"The place definitely gives me the creeps ... smelly beasts or not Kellen, I'd rather be in the sewers than here... But I agree, let's get to the bottom of this and quick. The living need to return here to dispatch the living death." A shiver runs up Rhianni's spine and he body reacts in jerks to its passing.
"This place never seems ta end is what it does," Thordak complains, feeling trapped in the boat with the so little room they have to move. "There's got ta be a place ta land this thing somewhere."
All around ghostly translucent forms emerge from the trees. Fey of all sorts—spectral satyrs, ghostly grigs, phantom nixies, and sprightly spirits float gently from the swamp around the party, followed by a parade of phantom animals.
Yap's small voice can be heard from the bottom of the boat - the only words he's spoken for hours. "It's them. The animals, the people - her people. All dead. All dead."
The spirits wash over you, the deathly cold of the grave chilling you to your very souls. A deep, deep sadness wells up within you as the ghostly spectres pass through and go on their way, disappearing into the swamp as quietly as they came.
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You are nearing what must certainly be the center of Whitewillow when you come upon the strangest sight yet. A derelict ship, obviously of seagoing nature, sits hundreds of miles from the Varisian coast. It lies half buried in the mud of swamp, covered in green moss. Despite its predicament, the ship appears to be intact. More disturbing, a haunting tune comes from within, a melancholy tune played skillfully on a harpsichord...
The ship lies directly in your path, and it is here the water ends. There is 'solid' ground to pull up the rowboat, but it is spongy and soft. The ship's gangplank is down, as if it were loading cargo or passengers. As soon as you set foot on the wood of the ramp, the music stops...no evil can be detected, but an odd feeling comes over you.
A quick search shows the ship is completely abandoned save for the captain's quarters. There he sits, complete in all of his finery, a molding skeleton in his chair behind an ancient harpsichord. In one hand he clutches a series of nautical maps, in the other, a silver goblet inlaid with fiery opals. Spread out on the harpsichord are pages of sheet music of a tune you have never heard before. The maps are of no known location on Golarion, and the music is clearly written by a master, but are not of a tune you have ever heard before.
Setting foot back on deck after gathering up the captain's items, you are halted by the sight of a small white dog, waiting patiently near the gangplank. It watches you for a moment with its milky white eyes, then turns, walks down the ramp, and disappears into the swamp.
Lym manages to dodge most of the undead throng and steels herself against the rest through an effort of will and muttered prayers to the protective side of Nethys.
"Best take some precautions before we meet this lady..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Unsettling," Lym summarizes the events surrounding ship, captain and dog. [/b]"Yap? Should we follow?"[/b]
As the spirits pass through, Kellen let's out a gasp and mumbles: "Nine Hells! That smarts...let's get this over with." Frustration, not fear, is clear in his words.
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When they reach the ship and examine the relics and remains of the captain, he says aloud what is likely apparent: "I wonder what his story is; maybe someone can tell us back in town."
That aside, once the white dog has disappeared, he glances at Yap to see his response to Lym's question.
Rhianni her mind is shocked by the ghastly line of haunted fey, as their silver grey bodies fold into the mists and disappear. Her body fills with the cold as the tendrils of the fog seem to grasp at her, her body shivers uncontrollably as she lets out a squeak of pain. "This cold sucks the very warmth from my bones."
At last she is grateful to put her foot on solid soil, though the ship and all its inhabitants make her more unsure of this place.
"You see that, what is it doing here, it can't be natural, can it?" Rhianni says perturbed at the sight, "Why ask,of course we should follow." hoping to find an answer to the whereabouts of Whitewilow or the blight.
HPs 59/66
Seeing the fancy skeleton, "Now that fella knew how ta live!" he says, nodding emphatically. He then finds himself staring at the skeleton for several moments before, "And... well... die, I guess."
Seeing the dog move in and then leave, "A dog?! What in the blazes...," Thordak doesn't hesitate to follow the creature.
"No. Not that way." Yap whispers, tugging at Thordak's sleeve. He points back away from the direction the dog went, past where the ship lies. The area of the swamp where he is pointing is a deeper black, a deeper gloom. Death and misery lie that way. You feel it.
"That way."
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You scramble around to the opposite side of the ship and head into the center of Whitewillow. Ahead of you is a forest glade with a small pool at the far end. it is from here that the feelings of misery, dread, and...heartbreak? emanate.
On the very edge of the glade is a shattered tree. The mangled body of a beautiful dryad hangs from the bole, beaten from her refuge by massive clubs. As you approach, you can hear soft, feminine whispers in your ears:
'She should not have fallen in love. Her heart brought this upon us-why won't she let us go?'
Yap cowers against the base of a gnarled old tree. His eyes never leave the body of the dryad as he speaks. "She waits in there. My mistress...I dare not go any further..."
The steps into the glade seem to take forever, each pace longer and harder than the last. The weight of a thousand sorrows weighs heavily on you. At the edge of the pool, you pause. Tension fills the air, building...building...
The pool erupts in a geyser of water as Myriana herself bursts from the pool with a scream. Once soul-shakingly beautiful, the nymph princess is now a haggard, ghostly horror. Her disembodied arms float at her sides, exposed bone and sinew stretching toward her torso but ever too far out of reach. Her lower torso fades away to smoke, savaged too cruelly by the ogres for even her insane ghost to retain. But her most terrifying feature is her eyes: wells of hellish horror, crying out silently in an agony beyond anything a mortal creature could ever know. They reduce those who try to hold her gaze to gibbering children. She is beauty undone, and torment incarnate.
"YOU...you failed him! You failed the fort! You let them take him, take him away to the mountain!" She shrieks in a horrible voice. "Now feel MY pain!" She raises her disembodied arms out toward you, and a wave of energy washes over you. Against your will you are lifted up and stretched backward. Then everything goes black...
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You are sitting in a beautiful sylvan glade at the edge of a small pool next to a rugged man with graying hair and beard. Reclined in the thick green grass, he reads love sonnets of his own making to you...
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Ogres! Ogres in your Whitewillow! Smashing the tree of your friend and confidant, a dryad you have known for time untold. You and your lover rush to save her...too late, too late. But the ogres are slaughtered. Vengeance...
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The lamia woman, the one from the village. The one with the red hair and green eyes. It was a trap. They surround you and him, encircled by the Kreegs and her magic. Lamatar falls fighting them, and when you rush in to aid him, they catch you in their rough hands.
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Pain. Shame. They force him to watch as the ogres savage you. Tearing you limb from limb. Your eyes never leave his, and his gaze never wavers. Your last living sight is them dragging him away, screaming for you, reaching out for you...
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You come to as you are dropped roughly to the ground, the trance broken. "Why? Why have you come here mortals? To bring me pain?" Myriana moans in sorrow.
"The lamia," Lym says as she struggles back to her feet. Her veil dislodged, nothing shrouds the fury in her crimson eyes. "The scum-sucking lamia... is our enemy. She is behind the slaughter at the fort, she was behind an attempt to drown Turtleback Ferry... The lamia must die! And we wish to try and find your captain, save him and return him to his fortress if we can. Can you tell us where the Ogres and that snake-assed filth took him?"
Praxim whimpers softly as the line of ghosts approaches and flies through them, but is unharmed.
He continues to maintain a watch for evil while the others explore and ransack the ship, and he would much rather follow the dog than proceed further into the evil.
After the vision of the ogres' work, anger begins to replace some (though not all) of his fear.
"I can promise you, the snack b@&%% will die when we find her. You will be avenged. We came here searching for the captain with no idea the ogres had come here first. Kellen must have told them where to find him."
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Thordak can only stand and stare into nothing as he replays the images in his mind. His heart breaks for the ghostly image because he knows her pain of loss. He walks up near her, an obvious look of compassion upon him. "I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," he says in a pained voice. "I lost a lot of loved ones meself to the savage brutes and will be servin' me own brand o' justice upon 'em. But 'tweren't no love like that," he confesses, shaking his head, "no love like that," he repeats, his eyes downcast as he replays the images again, wishing there was something he could've done to stop the terrible events. After several moments he snaps out of his reverie and looks back to the dryad ghost, "What can we do ta ease your pain, lass? Anythin', anythin' at all, just name it."
"You are the Myriana that Captain Lamatar wrote about? Look. We have your letters here and a lock of hair. We are looking for your love and we will try to return him to you."
The glade becomes as silent as death as Myriana looks at Tomaru. Nothing moves, nothing dares to breath. She reaches out with a ghostly hand, and makes a simple gesture with her forefinger. The locket and the sonnets float from Tomaru's grasp into hers, where she holds them in both hands. Long moments pass as the nymph princess stares down at her last links to her love.
"He is dead." She whispers finally, and the whole of Whitewillow releases its collective breath. "I know he is dead. What is worse, there is a foul magic that keeps us from being together in our final rest. I tried to raise him, but was prevented from doing so."
Myriana clutches the locket and the sonnets to her bosom, her head bowed. When she looks up, the look on her face tears at your hearts."They took him to the mountain. Hook Mountain. The holdfast of the Kreeg clan. Find him, put him to rest. Avenge him, avenge me."
The apparition that was the nymph princess Myriana fades from sight. As she fades, her last words come into your minds with a finality and a warning: "Do not fail."
"Which way to Hook Mountain from here?" Lym asks of Rhianni while she fixes her veil.
"Which way to Hook Mountain from here?" Lym asks of Rhianni while she fixes her veil.
Kellen has remained silent throughout the exchange - out of fear or shock it's not certain. He seems to stare intently at where the ghost maiden had been; tears having welled in his eyes before he brushes a hand across his face.
To Lym's question, he replies: Back to Fort Rannick, then northwest. I suspect Jakardros can show us the way; especially if he wants his commander back. We'll hunt those miserable dogs down in their den."
Rhianni her face rigid, eyes open, a tear slowly falls across her cheek, at the words of the apparition. Though you cannot tell if the tear is from the fear and confusion of the dream or the words from Myriana. It is only when Lym asks a question that her eyes blink, and she shakes her head trying to recover her mind.
"Yes..oh yes.." she looks around at her friends, somewhat confused, before relaxing as she hears Kellen answer. "Yes, Kellen what you say sounds the best way. it might not be the most direct, but it will probably be the quickest and most profitable in ridding the region of the Grauls and other evils that threaten."
Rhianni, smiles weakly at Kellen, trying hard to recover her poise.
The tears come unbidden to Tomaru. "We will not fail you." he promises the now empty space.
"Yes, we should leave immediately for Hook Mountain. I'll get the boat ready."
Praxim sketches a quick bow to the spirit, then practically scurries towards the boat, waiting impatiently for the others to follow.
Yap meets you at the edge of the glade. "Goodluck!Goodluck!Iamsohappyyouarehelping!Sohappy!Wewillwaitforyouhere!" Then flutters away into the glade, disappearing into the mist around the pool.
The journey from Whitewillow is quiet. The swamp has lost it's menace, but it replaced with a sense of waiting and watching. Back to the spot near the Wicker Walk where you found the boat, and through to Turtle Back Ferry. Its late at night when you arrive. The inn is quiet, but your rooms are ready. A quick bath, and a warm bed. It's hard to sleep, with all you've been through in the last week, but you fall asleep with the knowledge that it will be over soon.
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The rains, which had abated while you were in the swamp, have returned now that you are in the region of the fort. So the morning dawns dark and cloudy with a steady drizzle. Few people are out this early, what few you do see give you a quick nod and a brief smile as you pass. Soon you are on the road up to the fort.
You are hailed at the gate by an unfamiliar voice. It's a woman from the village. She and her guard-partner stop you as you approach, and it's a few minutes waiting in the rain until Vale comes out to let you in. The fort is in somewhat better shape than when you left. Much work has been done cleaning up, but there is more to go.
Shalelu greets you as you walk into the keep.
"Welcome back! What did you find out?" She waits expectantly while you hang sodden cloaks on the pegs near the doors. The keep was the first to be cleaned, and there are no remaining traces of the horrors of the ogre occupation to be seen anywhere.
"We fear that the captain was taken to Hook Mountain, and likely raised as some sort of undead creature. The swamp was not good at all."
Thordak nods in absolute agreement. "And the elf's bein' kind."
Kellen adds to the explanation:
"It was rough trip and it's likely we'll have to go into the ogre's den to fish Lamantar out. If there's any good news to come of it is that his lover can resurrect him it seems, so Jakardros and Vale could have their captain back. Might alleviate the stress a little."
He takes on a vicious look and adds: "If fortune is with us, we could also wipe the damn things from the mountain if catch them right. What we just seen, I am looking forward to that prospect."
"I don't know about Lym, but before we go, I could use a detour to get some spell components."
"I don't know about Lym, but before we go, I could use a detour to get some spell components."
"I don't think the nymph queen will restore the captain to life. I think she wants to travel to Pharasma's court at his side," Lym says to Shalelu. "You should elect a new captain."
The Wizard shakes her head at Tomaru. "I have all the components I need and the spell I ordered is unlikely to have arrived yet... although I should check. It will be essential against that blight, Lucrecia."
Shalelu looks concerned. "That bad? Well, we managed to find maps of the area still intact, so that could help. Also, Jakrdros has been all over the region, I'm sure he can point you in the right direction."
Late that afternoon, you spend time consulting with the Black Arrows and Shalelu. A large map of the region is spread out on the floor, the table having been smashed by the ogres during their occupation.
"We didn't head too far into the mountains," Jakrdros says, "we had more than enough to deal with in the lowlands. Grauls, wandering ogres, the odd hill giant. Plenty to do here. Plus, the captain never felt we were strong enough to take the fight to the Kreegs. They've controlled the Hook for decades." He turns to look at Vale.
"I guess he was right."
Vale nods.
"I've been searching around the base of the mountain. There are no signs of Grauls or Kreegs in the area. I did find several hunting trails - probably ogres by the tracks - around the base. They all head upward toward the Hook."
"There is some foulness going on atop that mountain, then. Something they're working on. Lucretia has been busy."
"There is some foulness going on atop that mountain, then. Something they're working on. Lucretia has been busy."
Thordak's eyes narrow at the mention of the snake-lady. "She'll be dyin' first. I'm tellin' ya now, one way or another, she'll be dyin' first... even if it kills me," he vows.
Rhianni lets a tear into her eye, and rather touchingly goes to Thordak, putting her arm around his broad shoulders, "No you won't not as long as we're here to help you. So none of that funny talk of 'even if it kills me'" She looks at the dwarf, at his steely resolve, and hugs him, beard and all.
"Shalelu, If you can take us to the tracks, I'm sure we'll go on from there, we'll reclaim the land for good, rid this place of it's evil and violence." she says with as much resolve as she can muster. She looks to her friends and nods in acceptance of the challenge in front of them.
"I don't know about Lym, but before we go, I could use a detour to get some spell components."
Rhianni lets a tear into her eye, and rather touchingly goes to Thordak, putting her arm around his broad shoulders, "No you won't not as long as we're here to help you. So none of that funny talk of 'even if it kills me'" She looks at the dwarf, at his steely resolve, and hugs him, beard and all.
As the dwarf's steel curtain resolve turns into cloth, "Well... okay. But I really don't like her, ya know. Like really, really don't like her. I mean, there's a lot o' don't like in there, lass. And I'm talkin' about a whole whole lot, not... not just a little bit." He looks around a moment, feeling a bit awkward before, "When do we leave again? Did somebody say or what?"
"I don't know about Lym, but before we go, I could use a detour to get some spell components."
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During the days the team spends getting ready for their next foray, Lym withdraws into seclusion with her spellbook and a scroll... for the first few days.
When the Wizard emerges, she marches straight into the nearest smithy, has a chat with the smith, and then starts to do incomprehensible things. She uses magic to paint an introcate web of glyphs and runes on every surface, the strands centered on the anvil. She chants lengthy incantations over the fire, which changes colours several times and continues to burn as Lym feeds it strange reagents, some of them clouds of sparkling dust, others liquids thick and thin.
On the last day, she just walks up to Kellen and has a quiet word with him, which ends with her carrying his sword into the smithy. For hours on end, she chants spells over the mithral while striking it with a succession of hammers. Her voice and the metallic echoes blend into a seamless whole - and then she thrusts the sword into the flames.
As the glyphs fade away and the echoes are carried away into silence, Lym carries the sword back to its master. At first glance, the only difference with before is a small sign, a black fist, set between the crossguards. When Kellen accepts the sword back, however, he can feel the increased power in his blade...
The great rains turn to driving snow as winter comes with a fury upon the Hook. Autumn is a forgotten dream as cutting wind lances through wool and leather, and treacherous ice crawls along the mountainside. Life is cruel and short on the Hook, more now than ever as winter sinks her teeth into its crags.
You set out for the Hook with Shalelu in the lead. She has spent considerable time scouting the area, and guides you straight to the base of the mountain.
"Now," she says, bundling her cloak tight around her face, "this the base of the trail that I found. It leads up onto the Hook, but to what end, I didn't go far enough to see." She shivers as a blast of wind swirls down from the peaks.
"The Kreegs are up there, that I know for sure. And whatever else they have with them. Be careful." With that, she turns about and heads back toward Fort Rannick, and is soon lost to sight in the swirling snow.
The climb along the trail in the snow and wind takes the better part of 4 hours. The snow continues to fall, and its cold..very cold. When you finally crest the last craggy outcrop, you stand a mere half-mile from the Hook's 10,000 foot peak.
Constant flurries of windborne snow and frost lash at a gaping hole in the side of Hook Mountain here. Smoke pours forth from the cave entrance, only to be instantly dispersed by the wind.