirts the mess of grease on the ground on his way to go look over the edge of the cliff and see the situation down below.
Down in the surf....
Etrigan bares his teeth at the frantic man who is trying and failing to swim. Ah, what he wants to do...! Rip out the mortal's throat, stain the ocean bloody. But... orders are orders.
So instead he smiles, huge, fangs gleaming.
"Hang on to me, 'friend'
"Or sink to your end."
After all, if the human is afraid of him and doesn't do that and dies, well, that's not his fault, is it? He has three other humans he's supposed to try and free. Etrigan hauls up more links of the chain, as he tries to remain on the surface, and again attempts to burst the next lock he finds.
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"So it worked after all," begrudes the half-orc. The monk seemed hale enough when he knocked out the remaining hounds.
The tingle of magic flits around his own wounds, re-knitting skin and muscle. The pain ebbs. In its place, something different: a sharp, sickly sensation crawls over him like a swarm of beetles.
First Vault, what is this? He shakes his head. He can worry himself with the aftereffects of the summoner's sorcery once the prisoners are back on the dry side of the cliff.
Stowing the borrowed wand, he dashes to the edge.
As the other Pathfinders make their way to the cliff, Flinkae attempts to dive in, but instead slams into the sea belly first in an explosion of feathers and salt water.
Etrigan struggles to lift another hated human out of the cold surf, but instead begins to go under himself. This makes it more difficult to break the locks, but for a son of the Abyss, nothing is impossible. He shatters a second lock even as he disappears beneath the waves.
Anyone, go!
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Slachagok reaches the edge of the cliff. He tosses his axe to the group and pulls a hempen rope from his pack. Gazing down Torsen's Maw into the crashing surf, he can see several figures still splashing about. A good sign, he judges, though I cannot make out all six.
The bard flings one end of the rope over the edge, wrapping the other about his arms. "Grab hold!"
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Scanning the frothing surf for his servant, Iason frowns. Etrigan's head has disappeared beneath the waves, and the indigo cloak that the outsider wears is billowed on the surface, soaked through.
Yet he is still on this plane, which means that Etrigan is conscious. Well enough. He moves to assist Slachagok with the rope... since Etrigan is carrying Iason's rope.
A noble-born Chelaxian does not carry his own rope.
When it comes time to help haul the bedraggled people up, Iason is lending his muscle to that endeavor.
Down in the surf, Etrigan's bared fangs are swallowed by the salt water. The demon's eyes glow like coals in the cold depths of the sea. Somewhere the bird-man is thrashing around in the water, and the two mortals he has freed; they are not his immediate concern.
Stupid, heavy mortals, weighing him down.
He churns his powerful limbs to reach the surface. A true demon is not bothered by details like a lack of oxygen, but when summoned to this plane, Etrigan accepted certain limitations, certain weaknesses. Such is the cost of any bargain.
And obedience. That is the other cost. Beneath the water, his terrible claws follow the length of the chain until they come to another feeble human wrist, and begin to wrench the metal band encircling it open as he had the others.
With astonishing ferocity and accuracy, Etrigan manages to free a second man from a certain watery grave.
Flinkae's avian ancestors were clearly not waterfowl. The magus goes under the waves and does not reemerge.
Slachagok, Guido and Iason have a firm grip on the rope when the first freed man (the same one that held onto the cliff edge) seizes it and holds out his hand for the second victim that bobs to the surface.
Anyone, go!
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Up on the cliff, Iason smiles fractionally to see another prisoner released and gasping on the surface. Together he will heave-ho with the others-- he's not afraid to get his hands dirty when necessary, he simply usually disdains such work.
Etrigan's head breaks the surface again. The hood of his cloak has been pushed off by the submerging into the water, and the horns and red eyes and inhuman visage is visible. Etrigan is grinning-- this is nowhere near as fun as slaughtering the men up on the cliff would have been! --but it's still destruction, after a fashion. Could be worse.
It could be one of those missions where he just has to stand around while Iason talks.
Glub, glub, back under the water again....
Magic hellclaws meet mundane metal, and even if Etrigan is having trouble staying afloat with the weight of all the chain he's been dragging up, he seems to be doing fine with the prisoners.
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Iason swears in Infernal again when the hulking Varisian goes over the edge too.
In Taldane, he says shortly to the half-orc, "I trust you are not about to join the others. I really doubt I can haul eight people up this cliff on my own, flattering as this faith would be."
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The rope goes taught in Slachagok's hands. Through the fog and spray, he can see the first man reaching about for another rescued prisoner. The bard waits until the man has grabbed hold of his companion.
"We got two! Start hauling," he shouts to Iason. He hopes they can get these to back to safety before the rest need assistance.
Etrigan tears apart the fourth and last lock while his master and Slachagok strain to hold the rope steady at the cliff top, then begin to pull the first two prisoners free of the water. They flop onto dry land with exhaustion and gratitude.
"Thank the gods you came when you did!" says one.
"I thought we were dead for sure," says the other.
Guido, meanwhile, cuts a fine arc of a dive, slashing gracefully into the water. He cannot find Flinkae, however.
The tengu magus barely manages to reach the surface, gasping for air. He sights the two floating prisoners and helps guide them to where the rope will be when it's let back down.
Anyone, go!
A short time later, the Pathfinders and rescued prisoners are all at the clifftop, panting and breathing hard.
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Slachagok gives a last hearty tug. The second man scrambles back over the ledge. Slach pauses to catch his breath, and to extract his boots that have sunk into muddy ground.
"Andoran," he grunts between breaths, "never leaves a man in shackles." A wet PHUMP punctuates the statement as he frees his second foot from the muck. The bard will have more time to expound the virtues of his adopted homeland once the rest of the group has regained terra firma. He kicks the free end of the rope back over the cliff, ready reel in their second catch of drenched citizens.
Slachagok catches up to his wind after a good bout of pants and gasps. He picks his axe up from the earth, frowning at the mud caking into the grip. He glances at the pack of thugs lying behind them, checking that the ones not dead are at least still unconscious. What are we t' do with that lot? Maybe the watch will collar the survivors when, or if, they ever arrive. He stows his weapon.
"If we got all the salt out o' our eyes and the water out o' our ears," Slach announces, as he wrings out of his re-coiled rope, "we're tryna find a scholar the name o' Yargos Gill."
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Flinkae considers whatever remains of the shackles on the old gents, and sees if there is enough remaining to salvage - even if only symbolically. While his more charismatic companions interview the old men, Flinkae busies himself trussing up whatever survives of the Hellhounds, using the shackles from the old men, as well as lengths of rope from his pack.
'Irony. and symbolic defeat. Must remember to have the persecuters led by their former captives.'
Flinkae also retrieves the gear he had divested at the cliff's edge.
'I like this hat. Seems lucky - might have done better swimming with a lucky hat'
"I'm cold. And wet. Walking will help. Something warm to eat at a tavern in town. We can give these," nudging a Hellhound with his foot, "to the town guard for judgement."
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Iason doesn't bother having Etrigan climb up the cliff-- the outsider is heavy, so why strain their rope, or his colleague's muscles? He stares down at the demon in the surf, shares a nod with him, and Etrigan.... ceases to exist, on this plane. At least for now.
A summoner can summon his eidolon in a ritual that takes 1 minute to perform. When summoned in this way, the eidolon hit points are unchanged from the last time it was dismissed or banished. ... The eidolon remains until dismissed by the summoner (a standard action).
With that done, Iason moves a short distance away from the others on the cliff's edge and scratches words in Infernal on the damp soil, muttering under his breath. Soon enough, Etrigan is back with him, red eyes gleaming as the outsider pulls up his hood again.
"I did as you asked
"I fulfilled my task.
"Where is my reward?
"Best not let me get bored
"Or let my gut too long go unfilled...
"Or your flesh is forfeit. You know the drill," the eidolon hisses softly as they walk to rejoin the others.
Iason's eyes dart between the bodies of the dead thugs on the cliff, and his colleagues interrogating the former prisoners. "Yes, yes," he mutters under his breath. "You'll be fed. You always are, in my service. Bide a moment, though. I don't know how squeamish my new colleagues are."
More loudly to the others, "Do we know which of these is Gill, then?"
"As for turning these over to the town guard.... I'd just as soon toss them into the drink, personally. They showed no mercy to these four... why should they get the chance to bribe guards, and escape justice?"
"I'm Yargos Gill," says the oldest of the four, the first man the War Hounders pushed into the sea. "There's no time to waste," he says. "Absalom is in terrible danger!"
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"That pup there I promised would go over the cliff."
Says Guido to the group pointing out War Hounder B.
"I'd like to wake him up and ask real hard why he's trying to kill our buddy Yargos."
Turning to Yargos Guido extends his hand, "Guido."
Guido shakes the man's hand and then sets about disarming and looting the War Hounders.
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Iason's lips twitch very slightly.
"Technically, you did. Go over the cliff. Not quite in the fashion he intended, I suppose, but his words were contractually accurate."
Etrigan says nothing at all. The outsider sits down cross-legged on the cliff's soil, hood drawn over his head, and stares fixedly at the corpses.
Yargos Gill launches into his story.
"Eight hundred years ago, a hidden armada of ships from Taldor floated off the coast of the Isle of Kortos like a thousand locusts, waiting for the signal to invade Absalom. The plan was simple, but deadly: When the misty weather of Desnus took hold, a fifth column of infiltrators known as Black Echelon would weaken strategic defense points and destroy Absalom’s warning system from within. Once their bloody mayhem was complete, the hidden saboteurs planned to signal the fleet, welcoming them to lay siege to a city now brought to its knees."
"Prearranged signal lights were prepared for each phase of the offensive. A red flashing light was the sign for Black Echelon to poison Absalom’s granary. A violet light with three pulses was the signal for a prearranged team to destroy the city’s bell towers, and so on. But when the mists of Desnus descended, the prearranged signal lights never appeared. Unbeknownst to the hidden strike teams, the leaders of the Black Echelon infiltration cell were discovered and assassinated by brave heroes of Absalom."
"The signal lanterns lay dark, and the rest of Black Echelon sat idle. Several hours later, the fleet’s hiding place was discovered. A quick counterattack by Absalom’s navy ambushed the would-be invasion force and Taldor’s armada was destroyed to the last mast. In the coming weeks, Absalom’s constabulary rooted out the remaining hidden members of Black Echelon and put every last one to the sword."
"The failed invasion mission, called the Silent Tide, would have amounted to little more than a cautionary footnote in a textbook of naval battles save for one crucial detail: Prior to entering Absalom, each member of the Black Echelon cell swore an ancient oath, known as the Binding Word."
"Black Echelon pledged to fulfill their duties, no matter the barrier, no matter the cost. And as recent events have begun to demonstrate, in this case, the power of the Binding Word compels these deadly saboteurs from beyond the pale."
"When I acquired a copy of the ancient codebook detailing the signals for the Silent Tide, I replicated them... on a lark. I soon watched in horror as Black Echelon rose from the dead and began to fulfill the tasks the spies swore to complete so very long ago. Even worse, the marines of the massive armada that now rest on the sea floor have also sworn the Binding Word. Once Black Echelon finishes its final task, the invasion force will rise and the Silent Tide will roll across the city, bringing death to all of Absalom!"
"Recognizing my own foolishness, I tried to alert the city and avert disaster. But before I could hurl the codebook into the sea to abort the Silent Tide once and for all, a young crime lord named Nessian intervened."
"Nessian had a 'better plan' for the codebook. He intends to manipulate the undead operatives and take advantage of the disruption their sabotage wreaks. As the bearer of the codebook, Nessian alone knows the lantern signal to abort. The codebook is his chance to blackmail the populace as he wishes and finally secure his place in Absalom’s underworld."
"Absalom is about to be invaded from beyond the grave. I'm afraid you're the only thing standing between Nessian and his lantern lights, before the launch of the Silent Tide."
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Iason listens, his face blank of all emotion. When Yargos's story concludes, he siiighs.
Etrigan's rasps from a few feet away: "Master, can I eat HIM?"
Iason considers Yargos Gill coolly.
"Fitting a punishment as it would be for one so idiotic to meddle with ancient magic on a lark.... no. We have other things to worry about.
"This Nessian-- tell us everything you know about him, where he holes up, that sort of thing. And quickly, you fool."
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Slachagok absorbs the tale, his eyes growing narrower with each new revelation. His gaze darts out over the Maw, watching for strange accumulations in the sea fog.
"Huh," he chewed his lip thoughtfully, "'find the scholar and his book' was all we had. Now, phantom assassins an' an armada of ghouls bent on a millenium-old blood oath. 'S quite the story, an' quite the case." He looks back to Yargos.
"So what's this lot o' mongrel sons," he indicates the thugs, dead or bound, lying behind them. "If they're Nessian's muscle, why not just slit your throat in an alley instead of draggin' ya all the way here? And what have these other sodden fellows got ta do with it?"
"These are my friends," says Yargos. "The men unfortunate enough to be with me at the Soggy Piper when the War Hounders found me. I am very sorry, gentlemen," he says to them. They grunt in various stages of acceptance.
"I suppose Nessian is simply flamboyant. Or perhaps drowned men stir up less of an alarm than men in an alley with their throats cut?"
"I don't know exactly where Nessian resides. But I've heard he lairs somewhere in the Siphons, the sewers under the Puddles. You know who would know? There's a man...an information broker, I guess... named Grandmaster Torch. He lives in the Siphons. He'd know."
Guido has heard of Nessian, a thug with a fondness for big and dangerous dogs, a minor power in the Puddles who seems to be about to take a big step up.
Just then, Gill's jaw drops. "Look!" he says, pointing to a red light flashing from a distant building deep within the city.
“Nessian!” shouts Yargos. “He’s signaling Black Echelon—the undead! Six flashes of red—I remember that signal… By the gods! That’s the granary! Nessian has sent those monsters to poison the granary! C’mon! I don’t know how, but we’ve got to stop them—we’re the only ones who know what’s happening.”
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"I am also hurt. Healing would be good. Thanks."
Flinkae cuts the binding rope for Hellhound B and hands it to Guido with a shrug. "Maybe the others behave better."
To Yargos, "Do the Black Echelon have gems? Maybe they can come out of the water just a little. The Pathfinder Headquarters at least we should preserve. Let's go find a Nessian. Etrigan may be hungry again soon."
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Iason waves the wand of devil's healing over Flinkae as well.
"We will need information on exactly where Nessian is hiding-- that will take time," Iason says crisply as he turns on his heel, beckoning Etrigan to follow. The outsider does so in sullen silence.
"Meanwhile, this scheme to poison the granary is taking place now. It seems we had better go stop these walking corpses from that-- it appears we are doomed to repeat history's path. If, like the ancient heroes of Absalom, we can destroy the infiltrators first, then we buy time before the armada's attack. But Messire Gill, your friends should go to the city authorities and warn them. Perhaps guards can be posted at the bell towers, before the second wave of signal lights is triggered."
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"Damn, I'm not going to have time to have fun with this."
Guido drags the unfortunate to the cliff. Looks at the limp body. Looks at the cliff.
"Hell, it's no fun just dumping him in. He's not even awake enough to be afraid."
Guido binds the War Hounder once again and leaves him.
"Let's get to the granary."
ACT II: GUARDIANS OF THE GRAIN
As you approach the granary, you find an eerie cold fog has suddenly descended on the adjoining streets and alley ways. When you arrive at the massive four-silo granary, you find the three guards posted to protect the food depot are already dead.
"Black Echelon intends to lace the city’s reserve grain supply with a foul and forgotten poison called Gut Wither," explains Yargos. "In the event of a siege, Absalom would be left without its granary and the city could face the threat of mass starvation in the coming months."
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Etrigan looks wistfully at the bound figure, and back to Iason.
"...just an arm
"Would do no harm...."
"We are on a timetable. No. Come along. You can eat the undead."
Etrigan hisses in disappointment. "They're all dry and dessicated!
"They won't see my hunger sated!"
"I'll buy you a goat."
Etrigan sulks along, snarling under his breath ever so often on the way to the granary.
At the granary, Iason regards the dead guards thoughtfully, and the doors beyond. "Is there anything anyone wishes to do before we enter?" he asks the others.