The City of Kaer Maga sits in the heart of Varisia, a vast stone hexagon of unknown origin perched high atop the cliffs of the Storval Rise. This cyclopean structure has existed for greater than 10,000 years and today it is a city of wonder, of intrigues and of mysteries.
Carved on the cliff face below the city are numerous representations of gigantic bodies and faces, though who these titanic carvings actually represent is a matter of some conjecture - the vanished runelords of ancient Thassilon, forgotten kings, dead gods, or someone else. Some of these massive sculptures lead into the Undercity, a dizzying network of caverns, tunnels and chambers, both natural and man-made, that riddle the cliffs beneath Kaer Maga.
One of the most famous entrances to the Undercity lies in the mouth of one of the giant faces known as the Unnamed King, and opens onto a series of ancient catacombs where the honoured dead of Kaer Maga are interred. From their cathedral in the Bottoms district of the city above, the clergy of Pharasma oversee the Godsmouth Ossuary, the most prestigious place in Kaer Maga to be buried - and the Pharasmins charge a hefty price for the honour.
For generations, Kaer Maga’s wealthy and powerful have been laid to rest in the Godsmouth Ossuary, thus far, their repose seems to be peaceful. Furthermore there seems to be no limit to the number of bodies that can be stored there – the Ossuary has existed for thousands of years, before the founding of the current city, and has yet to run out of room.
The Cathedral of Pharasma is a place of worship that truly never sleeps…for death itself does not sleep. Yet whilst the acolytes and lower clergy of the Church work tirelessly through the long night, it is unusual for the higher priestesses to be awake at a later hour. Tonight, in a small side chapel dedicated to a long dead saint, the severity of a certain situation mandates that the higher clergy meet in secret.
“Sister Nerissia, it is a late hour, pray tell us why you would have us here, in this somewhat cold crypt, rather than resting for tomorrow’s ceremonies”
Standing and turning to greet the two robed priestesses who have quietly entered the chapel, the waiting priestess smiles a thin smile and gestures at a nearby table, “Sister Thorn, Sister Rashael, thank you for coming…please take a seat”. Pouring a small goblet of wine for each of them, “I will get straight to the point…this concerns the matter of the missing bodies in the Ossuary…”
Sister Nerissia pauses, looking for a reaction from her fellow priestesses and when none is forthcoming, she continues, “There are some who say that this matter is no bad thing, that it may indeed be a solution to our overcrowding problem…I say to those people that you have lost your way…that our role is to aid our wards passage into the next life and to safeguard the vessels of their souls”, Sipping from her wine, “There is enough evidence to suggest that the bodies are being taken to the lower levels…for what purposes I could not say although I have my fears…as should you, my Sisters”.
The taller of the two other priestesses ventures a question, “What would you have us do Sister Nerissia? We do not enter the lower crypts and would, I fear, be poorly prepared for anything that may be down there…I have read accounts of attempts to chart the lower levels”, she winces, “they have never gone well”.
“Sister Thorn”, Sister Nerissia looks pointedly at her fellow Priestess, “I believe it is time that we relaxed our restrictions on entry into the Ossuary…and believe me, I do not suggest this lightly”.
The third priestess nods in agreement, “It is a sad day when we need to consider this, but I am compelled to agree…But who?”
“This is a matter that I have thought on for the last few weeks and I have, I believe, identified a group that can be trusted…and more importantly if it goes poorly, will not be missed”, reaching into her robes, Sister Nerissia brings forth five wrapped scrolls, “these are the summons to be sent to this group, please see to it that they arrive safely in the appropriate hands”.
“There is nothing more to be said on this matter, please ensure these messages are delivered and, my Sisters?”, Sister Nerissia smiles coldly, “Need I remind you of the implications of the City hearing that we are ‘losing’ their beloved forebearers?”. The two lower priestesses nod in acknowledgment of the severity of the situation and depart the chapel as quietly and as reverentially as when they had entered.
The scrabbling of boots on the rubble outside the small cave Gazzer had claimed as his own made him start awake and grab for the crossbow he kept loaded next to his nest. As it was, it was only the courier's quick thinking in calling out that saved him a bolt to the chest.
"Hey! I's looking for a Gazzer, rat-man? Gazzer?" the messenger mumbled, the patter of the lower quarter plain in his voice.
Gazzer padded from behind the ruined wall where he crouched and bobbed twice at the man. "I am Gazzer! Gimmegimme what you gots!" he snapped in a high pitched voice.
The man yelped and tossed the rat man the scroll, calling out, "Here! Church o' Pharasma wants ya!" As he scrambled down the rubble and away from the frightening appearance of the ratman, Gazzer tore open the scroll and read quickly, murmuring aloud as he read. When he got to the bottom, he sneered.
'Old debts, old debts. Pay 'em with blood, Gazzer's blood.' he mumbled, then headed inside to gather his potions and tinctures.
He arrived at the Cathredal as dark fell. His eyes peered into the twilight gloom, picking out details his daylight eyes didn't see. He bobbed his head at the acolyte at the door, shoving the scroll rudely toward him and stamping his feet annoyingly. "Summoned, summoned! Take me in, take me in!"
Kairen arrived in Kaer Maga by mid-afternoon. The bustle of the city seemed to buzz around him like a cloud of gnats, so focused was he on following the indescribable feeling to its source. Dread, anger, and the rush of battle seemed to pound in his chest, urging him onward towards something...something unnatural.
Turning his gaze upwards from the street, he beheld the great chapel of Pharasma. Even with his limited studies, he recognized the symbols as the keepers of the space between life and death. Though he understood their work was sacred and important, every bone in his body seemed to vibrate with tension. Something is wrong here...do the dead stir? Or does something stir them?
Feeling eyes upon him, he quickly lowered his gaze to meet the woman in robes who suddenly stood before him. She bowed slightly, and offered a sealed scroll to him. "It would seem that you have come to our city at a most opportune moment. Or perhaps, you were guided here?"
Narrowing his eyes slihgtly, Kairen examined the priestess and the scroll. "I have announced my arrival to no one in this city. How do you know I am the one for whom that scroll is intended?"
Her smile was at once reassuring and unsettling. "I see it in your walk, your stance, your eyes. You have been touched by death, and now you champion the cause of natural order between the living and the passed. You have found what you seek."
Kairen paused his outstretched hand a moment over the scroll, noting the tension in his body increase rapidly, but as his hand closed over it, the pounding seemed to ebb. It must be. He unsealed the scroll, removed the string, and unfurled the document, casting his eyes over calligraphy befitting a church. The chapel to Saint Joan. "Very well, I will--"
Stopping short at the realization he was alone, Kairen scanned the area. No trace of the priestess could be found. Not even a footprint. Well at least it shouldn't be hard to find...
After making his way through the city towards the looming cathedral, he spied a young acolyte at the door. As he presented his scroll, the acolyte opened the doors behind him, and motioned in the direction of the chapel. "Be patient once you arrive; others will gather, and your purpose will soon be made clear."
Kairen nodded, rolled up the scroll, and proceeded at a brisk pace, his left hand resting on the short hilt at his hip. Soon...
The small Halfling scuttled through the dark catacombs of Kaer Maga's undercity. How the creature could do so easily without any source of light was any ones guess. But right now Zazou didn't care about those kinds of details. He had been in a sticky situation and had to move quickly to evade capture and his disguise could handle some imperfection. Perhaps now was the time to drop his disguise, after all folks were looking for a Halfling apostle of Pharsma and not a goblin sewer cleaner. Just around the corner then he could take a quick break.
Zazou hastened his pace just a bit and as he turned around the corner he almost ran into a drawn blade, quickly the goblin turned on his heels to run but as he turned he heard it, he was surrounded and steel was being drawn behind him.
A human male wearing the symbol of Pharsma around his neck stood before him the point of his mighty sharp sword fixating his throat.
"Greeting Brother Lem!" the man spoke calmly with mischievous smile. This man knew he was not Lem Zazou recognized immediately. The Halfling turned Goblin closed his eyes and spoke his last words to the lady of fire and as he opened his eyes his large head still sat atop his tiny neck. That alone was a small miracle. The man continued to speak his voice rough:
"You have caused the church of Pharsma much trouble little one. But your time has not come. We have need for you. With that he handed over the scroll. You are expected within the Godsmouth osuary within the hour. And remember we found you once we will find you again." With that the man sheathed his sword and disappeared in the darkness.
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Carriage wheels rumble across uneven cobblestones, and through the mists of morning the lone vehicle drawn by two draft horses moves at a leisurely pace through the rocky Varisian countryside. The leafless branches of twisting trees once belonging to an orchard, now untended, grasp upwards towards the sky like skeletal fingers attached to narrow wrists. Two lanterns swing from the rear of the wagon, their irregular, flickering light cast against the still long shadows of dawn in fiery hues.
"I suppose it could be worse." Within the carriage, its occupants discuss the particulars of the road ahead. Balin Katona is a wiry man of ghostly complexion, his features sharp and angular in a way that could be passed off as having elven lineage to those unfamiliar with his true birthright, one belied by his hooked nose and overly sharp teeth. Dark circles around his eyes denote a lack of sleep to the uneducated, or perhaps infirm health -- neither is untrue, though likewise are neither truly correct. He dresses in the attire of Ustalavanian aristocracy, with buttoned jacket, vest and white cravat wound tightly around his narrow neck. Circular spectacles frame eyes such a pale blue they appear nearly white.
Crinkling the parchment of a missive held in his delicate, gloved hands, Balin shakes his head. "The Pharasman court will likely be eager for our aid, though I suppose giving you formal introductions could cause some friction." Balin looks up over the frames of his spectacles to the shrouded figure in the carriage across from him. Dressed head-to-toe in a voluminous black robe, hood drawn and black-lacquered wooden mask covering their face, they remain a silent partner. "Bodyguard," Balin adds with a nod, smiling to himself in self-assured confidence. "Silent bodyguard."
Balin's masters at the monastery of the Veil had been the ones to originally receive this message, one that implored the Pharasman monks to send assistance to distant Kaer-Maga. The clergy could not have realized who they were truly reaching out to, but the monks of the Veil gladly chose their emissary. With their eternal vow of silence, Balin would be their voice in this matter. The entire affair -- and the bumpy ride -- made Balin sick to his stomach.
Outside the carriage, the mists reveal the monolithic walls of Kaer-Maga drawing ever closer across the rough countryside. Its looming walls, cyclopean architecture and megalithic statuary an impressive sight that remains concealed to Balin, as the black curtains of his carriage remain drawn, letting in only fleeting shafts of dawn light.
Folding the letter up, Balin withdraws an amulet from his doctor's bag, letting the medallion swing heavily back and forth from its delicate chain. The spiral engraved on its front surface evokes a look of distress for a barest moment. But, lifting it to hang around his neck, Balin seems to be stepping back into old, familiar clothes.
Unfortunately, they're ones he has since outgrown.
Balin Katona - Prologue
Below the streets of Kaer-Maga, darkness is part and parcel to the winding catacombs and hand-dug tunnels that honeycomb these depths. Light is a currency for some, and lanterns, torches, and other means of illumination break up the darkness but cannot suppress it all. It is these dark passages that Balin traverses on his way through the bowels of Kaer-Maga, the lightless tunnels that serve as warrens for subterranean races and other beings that thrive in the dark. Balin, privately, counts himself among their number.
Followed by his wordless bodyguard, Balin's path through the dark passages gives him time to consider the implications of arriving at his destination, gives him time to remember the words he'd been taught in his youth, and to reflect on how hollow they now feel. Time and distance, he had thought, may rekindle some of the feelings he'd once had when wearing this medallion. Ultimately, the only thing he does is reopen painful old wounds. Thankfully for Balin, rage is a perfectly suitable anesthetic.
Light does eventually greet Balin with all the cold comfort of a distant relative. Torches, braziers and sconces all decorate the cathedralesque chamber that the actual cathedral he's come to visit inhabits. Followed by his cloaked guard, Balin carries his doctor's bag in one hand, the rhythmic click-clack-click of his cane in the other tapping its metal tip on the cobblestoned walkway. The cathedral's facade gives him pause, throat tightening in an umcomfortable swallow on seeing the spiral of Pharasma so dominantly displayed above the entrance in panes of colored glass. For a moment, pangs of guilt set his stomach on edge.
With his head bowed in either reverence or shame, Balin heads towards the cathedral's gates accompanied by his shrouded bodyguard.
If rage is an anesthetic, guilt is a poison.
Within one of the vast open chambers of the library, a young woman was surrounded by dusty tomes, stacks of parchment, and unbound scrolls. She had scarcely left the building for days only pausing briefly for meals brought to her by the library's curator. The young Varisian had long flowing white hair and emerald eyes, and she was clad in dark brown knee-high boots, well-fit tan trousers, an unadorned muslin blouse with a dark brown corset, and a flowing deep-red silken robe worn open. Criss crossed leather belts contain her spell component pouches/familiar's pouch and crossbow bolts respectively, and a small white fox sat curled up by her feet.
Suddenly she was interrupted by a man in black robes carrying a black, thornless rose and a sealed scroll.
"Olwyn Unseelie, by our Lady of Graves, I have summons for you."
Not bothering to look up the massive book, she dismissed him with a scoff,
"I don't think I'm the person you seek. I am lost to our Lady."
"You know as well as I, that She sees your path from birth to death. You should know, that while you find your judgement sealed; that is not the case. Your soul is still your own even if that may not remain the case for long. Use the time you have left well and you can redeem yourself." With that the man left the scroll and rose on top of one of the stacks and departed.
Olwyn stared for a long time at the rose: a symbol of good luck for those devoted to Pharasma. She knew the old man well as he had led her to the faith in the first place after she arrived in the city alone and afraid. A rare smile crept onto her face, and she grabbed the scroll.
Well, I guess it could be enlightning... Or possibly suicidal. But Old Man, this is the last time you get to pull this garbage on me.
With a new found resolve, she gathered up her things and departed for the chapel.
A side door in the Chapel opens silently and a tall woman dressed in the simple garb of a Pharasmin Priestess enters. She nods curtly at you before standing at the front of the shrine, facing the effigy of an armoured lady who you assume must be Saint Joan. The Priestess holds a rectangular chest, the contents tinkling like glass against glass as she walks.
After a short prayer to the Saint, the Priestess turns towards the assembled group and begins in a low voice that nonetheless carries in the quiet chapel, "Allow me to introduce myself to those who I have not met before, I am Sister Nerissia of the Church of Pharasma. You must be wondering why you have been called here at this late hour and I will not keep you in suspense as to the reasons. For generations, Kaer Maga's wealthy and powerful have been laid to rest in the Godsmouth Ossuary, and thus far, their rest seemed to be peaceful. The ossuary has existed for thousands of years, long before the founding of the city itself. There seems to be no limit to the number of bodies that can be stored here and yet..."
Sister Nerissia looks pained as she continues, "Bodies are missing from the Godsmouth Ossuary. You may or may not know that the ossuary is forbidden to all but the clergy and honored dead; even mourners are restricted to the ossuary's entrance or the cathedral; not even the Duskwardens, who safely lead visitors through the Undercity via the Halflight Path are allowed to enter the sacred vaults. But now...there have been increased reports of undead roaming the Undercity and this has led us to believe that the source of the problem lies in the sealed levels below the main crypts.”
"The vessels of the departed are being stolen from the Ossuary and, I fear, are being subject to Necromancy. This cannot be allowed. It stands to reason that none of the clergy here are above suspicion, so I have assembled a capable group of outside help.”
Looking at each of you, "You are that help…you are known to this Church through prior dealings or through your reputation.”
"There is a sealed door in the Ossuary leading further beneath Kaer Maga, it is my belief that whoever or whatever is stealing the remains has come from there. It will be your job to enter that door and to discover the source of the thefts."
"I will stress one last time, your silence about this matter after tonight is of the utmost importance. If you need incentive, we are offering a generous fee: 500 gold coins to divide amongst yourselves. In addition, any valuables you find therein will be yours to keep, so long as they are not sacred to the church", with an icy demeanour, Sister Nerissia issues a thinly veiled warning, "Should word escape of this matter... well, it won't will it?"
She sets down the chest and begins removing vials of liquid, each stoppered and labeled. She pairs them off, one vial of clear liquid to one vial of blue liquid. "To ensure your success, we are prepared to give each of you a vial of holy water blessed by the goddess and a potion to heal wounds.", she says before pulling out a long chime of silvery metal and hands it to the unsettling man with the bodyguard, "Balin, I shall entrust you with the chime of opening - this chime may be sounded five times and five times only to open sealed doors in the complex below the Ossuary. Be advised that you should keep one in reserve in order to return to the Cathedral - we will not open the doors again, no matter how insistently it is knocked upon."
She looks at the assembled group, "Are these terms agreeable?"
At first the ratman seems indignant, thinking he's been called here to accuse him of the thefts, but when it becomes apparent that this is in response to his skills and his recent, um, encounters with the Pharasmin, he preens. "I is taking the job, yes yes, and this job erases any... debts between Gazzer and the Pharasma, yes yes? No more owed, no more sought?" His delicate forepaws rub together in undisguised glee at the prospect.
Olwyn stashes the vials in one of pouches as she nods to the priestess.
"I accept."
She carefully examines her apparent comrades in arms taking note of their appearance and gear. All the while she is doing her best to conceal her fear of entering the catacombs.
The ratman is small and slight, with dark fur and shifty eyes. He wears scuffed studded leather armor and carrying many bottles and vials of strange liquids and powders. He sniffs the air, his eyes darting as he looks at each of you. He reeks of acid or perhaps some sort of chemical, but all in all, he's a giant walking rat.
What can you expect, really?
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"Might I recommend," Balin begins as he takes the silvered bell, holding it carefully in one gloved hand, "that those who have second thoughts on this endeavor remain behind?" The pale cleric offers a look over the wire frames of his spectacles at the others in the gathering. "Feigned bravery can lead to real liability, and that would do a disservice to everyone."
Handing his cane off to his heavily armored and robed bodyguard, Balin opens his doctor's bag and carefully lays the chime atop the supplies in there, then fastens the bag closed. "After all, we are to be sealed inside this place. That does not sound to be a fair environment for the faint of heart," he adds, taking his walking cane back from his protector.
"That said," the cleric adjusts the shoulder strap of his bag and arches one thin brow. "I am Balin Katona of Ustalav, acolyte of her Lady of Graves, Pharasma." There's some tension in Balin's jaw as he admits that, as if perhaps he's not comfortable with this much public speaking. He then motions to his tall, armored companion with his elaborately engraved wooden mask that bears the countenance of an old man.
"This is my traveling companion, a silent monk of the Monastery of the Veil in the province of Ulcazar. As his title impies, he is a man of... few words." Motioning to himself with the head of his cane, Balin redirects attention back. "My expertise lies in interactions with, an identification of, the undying. I pray we do not need my expertise at all in the coming day."
Clicking his cane on the stone floor, Balin looks to the others. "Yourselves?"
The ratman bobs his head up and down several times rhythmically. "I is Gazzer! Gazzer is good at getting in and out, yes yes! In and out of tight places and forgotten places, yes yes, where pretty things of value rest in dusty tombs, yes yes! And I is very good at chemical things, potions and mixtures and delightful smells! And Gazzer is not being brave, Gazzer is being here to pay old debt to Pharasma." The small ratman pipes up in his high pitched voice.
The Goblin stands there with a distraught grimace on his face as the priestess speaks. The goblin wears simple robes and wears a curved blade on his belt. He merely nods at her words and takes on the potion and tucks it away swiftly.
As his new companions introduce themsleves Zazou nods but does not flinch.
My name is Zazou Elfear. Zazou has many skills you will see! Zazou will do this, Zazou owes this to his Lady of Fire, the Dawnflower!
"Fear not, Balin, for I have endured communions with far more terrifying entities than we will see here. While not fond of such confined spaces, I will not let you, the others, or our Lady of Graves down."
Olwyn reaches into her robes and pulls out the black rose given to her, "I am Olwyn of the Unseelie. While my abilities may rise from a different source, I can assure you my faith in the mad prophet is great, and I owe my life to Her church."
She gestures to the arctic fox sitting patiently beside it. He eyes the cleric with a degree of intelligence that far exceeds what anyone would expect from the animal.
"And this is my companion, he certainly less... imposing than yours, yet he is nevertheless quite capable in his own regard."
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Offering an askance look to the goblin, one that undoubtedly implies a certain level of dismissiveness to the feral creature's usefulness, Balin is -- perhaps hypocritically -- intrigued by Gazzer the ratfolk. While he keeps his commentary to himself, there is a nod of understanding to the bipedal rodent.
Olwyn, however, receives a more full response. "I wager your companion is far more talkative than mine is," comes in good-hearted jest, followed by a side-long look to his armored protector.
Kairen sizes up the motley crew he's been invited to join, and accepts the vials with a nod, pocketing them before bowing to his peers.
"Kairen Valos, warrior of Iomedae, champion of the light. My path was shown to me by the goddess, and I think I know what we're all expecting down there. Grave robbers have no need of corpses; only the valuables interest them. For a stolen body, only desecration awaits. If some alchemist is experimenting on cadavers for his little potions, then he will answer for his crimes, hopefully in trial. If some necromancer has decided to toy with the bodies and souls of those already passed..." He slowly draws his longsword from his back, narrowing his eyes at the blade. "Then there will BE no trial..."
Realizing his darkened demeanor, Kairen quickly sheathes his sword and clears his throat. "forgive me, I don't mean to darken the hour further, but I would like to issue one suggestion to those who go below: Stay behind me and try to keep up."
"Don't worry about me falling behind, Kairen," Olwyn remarks as she hefts her light crossbow over one shoulder, "But I don't disagree about your analysis of the gravity of the situation. So gents, should we proceed."
Level 1 - Enlarge Person, Mage Armor, and Ear-Piercing Scream
As the large human offers to protect the group the small goblin wags it's head franticly.
YES, YES! Big man protect us. Big man strong with sword and armor kill many enemies! Zazou will be nice to big man and with Sarenrae blessing Zazou kill many enemies you will see. Zazou not stron but Zazou fast!
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At Kairen's speech, Balin smiles awkwardly and nods his head in slow approval with a clap of his gloved hands together at the end. "Well," he says exasperatedly, looking around to the others with hunched shoulders and a awkward smile. "I believe we know what we need about one another..." he says assuredly before turning back to the priestess of Pharasma to hopefully redirect the conversation in another avenue.
"What information can you spare to us about the layout of these... Crypts? Have you a map to spare, charts, perhaps an indices of the chambers functions? I would put an embalming chamber on the top of must-visit locations, given the possibilities..."
The ratman stares hard at the paladin and his hard stance against experimentation. He very consciously sniffs himself and mutters in a high pitch voice, "Some alchemists don't work on bodies, yes yes, some of us'es work on tombs and traps and dead things no one wants, yes yes. Some of us'es just wants to make a living, yes yes, not to make paladins angry and loud with the smiting and judging, yes yes."
Kairen Glances sidelong at the furry alchemist, considering for a moment his response. He then kneels down to Gazzer's eye level and extends a hand. "I empathize with having a livelihood to survive the daily rigors of the world, Gazzer, but after you've seen what I have, even you would be keeping a very keen eye on those who tamper with the dead. As long as you're not trying to raise corpses into unliving abominations, then I promise you'll have nothing to worry about. For now, though, let's leave such...volatile topics for another time, and keep our focus on our purpose here."
The small ratman looks at the hand, then extends his much smaller paw to shake the man's hand. "No no, I is not for making the undead. I is for letting you make the undead dead yes yes!"
Her message delivered, Sister Nerissia smiles at the assembled group. The smile, whilst not cold, makes it clear that the Priestess has uncertainty in her mind...
Were this Magnimar or elsewhere, I would call on the faithful of Pharasma...but this is Kaer Maga...I will have to work with the tools I have
Responding to Balin's query, "It has been forbidden for many centuries for even the clergy to enter the lower crypts...if there ever were maps, they have long since passed from record. This much I can tell you from what we were able to deduce from the last unfortunate grave robber whom we discovered escaping from the lower crypts...there are many levels below the hallowed places where we inter the vessels of the departed...not all are inhabited but those which are, are not friendly places, the man told us stories of undead, of demons and worse. I wish I could be more specific but the poor fellow was not lucid for long before his wounds overcame him"
"I am prepared to escort you to the entrance to the Ossuary now, however if you need time to prepare, I am willing to wait for no more than one day...". The cold, business like manner of Sister Nerissia conveys, with no ambiguity, that she does not relish the prospect of protracted discussions...
Gazzer ponders, then bobs his head. "Gazzer is ready now, yes yes."
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Adjusting the collar of his jacket, Balin stares at his feet with brows furrowed. Comments regarding the state of affairs within the Pharasmin church and their tombs are kept to himself, and instead the pale man offers a side-long look to Gazzer, then a slow nod of agreement to the ratfolk.
"I and my companion are prepared for the journey," Balin notes as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Have the rest of you any preparations that you need to make before we begin this excursion?" He offers a look to the others over the rims of his wire spectacles.
Zazou shakes his small head very quickly. Hie huges ears wiggle oddly as he does so giving of quite the amusing picture.
"I''m ready. Let's get this over with. The less time underground, the better."
"The longer we wait, the more traps and foes array against us. Whatever is desecrating these bodies must be found before it achieves its goal and vanishes, or worse. We go now. Lead the way, priestess."
"This way please", Sister Nerissia directs, leading you out of a rear chapel within the cathedral to the edge of the great chasm overlooking the lands of Varisia below. From the high position on the Storval Rise, you can see the twinkling lights of farming settlements and villages many miles south of Kaer Maga. "Watch your step" she cautions as she leads you down the narrow, twisting cliffside path that passes directly into the mouth of the massive carved face known as the Unnamed King.
As she leads you down the path, Sister Nerissia talks in a low voice to the somewhat unusual looking cleric of Pharasma
“Balin, what I must say to you is a delicate matter and, were it to be repeated in the wrong place, could prove to be severely embarrassing to our Church. I would ask that you keep this information to yourself until you are absolutely sure that you may trust your companions”
The priestess continues, “A number of years ago one of our priests, a Chelish man who went by the name of Svilennius Tripe somehow found ancient tomes from an ancient heretical sect of Pharasma known as the Chymists of Life in Death. These tomes dealt with the creation of undead through alchemical rather than magical means; providing the sect a supposed loophole around Pharasma's prohibition against the creation and use of undead creatures."
"When his superiors discovered one of the banned books in his quarters, Svilennius was brought before an ecclesiastical tribunal. There he presented his newfound heretical views; that the church could use the undead to support its works, increasing its manpower and solving the problems of space within the ossuary at the same time. Needless to say, Svilennius' ideas fell on deaf ears. The shocked church elders stripped Svilennius of his ecclesiastical rank and excommunicated him, branding him a heretic."
“Svilennius disappeared from view and we thought him long dead…yet some of the undead that have been reported within the Undercity are, from the accounts we have received, different to those who have been raised by magical necromancy. If this is true, there is a chance that Svilennius yet lives and has managed to use his heretical knowledge to raise the dead.”
“If indeed you do find Svilennius somewhere within the ossuary he must be stopped and, Balin, I must insist any evidence linking him to our Church must be destroyed”
Her piece said, Sister Nerissia is silent awaiting affirmation from the cleric.
As you enter the ossuary proper, you see that it is well lit with everburning torches, richly decorated, and amazingly clean. Several Pharasmin priests, robed and hooded, silently tend to the deceased. Sister Nerissia leads you through luxuriously appointed catacombs packed with bodies wrapped in the finest linens and reverently placed in countless stone niches lining the walls. You descend several stairways before coming to an area that obviously sees little use – most of the burial niches are empty and dusty, the air is musty and close, and silence reigns supreme.
In this unused portion of the crypts, Sister Nerissia stops before a wooden door, bound with steel bands. "This is the only known entrance to the sealed lower portions of the ossuary, once you enter, the door will be locked behind you. Do not be mistaken, you MUST save one use of the chime of opening to get back through this door when you are ready to leave." she points at the door as she says this. "The priests will not open the door for you. They have no way of seeing through the locked door to recognize you or determine whether something...else is trying to get through. If you lose the chime or use up its magic, you must find your own way out of the ossuary."
Sister Nerissia then goes to each one of you and touches you lightly on the left side of your face as she whispers, "The Lady of Graves bless and keep you safe."She then draws a large iron key from beneath her robes and inserts it into the door. She turns the key and the lock clicks loudly in the silence.
The door grinds open despite long years of disuse. Within, a stone spiral staircase descends into the earth...
Zazou looks down the dark stairwell then turns to his companions.
Zazou see good in dark! Zazou brave. Dawnflower give him strength. Zazou lead the way!
With that the Goblin bounds along down the stairs at a leisurly pace looking up to the big strong Paladin and bidding him to protect.
Gazzer mutters to himself in an annoyed voice. "Zazou see in dark! Zazou talk in third person! Zazou sooooo adorable. Gazzer hate adorable."
Gazzer bobs his head and moves to the front, also to scout.
With a faint smile Olwyn turns to the rat,
"Don't worry, Gazzer, you're both adorable."
Suppressing a chuckle she then turns her attention to her crossbow. With whispered words the tip of the loaded bolt begin glowing with light like a torch.
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Walking side-by-side with Sister Nerissia, Balin seems thoughtfully stoic. His slow cadence measured by the click of his cane on the steps and cobblestones along the way. His eyes lid partway closed, head bows and there's a presence of uncertainty or solemnity that hangs over him. Behind, his heavily armored companion from the Monastery of the Veil keeps wordless pace.
"You have my utmost discretion," Balin offers to the priestess, "I assure you that the matter will be resolved delicately, and quietly. I have become quite adept at keeping secrets in my years." A look is offered over to Kairen, something scrutinizing in it, before he turns back to Narisia. "It will be as you asked."
After the group has been led through the well-appointed chambers of the Pharasmin clerics and the chambers of prepared bodies in their funerary wrappings, Balin waits with the others as the reiteration of Narisia's warning is given and the gates to the catacombs are opened at last.
"If you would," Balin directs to his bodyguard, who unsheathes his scimitar and advances forward without hesitation in front of his charge. He keeps a ten foot distance ahead of Balin at all times, and the "Pharasman" cleric seems content to remain at the rear of the group as they make their way inside.
"So Zazou sees full well in the dark, Gazzer I imagine your kind are likewise acclimated to the darker places..." Then comes another scrutinizing look from Balin, this time to both Kairen and Olwyn. Before he can open his mouth to ask if they'll need illumination, however, Olwyn is answering that question with a glowing crossbow bolt shining light like a torch.
The radiance reflects off of the round lenses of Balin's spectacles, and the cleric squints against the bright light. "Well then," he motions with one gloved hand towards the entrance. "Ladies and Knights first," and goblins and rat-people as well, goes unsaid.
Kairen descends the staircase, patting Zazou on the head. "Stay close to me, little one. We will need your eyes in the darkest areas."
He then draws his longsword and continues to walk for as long as he can safely see. "Unless there are secret works of the church going on down here that the priestess didn't warn us about, then it is safe to assume that anything we encounter is hostile until proven otherwise. We should keep the light just back from the front lines so we don't give away our position quite as quickly. If anything is moving down here, I want Zazou to see it before it sees us."
Zazou shoots the rat a hard glare with his red eyes and draws his scimitar. I cut your guts out stinking rat man. the goblin thinks to itself wishing he could say it. No the lady would not like that, the lady does not even like that Zazou think that.
As the door grinds slowly closed, your eyes adjust to the darkness within the small room that you find yourselves in....the light from Olwyn's Light spell illuminate the featureless walls....
The first thing you notice is how dusty the floor and other flat surfaces are...that, and the profusion of cobwebs around the corners of the room suggest that you are the first travellers in this room for a VERY long time.
Moments after the door clicks into a closed position, the glowing sigil of Pharasma appears on the hinges and handles of the door. For a brief moment, there is complete silence, punctuated only by the sound of your breathing.
It appears that there is but one exit from this room (other than the door through which you have just passed), down a narrow stone spiral staircase...thus, your descent into the Ossuary commences...
Zazou swallows his anger and any fears he might have and begins to lead the way into the crypts his large ears perked for any danger.
With the only clear route into the crypts being the staircase, the group commence their descent further into the Ossuary. The vertical shaft of the staircase is cramped, this coupled with the narrowness of the steps, forces the party to negotiate the stairs carefully and in single file. The soft glow from Olwyn's Light Spell provides the only illumination within the confines of the staircase.
Small clouds puff up from the steps as your feet disturb years of accumulated dust. The gentle swish of weapons clearing the cobwebs and your footsteps echoing along the staircase are the only noises punctuating the deathly silence.
After approximately 30 feet of descent, the spread of cobwebs and depth of settled dust seems to be a lot less severe, indicating that maybe someone or something has travelled along the staircase within recent times.
Similar to the room from which you have descended, there are few features of note along the staircase. The walls are generally smooth, carved from the rock whilst the steps are blockwork construction and are heavily worn.
Suddenly for no obvious reason, the illumination along the staircase reduces…the party pauses briefly in confusion…
Almost immediately, there is a flurry of motion from between the staircase and the shaft directly above the witch at the rear of the group. Through the dimness, you can see a dark shape drop towards the witch…
Darkmantle Slam Attack: missing a Flat Footed AC of 11
You stand horrified as the dark shape extends its' tentacles during it's dive towards the witch; it fully spreads out leathery webbing between it's tentacles then slams, ineffectively into the wall next to its' intended victim.
Olwyn scrambles away in a panic at the attack and moves behind one of the heavily armed companions. She then calls upon her arcane might and unleashes a debilitating hex of misfortune on the attacker.
"Down!" Kairen shouts. Wheeling on the airborne attacker, he clenches his teeth and drives the point of his sword toward the center of the leathery mass with both hands.
Impaled on the Paladin's blade, the creature flails at Kairen futilely attempting to grab him in a vile embrace...
The goblin steps forward bravely with a tight grip around it's scimitar and hacks into one of the creatures tentacles.
Gazzer draws his crossbow and fires!