I think not just bad luck. Seven-star was upon the doors of the place below Sandpoint, and red statue. Symbol of silent killers.
He grunts and narrows his eyes at the last bit. His hands jerk in a short message. YOU speak. Pick will listen.
Pick accompanies Flibble on inside. If asked by Killy An or Killy An's elder, he vouches for Flibble's staunchness as an ally, but he really prefers to keep his mouth shut, and listen, and watch.
When there is a moment, he asks, "Men we brought in. Alive? Ask questions?"
He has no idea about the great city of Kaer Maga, though he provides a lot of random commentary and half an hour of lively conversation about the weather and the Wastes and trade, though he offers a cautionary word - "If you're looking to disrupt anything, best re-think. I can tell you this woman you're lookin' for is near, but I can also tell you that if you try to get in there and rescue her, you'll have a world of trouble."
He nods and beckons you on.
Never really expecting to get here, and not one for over-thinking things, Khalbar hadn't really considered what to do next. He was just reacting to forces outside his control as he had done all his life.
"My axe is enough. If we see Alia and my boy, we will take them and run. If any try to stop us, they will taste my blade and know death for real."
Something that might be a smile briefly flits over the 'dwarf's' stitch-scarred mouth. "P-- I go sit with cult-men. Have... what is word? Stare fight."
Pick bets he can be silent longer than you can be silent, cult-men. Oh yes, Pick bets this.
He unwraps the package and pulls forth a mask, nearly all one surface except for a nose dimple and ragged holes for eyes, and apparently sewn from leathered, thin skin. It's magical, and Killian's hackles are obviously raised with it in his hand.
Finding it is easy, and just requires about an hour's trek through the lush Gebian jungles, though once the pair arrive they find something that's not like any farm they know of. Tall, barbed wooden fences (likely created by druidic magic) surround a complex of what appears to perhaps three or four huge buildings, each multistory and with tiny, thin windows. A manor house sits in the middle, white and balconied and elaborate, and the entire area is patrolled by four visible undead creatures.
He frowns, turns it over in his fingers, rubs one stubby thumb against the texture of the mask. Skin? Hnnh. He sniffs at it. (Possibly grossing out Killian.) His short, strong fingers trace over the stitching that holds several pieces together, slowly and thoughtfully.
He knows little of magic. With another grunt, he carries it in with him to the room of one of the cult men. He will let the Loud One look at it more, if he desires, but first he wants to do something with it.
When he is allowed in, Pick lets the door be shut and settles himself down cross-legged on the floor with the prisoner-- seated with his back to the door, so the cult-man can clearly see his face, but not any other watchers.
He tugs off the beard of his disguise kit. He pushes up his tinted goggles to reveal his dull red eyes staring directly at the man. He holds up the skin-mask, and taps at the lines of stitching with his finger.
Then, he taps at his own mouth, indicating the long-healed puckered marks where the thread had sewn through to bind his lips together, when he was young, and stupid, and noisy.
Pick smiles, or at least, bares his teeth in some sort of emotion.
You people hold to silence, and sew dead skin. My people hold to silence, and sew the living to make it so.
He lowers the mask to his lap and sits there and stares at the man. And stares at the man. And stares at the man.
"Do you know what kind of creatures thos guard are, Rhanloi? They are walking dead, but what manner? Can they be harmed by our weapons?"
Soon enough, the same exact people that used to greet her with fresh-baked loaves of bread, their babies for kissing, and many thanks, now only present Kyra with suspicious glares and closed doors. Ameiko still greets the monk with happiness, though, telling her to "be the bigger woman" and to "get past it, they will".
Killian allows Pick into the interrogation room, and when the duergar sits on the ground, the cultist (to all appearances a very unremarkable human, dressed in plain brown rags instead of the black armor and finery he wore before) simply looks up at him, and stares.
The cultist narrows his eyes at Pick's red eyes and the mask in his hands, but he still doesn't speak. He just sits cross-legged across from Pick and stares at him.
At least, he does this if the gnome allows him an hour with the prisoner. It's entirely possible Flibble doesn't have anything resembling that much patience for Pick to play staredown.
Either way-- whether Flibble drags him out or Pick decides he is getting nowhere-- Pick re-dons his goggles and comes back out into the main room with Flibble.
His fingers dance in a short weaving pattern. Aloud he says, "His faith too strong. No answers here."
His fingers say.... "We must track down the makers of these masks. I think in the dark places of the city-- we find people, show mask, threaten. Hurt if needed. Yes? Or return to Sandpoint?"
Taking the lead in front of his wizarding friend, Khalbar is ready to engage any zombies that try to intervene as the two friends go about the business of looking over the farm for any truly living creature.
Axe in hand, swishing it boldly from side to side, the barbarian readies to send these foul creations back to Pharasma.
CRIT THREAT
CONFIRMED!
Rhanloi and Khalbar's mad dash to the front gate of the "farm" is met by the place's single gatekeeper - a ghoul, with pale skin stretched thin over an emaciated body and wide, mad eyes. The ghoul holds up a hand and tries to civilly request that they stop, but is met by a roar and an axe-swish from Khalbar. The ghoul is destroyed, Khalbar's axe chopping through the thing's torso and sending lifeless body parts tumbling to the ground.
The inside of the compound gained, the two warriors are allowed a much more precise view of compound - tall wooden fences stand in the areas between the four buildings, though the fences aren't precisely connected with the buildings themselves. Within the fences are the visible forms of several apparently living individuals, walking aimlessly around the small fields where they are confined.
The pair don't have ample time, however, as the three remaining guards that they spotted earlier come prowling in their direction - all ghouls, and all slavering for flesh.
The ghouls all charge forward, loping on all fours to reach Khalbar the quicker. Only one is close enough to do so, and lunges at Khalbar with a sharp claw when it draws close.
Unfortunately for it, it practically trips when it reaches him, going down on one knee before the barbarian.
Initiative:
Ghouls - 22
Rhanloi - 19
Khalbar - 4
Before they leave the watchtower, Pick says to Killy An, "We go find more silent men. Bring here to you?"
As the slavering ghouls charge, one stumbles just enough for Khalbar to catch it with his whirling axe of death (or is it undeath?).
When his turn comes around, Khalbar moves to position himself between the rest of the undead and Rhanloi, and then swipes at the unlucky one getting closest. "Back to face judgment from Pharasma, creatures of darkness!"
Khalbar's axe goes crashing through the ghoul who thought it intelligent to crouch at his feet, and the ghoul is completely destroyed. Khalbar pulls the axe out of the ghoul and charges forward to meet the remaining two ghouls. As he charges, a burst of fire from Rhanloi's outstretched hand streaks over Khalbar's shoulder...and the shoulders of the ghouls he intends to strike.
Luckily for him, Khalbar's aim is as true as it's ever been, and he slices up another of the ghouls quite easily.
The final ghoul reaches him and attempts to claw him with its razor-sharp talons and then rears forward to bite. It manages to slash Khalbar along the arm with its first claw-swipe, opening up thin rents in the barbarian's flesh. Unfortunately for it, Khalbar flinches, taking a step back and out of harm's way of the thing's other two swipes.
Killian awkwardly scratches his head and replies to Pick's question, "Um, yeah. If you can find them, I'm sure we'd love to have more murderers in jail here. Assuming you can prove that they're murderers."
Rhanloi curses under his breath...that scorching ray was devastating but unreliable so far. With one undead left, he casts magic missile, sending 2 bolts of energy at the creature to strike true!
Attempting to follow Ameiko's advice, Kyra returns to conducting repairs on the town, often alone. She finds herself surprised at how much she had grown used to the company, the signs of thanks, the feeling of community. She shook her head, disappointed in herself. If it was that easy for Scarnetti to undermine her, to separate the town, then she wouldn't be a good mayor at all.
She puffs out her chest, deciding that she knows the right course of action. Working with Ameiko to spread the word, Kyra holds an open press conference in the town hall, asking any to come who would have questions of her.
Raising her hand before the gathered crowd, she begins with an explanation. "I have asked that you all come here today so that I may answer some questions. Let me first answer the one that is on everyone's lips: Did I kill that man? Yes. I did. And I have not forgotten that for a single day." Kyra takes a deep breath and waits for commotion to settle down before continuing. "I come from a large family, as many of you know, one with a certain reputation. To say that it was unsafe for me as a child would not be entirely incorrect. There were many who would have kidnapped me or my sisters to try and coerce my father and grandfather for wealth or influence or power. The man I killed was one such person. He broke into our home, while my sisters slept. Whether to steal or harm, I know not. I stopped him first, breaking his right arm, and could have let him go at that."
"When the goblin tribes came for your homes, for your children the first time, we stopped them. We wounded their tribe and we let them go at that. They regrouped and came upon us again, stronger." She shakes her head. "There are monsters in this world, of all types and of all creatures. I killed the man who broke into my home as I killed the goblins who broke into yours, because that is who I am, and sometimes that is what must be done to protect our families."
"It is true," she continues, "That were he in my place, Scarnetti would not have killed that man. He may have paid him off, or bowed to his demands, or even feigned death. I have no doubt that many of you think him a good man for that, and I can understand that view - but that is not the same as being a good mayor."
"I fought beside many of you, many of your husbands or fathers or sons in that battle, not Scarnetti. We stood against the darkness, and we did so together, and I will continue to do so." She pauses as if considering for a moment. "I still think about the man I killed, and whether I did what was right. But I also know that I am doing what is right in the here and now. The goblins may be defeated, but there are other threats beyond our walls. The Goblin Slayers have left - only we remain to protect our city. To do that we must trust each other and we must be united."
"Now, I will gladly take any questions."
"Start in bar?" His fingers once more dart in brief patterns.
I was watched by these killers earlier. Plan: they see us together. They watch you. I hide unseen. They watch you, follow you. I watch them, follow them. I move unseen. Follow back to others. Yes?
You're the bait, Flibble! Sound good?
Grunting from the scratches, Khalbar brings his axe down at the ghoul with a flourish, trying to end the guard once and for all.
Together, Khalbar and Rhanloi bring down the final ghoul with spell and axe. Concussed and sliced, the last one falls to the ground to join its fellow guard-ghouls.
Uneasily and slowly, the few humans in the "yard" look up at Rhanloi and Khalbar, and the dead ghoul-guards around them. One of them walks to the fence and points at them through its bars, saying, "Hey, þú getur ekki gert það. Þú munt fá í vandræðum."
Khalbar wipes the gristle and bone of the ghouls from his greataxe. As the human cries out in a strange language, he looks to Rhanloi for assistance.
"Strange tongue, do you understand?"
He looks through the bars at the humans looking for the familiar face of Alia or Harm.
Rhanloi thinks through the languages he has picked up over the years - Common, Elven, Draconic, Goblin, Orcish, Sylvan, Goblin, Thassilonian - seeing if the human's speech matches any of them. If not, he will use his linked ring to cast comprehend languages.
Rhanloi may be a gifted linguist, but he's never even heard the language that this man is speaking. Fortunately, the man continues to repeat the phrase, so when Rhanloi casts his spell, he's able to catch what he's saying. "...in trouble with the walkers! Hey, you, get out! You're not supposed to be here, you'll get in trouble! The walkers will catch you! Are you listening? Get out! You'll get in trouble..." and so on and so forth.
Khalbar scans the faces in the small crowd, but there aren't any small children in the yard, let alone a small child that is his. You'll have to search the buildings to find Khalbar's family.
Rhanloi translates for Khalbar, then asks the man in his strange tongue, "Where are the women and children kept? We are looking for this man's wife and child - they would be some of the more recent prisoners. We are here to free them - this could include all of you if you will help. You see what we do to the undead guards...they can be destroyed." While speaking he will keep a wary eye out for any other guards, living or not.
"Where is bird?" he grunts to the noisy one, remembering the big bird-creature the noisy one had had. "Come. Drinking."
As they walk, Pick keeps a surreptitious eye on the buildings and streets around him, waiting for that prickling feeling between the shoulderblades to let him know he is being watched.
If that doesn't work, then he will turn to Khalbar and say, "Then we do this the slow way and check each slave building. Since it's your family - I'll follow you. Good hunting!" He then holds up his crossbow and nods to Khalbar to lead the way.
The man continues to try and shoo Rhanloi and Khalbar, completely unhelpful. So, the pair decide to just go and kick down one of the doors that leads into one of the slave-buildings. The fairly flimsy wooden door crumples under Khalbar's strong kick.
Behind the door is a very crowded bunkhouse, partitioned in 3-by-5 rooms containing a bunk bed and a chamber po, as well as a washing basin. The bunkhouse contains, in total, perhaps a hundred and fifty people, though many of them are missing (either out doing manual labor or resting in one of the fields). The strange duo rush through the building, checking the faces of each and every person, and time and time again are disappointed. Rhanloi and Khalbar rush out of that building and kick down the door of the other one, searching it as well. Face after frightened face is unrecognizable, and the pair turn the final corner.
A pair of shoulders, the slope of which are familiar to Khalbar, present themselves to him, hunched on the lower bunk of a nearby bed. Long, thick brown hair falls to the middle of her back, unkempt and uncut for many months.
As you draw close and put a hand on her shoulder, she turns hurriedly, and for the first time in many months you see Alia's face. Her eyes are wide, and when comprehension dawns (a visible process) tears begin to well in her eyes. "....Khalbar...?" she asks, her voice soft and quiet.
Only...it isn't quite her. Her skin is unnaturally pale, and her eyes are red. You don't remember them being red. And when she opens her mouth to speak, long, sharp fangs can be seen where her canines once were.
Below the swell of her breasts, her belly is large and round, clearly the sign of a late-stage pregnancy.
The joy Khalbar feels at the sight of his long lost love, Alia, is quickly replaced with a revulsion as he realizes what she has become. The fullness of her belly surprises him also and tears begin streaming down his usually fierce face.
Alia begins to cry, closing her eyes and lowering her head as tears drip down her cheeks and off of her chin, spattering the plain gray shift that she wears.
Nearly overcome with grief at the sight, Khalbar queries desperately to Rhanloi if he knows anyway to restore the undead to normal life? Surely the answer to this problem is in one of those big books the wizards is always buying or reading.
He tears himself away from his not quite dead wife, and goes to the big house in search of his boy, rage building in his gigantic form as he does so. He un-shoulders his greataxe, ready to chop down any who stand in his way.
Rhanloi follows his friend, a sick grief building inside of him. Death and resurrection were the realm of priests and clerics...and he never could quite stomach the necromantic arcane arts. Rhanloi did not doubt that there may be a cure, but he was not sure he knew of a way to unturn someone.
Rhanloi recognizes the condition that Alia labors under as unmistakeable vampirism. She retains everything about her past self, but unfortunately will be saddled with a hunger for blood every few days. It's certainly possible for a vampire to live a virtuous life, using spells to sate their hunger, but most fall to their undead state's evil nature. Perhaps fortunately for her, though, Alia may yet (un)live forever.
Khalbar crashes through the front door of the stately manor house, revealing a wood-paneled hallway bordered by white windowed doors, but lacking doors to the outside, thus remaining largely dark. From the shadows ahead, a figure steps out of one of the doors bordering the front hallway. "Who interrupts my study?" he demands, sternly.
The figure wears a black vest with a white, collared button-up shirt, black slacks and shiny black shoes. His skin is pale, like Alia's, and his eyes are red. His hair s entirely white but not gleaming silver. He appears unarmed.
The town council chambers sit in rapt silence at Kyra's speech, note-taking forgotten. Mouths sit agape and eyes are wide. When she finally finishes, there are several more moments of silence and stillness as the crowd takes in what she's said. Then the crowd erupts in activity, hands raising and people shouting, while others are standing to clap and still more sit sullenly in their seats.
Scarnetti can be seen in the back of the room, sitting and sulking like a few others.
The words barrage Kyra continually as a dozen people beg her for her attention. "What other dangers do you think plague Sandpoint?" one person shouts, "Do you think a Mayor needs to be a combatant or are you merely voting for your decisiveness?" another cries. "Do you believe that killing is necessary in situations that aren't life-and-death for you?" a third asks. The questions continue, and Kyra fields them well, until eventually Ameiko steps in front of her, hold up ameliorating hands for there to be silence and a stoppage of questions. She says that there have been plenty of questions, and that Kyra has to rest and get ready for the actual election (which is soon), and that they ought to all do the same thing. Grumbling, the crowds shuffle out of the council chambers and out into the streets, separating to go to their homes.
Ameiko leads Kyra back to the Rusty Dragon afterward, sitting with her over a mug of hot cider (for Ameiko) and another mug of water (for Kyra) as well as a turkey sandwich to share. "That was quite a stunt you pulled earlier," Ameiko says softly to Kyra over their food. "Do you think it'll make a difference? Do you think you can win?"
Exploration of the city takes a couple of hours, and within a few moments Pick can feel the prickling sensation on his back. Infuriatingly, however, neither he nor Flibble can pinpoint the source of the suspicion that they feel. They spend some time exploring, keeping their eyes peeled continually, but eventually it becomes clear that their tails have evaporated, undetected the whole time.
Pick grunts his frustration to Flibble. He had hoped he would be able to isolate one of their enemies, but.... not so.
Though Pick is perfectly willing to continue a fruitless task for many hours if it is what is commanded of him, he is less certain of his rightness when it was his own plan. He finally comes to a stop and looks to Flibble with a small shrug. Now what?
Perhaps they must return to Sandpoint and tell Hammer what they have learned.