Welcome, yes. You came to watch? I've been searching for the location of our adventurers - found them too. I'll show you. Here they are, in front of the Blakros museum. The Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. Just look at those black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall, they grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within.
How did they end up here, standing at the precipice of unknown terrors? I'll tell you about the Venture- Captain Adril Hestram’s wide looming face. His booming words ring out from the adventurer's memory as clearly as he spoke them only one hour ago:
“The Blakros Museum is cursed. Some darkness has descended upon the place and those who enter are blasted with evil and left raving through its halls, more beast than men. The curator, Nigel Aldain, is an old associate of the Society, though he chose to leave our organization some years back after a disagreement.” Adril looked sheepish then, as if remembering some distasteful incident from his youth.
“Nigel has long denied the Society access to the Blakros Museum’s considerable collection of relics and scrolls, using his extensive contacts to nab several excellent finds right out from under us... he always had a nose for the hunt. Whatever is past between Nigel and the Society, he needs our help now. Perhaps if we can come to his aid, he may think on rejoining the Pathfinder Society, or at least offering to share his discoveries with us.”
“Apparently the trouble at Blakros Museum began this morning, shortly after a wayward Pathfinder named Lugizar Trantos returned to Absalom after months spent in the Mwangi Expanse. Supposedly, instead of coming straight to the Lodge to report in, he went to Blakros, sold his finds to Nigel, and then disappeared with a hefty sum of gold. The few who glimpsed Lugizar claimed he was much changed by his time in the Mwangi... gaunt, his eyes yellowed and unfocused, a strange rasping cough that seemed to wrack his now wasted frame. Whatever he brought back with him, we believe it is the cause of the Blakros Museum’s ills. Root it out.”
And here we are. They look ready to go in - they might even have done their research beforehand. Let's see what they do, shall we...
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The young woman was difficult to place, regionally. Her features and dress were vaguely Varisian, but her accent was clearly muddled, taking on a lilt from the city of Absalom as well.
Visual Reference for Azura
Her hair and dress was a palette of pastels as if she wished to carry springtime with her always. She had long, diaphanous locks of bright blue plaited with ribbon and beads that swam around her slender form and eyes like limpid pools. She glided forward with the grace of a dancer, the hem of her skirts and sleeves fluttering showily in her wake.
"Cursed, you say? That cannot be good, no? I will be sure to see what rumors of this man and his strange cargo flow on the streets. Is there anything you would suggest we bring along with us to the Blakros Museum, Venture Captain?"
Azura remembers the words of the Venture-Captain: Cursed indeed - one would best be careful
I can tell you this of Lugizar Trantos: He spent the better part of a year in the Mwangi Expanse. At first he wrote letters to his brother and wife, but after a few months these stopped coming and most gave him up for dead.
I'm afraid it's all information I have for you. As he turns to the woman with the Chelaxian accent: I wish I had more to go for it, but Nigel operates separately from us, and shares little information.
Parumartish, with his rich knowledge of the history of the various realms, knows quite a bit of the history of Mwangi, and it's demonic cults
The Mwangi expanse, a vast jungle that up to this day remains largely terra incognito, houses some of the oldest ruin in the world. Fabled to be ruled by a gorilla king, much of the Mwangi’s darkest interior worships a demon lord named Angazhan, who is described in the Book of the Damned as a thing of primordial darkness, a foul-breathed demon who grunts prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. The jungle is his beating heart.
The Gorilla King’s dread city was founded hundreds of years past by cultists who bowed to Angazhan. It is said they captured the souls of monkeys in the wood-grains of strange idols called Tik Taan. The monkeys’ tormented spirits became the slaves and playthings of Angazhan, who murdered their playful whims and replaced them with a deep-seated hate and wild madness. These Tik Taan are rumored to shred the sanity of anyone who spends too long in their presence.
The cultists who created the Tik Taan were hunted by a brave tribe of the Mwangi called the Jambala Jaeg. The Jambala Jaeg created ritual knives, crafted out of bone handles and obsidian blades, to slay the demons inside the Tik Taan. Legends speak of the deadly mists of the Tik Taan, ill humors that invade men’s hearts by seeping into their mouths. Anyone wearing a scarf or other protection against the airborne menace is immune to its effects.
In Absalom’s tumultuous early years, the Blakros museum was the stronghold of a wizard, who carved the building out of one solid block of volcanic stone. After the disappearance of the wizard, said to have something to do with a conflict-turned-duel with an archmage, the building was vacant for centuries, until acquired by the Blakros family, a clan of eccentrics that established themselves by selling relics (and some say, secrets) across the Qadiran-Taldan border. The Blakros established a museum to showcase oddities that the family gathered over the year. The Blakros family has entrusted the museum’s maintenance and exhibitions to a revolving door of curators, the latest of which is Nigel Aldain, a former Pathfinder who now scorns the Society. Nigel married a daughter of Blakros—a beautiful half-Vudran girl named Dhrami—and was offered his position as part of the union. Nigel takes pride in his work and relishes every opportunity to slight the Society by snatching up great finds before Pathfinders can track them down (his extensive network of dispersed in- laws tip him off concerning many new discoveries all over Golarion).
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Parumartish turns from the imposing black spire to regard his companions. "Now then... remember what I told you. Do not breathe the mist."
Covering his own mouth with the scarves that would normally protect him from sand whipping in the desert wind, he approaches the museum. "I cannot be certain what awaits us within," he continues, "but I am confident it will be dangerous. Be wary."
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Azura placed her hands palm to palm and lifted them to her lips, bowing deeply before her fellow Pathfinders, supporting herself with the longspear she carried, which was almost twice as tall as herself.
"My name is Azura, though I am called 'bluedove' in performing circles. It will be my pleasure to aid you in whatever way I can. Well met!" She smiled back up at the taller woman with the golden eyes and nodded to the others as she collected a colorful sash from her belt and wrapped it over her mouth and nose.
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"My apologies Lexia. I sometimes forget that people like names. My books rarely require my introduction," he said, his words dripping with a heavy Kelish accent. "My name is Parumartish... and this is Akila." The scorpion at Paru's feet scuttles forward and clicks its pincers excitedly. "We are seekers of arcane lore who wish to unravel the quintessence of magic."
Before seeing the adventurers off, Venture-Captain Brackett folded out a paper, saying Here, this may come in handy. This is a publicity map of the museum, showing the current exhibitions. You can probably find Nigel in his office.
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Dobar the dwarf informs as he begins rummaging through his bag. Don't breathe the mist he says... he begins grumbling in low tones. Having found what he was looking Dobar wraps his scarf around his face like the other. Look like a blasted group of sneak thieves we do... his voice muffled by the scarf. He looks at the group. Well? Pleased to meet you! he blurts exasperated, but about what is hard to say...
Dobar couldn't be more right. Dressed up like desert bandits, our adventurers enter through the oaken door into the mists, into the atrium.
An unnatural cold permeates this chamber and the tendrils of silver-gray mist flowing out the front archway into the courtyard beyond seem to effortlessly pierce the flesh and gently caress the bone in a cold embrace. The grand entranceway’s vaulted ceiling is supported by six great pillars of hewn black stone. Braziers mounted on the pillars cast white radiance from balls of continual light. The light glimmers eerily in the silvery haze that fills the atrium, giving the impression of something alien watching from the glowing fog.
The atrium open into a hallway, flanked by two doors, plaques above each. The one above the northern door reads "The Honored Dead", while that above southern door reads "Hunting the beasts of legend"
Dobar hear the howling of the wind, and the creaking of the heavy oaken doors as gusts go by.
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"Hmm..." Parumartish shivers in the unnatural cold. Well, the place certainly seems cursed, he thinks.
"According to this map, we should find Nigel's office through the Honored Dead Exhibit behind the door on the left of the hallway. Shall we go and see what he can tell us? That is, of course, assuming that he is even there and remains... uncorrupted."
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Bah! You wizardy types are always causin trouble for us honest folk... Dobar begins to complain, but trails off mumbling once again. He then takes a long look at the heavy pick in his hands and seemingly decides better of it and exchanges it for his crossbow.
Uncorrupted... Hrmph! he casts a sidelong glance at his anxious female companion.
Oh toasty toads girlie! Ol' Dobar'll take a look. Just don't stick me with that thing eh? The dour dwarf winks and gives what could possibly be considered a smile and begins to creep toward the hallway.
The adventurers move down the hallway, discerning little more than their own outlines in the mist. Entering the northern door with all due carefulness, they enter a large exhibit hall. The mists here congeal into a thick and silvery fog that cools the lungs. Arranged throughout this large hall are exhibits on the funerary traditions of several civilizations, along with preserved corpses arrayed in grim stillness. A giant warrior looms from the haze, his arms crossed at his chest, his helm solemn and still. Beyond lie sarcophagi of varied designs, and a few glass cases wherein withered dead are held upright by rods and string; grim exhibits of long-dead citizens whose fallen empires were erased an age past. Apart from the adventurers own breathing, all is quiet.
The mists that permeate the rooms make it hard to focus specifically on a single object. The mists cover everything, and the silver wisps corrupt everything in their path.
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"I'm afraid that if there are enemies nearby, they have already taken notice of us... unless, of course, they are exceptionally dim." Parumartish says to his companions in a low voice. "We might be better served by moving together along the wall to our right until we find the door to the offices... especially considering the obscuring nature of this mist."
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Oh lassie... Dobars face softens a bit. For all but a second and he begins to cough and clear his throat. Bah! Toasty toads people! What are we standing here for? he checks and rechecks his crossbow and angrily moves off down the hallway, hurrying the others along. Silly kids, with their fangled craziness... his mumbling fades out of earshot.
As Imperia moves to clank toward the display cases, parumartish suggests moving along the eastern wall. In a flicker, it seemed as if there was movement in one of the large figures. Did it move? It must have been the mists. A few more steps along the and
Yes, yes indeed. They move! There's a Proto-Kellid Warchief, holding a great club, a Qadiran Warlord of Old, wielding a scimitar, and a bronze legionaire, whose longsword seems still sharp.
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Parumartis
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PKWC
QWLO
BRLE
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Azura
Imperia
Dobar
Imperia Lexia turns into Imperia Lexia Major Ultima, as she attains huge proportions.
The bronze legionnaire lets out a "uuuugh" as he shambles toward the group. The hulking skeleton of the War chief brings down his ivory club, fashioned from a mammoth's tusk to give the enlarged Paladin a solid whopping.
The mummy of the Osirian seer, wearing a scarab on his chest, wield a scimitar that shines a brilliant silver, which cleaves the air and mist, but misses Imperia.
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Parumartis - Casts Enlarge person
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PKWC - Attack Lexia
QWLO - Attack Dobar
BRLE -Shamble up
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Azura
Imperia Takes 8 Damage
Dobar
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Parumatish
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Azura grips her spear as the undead approach, lashing out with a quick stab at the closest one, then whirling the weapon to try and block the attack on Imperia.
Round 1
Azura begins to vocalize a free-form melody with improvised lyrics,
"Be free from these prisons of desiccated flesh,
we shall release your spirits as long as we draw breath."
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Azura - Inspires courage
Dobar
Imperia Takes 8 Damage, takes out War chief (PKWC)
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Parumatish
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PKWC - Dead
QWLO
BRLE
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As Lexia is gradually, but steadily increasing in size, Azura tune returns a touch of humanity to the inhospitable museum mists. Inspired by the melody, Imperia finds the courage to slash the war chief. Even though she hits mostly air, she does manage to connect to the monster's spine, a hack the creature in twain.
Dobar's crossbow bolt lands a solid hit, piercing the eye socket of the Qadiran noble. Unfortunately, the warlord no longer relies on anything in those socket to see, and lets out haunting Graaaagh to express its discontent.
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Azura - Inspires courage
Dobar - Shoot the Qadiran warlord
Imperia Takes 8 Damage, takes out War chief (PKWC)
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Parumatish
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PKWC - Dead
QWLO - 1
BRLE
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As he completes his transmutation and Lexia grows in size, Parumartish reaches into his bag for a flask of acid and maneuvers to the south to get a better angle on the Bronze Legionnaire. He channels his arcane power through the flask causing a small orb of acid to coalesce in his hand, which he launches at his target.
Parumartish covers the legionnaire in a this coating of acid. Gobs of flesh burn away, making the creature even uglier than before. The turbanned skeleton produces an eerie shriek - an undead memory of a battle cry perhaps? - as it moves forward to attack Lexia. Before he can do so, however, Imperia swipes the skeleton and reduces it to splinters.
The bronze warrior point his sword in the air, and shambles forward to Azura. Azura braces against the attack, spear in hand, and hands a piece of bronze-age heroism to the fight as her spear catches the throat of the legionnaire. It collapses, and remains motionless on the ground.
The skeletons were holding an ivory greatclub (mwk), and a silver scimitar (mwk, alch. silver), while the legionnaire was wearing a bronze half-plate and held a longsword (regular)
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"I wish I could tell you, but I fear what the answer may be," Parumartish admits. "I do recall, however, that one of the Mwangi tribes crafted ritual knives from bone and obsidian to fight the evils that plagued their jungle. Such an artifact could prove useful if we intend to survive this little adventure."
He moves closer to the remains of their enemies to inspect the Qadiran Warlord's scimitar. "This blade seems to be made with alchemical silver. I am not proficient in its use, but it would be wise for one of you to carry it. It could end up saving our lives."
Silence returns to the room. A single corpse - the body of a large Mwangi warrior, his body preserved in mud - is still standing in the exhibit hall, unmoved when the cursed call of the mists came.
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"One would think that my preoccupation with history and buried arcana would lead me to know a little about speaking with the dead, but Necromancy has never been of much interest to me."
Parumartish approaches the only uncorrupted corpse. "And it seems possible that he does possess one of these ritual blades, though I fear removing it from his possession may... upset him." He invokes a minor divination and moves to take a closer look.
Parumartish examines the corpse, and immediately identifies the Mwangi warrior as belonging to the Jambala Jaeg tribe. The belt of the warrior holds a jade-encrusted obsidian kukri - one of the ritual blades of that tribe.
The warrior does not move or radiate any kind of magic.