Dr Elbroune nods as the Oldest One speaks. "That makes about as much sense as anything else in this cursed place. I've only been here a week. I was excited for the opportunity. Briarstone is quite famous for its skill with treating diseases of the mind--my specialty."
He sighs and looks out through a small window over the ramshackle slums and the barricade that block the exits from this large room. "I've never heard of the Chain of Nights but, if it's as powerful as you say, it certainly had a lot of fodder here int eh asylum. A madhouse is rarely peaceful even in the best of times. The mentally ill rarely sleep well--they claim they are plagued by horrors saner men could never conceive. Now, though, they claim to have the same bad dream: visions of a bleak skis and a man in tatters that stalks them in an alien city. Some say that they're the dreams Zandalus used to have, that now that they're free of his head they're infecting everyone else. Some say the Tatterman brought them, and he's haunting all of our nightmares. Others think they're visions of what's beyond the fog. But who can truly say."
He gulps, eyes turning a bit haunted. "I would dismiss their talk as sheer madness. But, I've had the dreams, too. And, I had them during the first few nights I came to this wretched place. They've grown more vivid, now."
Hearda nods slowly the haunted look mirrored in his own eyes as memories of his own dreams are reflected therein. "Yes we have seen much the same in this forsaken place before we found you. We do need to ask, have you seen any of us before? We were...held here against our will and only escaped a week ago. Do you know why we were...treated here?"
Elbourne shakes his head. "No. I haven't seen any of you before. It's possible you were in a different wing? I was mostly here. The asylum's a large place."
"You said you specialised in treating diseases of the mind?" the old man asks politely "Where have you worked before? I've some knowledge of the healing arts myself, I may have heard of them."
Dr Elbourne smiles shakily. "I came here from the Vodavani Lodge in Caliphas. I found Briarstone more to my tastes."
The old man turns back to the others "So. What now? There's a small army of madmen outside this tent."
Hearda is silent as he digests the information received from the Doctor. "Yes, Old man, the army poses a risk I am not willing to undertake now. They look to be pitiful in combat but as we have seen looks can be deceiving." Turning his attention back to the doctor he asks, "What can you tell us of the layout of Briarstone? We have explored much of this place yet many areas we have skipped. Where was Zandalus treated before he escaped his bonds? There may be clues we have overlooked."
Doctor Elbourne frowns. "He was catatonic for a while, and was treated in the patient dormitories upstairs--where he is now. During his more lucid moments, he was treated in the western wing, or in the offices. We haven't been able to leave this cafeteria because of the fog. I don't know what it is.. but near as I can guess, Zandalus found some way to breach the border between dreaming and wakefulness. It's like the fog is the result of that endeavor--spillover from whatever dream realm he's tapped into. But, the fog isn't the problem, it's the things that caem along with it. Weird things, like from nightmares. The worst seem content to keep to the fog, but I've seen strange forms slip into the asylum--figures I can't rightly describe."
He purses his lips and ponders the dreamers. "Zandalus is surrounded by his lunatic guards from his most ardent followers, and worse, the fog. You get to him, you'd have to get rid of that blasted yellow mist. He has these acolytes he calls oneirogens. Most stay with him upstairs, but there were a few down here, I think. I don't know what they do, or how why they're here. But, one of them keeps watch over the northwestern tower, according to," he gestures towards the crazed madmen beyond his tents. "Them. I don't know what he does up there, and if Zandalus' followers know, they'[re not saying. But, if you find him, you could probably ring some of Zandalus' secrets out of him, maybe even how to get rid of this cursed mist. Once it's gone..." He shrugs and looks up, meaningfully, towards the upstairs.
Hearda nods slowly as more of this puzzle is revealed o him. "It seems a talk with that one," gesturing to the madmen beyond the tents, "is in order. Does that one have a name?"
"Or we could goto the northwestern tower and question the oneirogen there." Sigvald queries
[ooc] ya bit of confusion here. He's saying go deal with the oneirogen!/ooc]
"It seems fraught with peril." the old man states "I doubt I'll be much use, though I'm happy to assist. Perhaps - perhaps it guards the Book?"
"It seems fraught with peril." the old man states "I doubt I'll be much use, though I'm happy to assist. Perhaps - perhaps it guards the Book?"
"Better to take the one alone," Feliks said. "Best odds and we'll have a better idea what we're up against for the next."
Dr Elbroune sighs with relief. "Excellent!! Alright, I'll tell the Apostles to let you through the barricade. I don't have much clout with them, but they will let me do that. Be careful beyond the barrier, and mind the stones. There are... things beyond this room. The Apostles have learned where the danger is, the hard way, I'm afraid." He leads the dreamers out from his tent towards a rough barricade of ripped doors and tables lashed together by thick rope and ruined sheets. Several patients in yellow-stained robes smelling strongly of urine pull the planks away at a quick gesture from the doctor. The doctor whispers a quick warning again, and then steps back into the ruined cafeteria. His normally genial facade slips into one of fear and worry before he visibly steadies himself, forcing a calm smile and turning back to the thugs.
Beyond the barricade, the Dreamers step into the ruins of an L-shaped kitchen. A row of fireplaces stand among heaps of barrel-sized pots other cooking implements along the long wall on the north. Numerous doors lead to the south, east, and west, while the the multiple corners of the room have collapsed. A line of rocks deliberately cordons off the westernmost door. The meaning of the rocks is clear, as the westernmost fireplace is lit with a pale green flame and a lidded cauldron ominously rattles above it.
This is clearly a haunt. Drawing near will awaken the thing.
Haunted memories flood his mind as Hearda raises his hand in a warning gesture, "A haunt...it will manifest once we approach closer." Glancing at the others he cautions, "We must use positive energy once it does....unless the haunt IS who we need to deal with."
Hearda is fairly certain that the main is a danger, but it is not the oneirogen.
"Does anyone have access to positive energy?" asks the old man, doubt in his voice.
"I think I might have some healing ability from my hands. I've no memory of using it though." He says looking at his hands
Sigvald will have a go with the cauldron he doesn't quite know what he is doing but he will have a go at generating holy energy
Hearda stands back as the holy man moves towards the cauldron, ready to assist the man if need be, yet unsure what to do for him.
Sigvald slowly steps forward, hands raised out towards the cauldron. His hands gain a soft, bluish white light that is comforting and warm, soothing. Ever so slowly, he inches forward, his body shielding the other dreamers behind him as he proceeds towards the rattling cauldron and the door beyond. His foot crosses the ring of stones, and the rattling continues without interruption.
Everyone breathes a sigh of relief. The crisis is averted.
At the moment, the cauldron spills forward, washing Sigvald in spectral slime and filled with writhing maggots, bones, eyes, and pieces of people. A man's screaming face appears in the horrid stew before all disappear completely into nothingness. Sigvald feels a foulness in his belly and flesh, trying to eat away at him from within. He gags, doubles over and coughs once, spitting out a foul green and black worm that quickly evaporates into nothingness as well. The man stands, feeling instantly better, and safe int he knowledge that avoided a terrible illness.
[ooc]Dang paladins and their dang immunity to all diseases... [ooc]
The Oldest One recognizes that, once triggered, the haunt will not become active again for some time. The door to the west is unlocked and opens easily, revealing a partially collapsed square room filled with yellow mist seeping in from the opened door in the north wall. The door leads outside!!
"Well done Sigvald," Hearda nods, Few of us could have withstood such a foul infestation. Now I believe there is a door on the opposite side..." He cautiously peers way into the room, eying whether there is enough room to reach the opposite door without contacting the yellowish mist.
shuddering a little at the thought.. "That was still a rather unpleasant experience, something within me helped to hold the whatever it was from getting inside me. I wonder what it was?"
Sigvald follows along and moves to the open door in the north wall, waiting a second for anyones disapproval before closing the door.
The yellow murks is quite thick in the room beyond the kitchen, but, it's thinnest near the close wall. It's possible for the dreamers to keep to the edge and pass through only a few tendrils of the mist.
The old man looks suspiciously at the untouched Sigvald, but follows behind. Carefully he threads his way through the mist.
perception
perception
perception
perception
stealth
Slowly, cautiously, Sigvald slips into the room, skirting the yellow fingers of the mist. He inches his way towards the open door. He takes a deep breath, reaching out his hand to the handle and starts to close it. At that moment, he catches a faint swirling in the orpment fog. It's all the warning he needs as a twisted amalgamation of fins, legs, and spines slithers from the clinging vapors teeth bared and claws ready to strike!
Herada and the Oldest One spots spot the stirring, too, and ready themselves for the beast's attack!
The old man's suspicion dominates his mind 'Is he really untouched? Or is that what something wants us to think?'
Still, it means when Sigald dodges the old man is paying attention!
Ashamed of his past doubts he skips forward through the debris, waving his cudgel for attention.
Sigvald draws his cutlass and makes ready to fight the beast. noting the oldest ones clever flanking maneuver.
Sigvald his gives the Oldest one a hand salute in respect.
Feliks: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18
Hearda: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Oldest One: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
Sigvald: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Voonith: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
The Oldest One and Sigvald both flank the foul creature, weapons held at the ready for the beast's fangs.
They do not need to wait long, the twisted amalgam of animals lifts its head and unleashes a nerve-wracking screech. It is as unnatural as the creature itself, merging the calls of numerous different animals into one twisted howl. But, the dreamers remain strong, Sigvald's calming presence reassures them and they remain steadfast, despite their fear.
immune to fear, so I'm just doing this because i'm to lazy to hit "delete"
(the bonus is because you are within 10' from Sigvald)
he probably should have a bonus +4, too, but it doesn't matter
MAN!!! I REALLY WANTED TO SCARE YOU GUYS!!!!!
Feliks considered his crossbow, but left it be and instead focused on scattered memories of weakness, drawing them toward it.
Hearda. momentarily caught off guard by the screeching demon, refocuses his efforts to cull from his learned studies what exactly this *thing* is...
Seemingly inspired by an influx of knowledge, Hearda motions at the beast, sending a powerful wave of psychic energy at it!
Sigvald winces at the things screech and is relieved to feel no other effects than a bit of ringing in his ears
Hmmm.. why am I not affected by this .. it seemed to be some sort of attack
Sigvald takes a swipe at the creature with his cutlass.. "Yaaaa! Away beast!"
The old man swings wildly at the creature, more interested in distracting it than in doing any real damage.
Feliks: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (6) + 12 = 18
Hearda: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
Oldest One: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
Sigvald: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Voonith: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
Hearda, despite his low-birth, is a very learned man. He has spent countless nights study in dark and musty tomes lit only by the sputtering flame of a single well-guarded candle. Yet, none of his research has taught him what manner of foul beast faces him, now. Even still, he is a man guided by his baser impulses. A silent, psychic scream tears from his mind as he feels the savage race of his people build within him. The creature feels it, too, as blood drips from its ears and eyes.
The Oldest One waves his cudgel in the air, drawing the attention of the pained creature. Dazed from Hearda's rage, and mesmerized by the Oldest One's display, the creature's head bobs in the air, like a charmed snake, it's flank completely bare. It is all the opening Sigvald needs, and he lays open the creature's side with his cutlass.
The beast howls, bearing its teeth at Sigvald. "qatlh ghu'vam Data'? nuqDaq chol tlhIch vo'?"[b] It's intelligent! It speaks with a legion of voices, all animal. A purple light shines from Feliks' finger and surrounds the creature, and the beast seems to shrink in on itself. Its muscles atrophy, its claws and teeth dull.
[b]"nuqDaq? qatlh jIH HoH 'e' nID SoH?" It clamps its jaws on Sigvald's boot, and the warrior feels its needle-like teeth dig deep into his calf. The beast pulls, sending the warrior tumbling to the stones. The beast's claws follow next. Sigvald and Hearda both feel it talons rake against their sides. They're small cuts, and not very deep, but they could have been far worse.
full damage
full damage what the heck?!
HIT!!!!!
dangit
+ trip
it gets 4 claws.. 2 for Hearda, two for Sigvald
minimum damage
minimum damage
The creature says: "Why are you doing this? Where did this smoke come from?"
"Where am I? Why are you trying to kill me!"
creature: -7 to str
As the alien language washes over him Hearda feels madness overtake him. Glaring in a fury at the foul abomination as the savage part of his nature takes over. Swinging his mace in a wide arc he drives the flange into the space above the creature's head...
;
Sigvald hesitates for a second trying to understand what the creature is saying, then he cries out in pain at the creatures attack and realises is just damaged his boot "My boot!." he surveys the damage while lying down
"Does anyone know what it is saying?" he asks with a pained expression on his face
"I have never heard such a tongue before in my life!" Hearda exclaims as he readies another swing at the speaker of the alien tongue.
"It's saying: 'Why are you doing this? Where did this smoke come from? Where am I? Why are you trying to kill me!'" Feliks said.
Sigvald discovers that he has a strong feeling towards mercy and puts up his sword and scrambles back away from the beast
"Thankyou Feliks, can you tell it we are sorry for attacking but this place and it's appearance?"
Sigvald discovers that he has a strong feeling towards mercy and puts up his sword and scrambles back away from the beast"Thankyou Feliks, can you tell it we are sorry for attacking but this place and it's appearance?"
Feliks shrugged, trying not to shake too much.
"We're sorry. We thought you were attacking us," he said in Aklo.
The old man stays on the defensive as his companions banter with the abomination.
The creature blinks and looks at Feliks with it's head cocked to the side. It shakes it's head and sighs.
You attacked me first! The mist brought me here. This place is...strange. it is nothing like my home. The stars are the wrong color, and the sky is odd.
Seeing the abomination pause its attacks, Hearda steps back away from the creature, lowering his weapon but not his guard.
"You can understand...it? Can it comprehend our words Felix?"