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Squatting next to the Holed Chest, Slachagok wrinkles his nose at the carven melody. Never was much for the notes and such.
"If we can't sing it, but we might gotta play it somehow anyway," he mumbles to himself. "What's th' point o' these holes anyway? Lettin' things in or out. An' if your hidin' your valyables, you don't wanna be pokin' or pourin' things in there every time you wanna open it up. So, might be for air. And if s'not for some creature livin' inside, then... Hmmm."
Slach moves his face next to the box, and beings blowing in and over the holes, covering and uncovering others as if he were playing a flute.
Slach moves his face next to the box, and beings blowing in and over the holes, covering and uncovering others as if he were playing a flute.[/ooc]
Slachagok plays the ancient tune on the chest as though it were a flute, and the top of the box springs open, revealing a scroll collection. It is a complete symphony, written by a Taldan genius of several centuries before and thought lost to the ages.
You have the Devil Dial, the Box of Golden Faces and the Smooth Stone Chest left. You need at least one more.
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"Bored. Smash the hoard," Etrigan growls at Iason, who gestures at him to hush.
"Patience, Etrigan, patience...."
"Don't speak of patience, to one from the pit
"We have a very finite supply of it."
"That didn't even scan," Iason says, crossing his arms. Etrigan ignores him and squats down in front of the golden-faced box, pulling faces back at unhappy-to-angry faces-- thumbing his nose, baring his fangs, and generally being his oh-so-attractive self.
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"Har, that did it!" The half-orc slaps his thigh as the Holed Chest pops open. He rises to both feet and surveys the remaining three containers, noticing Etrigan amusing himself with the Box of Golden Faces.
"Fearsome visage on that one," he says to Iason. "Can only imagine what he'll look like as an adult."
Guido notices that the eyes of the figures seem to respond to strong emotions, especially Etrigan's anger.
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Etrigan snarls lazily at Guido, his claws dragging along the stone floor and leaving furrows.
"If you really seek to know
"I'll take you with me when I go--
"As your skin burns, your mind expands
"At Hell's kind, instructive hands."
Iason's eyes settle on the demon, his arms crossed. "Have a care, Etrigan."
The demon rolls his coal-red eyes at Iason as well.
"What, is even my speech now proscribed?
"I've not touched your little tribe.
"And anger sought is anger naught:
"It isn't pure, it isn't true.
"If he would tap my anger hot
"He'd ask what I would do to you."
As Etrigan speaks, his clawed hands tighten on the golden-faced box, his voice sinking into a guttural, hate-filled growl and his eyes burning with spite.
As Etrigan gets mad enough that his skin almost simmers with his inner fire, the locks on the Box of Golden Faces suddenly spring open and the chest lid rises, revealing a collection of ancient stone miniatures of a Viking army from the Land of the Linnorm Kings.
He finds that the devil's head can spin in either direction, like a combination lock, but it has no numbers to aid him.
Guido can hear the faint click of tumblers moving occasionally.
Guido, you think that by itself this would be a difficult lock to pick. But hearing the tumblers allows you to make it easier.
Slachagok lifts the lid off, and momentarily convinced that he hasn't done so, and begins to put it back down. Then he realizes that, yes he -has- lifted it, and it's right there in his hands! Inside is a variety of rare spell components.
[So, leave it there, or no?]
Returning to Grandmaster Torch, the Pathfinders report their success with four chests.
"Most impressive," he concedes. "Better than I had imagined. Accept this small token of my appreciation." He hands each of you a bag of fifty gold coins. "Consider it a tip," he advises.
"And now, what you came for. Nessian lairs in a new base of operations nicknamed the Pyramid of the Dog which he has carved out of a ruin of half-collapsed siege towers, just outside of Absalom."
"I remind you," he continues, "that should Nessian ever discover I disclosed this information, I would view that as most unprofessional and would spread the word. I do trust we understand each other."
"What is he talking about?" asks Torch. When told that Flinkae wants the chest, he shrugs. "I have no need for it. Fifty it is."
Act Four - The Hymns of Oathday
As you leave the Siphons and begin to head for the gates, you notice an interchange of flashing green and orange lights coming from the cliffs in the distance. Once again Nessian carefully plants his signals away from his lair to prevent anyone from zeroing in on his hideout’s location.
"No!" says Yargos when he sees the signal.
"It is one of the final and most important signals! The lights will
send a team of Black Echelon operatives to attack the Metro-Cathedral, an old church of Abadar. Although worshipers of Abadar have traveled to new parishes ever since the earthquake that laid low the Puddle District,
the Metro-Cathedral still has one use: every Oathday morning, the priests of Abadar still play the ritual tune on the Metro-Cathedral’s giant pipe organ to remind all of Absalom to honor its pacts."
"According to the codebook, when Black Echelon shuts down the giant organ in midtune, the sudden disruption becomes the signal for Silent Tide; the awaiting Armada is to approach to the city and begin its attack run!"
"Please, you must go to the Metro-Cathedral and stop the attack!"
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At the mention of the derelict basilica, the half-orc's eyes light up. A follower of Abadar himself, he bristles at the prospect of Black Echelon wraiths defiling a place of faith.
"That's a stroke o' luck," he scoffs, "I've been meanin' to pay a visit to the old temple."
"I'll second your squawks, Flinkae," he says to the magus. "We'd best make a quick pace. Ain't keen for more o' that misty rattlebones nonsense, but I'll be a halfling's hairy heel fore I let any other servants o' the First Vault come to harm." The bard remains optimistic that the Metro-Cathedral, at the very least, will not be filled with grain.
As you approach the cathedral, a magnificent tune is playing inside. As you get closer, the sound starts to break down and become patchy. Then a creepy moment ensues as the sound becomes a cacophony of off-key noise and then suddenly comes to an end.
Yargos screams "We have to hurry and continue the music, lest the attack ensue!"
As you enter the Metro-Cathedral, you see the Abadarian priests dead in pools of blood. Black Echelon operatives are swarming the keys of the giant organ. Others are climbing the organ pipes, with the result that their silence aura is causing the great organ to fall into silence.
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You win initiative. Go!
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Grinding his teeth together, the half-orc gazes at the bodies of the slain priests.
"I'll play a melody, aye, ON THEIR F!@~ING RIBCAGES," he roars, "AND DANCE ON THEIR CURSED SKULLS."
He weighs his axe on one shoulder and charges down the center aisle behind Guido, his eyes now locked on the nearest black-garbed figure.
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"....really?" Iason says as he enters the cathedral and takes in the scene. The dour Chelaxian cannot resist a smile at the cosmic irony. "Well, Etrigan, will you go play a sacred tune?"
"I'll bathe the keys in blood instead
"And once more rip apart the dead
"But they don't see my hunger fed...
"And music's an even poorer bread."
"Yes, yes, yes. Fight now. Food later," Iason sighs, and Etrigan grins and lopes down the central aisle towards the giant organ and the undead.
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"And the piano, it sounds like a carnival!"
"Hymnals to #492 - together on three."
Flinkae breaks left, charging pel mel down the side gallery of the cathedral, coat flapping and snapping angrily.
"One." Flinkae caromes around the back pews, powering towards the organ.
"Two." He flies down the length of the Cathedral, fetching up at the edge of the massive brass and wood tangle of music.
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As the heroes rush forward, Flinkae is the first to notice a human woman, huddling on the floor in the fetal position near the western edge of the organ.
Suddenly, a door on the west opens and three more Black Echelon operatives float silently out a side room Guido can see is bathed in the blood of Abadarian priests. They rush forward on silent, bony feet to confront Iason and Etrigan.
Anyone, go.
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Iason curses as he registers a good deal of incoming Black Echelon. He'd planned to lend protection to his eidolon again, but now he has more pressing concerns. He takes a step back from the undead and quickly gestures to call that protection into being around himself.
He drops his sling since this now appears to be a close-quarters fight, and draws his morningstar. "Etrigan! To me!" he says, caring not at all right now for the plight of the woman on the floor. Cheliax is not a land known for concern over strangers.
Etrigan's head snaps back to register the threat to his master. The devil snarls, and contemptuously slashes with both claws at the undead before him.
Etrigan claws his foe, tearing bones loose, but the monster is still active.
The cowering woman looks up at Flinkae and sputters {b]"N...No. They were mobile and they broke them."[/b] [ooc]The scenario doesn't mention stairs...]/ooc]
Flinkae tries and fails to ascend the gargantuan organ. Guido manages it and approaches one of the undead.
Slachagok, go!