Amatsu moves to inspect the tub, while Vance looks around the foul-smelling bath chamber. As his offhand comment about hearing 'phantoms' hangs in the air, an unearthly wail emanates from the tub, as a vaguely humanoid form with horrifically melted features bursts forth from it. Distorted, drooping holes form the creature's eyes and mouth, like a human face crudely formed of melting wax. It immediately lunges at Amatsu.
Justimar doesn't approach whatever thick liquid had collected within the tub. Even had he been familiar to what it was, the noble wouldn't dare touch it, let alone the creature that spawned within it.
Justimar turned his back to the melting, muddy figure, snapping his fingers as he exited the room. A shimmering light floated beside the creature, which gave forth to a glowing runic circle suspended maybe five feet off the ground.
As beak and talons emerged, Justimar issued his commands. "My servant," he paused, choosing his words. The noble grinned slightly. "Rip it to shreds."
The auburn eagle raised itself from the circle, the portal disappearing behind it. The bird let out a piercing screech, lunging forward to the creature with its talons forward.
Augmented:Gains a +4 enhancement bonus to Strength and Constitution for the duration of the spell that summoned it.
Arruk doesn't even think, moving into action before his mind has caught up to what is happening. He simply reaches out with a quick elbow, hoping to catch the creature (phantasm?) before it gets the Tian woman.
Vance stumbles backwards from the monstrous creature, drawing his sword as he stares wide-eyed at the screaming horror. "What in the nine hells is this freak?!"
The extraplanar bird dove into the amorphous creature with a savage fury, its bite and one of its talons ripping its gooey 'flesh' apart. Arruk's elbow strike was strong enough to shatter a man's skull, but the force of the blow is massively blunted by the being's fluid nature, leaving it mostly unscathed. Badly damaged, it still looms over Amatsu.
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Amatsu watches as Justimar and Arruk attack the poor pathetic creature. She had never seen an undead monster before, only dreamed of them and listened to Hime's whisperings to her in the night, so she had no idea if this monster was undead or not. But she had a hunch--this place was supposed to be haunted, after all. And wouldn't it be a joy to find a new playmate for Hime...
Without a word, Amatsu retrieves her doll from between the folds of her robe and a needle from her hair, which she then plunges into her doll with her eyes still locked on the advancing creature.
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The phantasmal creature shudders, its forward lurch halted as if by an invisible leash. It tries again, lunging toward Amatsu but held back by some invisible restraint. Its mournful wail rises to a hate-filled shriek at the woman's face, a single sound of pent-up hatred and impotent rage... but it does not move further to attack.
It slowly recedes, half-sinking down into the bath, its torso and horrific face bubbling and melting as it looks up at the Tien woman. It seems to lock gazes with the horrific puppet she carries, waiting.
Justimar turned back following the sound the shriek. His eyes widened when he saw the muddy-monster, expecting it to be dealt with in another manner. He hesitated, waiting several moments to ensure that it truly was under the foreign girl's control before dismissing his servant. The bird flew back into its portal, returning to whence it came.
"Perhaps a conjurer has not the right to say this, but that thing is not for this world." He watched it look at her. Though whatever it is may have its uses, he reconsidered. "In the very least, do not name it as you did your other monster."
Vance breaks into a cold sweat as he glances at the perforated doll before asking Amatsu: "What in the Majestrix's name did you do to it?"
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"The dead envy the living. They fear us and hate us and most of all they love us because they yearn to be us and the only way to do that is to devour us," whispers Amatsu, smiling, as she reaches out a hand to touch the creature's face, pressing against it, smoothing out it's skin like wax.
"Oh, you are so beautiful. Beautiful daughter, what happened here? Did you spill your own blood, or did another?" she continues. "Can you speak or has death taken your tongue?"
"She had a name, once, when she was a son or daughter of this city, but I fear death has stolen it from her--and what kind of mother would deny her daughter a name? Kyandoru, you are so beautiful--are you ready to serve your mother?"
Arruk had answered his question. A ghost could be punched, but apparently not hurt, by him at least. So it was probably good that Amatsu was there, since she just took that creepy doll out and then the ghost calmed down.
But that didn't make the orc feel any better. Backing up, Arruk stood at the doorway and looked silently at the small woman and her new "daughter", wishing he'd never heard that thrice-damned splashing at all.
The creature moans at Amatsu's touch. Its flesh, soft and malleable as wax, writhes with pent-up malice. It leaves a silvery residue on Amatsu's palm. The being seems to lack true sentience, being a creature of hatred and misery given flesh. Amatsu knows her magic will be able to redirect that hatred wherever she wants.
This close up, Amatsu spots a glint of shiny metal in the "muddy" substance in the tub - which she now identifies as badly burned, liquified human remains.
Without a word, Amatsu reaches into the tub to pick out the metal from the liquid remains.
In the tub, Amatsu finds a number of old, tarnished Chelish army medals. Properly cleaned, these could perhaps fetch a good price from a collector, or might provide a clue to the identity of the person the phantasm was in life.
Justimar gave a passing glance to the medals before returning to them in amazement. He lunged toward Amatsu, examining the relics.
"Allow me to lecture, Amatsu," the noble rang out, grin wide, no longer caring about the ghost in his midst, "these are antiques, remnants of the Civil War! This once-noble house rose against Thrune, now it lays baron and damned!"
Justimar looks at the building with a new-found appreciation. "Moragatalli," he let out, "the name is as much a ghost as our specter friend."
Footsteps on the creaking stairs announce Cimri's arrival. "You lot still up here?" she calls out, coming down the now-cleared hallway. "Did you find out who was taking that bath up here, Arru-" Her words were cut off when she rounded the corner and saw Amatsu and her undead horror. She scrambled to grab her knife from her belt. "The hell's that thing?!" she exclaimed.
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"She is this mansion's owner," sighs Amatsu, smiling as she returns to stroking the creature's cheek. "Quite a fearsome landlady you have, Cimri, but I think I've convinced her to forgive the lack of rent. For now."
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Cimri's jaw just drops. "I... uh..." she glances around at the others, who are alternately taking this in stride and being just as freaked out as she is. "Razelago sent me to fetch you all... Some kind of response to the Sword Knight's sermon."
She edges backwards, keeping her eyes on Amatsu's creature. "He should be ready for us," she said before leaving, relieved to be away from the specter.
Whether or not Cimri needed another shadow, she's got one. Arruk follows close behind, happy to have Mysterioso as an excuse to get out of there.
"Where'd you find the foreigner?" he asks, head jerking back in Amatsu's direction.
"Maybe I shoulda left her there," Cimri mutters.
Though it was closed and locked when the group climbed the stairs an hour ago to clear the hallway, Razelago's door is open now, the purple light from within spilling out into the delapidated corridor. The strange, earless cat is still there, curled up but keeping one watchful eye on visitors.
"Of course, miss Staelish, we will be there momentarily." Recovering his cool, at least on the outside, Vance follows Cimri as well. Certainly, despite his misgivings, the creature might have been more than they could have handled with the whimsy woman.
Justimar placed his hands behind his back, following the others while in thought. The ghost did not interest him as much as the woman who controlled it. The noble was silent in his walk to Razelago, stealing glances at Amatsu when he could, trying to gain some understanding over her.
"Stay here, hungry daughter. I will be back to fetch you in just a moment," says Amatsu, following the others to Razelago's office.
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Cimri breathes an audible sigh of relief when Amatsu arrives without any undead in tow.
"I'm afraid I've nothing more than an errand for you today, but one well suited to your skills. I met with the Archbaron last night," the silhouetted man says with no further introduction. Razelago's silhouette inclines a hand toward a stack of rolled parchments on the table. "He has issued several new decrees that he'd like posted across town to inform the citizenry."
By Order of His Lordship Darellus Fex, Archbaron of Longacre, and in accordance with the wishes of Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, the following decrees are now in effect:
Longacre's western gate, known as the Castle Gate, is closed until further notice. All travel into and out of Longacre must employ the north or south gates and be officially sanctioned. Only the archbaron's agents, sanctioned local businesses, or those displaying a writ of passage bearing the seal of House Fex, will be granted passage. All others must obtain a writ from the Longacre notary or do business elsewhere.
Longacre citizens shall not congregate in groups numbering greater than six in private, or in numbers greater than twelve in public. Exceptions will be made only for families with more than six members or for individuals undertaking the natural course of their business. Gatherings for the purposes of celebration, education, or religion are not exempt from this order.
A curfew is now in effect. From the hour after dusk to the hour before dawn, no citizen of Longacre is allowed upon the town's streets without a writ of exception bearing the seal of House Fex. The archbaron's agents and sanctioned local businesses are exempt from this order. Those seeking a writ of exception may apply at the Longacre Notary.
Any persons found in violation of these mandates or any other laws and sanctions of Longacre will be considered seditious agents and are subject to questioning, imprisonment, and summary judgment by the Archbaron of Longacre and officials of the town government. For the prosperity of Longacre, the protection of the Empire, and the glory of House Thrune,
Darellus Fex,
Archbaron of Longacre
"Post these decrees at the notice post in the church square, the jail, the Last Stand Tavern, and the Castle Gate. And while you're at the jail, stop by the sheriff's office. The Archbaron has a second decree for you to deliver." Razelago's shadow tilts toward Cimri, who picks up a folded page from the table. "One that dismisses Rhona Staelish as the sheriff of Longacre. You have until noon today. Perform as reliably as you have in your last two tasks, and I'll pay what we agreed upon for your first task. If this assignment goes smoothly, the Archbaron would like to meet with you. It sounds as though he might soon have some civil positions to fill."
Justimar read over the edicts with some amusement. He looks up towards the silhouette, speaking as he scanned the decree a second time. "Are you are certain Master Fex seeks to quell this supposed rebellion?" the noble questioned. "This is going to cause an uproar. What little Longacre citizens who somehow learned to read will rally the others, storm his manor, and call upon the services of the hangman."
He rolls the parchment back up. "Very well."
Justimar perhaps senses a hint of amusement and approval in Razelago's voice as he replies. "There will be grumbling, of course, but most of Longacre's citizens know their place. For those that don't—well, I should think the archbaron will need a sterner sheriff than the one he has."
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"Then let us hope he has one in mind. I'd be disowned were I to become some countryside constable." Justimar waited for the others to vocalize any of there own opinions or complaints.
While he tired of sticking his neck out for a man who refused to meet with him, Justimar had grown to somewhat enjoy the company of his new entourage. Arruk's brazen opportunism, Amatsu's mystifying surprises, and Vance's fierce nationalism had all but captivated the noble. To him, Cimri was, well, the messenger to bring them all together, still nothing to him but a rebellious local.
He'd never encountered anything quite like the other three, however. The poor fisherman and laborers of Justimar's "first life" in Westcrown had not the drive of his compatriots, and the noble members of his "second life" seemed faker than even the lying, conniving Justimar. He wasn't to let his guard down, far from it, but he had a comfort in the company of such an unfamiliar, interesting crowd.
"So, where should we head first? I'd like to save the Jail for last, if you don't mind," said Cimri, not relishing the encounter with her aunt.
"Your relative. Makes it your choice in my opinion."
Arruk shrugs, forcing himself to look as nonchalant as possible. Crossing his hands behind his back, the logger lifts himself on the balls of his feet, his voice cracking with excitement as he speaks. "As for the vacancy, if the Archbaron doesn't already have someone in mind, let him know I want the job. Or, ah, I'd do the job, and do it with relish."
That large, toothy grin spreads across Arruk's face, a little drool falling to the floor. Bringing his thoughts back to the matter at hand, the orc continues.
"I say we do the castle gate first. We're likely to meet little pushback there. And a tavern full of drunks shouldn't be a big issue either. I say there second. The church square could be... problematic. We could go there third, and if a fight breaks out and the sheriff is called... Well, we can serve her papers to her then."[/b]
"My belongings are with those drunks, I'd like to retrieve them before we rile them up. Short of securing what is mine first, I have no objections to the order in which we do this."
Justimar looked towards Arruk. Perhaps I could teach him on subtlety, the noble thought. He cracked a faint grin. No, the orc is far more useful bleeding his hand. "How does that sound? Amatus? Vance? Sheriff?"
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"I have no objections to this plan," says Amatsu, as she begins to comb her doll's ragged hair. "Kyandoru can stay behind, and ensure that the mansion is not disturbed. For now. But soon she'll have to make her debut, won't she?"
At the Last Stand Tavern, all is as it should be as the group approaches. Justimar, heading inside to retrieve his belongings, is greeted by Bolgart Caggan, the establishment's portly and rather sloppy proprietor. "Welcome back m'lawd!" the man bellows, his mouth full of what appears to be chili from a pot he's in the process of cooking. As usual his use of 'milord' seems affected rather than genuine. "Pull up a stool, lunch is almos' ready!" he says, waving a spoonful of the spicy dish around sloppily. There are only a few other customers in the tavern's common room at this morning hour, and they give Justimar casual nods in greeting.
Arruk shrugs and pulls up a stool. "I'll take a bowl, friend. It smells... divine. Heh, a lot of talk about the divine lately, eh?"
Might as well do this on a full belly.
Justimar smiled to Bolgart emptily, assessing him. You needn't flatter me with titles. 'Sir' is all I require from you." He looks to Arruk, already sitting, ready to dine. The noble sighs. "Be quick about it while I fetch what is mine. Caggan, anything these four order place in my name. Prepare a bill as well, for I shall be leaving."
The noble walked to his room, Vivendi now present. "Vi, dear, tidy up and gather my belongings. We are leaving this hovel." Justimar carried the bag he was gifted by Razelago, filled only with his spell pouch, his new book, and several long sticks of chalk. Vivendi carried the rest.
The noble returned to the bar, looking around the inn. He wouldn't miss it. "Though I depart, I was wondering if I could rent another space of yours." He pointed behind the counter, at a blank spot above liquors. "I intend to hang a notice. There seems well enough. Visible, unlikely to be torn down by your more inebriated company. Five gold pieces would be most generous, wouldn't you agree?"
As the party enters, Amatsu lightly brushes against Justimar's shoulder before finding a quiet corner in the bar to observe its patrons; she looks for anyone who might cause trouble--people who look like the fighting type, or anyone who was at the priestess's rally the day before.
"Why that'd be mighty generous indeed, M'lawd... Sir!" he corrects himself with a guffaw. "What's this notice? Let me go fetch a stool sturdy enough for me to reach all the way up there!" he says, chuckling as he retrieves a stool that seems specially constructed for the enormous man, whose prodigious bulk comes from height as well as girth.
Amatsu recognizes one young woman from the sermon the day before - an athletic type who looks like she'd handle herself well in a scuffle. She looks relaxed and unconfrontational now, though, and isn't carrying any weaponry.
One of Caggan's serving maids busies herself cleaning the small stage set up opposite the bar, and an elderly couple chat at a table near the tavern's large front window.
"Nothing a flag-waving Chelish man like yourself wouldn't be proud to have on display." Justimar laid down five coins on the table in a small stack. He put down the rolled-up parchment by the coins for the man to take. "Ensure it is nailed in straight."
"Well sure! Let's have a look here," he says, unfurling the paper to look at it. It seems the man can read after all, as he squints to make out the words. His jaw drops at first, then quickly clenches as his face begins to redden in anger as he makes it down the page. Stammering noises come from his mouth. "Now what in the... Dagummit... Why that little..." he manages to utter before slamming his meaty fist down on the bar (still carrying the spoon, as bits of chili splatter across Justimar's fine clothes). "Just how in the hell does that brainless bastard think I can run a business with a 'gathering restriction?' You take this piece of garbage right back to that trumped-up baron and get it revised, I'm not having it! And if he needs a place to post this one, you can tell 'im to post it right up 'is arse!"
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Unsurprisingly, the bartender seems to have turned hostile, which makes Amatsu smile to herself. She considers simply setting back and watching what unfolds, but a plan has begun to form in her head and Justimar is doing an excellent job distracting the oaf. Glancing one last time around the bar, Amatsu skitters towards the kitchen, getting as close to the pot as she can--though still leaving about ten feet between it and her, and attempting to find a spot where she can still be unnoticed. Once she does, she begins to chant, gesturing at the pot and whispering to herself in a strange, foreign tongue.
When she finishes her chant, she walks to the pot, not bothering to be subtle, and dips her finger into the brew.
"My lord, it seems that you have greater things to worry about than decrees," she hisses at the proprietor before turning to the rest of the tavern. "The food this man is serving is spoiled! Who knows what he has been trying to pass off as meat? Praise be to Asmodeus that the Archbaron has protected us with his decree!"
Justimar winced as the food his his coat. As curse words flooded his mind, the summoner's hand curled to a fist. He breathes in deeply, appearing to relax.
The noble took off his navy jacket, folding it neatly and passing it to his slave. Under his coat, he wore chestnut colored leather armor. Beneath the armor, he wore a white undershirt, embroidered with light, creme-colored flowers, buttoned to his neck. "Vivendi, my sash. Hand it here." He watched Amatsu sow chaos, almost wanting to interupt her. Bolgart Caggan belonged to him now, not the mob.
Justimar doned the Archbaron's regalia, turning to Vance as he adjusted it. Fex's sigil lay over the noble's beating heart. "Magravi, I hold your opinions of the law in a higher regard than the others. Tell me, this establishment is Caggan's private property, thus, this is a private gathering we have here, is it not?"
Arruk places his hands on the table in front of him, and pushing the stool back with a screech of the seat's legs across the tavern's floor, the logger rises to his full height. "I'd be careful with those words of yours, friend. One could get the wrong idea you're being seditious, what with careless words being thrown about in fits of anger. Then, your family suffers much worse than any temporary restriction is lifted when these troubles die down."
"Plus, you're going to need all the friends you can get, what with the quality of food your serving your guests and all. And to think I was looking forward to that slop."
The orc flexes his wrists, and then twists his neck, an audible crack resounding around the room as he does so, misshapen tendon slipping across bone.
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"Spoiled? Git away from there!" he shouts as he turns, shooing Amatsu away from his prized chili. "What'd you put in my... Eurgh!" he recoils as the stench of days-old rot assails his nostrils. "Y-you did somethin' to my chili! Git out, you little wretch!" He turns around as Justimar dons his sash and Arruk rises to his feet. He opens his mouth to speak but the pair cut him off. His face settles into a seething anger as Arruk and Justimar threaten him. "You can hang yer own notice wherever ya want but not in my business. Gods know the Baron don't even want me ter have one at all! Git out and don't come back, yer not welcome here. There's plenty of posts outside to put that piece of trash." He sweeps Justimar's gold coins off the bar with his hand, and the glittering coins clatter to the floor, leaving the decree on the polished countertop.
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Justimar watched the coins fall from the counter. One gold piece had quite the journey, rolling across the swill-soaked planks of the inn, dancing between tables, avoiding stools, before ending its voyage as it collided with the wall opposite the bar.
Justimar sighed, looking at the others with a nod. Arruk had the right idea. "Twice now you've misspoke, Caggan."
The noble snapped his fingers. A flat, glowing circle appeared by his side. "Archbaron Fex." He turned away from the counter, looking to those that gathered. He spoke loud and clear beside his shimmering, runic portal. "Patrons of the Last Stand: In accordance with the newly instituted mandates of Archbaron Fex, and her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, you are to leave this establishment. By their decree, none within Longacre shall gather publicly in numbers greater than six.
"By my count, there are five agents of Longacre present." Justimar doesn't acknowledge his slave. Her role in this count was a matter of semantics. "As such, all sans one are required by law to leave this building."
The noble waved his hand, sheathing it behind his back. A hound emerged from the portal, brown and black, snarling. "You have ten seconds to decide who among yourselves may stay. Should it be longer, our Hound and Orc will select who may remain."
The noble turned to Bolgart. "A shame, Caggan, that you refused my friendly offer. The Leroung family is known for their generosity, and you spat upon it." He smiled thinly at the man before turning back to the crowd.
"Ten," he began, soft-spoken. "Nine... Eight..."
Arruk inched closer to the inkeep as Justimar counted. "Caggan stays, I've decided that much. My friend needs a new shirt, friend. Yours will have to do..."
The few customers seated in the tavern react with fear at the well-armed group and especially at the display of magic, but the barkeep speaks up as his face twists into a mask of hatred. "Oh yeah, you're gonna play it like that then? Tryin' ter kick out my customers and corner me wit no witnesses? Well how 'bout this. Yer right. This is private property. My property. An' I'm kickin yer sorry asses out. We're breakin' no laws in here - yer the ones who made this gatherin' inter a group o' more than six! There's a nice big fencepost out front where ye can hang yer notice out front where all the folk are gonna see it. Now, scram. I'm bein' civil, ye do the same, 'agents of the archbaron.'"
Grabbing the notice off the counter, Arruk drags a stool over to the spot that Justimar pointed out earlier, taking his time to let the legs of the stool scrape across the floor.
Stopping, one hand on the stool, the orc turns and faces the room. "I worked with a real smart fellow once, was slumming it a bit in my world. Fellow was a graduate of one of them fancy universities in Westcrown, and he was always talking about foreign affairs, seeing as we were felling trees on the Andoran border at the time."
"Anyways, once thing that fellow said to me really stuck. He was talking about force. See, we were worried about Andoran agents sneaking across the border. And legally, we were in a bit of a bind if we saw them. We couldn't attack them, even though we were patriotic Chelish citizens down to our bones. Because we weren't working for the government. And only the government has the power to use lethal force. It is what gives the government what that fellow called its legitimacy."
"I repeat, for your edification: only the government has the legitimacy to use lethal force. That is important. Because, see that sash that the nobleman wears? We're the government, acting on the Archbaron's orders. And he said to put this notice up in here, not outside. So that's where it is going. And anyone tries to stop us, we've got legitimacy."
Arruk holds up his fists, balled, and shows them to the patrons. "I'm hanging this notice now. No more arguing, or you'll be talking to Bone and Krak here. Legitimately."
Arruk hops up onto the stool, and drawing his handaxe, pins the notification to the wall, leaving the axe in place. Glowering at Caggin, the logger's voice comes on like a low rumble, thunder on the horizon. "You've read the notice. Want more than six people in here? Get an exemption. I'm sure as a loyal Chelish citizen you'll have no problems. I'll be back tomorrow, with Bone and Krak, to make sure the Archbaron's decree still hangs. Now... give your shirt to my friend here."
Caggan, beset on all sides by the dangerous-looking band, looks for a moment like he's going to try to stop the imposing half-orc. But with a glance across the counter at his terrified patrons, his shoulders slump. He glares at Arruk as the ex-logger affixes the decree prominently in place, boiling over with anger, but does not move to stop him.
When Arruk demands his shirt, he bellows in indignation but remembers his customers. Stripping off the heavy, sweaty linen garment, he balls it up and tosses it on the counter in front of Justimar.
"Now get out of my tavern," he barks, eyes narrowed. "You did your work."